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.

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….

Screen ouchy

I probably shoulda warned you that I was going on vacation. Well, I’m back & sad to say my camera suffered some damage along the way. The little display screen now has a fuzzy stripe of dead pixels, broadening in one spot to a lollipop-like blob of gray. Doesn’t affect the actual pictures but I’m worrying that it’ll probably add a pesky, unnecessary round of dialog as I explain to photographers that they don’t have to worry about it.

Well, we’ll see how it goes, whenever the rain lets up.

Fast times at SFMOMA

I was dropping off my wares for Shadowshop & thought the museum might be a nice change of pace from all those food & transit photos. Plus, perhaps a tad more touristed & therefore less weird of a place to request a photo.

My photographer was leaning up against the corner of the building, doing nothing. He looked like he had all the time in the world. Don’t know why I provided him with a bit more direction than usual: “Would you mind taking a picture of me in front of the museum?”

He responded very quickly & efficiently, taking the camera as he uttered a small syllable that communicated both his assent & the fact that English was not his first language. We stepped backwards away from each other, I toward the windows, he out to the middle of the sidewalk. He snapped the picture & then handed the camera back to me, I thanked him, looked at the picture, showed it to him, he nodded & I thanked him again & was on my way, wondering how much, if any, English he actually spoke.

The whole thing took maybe half a minute.

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.