Why I read the guardian

In the letters to the editor:
“The US is outraged by the slowness of the response of the government of Burma” (Report, 9 May)? Not like New Orleans then?”
David Young - London

Living up to what I was thinking when I was talking with Uncle Lloyd, I gave up my morning ritual of the New York Times and Michael Enright to hop on the M-3 bus to do a family heritage wander.

I reckoned that I shouldn’t consign certain areas of balamer as no go zones especially as there are people who live in them and most of them as honest as the “safer” areas.

Because this was a proper wander ™, Joãozão came along with a leiquinha for colour.

Proud of myself as I checked the bus schedule on line and arrived at the stop as the bus was pulling up. Again magnanimous to a fault the MTA allowed me to travel for free.

The closer I got to North Avenue and Pennsylvania, the more jittery I became – I didn’t give up my coffee – but that didn’t stop me from thinking of expanding the walk down from Mondawmin to bring in the entire Baker Carsley Clarke Davis compound off at Gwynns Falls over to Bryant Avenue down Reisterstown Road to Fulton Avenue then finally to the original starting point.

Thought better of it as I do get carried away and I had to be back before Sunday Morning was over on the television.

Fears assuaged when getting down at North Avenue a person selling the Sunpapers said hello and began to chat almost losing a sale in Pennsylvania Avenue. Crossed and walked.

In Mount Street, was what I would see most of the walk, a nice block that would be in hundreds of thousands if it were in South Balamer, Fells Point or Canton but here one was sold for $5000. Turning the corner I ran into a house that should have been boarded up on a block that after the alley was trying its best to be clean and tidy.

Didn’t know how people would take to me making snaps of Nana’s house which proved that the street was a neighbourhood as there was a chair beside the steps. Cannot remember if I used a leiquinha or Joãozão, think it was the latter as I had two images left and didn’t want to waste have to call attention to myself changing them on the block.

Walked up Westwood past Uncle Lloyd Clark(e)’s place. Changed the film at an alley entrance trying not to succumb to the urge to veer. The area is great as while there are streets at right angles they are cockeyed with the Charm City grid there were all these areas of great potential.

But I was on a wander, I wasn’t trying to prove that I could meander about the area, I was to prove that I could walk between my grandparents’ homes. I needed that focus to keep up with he bravery for the horror stories I have heard about Sandtown and Upton, weren’t completely disavowed.

It was hard not to walk down the alleys here as much as in East Balamer property lines barely contain what is in the backs of houses and here with odd rear configurations were a blend of things and the formal.

Turning down Cumberland, those people who were out on their stoops would stop and watch me down the street again with mutual suspicion.

Became more angry east of Pennsylvania where again here were these neighbourhoods where if they were anyplace else would be worth ten times what they are. The same marble steps, the same bay windows, the same people trying their best to have the names of their neighbourhoods mean something.

I also noticed the amount of churches in the area. It seems that the poorer the neighbourhood the more plentiful the churches. Wondered also about faith and what it was to come of it when all one had to do was look about them.

Surprisingly there weren’t the amount of taverns that I was expecting. There were more – taverns not pubs – in the successfully rehabbed parts of town. There were more package goods shops though.

Here however there were a higher percentage of boarded houses – some scattered among the inhabited ones some an entire block across the street. People here along Division would greet me and seemed less nervous toward strangers.

My time in more civil and less suspicious places had my guard down. In Islamic Way there was an rc-d sanctioned snap that had to be made – three folding chairs at the edge of the square. The last snaps on the roll I headed for the doorway of a masjid. A lad watching me as I approached I asked if I could stand in the entryway while I changed film – it was mauzy and it had started to drizzle.

He smiled then said - I’ll ask my sister.

I then remember that here you don’t speak to children, it is seen as a threat by their parents. He sister came out not much older and I repeated what I had said to the lad. She had thought that I wanted to take their snap. Said no simply change film. He said he saw me take pictures of the chairs. Mentioned that my family had lived around the corner upon which he told me where he lived. Looked about for parents for i now was fully aware of what is fed to people about strangers. Loaded my camera and head on my way.

I walked the 1500 block of Doodle Hill slowly I knew the where the Davises were but only remembered that the Clark(e)s lived a couple of house north. I could tell that I was nervous –not sure why – as I over documented the block, down the marble steps the entry ways, up the marble steps. Someone passed, slowed a bit, lived at the end of the block, looked back, mentioned that my family used to live here. She could care less as she was yelling to someone on he third floor.

