Selfie/Not-selfie

I was wandering the bonsai at the Huntington when I came upon a gay couple in mid-selfie with a point & shoot camera (not a phone, which as everyone knows, makes the job a lot easier). Out of queer solidarity as much as anything else, I offered to take the picture for them. When I was done, they asked if I wanted mine taken. Oh sure... why not?

I had been pondering a resurrection of this project now that I am part-time in Southern California. I thought it might be an interesting lens for exploration of this new place & its inhabitants, who seem so different from folks back home. I seem different here too; living in a neighborhood that is mostly Asian, am I more visible? Less visible? Both, I think.

Now in the age of the selfie, I wonder what will happen to the convention of strangers taking pictures of each other? Is this project already a relic of an age gone by? Does it more firmly mark me as middle-aged, or even old?

Am I back in the saddle again? Maybe.

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 Harrow & The Harvest

It’s been eight long years since Gillian Welch put out a new album. To say that she’s a prominent figure in my personal pantheon of country goddesses would be, perhaps, a bit of an understatement. Yesterday being the much-anticipated day for The Harrow & The Harvest to drop, I went after dinner to pick it up, but found Amoeba & Rasputin both shut. Arg!

Today I swooped in to snatch it, then went wandering around the aisles of Amoeba looking for my photographer du jour. A lot of record shoppers are very intense & give off a “don’t talk to me, I’m shopping for music” vibe. I can relate; looking for your next musical drug is serious business. Lucky for me, I had mine firmly in hand.

Finally I found someone approachable. She asked how I wanted it & I made my usual vague gesture toward the general surroundings; she totally got it & said, “you want the store more than you want you.” Yep.

Starting to shoot, she asked, “So are you in from out of town…?”

“No, actually it’s an art project.”

Still snapping, she said, “Oh! I teach photography… hopefully it will show…”

Then she asked which art program I was in. I explained that I’m not a student, I’m an artist, & told her more about the project, we exchanged cards, & she’ll probably read this, so hello Bonita!

Noted: that’s the second photographer who 1) wanted to know what I was doing, enough to ask me questions about it & 2) has an identity as an actual photographer out in the world, apart from my project. I wonder if this is a new trend in the project… I don’t think 2 makes a trend, but 3 might! Lately I have been thinking more about my relationship to photography, & maybe this is how it’s showing up.

At the checkout counter, I asked the guy, “So have you been selling a few of these?”

“Oh yeah. Like every other person is getting it.”

He also told me they changed to the earlier closing time about 2 or 3 months ago. Still open late on Fridays & Saturdays, though, in case you wanted to know.

Temescal farmers market

One of my zucchini seedlings met a bad end. No crying over spilled milk; I ran over to the Temescal Farmers Market to fetch a replacement from Kassenhoff. Things were a bit off-kilter there as the whole market had been moved across the creek to a different section of the DMV parking lot, & I wandered around looking for the Kassenhoff booth until I realized they simply weren’t there today. Maybe they were scared off by the back-to-winter, rain & hail weather forecast?

I did get the first peaches of the season though! & I liked having the market under the trees for a change.

My photographer snapped away with casual abandon, saying, oh, one more for good measure—it’s digital, right?

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?

Bakesale Betty

Bakesale Betty has really figured out how to keep the lunchtime crowd moving through so the wait is quick & painless; by the time my photographer finished his two quick shots, we were holding up the line. Oops, sorry! Of course, since we were all bathed in the vortex of Betty’s goodwill, nobody seemed to mind, everyone was cheerful.

Unlike the post office, where I went next. There the wait was glacial & everyone was cranky. I was almost afraid to bust out my sandwich. I had visions of being attacked by a pack of hungry, ferocious postal patrons who would rip away bites of my sandwich until there was nothing left.

(Of course nothing like that happened at all. I ate my sandwich & people merely remarked—not without envy—that I sure had come prepared.)

Peonies

I was plodding up the street on my way home from a funeral, pondering fatherhood, grief, & other heavy topics, when lo & behold, there were my neighbors’ peonies exploding with pink joy. My mood did an instant 180 & I eagerly stuck my face in one to smell it.

Coming back up, I spied my photographer walking two large dogs toward me, & asked if she would take my picture with the flowers.

“Sure! They’re beautiful!”

