Clement & 6th

I was at Green Apple & hoped to get my picture taken in front, but there were no photographers available when I wanted them. So I crossed the street & somehow intuited that my photographer was simply a brisk walker, as opposed to someone in a hurry. I was right; she took her time & carefully composed two shots for me.

The curious photographer

I was so engrossed with the fruits & veggies that I forgot about finding a photographer until I was just about to leave the farmers market. Luckily, here he came, wheeling his bike along. I asked for the picture, & instead of simply pausing & holding my camera with his one free hand, he put his bike over to the side—a sign of Taking Photography Seriously.

Just then, a man with a baby asked him about the rack on his bike. He answered the question & then, making a sort of move-closer-together corralling gesture, asked, So do you want to be in the picture together?

Oh, I laughed, we don’t know each other! We just both happened to want to talk to you at the same time.

(I think that’s the man & baby’s shadow in the picture.)

He took the picture & then, wonder of wonders, asked what I wanted the picture for! People, this is the FIRST one out of over 40 Camera Shy photographers to ask me this as a direct question.

Surprised, I answered, It’s an art project.

What kind of art project?

Somewhat dumbfounded, I said, Wow, you’re the first person to ask me! & explained it to him.

Turns out he is a photographer who is interested in telling stories. He moved here from San Diego, where, he says, he never ran into anybody doing interesting art projects like mine. We had a nice conversation & exchanged cards, & he’s almost certainly gonna read this, which feels quite novel. Really, it took so long for this to happen that I’d almost forgotten it was a possibility.

Nice to meet you, Rishi!

Cartoon mural

I pass by this goofy mural once a month, & today all forces aligned to give me a picture of it: I’d zipped across the bridge in record time & found parking closer than ever before, which made me so early that I actually had a few minutes to kill… & then here came the photographer walking down the street at just the right moment.

She looked like she could be either Latina or Pilipina, so based on a ghost of a shadow of a hunch, I’ll just say she was Pilipina, what the hell.

Kara’s Cupcakes

Happy Malcolm X’s Birthday!

I lived many, many years on this earth before I finally figured out that I actually like looking at cupcakes more than I like eating them. You understand why I may have been a bit slow on the uptake; it’s just not normal.

I also like graphic representations of cupcakes, apparently, enough to impulsively toss aside all consideration of light & shadow. However, it’s interesting to me that this is the first shot (of this project) in which you can see the photographer—dimly, as a reflection between the cupcake & me.

I felt that purse strap falling down just as she snapped the picture.

This may well be the first blog post in the history of the net to mention Malcolm X & cupcakes almost in the same breath. Welcome to my world.

Shadowshop pickup

I almost didn’t post the first image, but, you know: The Rules.

Today’s photographer wins the prize for Most Earnest Effort. He obviously knew his way around digital cameras; first he said, oh, it’s in macro mode. After that, he zoomed into one of the shots & shook his head disapprovingly at the fuzziness of the image. Knowing that I was going to scale it down, I told him it was okay, but he took another shot anyway. He noted that the light was not great in that part of the museum lobby; I happened to be sitting in the shadow of a column. He moved around trying to get a better angle as I laughed in embarrassment & apologized for getting him into such a complicated & difficult thing.

I was still apologizing & thanking him when his girlfriend(?) came back from the bathroom(?). He was very gracious about the whole thing & seemed wholeheartedly invested in giving me the best possible picture. He explained that his hands shake, but his camera is heavy, so he doesn’t have that problem with it.

I wonder if he was a Real Photographer?! He kinda acted like one….

Anyway, why I wanted my picture there in the first place was that I was picking up my unsold stuff from Shadowshop & had just found out that I, excuse my French, made fucking bank on the whole endeavor—mostly from $1 pencils!—& thought it would be nice to document my happy moment. Besides, I had documented the dropoff back in October, so why not bookend with the pickup?

Friday night

I treat Whole Foods as my corner store, so when dinnertime rolled around with nary a drop of olive oil in the house, I ran down there to fetch some.

