Hardly Strictly Bluegrass

Per my request, he was trying to get the stage in there.

Grant Avenue, USA

Of course I had to do this sometime: Grant Avenue in August is a mindblowing vortex of Chinese (mis)representation & tourism, so how perfect is it that I, a San Francisco-born Chinese American, go & ask a white tourist to take my picture? It was a family waiting to cross the street; I initially approached the 50-something mom but she asked her 30ish daughter to take the picture instead. When the flash went off I was disappointed, thinking it would ruin the picture, but the surreal, hamfisted result totally makes me laugh. Eyes closed, even better! After they took the photo, the dad asked me if I’d taken the cable car yet & do you pay in cash or what? Sadly, I had no freakin clue.

This may be the best Camera Shy picture yet. I’m gonna have to do this Chinatown tourist thing again. Asian Image, indeed!

Dyke March

When I first saw this picture, I thought, wow, none of my other photographers has ever zoomed in like that before!

Then I realized, doh, it was me—just before this I’d zoomed in to get a picture of the pink Portajanes & forgot to zoom back out.

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.

Richmond BART

Bright & early this morning, I drove a friend to Kaiser Richmond for an Unpleasant Procedure. I had a good chunk of time after bringing her in, so, naturally, I went out for a walk.

Right away, shiny signs pointed the way to BART. For all my years riding the Richmond line, I’d never seen the Richmond station, so I followed the signs past the Hacienda Grill & a beautiful old deco post office, & then through a new-looking affordable-housing village. When I came to the station, it, too, looked surprisingly new—freshly remodeled in the shape of a ship, to evoke the WWII shipyards that transformed Richmond.

All surfaces gleamed as if just painted, & in fact the parking lot was still very much under construction. I thought a picture including both the shiny ship station & the parking lot construction would be nice, but the light was all wrong for that, & my potential photographer for that shot turned out to have not just a phone in one hand, but a cigarette in the other.

There was hardly anyone around; we were between trains. Fortunately Photographer #2, a bored kid with a skateboard, was standing in the right place for a parking lot shot. I could not get a good read on his ethnicity, but “Middle Eastern” would seem to cover it. (Many competing ideas & acronyms exist for naming that region of the world; SWANA appears to have gained some traction but I never hear it in casual conversation, even in the PC crowd I run with.)

I wondered why he turned the camera vertical. Because I asked for a photo of myself & I’m vertical? I’d sort of hoped for a wide horizontal shot that would include part of the housing complex, but that wasn’t the moment to change my rule about letting photographers compose their own shots.

After that, I wandered further, eyes peeled for the Chinese restaurant that I knew must be nearby. I found it.

Eggs

I found today’s photographer leaning against his bike right next to the photogenic eggs. Since it’s egg season & all, I thought it appropriate to ask him for a picture with eggs.

It took me a long time to get clued into egg season, so if you’re thinking “what? egg season?” let me share the knowledge: chickens slow down their laying significantly in the winter, sometimes stopping altogether. They start laying again in the spring, hence Easter eggs—so pagan! Just in time for matzo brei, too, of course.

I leave it to you to ponder what gnarly things are done in the name of keeping eggs in the supermarket all year round, with no winter dip in supply.

Speaking of spring, I’m still wearing my winter coat in this picture, but I had to take it off soon after—I could feel the temperature rising, degree by degree, as I stood picking out asparagus tips.

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.

More heat, please

The weather turned so hot so fast, it’s enough to give you whiplash. I am not complaining. Far from it! But if I look like I can’t really believe I’m wearing a skirt & sandals, well, I can’t.

Bancroft Library

This has nothing to do with today’s shoot, but I happen to have a book in this library. I spent most of 1995 writing, designing, mocking up, laying out, printing, & editioning that little bitty book-in-a-box. Not a bad way to spend a year, actually, although at the time I suffered over it. Silly youth.

Alta Bates

As a result of joining the credit union, my most convenient ATM is now inside the hospital. Today I saw that they have this construction going on, & thought it a suitable background—a change of pace, anyway. Even better, there was my photographer sitting directly across, obviously a bit bored, waiting for something.

To go with the space, I consciously chose a sort of flat, static posture. I haven’t really given any thought to how I posed for any previous pictures (except for the Tartine one!), & I’ll probably default back to that, but today for some reason it seemed right.

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!

Kaiser

Just so you know it’s not all ice cream & beaches around here… sometimes I have to sit in the Kaiser waiting room, too.

This was definitely the weirdest place yet to solicit a photograph; I had to say, “Excuse me, I know it’s a little weird, but, would you mind taking a picture of me?”

She did not ask me why or what for.

I picked her because everybody else was doing something, & she was just sitting there, waiting patiently.

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!

Could be spring for all I can tell

Yeah, seasonal. Definitely. We’ve been having this wonderful false spring for the past week or so, which finally induced (seduced?) me to shed the wool layers & tote the new camera along to the farmers market.

Today’s photographer was a young mom, who had paused to watch the old-timey string band with her kids, one in a stroller & the other, about 3, holding her hand. I love it that little kids love old-time string bands!

I’m noting her as Latina but in this case more than others, that is really a wild guess. She could just as easily have Middle Eastern ancestry. Or both. Or something else.

Anyway, nice to be back in the saddle again with this project. Hopefully the weather will hold for a bit.

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….