Now that I did the walk it seemed no big deal and had no clue what to do next. Turned down Moser Street, thinking of heading over to where my father used to work but again I was diverting off course and if I went that far… decided that I would walk up Pennsylvania Avenue to North – and continue on to Mondawmin no! no! focus! - and catch the bus back.

It seems that I was correct to come early, it was now 10 and Pennsylvania Avenue was getting more crowded, a lot of people with drinks in paper bags. Didn’t feel threatened but again this would be what the news would show as a neighbourhood in decline.

The sad thing was this was the perfect place for me to photograph, there were a lot of shops locally owned shops, meaning a diversity in the window displays. While people were happy at Target was going into Mondawmin, I was glad that there was no McDonalds on the Avenue.


Was brought back to reality passing a vest pocket park dedicated to people who had died due to drugs. A wake up call in theory that became real when attached to the bench in a slo below the seat was a book of writings from people who had come to commemorate or confess. Read a few then felt like I was intruding – but not to the extent that I didn’t make a snap.

Discretely headed down Broom Street for a block until some who was ranting to himself passed.

Ended up closing the circle at North and Pennslvania after photographing a small church, taking another free bus ride courtesy of the MTA.

ding dong drink

It was Friday and around 5:30. At my estimation I had a 45 minute window. Hopped in the machine and down the Beltway – passing someone from Nova Scotia toward I-97, Ram’s Head bound.

Naplis.

I had missed Bill’s birthday and Sharon’s open studio but with any luck they would be there. Like the Duke, however, The Ram’s Head is the meeting place before it is decided what will happen later on.

The opposite of what I usually do but with the same mindset, I make the drive not knowing exactly what to expect. There had been times when no one I knew was there – summer everyone was trying to get down the Ocean. It was getting to be that time of year and I didn’t feel any better seeing the tailback for the Bay Bridge making it back to Annapolis.

Saw John and Melissa outside the bar making a phone call – I think it was the shock of her having a mobile phone. I was heading in the wrong direction and was almost at the end of West Street before I could stop turn around a park.

I now thought that they were heading into the concert at the Ram’s Head. Walked in to a bar that was surprisingly empty. No one was in their usual corner. Looked about saw no-one and was about to leave when Melissa was by the entrance.

Seeing me – well when the shock or horror subsided – she rang Bill on that phone again – a pink one – it seems that he has been a recluse since his birthday and Sharon was recovering from the open studio. But there were new people – and a new beer – Smithwicks – but am a locavore had a pint of Copperhead.

Smithwicks is everywhere now – saw an advert for it at Camden Yards.

Again talk was made without discussing work. There was the usual cross section of ages well minus Bill. People were more than their jobs. Drinks were had and everyone went on to their week-ends.

Calming down I had rationalised how I was going to photograph the memorial at Park Heights and Woodland. Hop on the M-3 get down as close to the stop as possible make sure that I wouldn’t have to change film and walk until the first bus in any direction came. How bad could it be. I was not more than five blocks from where the Preakness would be run on Saturday.

The main reason for the outing though was to see my uncle.

30 minutes waiting for the bus and of course when it came it was the time when school was out so the bus was packed. Kept looking out the window looking for signs. Again it was sad as I used to bike up here to go to Luskin’s to drool over cameras. The area was populated which I saw as a good sign.

Got down at the corner that I wanted but so did another person, worse the light for the bus was red. I didn’t want to call attention to myself – yeah right when the area was pretty deserted – except for the bemused people on the east side of Park Heights wondering why this person was standing in the middle of the road – made two snaps and started walking.

Humanity steps in as buddy passing greets me, I return the greeting then after a couple of steps I return and ask about the memorial.

- Someone was killed.
His voice sounding as if it happens all the time.

As we talk I see the M-3 coming in the direction I want to go and I hop on.

Again I am puzzled about Charm City. Leaving Mondawmin I see that a Target is being built. I realise that there is a small of oasis of safety here but I cannot imagine that there are enough people around here that would risk Mondawmin to shop at Target. Due to the bus terminal there are always quite a few people but the area was teetering no one sure what way it would go. Maybe this is Balamer’s attempt to gentrify and area away from the Harbour.

Rang the bell, no ding dong ditch this time. The old rules applied people were at home unless they weren’t. i remember talking to an MFA candidate from Britain back in the 90’s saying how strange the world was now. He brought it to my attention that when he (and I) were in Britain one would call around to people’s homes. He noticed a change when he was in the States, that one had to ring first. The line usually when “stop by but call first”. Now it seems that one has to make an appointment to stop by. I realise it even more when on the rock when one simply walks in and one puts the kettle on.