“They’re peonies,” I cooed, more to the blossoms than to her, as she maneuvered the leashes into one hand.

“Did you move here recently?” she asked.

“No, actually, I’ve lived on this block for twenty years,” I answered, wondering if that had any bearing on why someone might ask a stranger to take their picture. Recent arrival ≈ tourist?

She explained herself, though: she wondered if living here for a long time decreased the enchantment with our lovely gardens & flowers.

“Oh, no, I’ve lived in the Bay Area all my life & I’m still like…” I waved my arms ecstatically & made a flower-crazed face.

This answer obviously pleased her, so I asked if she had moved here recently herself.

Yes, in January—from Buffalo!

“Ah,” I replied with new understanding, “the most dramatic month to move here! When Buffalo is all frozen…”

Yes, yes, she nodded emphatically; she had been nearly delirious with plant appreciation upon arrival, & was worried that she would eventually become jaded. I assured her this was most definitely not the case.

—

This post is dedicated to the memory of Adolphus Wong, who also loved to walk outside among flowers & talk to strangers. Rest in peace, uncle.

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!

Tartine

By some miracle, I managed to waltz into Tartine & snag a loaf of the famous bread with no reservation. Would you believe they now ask you to reserve bread 3 days in advance?! Crazy.

So I was sitting there marveling at my luck & eating a lovely tender slice of quiche, when I saw the man at the next table beaming at the world in general—&, since I happened to make eye contact with him, at me in particular. I smiled back in foodie camaraderie, then thought perhaps I would ask him to take a picture of me with my loaf of bread. I glanced over again to assess the situation, shared another friendly smile, & noted that his tablemate was engrossed in the pictures on her iPhone while he blissfully pinched off mouthfuls of his bread loaf.

“We got the bread!” I sang, by way of opening the conversation. His girlfriend/wife got off her phone & the three of us commenced heavy bread bonding. I asked them to take my picture. Apparently she had just taken his picture with their loaf, so they understood my request perfectly. Since she was sitting closest to me, I handed her my camera & then posed with my bread. While she was snapping away, he asked if he could take my picture too, so for a moment there was a frenzy of photographing while I tried not to crack up too hard.

Then she started showing me pictures of the bread he had been baking, the sourdough starter looking all weird in its crock, the special cast iron set (I think this is it) they found at a camping store after unsuccessful searches through all the gourmet shops. I gushed over the crumb of his bread & we talked about no-knead & my 80s hippie whole wheat loaves.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to attack you with bread pictures!” she said at the end.

“No, no, I’m totally into it!” I reassured her.

Finally, as they were getting ready to leave, she turned to me again & asked, “Would you like an almond croissant?”

Incredulous, I asked, “You mean you have extra??”

They explained that there was a minimum of six for phone orders, but really they had just wanted one or two.

Well twist my arm!

Yarn & other bombs

Someone very successfully yarnbombed this prominently placed signpost in the neighborhood. The spot gets a ton of foot traffic & also a perfect captive audience as people stand around waiting for the bus or the ATM. After running my post office & bank errands, I thought the yarnbomb would provide a good co-subject for a photo shoot.

Unfortunately, this shoot was a bomb in other ways:

(1) It was kinda forced; I broke my own rule about only doing this when I feel like it, & therefore (2) asked the wrong person to shoot, he said no & I couldn’t even get excited about someone finally saying no, because he was so obviously in a hurry, of course he was gonna say no. This is kind of interesting though: if you’re paying attention, you know who will say yes, & so that’s who you ask.

(3) Asked a second person, he shot a couple & then actually grimaced when he looked at them. I immediately blamed the screen blotches (what was one blob along a skinny line has now become two blobs with no line, go figure), but he was actually concerned about (4) the flash on the reflective street sign.

(5) Nevertheless the blobs confused things just enough so that I went home & ordered a new camera. What can I say, my will was weak & cameras are cheap. So much for the idea that this project wasn’t supposed to cost anything, but I had to remind myself that I’ve come a long, long way as far as the economic sustainability of artmaking: the $158 I dropped on the camera (including, incredibly, its 4GB memory card) is miniscule compared to the thousands I used to spend on projects & equipment back when I was young & foolish.

