Rainy morning BART ride

After that first glance she seemed to decide that she wasn’t what I was shooting, or if I was, it didn’t matter. She rubbed her nose, settled down, & paid not another jot of attention to me—or to bumps of the train—as I watched her apply makeup with a practiced hand. She drew on lipliner, filled in her lips with one color & then another, & then casually brushed on mascara, all as steadily & precisely as if she could just as well do it on a rollercoaster or a runaway horse.

I wish you could see her perfectly pedicured feet. She wore a very snappy pair of new-looking orange sandals that matched her headband. Meanwhile, I was bundled up in waterproof hiking boots, ski parka, wool hat, scarf & wristwarmers.

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.

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.

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.

Cole Coffee & a video(!)

You can watch this without the sound, if you prefer (I do, slightly):

Well. Something different was bound to happen eventually. You could accuse me of having a short attention span, or lacking focus, or something harsh like that, but I prefer to think of it as having an open mind, paying attention to how things change, looking for openings & possibilities, & learning—always learning.

It was good for a while to not work on this project when it was rainy & gloomy out, fine to notice when I just didn’t feel like asking strangers to take my picture. But today I stuck my camera in a waterproof purse, opened my umbrella, & walked through the rain for a lunch date with a friend, who never showed up because she thought we were meeting at her studio, & I thought we were meeting at the cafe.

By the time I finished my sandwich, I knew we’d miscommunicated somehow & she wasn’t coming. I settled in to being alone with my tea, & thought about asking someone to take my picture, but it was really all wrong for that. Cafes are particular; people in them often wrap themselves in a little cocoon of daydreaming privacy that I tend to respect, having done much of the same myself.

I thought about how this project in one sense is a study of my time alone in public—a very specific slice of my life—& how cafe space is so much about that. Why not enlarge the parameters, just a little, to include how I see the world when out alone, what it looks & feels like to me when I’m not talking to strangers? Instead of having a project on/off switch for sunny extrovert vs. rainy introvert, how about a dimmer that allows for something in between?

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!

Bus stop, with pigeons

On my way in to the post office, I passed by today’s photographer waiting at the bus stop with a child—perhaps his granddaughter?

I thought, if they’re still out there when I come back out, I’ll ask him to take my picture. Even though I took the time to sort through my mail & read some of it, sure enough they were still there.

As I approached, I saw they were watching some pigeons who had made a home in the facade of the fortune teller’s storefront. I walk by there all the time, but I’d never noticed this big hole with the birds milling in & out.

“Oh wow,” I said, “those birds are living in there!”

He replied; his unexpected accent (African? Caribbean?) threw me off for a moment & I had to ask him to repeat himself.

“And having babies in there too,” he said again.

“Oh dear,” I laughed, paused as we all watched the birds for another moment, & then asked him to take the picture.

He asked how the camera worked, & I explained.

“I don’t know you,” observed the girl, who was sporting a bright magenta velour tracksuit & neat fro.

“No, we don’t know each other,” I agreed, & then I’m not sure what else I was going to say, but then the man asked for confirmation that he had understood my instructions.

He took the picture. I asked, “Did you get it?”

“I don’t know, you look.”

“Yep, there it is, see?”

“I don’t have a camera,” he said.

“Well, you did a good job.”

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.