Find it strange when I visit my uncle, as he seems non-plussed with my wanderings. This is a man who has lived in Paris, Accra, Monrovia, Bosnia, Havana, El Salvador, Nigeria, Kazakhstan, Haiti, Venezuela that I can remember. I am a piker when it comes to wandering. Always wondered who at the State Department his pissed off as he was always sent to dangerous areas around the world. I guess I can blame my genes for the lust for wanders ™ - although I would never work for the government to feed my habit.

Talked about Baltimore, he always wants to know how I made it to his place – before the move to Pikesville I would walk – felt that I let him down by taking buses. Talked about when the family lived all within a mile of each other. The vacant housing in Upton, the three houses that separated the Clark(e)s and the Davises in Druid Hill Avenue. Now was thinking about a personal history wander ™ from Mondawmin past Nana’s and on to Grandma’s – here I think I would leave Joãozão and wander with the leiquinhas only. Again, I rationalise, I can follow bus route, make the Upton Metro Station as a safe zone where I can gather my wits and determine whether I should continue.

There was enough time that I could get over my social ineptness, the below the mason-dixon line etiquette of offering a soda was made, I asked about Cuba he asked about my tripinhas. Someone else came to look in on him and I headed out but not before I admonished him for not wearing his guayabera.

Continuing in the great bus journeys of Orioleland I took the M-1 thinking that it would take me to the transfer point with the M-3 – I mistakenly thought that the “M” stood for Metro links - again wondered about the areas I was riding through, wanted to take more buses until I was let out in the middle of nowhere –where of course I found a potential photograph, asked the bus driver he pointed to another bus stop to wait for an M-8 so that I could wait for an M-3.

The itinerary was the M-3 to the M-2 up to Pikesville to the post office, then back on the M-2 to the Metro at Old Court Road down to Rogers to catch the 27 bus to Hampden to go to Service Photo then hop on the Light Rail back up to Mt Washington to catch the M-10 back to Clark’s (sic) Lane. What one can do on a day pass from the MTA.

What one cannot do on the same day pass. I waited 15 minutes for an M-3 so decided to walk up to Reisterstown Road to Catch the M-2. I wasn’t going to wait I would simply walk and hop on if one came. To my surprise one did. It was only a couple of blocks from my first destination but who cares.

Leaving the post office I see this scene fitting a Paris Boulevard outside the pizza takeaway below street level by Cimino’s Barber shop. A few chairs and a table in case one wanted to eat their pizza en plein aire.

Stopped, pulled out Joãozão and while I was making a few snaps, Joe Cimino came out to have a chat – Joãozão is to men what puppies are to women, commented me on the camera asked what I was photographing – mentioned the resemblance to Paris in the seating next door he chuckled, I made two snaps of him and bid farewell.

-If you need a haircut stop back
-If you can find them they’re yours.

Walked up to the bus stop – passing another chair outside a dry cleaners in Reisterstown Road - and seeing a person nearly passing out from waiting in Old Court Road, I walked again jumping on the bus when it/if came.

Friends used to live around here, wondered how much of their property was butchered by all the growth, streets had changed thought I should have a look but I had errands.

Found bamboo growing along the road.

This time I guess wrongly and a bus came when I was only half way along on my walk. Seeing it pass I chalked it up to a bad guess and get walking, made some snaps but not many.

Of course a second bus passed.

One of the many things I like about the Metro is that even though you are in the station there is a good football field’s length between the entrance and the tracks. You’d think that with all this exercise the people would be extremely fit.

Note to self bring a book when waiting for public transport.

10 minute wait for the train and a 30 minute wait for the bus at Rogers Avenue. Even the driver seemed impatient. I wonder how one can tell a vagrant in Baltimore as all one would have to say is that they are awaiting a bus, no cop in the world would stay long enough to see if it were true.

I like balamer buses – however – as they tend to meander with the exception of most of the “M”’s the system route looks like it was designed by flâneurs. The 27 crossed Northern Parkway three times – it doubles back on itself around Pimlico, to go south it heads almost as far north as its starting point. I was on it for the ride and decided not to take anything that hints at being efficient like the light rail or Metro for the rest of the day.

Outside of Joãozão, along for the ride was a leiquinha, don’t know if I brought it so that I wouldn’t expose – hahahahaha – to the less picturesque areas of North-West Balamer or because it was loaded with colour.