The students in front of me were buying fennel & spinach; the checker was possibly new, or bad at memorization, or unfamiliar with produce (or all three, or none of the above, what do I know), & had to ask his coworker at the next checkstand for the codes.

Fennel-buying guy asked, as if thinking of it for the first time, “Wow, you have to memorize a number for every vegetable?”

The checker nodded, fennel guy reacted with amazement, & I chimed in, “Isn’t that crazy? I’ve always thought that must be so hard to remember all those codes, & then it’s even worse at the Bowl, where there’s a zillion fruits….”

“Where?”

“At the Bowl….” Noting his blank face, I clarified, “...the Berkeley Bowl.”

“Is that another store?”

Fixing him with a grave stare, I said, “You need to check it out.”

As if he’s gonna listen to me.

Flavors of the Day, Ici

I actually interrupted two women in conversation on the bench outside of Ici. How far will I go in the name of art?! I think not that far again, anytime soon.

Too bad you can’t see the detail on the beautiful envelope I’m holding from my pen pal. (Yes I have a pen pal!)

No, that’s not my bike.

Film festival

The film festival this year has been serving an unexpected purpose for me. What a blessed relief to be distracted from Japan’s horrific situation for a solid couple of hours at a time, to be immersed in such a variety of worlds that have one key thing in common: none of this had happened yet—the earthquakes (450 aftershocks at last count), the tsunami, the nuclear nightmare.

Tonight I went out in the pouring spring rain to Pacific Film Archive, thinking it would be the perfect place for a shoot. I was early enough so that after my picture was taken, I had a good ten minutes to wait for the film. Usually this would prompt avid people-watching, but instead I found myself sinking into the seat, feeling how frayed my nerves were, how emotionally exhausted. I stared absently at the screen where slides rotated, silently announcing film & museum events. Five days of worry, five days of trying to wrap my brain around something so overwhelming, five days during which all my prayers felt so inadequate… I felt it all catch up to me at once.

Then the film rolled & took me off to Shanghai.

Looking Glass

Looking Glass is a Berkeley institution, sort of my own photographic mothership. I remember when it was several blocks south, closer to the corner of Alcatraz. I remember when it moved & was painted a cheerful blue color. I remember when they used to charge more if you used a credit card. (They still have a $10 minimum.) I bought my first Holga there, & the young dyke who sold it to me enthusiastically demonstrated how to load the film & tape it all up (not a small job!) so I would know how to do it myself, plus I walked out of there ready to shoot.

Because of all this history & relationship, I gave today’s photographers more direction than usual: I wanted a picture not just of me, but of me in front of the Looking Glass, preferably with the sign.

Yes, photographers, plural. Well, does the first photographer count if she didn’t actually take a picture? She was a teenage girl, with—I quickly saw—that particular teenage sensitivity to weirdness, so I felt a little sorry that I was making her uncomfortable with my weird request, but she was a good sport & really made an effort, backing up to the edge of the sidewalk to try to get the sign in the frame. After all that, she handed the camera back to me, I thanked her, & she was gone before I pressed the review button & saw that she hadn’t actually gotten the picture.

I was quite surprised, but got back on the horse & asked the next person who came along. This was a Chinese woman about my mother’s age, walking with her husband (presumably), & she also made great efforts, stepping off the curb & warning me that she could only get part of the sign in. Of course I said that was fine.

In the future I will frame any potentially difficult shots myself to make sure I’m not asking too much of my photographers. But I must note: they still tried, they really tried!

Among the vinyl

I like to tag along when Donna gets her hair cut. I’ve always enjoyed watching haircuts—but hair washing, not so much. So I took a few minutes to skip up the block to Amoeba for the latest from Carolina Chocolate Drops.

With this photographer I noticed how she held the camera low in front of her. Is there any correlation between age & default height for holding cameras? I speculate that older folks, from years of holding film cameras up to their eyeballs, would probably hold a digital camera higher, out of habit. I think when shooting standing people, I hold the camera sort of about shoulder height, compared to this woman’s mid-lower chest height. She was probably in her early 30s.