The whole early dusk, rain & cold, flash photography thing is not so great. I am wondering if this might be a fair-weather project. (After all, seasonal is one of my new core artmaking values.) Or maybe the new camera will help morale; or maybe I’ll figure out a more winter-appropriate way of doing this.

One thing’s for sure: breaking rules really lights up in bright neon the soundness of the rules & the values behind them—in this case, how the energy/vibe/flow aspect of this project is almost the whole thing. If I don’t wholeheartedly want to do it, if I’m not actually available for it, why & how on earth would it work?

Hopefully you get what I mean by “energy/vibe/flow” & “available”; I’m sure some clever art writer has coined a specific academic term for this, something that sounds intellectual & serious & just not so Berkeley, but I don’t happen to know it, & anyway, I fucking live here. The locavore aesthetic for me includes talking local; if I’m making art in Berkeley it doesn’t make any sense for me to talk about it like a New Yorker. (You can if you want, especially if that’s how you actually talk. Despite my posturing I actually am academy-friendly & curious to know what the terms are, so don’t be scared to comment!)

Well. Apparently I do feel like getting up on my navel-gazing soapbox, even if I don’t feel like doing my little photoshoots. It might be a long winter….

Rockridge BART

I threw items willynilly into a big bag & tore out of the house afraid of missing BART. One of the things I grabbed was my camera, because we were going out for Mom’s birthday. When I flung myself onto the platform I realized that 1) I had a whole 3 minutes before my train, & 2) I could get a photo session in!

I walked down the platform toward my preferred end where you get a nice view of the city, thinking maybe I’d get someone to take my picture with that view in the background. However, when I approached my photographer we were facing the wrong directions for that & I realized that if I walked around to have the view in back of me, it would force her to turn around & away from her bag that was between her feet, & furthermore the other people sharing her circular bench (is it still a bench if it’s a circle?) would be in the way.

I’m not sure why she decided she had to stand up to take the picture; my guess is for a more flattering angle since I was standing. She expressed a mild lack of confidence, I explained how to press the button halfway down first & then all the way down, & then I watched her kind of struggle with it a little bit. She kept moving the camera around within a fairly small range quite near her face (bearing out my theory about camera-eye proximity correlating with age) & neither of us seemed sure that she was even taking any pictures. She asked me to repeat the thing about halfway & then all the way. Finally she seemed to get the hang of it & asked me to check to make sure that she actually got a picture. I thanked her, she complimented my coat, & I thanked her again for that. Yes I am a lucky duck to get hooked up with this coat!

I know, I said this wasn’t a fashion blog, & truly I gave so little thought to what I was wearing as I ran out of the house, it’s completely ironic to then be documented in such fancy togs.

On BART again

After all the mulling in the last couple posts, I did fall into the overthinking pit when choosing today’s photographer. I cased out the men of color around me: two of them were completely wrapped up in conversation (not with each other, in case you were wondering) & the third was in a wheelchair. I wondered about the guy in the wheelchair. I couldn’t guess by looking whether his manual abilities included picture-taking; his hands were very small & soft-looking, & his wheelchair was the kind you steer with a little joystick-type toggle. I know I wouldn’t have wanted to take anybody’s picture for them when my hands were at their worst (I had heinous repetitive stress issues a few years ago). In the end I just decided to leave him alone.

Question: do able-bodied people ever ask obviously disabled people to take their pictures for them?

My photographer ended up being a cleancut white guy standing near me, who was completely unengaged in any kind of distracting activity, unlike the myriad readers, sleepers, & avid conversationalists sitting all around. He wore a casual jacket & backpack over his very pressed shirt & tie.

When I asked him to take the picture he almost seemed embarrassed; I couldn’t understand why until I saw that he had very shaky hands. He said something sort of apologetic about how it was hard to take the picture with shaking hands, or on a moving train, or maybe he implied both.

I said it was okay & he tried a second one. I was noticing what a nervous type he was, maybe really shy or something, & felt a little sorry for him. Talking to strangers, not for him, nope. Quite a contrast between his calm, self-possessed posture before I approached him, & the palpable nervousness that rose so quickly to the surface.

Enthusiasm at the farmers market

Wasn’t I just saying how people take more than one photo to make sure it’s right? Well, this woman really went to town & took four from all different angles. Entertaining to watch her moving around me, having fun with her little task.

The sun was in & out all afternoon; I forgot my sunglasses so went squinting around the market.