LAST 10 MINUTES print heading

LAST 10 MINUTES

My first show in Boulder

show jpeg

 
When I first arrived in Boulder last summer, I was determined to find the community that had eluded me in my adult life. I met with anyone who would see me, then asked to meet their friends. Christian Macy gave me a big hug. Scrib gave me a seat at the table. Erica O’ Grady gave me an even bigger hug (sorry Christian). Caffeinated Mornings invited me to share my work. Boulder Digital Works made me an artist in residence. Sina Simantob took me into the inner sanctum of the City Club and showed me a gallery I could inhabit. Eight months later, here we are.

I have taken pictures almost every day since the age of 7. Photography has taken me all over the world, and opened many doors. It has supported me, frustrated me, astonished me, all the while becoming a part of how I interact with everything.

My photographs are stories before they are photographs. They are exchanges with the subjects, exchanges about the feelings within us and between us. A zillion photographs are taken everyday, yet we are all still trying to capture what we are feeling. I have the same itch to get at that feeling that I had as a child.

This work was all born from the same heart in very different circumstances.

There is Sophia Loren who did her own hair and makeup and strapped on a leaf blower in Beverly Hills.

There is Ewan MacGregor on the set of Big Fish posing for an article on smoking for Maxim magazine.

There is the only posed picture of Steve Jobs and Bill Gates together. They were whispering the most competitive craziness to each other while smiling at me. The photo was featured on the cover of Fortune magazine and has since become an iconic moment.

There is Diane Sawyer who was not that comfortable taking pictures until I played a bootleg recording of Bruce Springsteen singing, “I would drive all night just to buy you some shoes” from a show we had seen the night before at Madison Square Garden.

There is my son Jackson indulging his father while a shark slithered by, and my son Asher owning the porch in Maplewood for that precious moment before it passed hands.

There is our cover boy, Claudio Carneiro, a performance artist via Cirque de Soleil now star of Brazilian SNL.

Then there is Glenn Beck shooting himself in the foot. Somehow I find myself Glenn Beck’s “communist” friend. It is a relationship based on the trust and friendship of two people who could not be further apart politically. Glenn had just called Obama a racist on the air, and I phoned him up and told him that what he said was insane, and he had just shot himself in the foot. Weeks later I took Glenn out in the desert and created that moment.

My photographs are based upon finding the place we are all connected. The camera is my rabbit in the hat. Even more now than ever. Ideas I never would have found without my camera. Here on the wall to share with you.

04.11.13 Posted in Personal Work, Photos, Something I Took

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A New Year

It is killing me not wanting to post kid shots here. I created a blog for all the personal images of my little kids that I have not attended to.  Alas, I have to resort to adults acting as kids, like my friend here, Claudio Carneiro – star of Cirque de Soleil and Saturday Night Live in Brazil.

This New Year has launched full of steam and momentum. Lots of new work. Lots of ideas wanting to be cracked open. A crazy amount of laughing until it hurts. After catching his breath in the car tonight from laughter, Jackson (my 5 year old) said, “Daddy, talk about anything!” “Like what, Jackson?” “Oh, you can just talk about photography. I can’t stop laughing.”

01.04.13 Posted in Everything Is Connected, Personal Work, Photos, Something I Heard

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Out of control

My friend Jon Fisher sent this picture of the house in Maplewood earlier today.    Although there are pieces of us still there, they are mostly memories, not our physical lives.   The house survived the winds – less can be said about the tree across the road and the power line which lies dangerously crippled from the fierce wind howling.

I am in Boulder.   It is strange watching reports of life’s most intense chapters from afar.   Watching the buildup on a computer screen and reading friend’s posts online.  Watching the control you think you have over your security becoming swirling colors on a map and warnings delivered from strangers.   Watching on a beautiful day the prognosis becoming so bleak.   Watching homes saddle up to become bunkers.  Seeing the work that takes us away from our families everyday with such urgency suddenly close up shop, bringing my neighbors and friends together with the wind and the silence.

We take turns sending notes of comfort from afar.   This time I was not there.  Only watching people on an embarrassingly bad weather.com set warning about impending doom, then trying to prove how right they were ( and they were too right this time).  Listening to reports on the radio and trying to imagine what couldn’t be described.  Studying pictures that didn’t begin to tell me what I was desperate for.  Yet it was all so upsetting.   Through the night I listened to the wind from the Jersey shore whip in my ears from the radio streaming on my phone.  In the morning I rushed to see the pictures and imagine everything.

We are living days that are extraordinary -  yet they remind me of how much they are like every other day.  Where there are millions of stories of us living lives that are precious and remarkable and inspired.   Lives that that tell our collective story in minutes to a friend sitting next to us on the train, to the person we get coffee from everyday, to our children.   My work is about trying to show what makes us all so special. Watching how people have coped through this crisis, even from afar  – gives me so much hope.

My heart breaks for all the destruction and pain – yet, especially in New York, I see all the love that seeps out of the cities wounds, in the quiet with no power and a crippled infrastructure, allowing us, even for a moment to appreciate how much we have.

Months of obsession with the campaign was killing me.   It was soulless and mean.   Then it all got pushed aside by the wrath of nature and power of human resilience.

My son Jackson was 5 yesterday.  As we were driving up the mountain to celebrate at lunch, he called his friend Theo in Maplewood.  There was no answer.  He left a voicemail.

“Theo, I hope you are okay in the storm.  I hope it will be over soon and nothing got broken.  Love,  Jackson.”

10.30.12 Posted in Everything Is Connected, Personal Work, Something I Heard, Something I Saw

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Beauty

I am driving into Boulder at rush hour. No. I am not driving. I am in the passenger seat with my camera out the window trying to take this all in.

For a visual person, I have spent alot of my life feeling rather than seeing. I have had an aversion to studying surfaces. Could not really take in big vistas – or even the idea of infinity. Believed that beauty was from within so much that I hired the best hair/makeup and wardrobe stylists I could afford, just to free myself to go deeper.

Now. Suddenly. I am feeling so overwhelmed by the beauty all around me. It is incredible to live in a place that you really cannot keep your eyes on the road. Where the mountains are always putting on a show if you just look up. Where the light bounces up off balloons launching in the distance, filters across the flatlands through the trees before going up over the hills, and then just dabs the puffiest clouds I have ever seen with the softest stroke. This is an everyday show.

Just yesterday we took a hike in the snow up the mountain at Brainard Lake, had a Nepalese feast in Nederland finished off (as all meals should be) with a ride on a hand carved carousel, then played football at home where it was in the 70’s.

Now I never want to close my eyes.

(The shot above is from the drive into Boulder at rush hour. The shot below of Annie Strongwater in the pumpkin patch in the rain.)


10.15.12 Posted in Everything Is Connected, Personal Work, Photos, Something I Saw

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Becoming an Artist

When I was growing up in Pittsburgh, it never occurred to me to me that I would ever create something that would hang in the Carnegie Museum.   I understood art, I just didn’t understand being an artist.  Didn’t understand it at RISD.  In many ways, still don’t understand it.

Today I got a note from Ellen Fleurov of the Silver Eye Gallery that the Carnegie Museum of Art has acquired a print of mine for their permanent collection.   That must mean I have become an artist.  It makes me very  happy.

I do not try to be an artist.

I try – always – to do work that is me.

Now I have to become a better artist.

or…as Bob Dylan says,

“An artist has got to be careful never really to arrive at a place where he thinks he’s at somewhere. You always have to realize that you’re constantly in a state of becoming. As long as you can stay in that realm, you’ll sort of be alright.”



05.14.12 Posted in Personal Work, Something I Heard, Something I Took

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