I realise no matter how much I try to convince myself that it cannot be all that bad all one has to do is talk to a resident and one yearns for the safety of Baghdad. I feel that I should take Joãozão as I am guessing that no one thinks it expensive – I think that the duct tape leaves some doubt – but it does expose – hahahahahahaha – me as I am blatantly more obvious.

Someone asked in my photographic agony auntie roll what would I do if I were to go to South America and I gave the answer of what I wouldn’t do but what would be safe for the questioner. Take a cheap digital.

I am in a place that makes the South American stereotype look like Mayberry RFD and I don’t follow my advice. I know that I am nervous but I need the snaps so I carefully take the camera and make sure I can take it out and put it back quickly, as I did when in Rio de Janeiro. I know that I am cautious as while I take my cameras I leave my dyddlyfr as I can replace the camera – barely – but not the notes and souvenirs which are piling up as I don’t make as many entries as I used to before he internet.

I also feel that I am falling into stereotyping everyone in the area, am saying that they are not as trustworthy and worthy of my better work because of where they live.

Summer’s coming. The signs were out. People along Falls Road were out on their porches. The tavern doors in Hampden were open to the street. Made a snap of a back garden in 41st and Falls Road awaiting the 22.

The itinerary had changed as I needed to get back and I wasn’t sure when the M-10 would come. I knew that at Park Heights and Druid Park Drive I had the choice of the M-2 and M-3 so I took one of the many bus routes I used to take heading home from Friends.

Thoughts on safety came back not as I was waiting on the bus but heading up Park Heights. It seemed strange that in such a violent neglected area there were so many churches, that people were walking and on the porches of houses that weren’t boarded up people were out just like Hampden. On one block the only functioning house had one old woman sitting out taking in the summer.

At Park Heights and Woodland there was a street light festooned with giant stuffed animals. Needed to make a snap but had to get back. Kept on the bus but strategise how to make the snap and not draw attention to myself. It was only a few blocks from a busy intersection I could simply keep moving.

So I am in the process of loading the machine when I find out that I have to drive it over to this house with a friend of my mum as she is donating it. I race out with this person who thinks that I don’t know balamer. Telling me of short cuts and not mentioning street names – I know that I have lost the accent hon but am balamer born so stop treating me like a spazz.

Have to try out those social skills and make small talk while driving
- At the light turn right
- Clark’s (sic) Lane?
– Take a left at the next corner
– Reisterstown Road?
– Turn left here.
– You mean Liberty Heights Ave?
I mean really…
Where am I from
Well.. duh
Mention living across from Mondawmin
Asks if I know…
Know the neighbourhood has changed.
Then the small talk begins, do I like (C)harm City?
Mixed feelings and give an example of the neighbourhood we are driving through used to have friends there used to walk and bike all over the place, had my hamster’s leg set in Garrison Boulevard.

And it gets worse, mentioned that I cannot walk between my two grandmother’s place Sandtown to Upton. But there are these areas that are ultra gentrified. While saying that we are delayed by an accident in Liberty Heights Avenue just north of Northern Parkway after diverting by heading through a car park and circling a subdivision, we see another accident in Northern Parkway involving a cop.

As I am pointing out places where I used to travel through and mention how deserted they are we turn off and stop in a block that is with the exception of one house completely renovated. Mansion had cheaply for those who would stick it out and are now quite beautiful.

We were heading to Aunt Hattie’s Place a home for “at risk children”. My mum had donated some things and I racing out of the house I forgot a camera.

I was impressed, in a place where people only seem to talk here was an organisation that was actually doing something, in a bipolar town that is known for The Wire and Urban Pioneers around the Harbour. Here was a neighbourhood that was being reclaimed but didn’t mind a home for “at risk kids in it.

I wanted my camera due to how the young are treated, mistrusted on the Metra when the guard was scolding them wrongly and would only stop when I told them that they weren’t at fault. Shops that don’t let more than two students in at a time. The ever more xenophobic greater Milwaukee area that won’t allow unaccompanied minor in their malls after 5PM and how WTMJ there plays up the fear of the young every chance they get. I wish those minors would take their money elsewhere.

Wanted to make photographs as proof – yeah even though I fill students with doubt I do believe that while they may not really prove anything they can question assumptions. I wondered if I could come back and how it would look to come back being there with a camera is different than returning. Didn’t want them to be specimens - well – but to treat them the way I treat anyone I run into. Returning isn’t quite the same. Spoke to one who was moving out to a house for older kids in Randallstown - bummer i said moving so far out. While it was all PC the computer to resident ratio was better than that of the WGAS.

Kicked myself all the way back but it shows how out of sync I am now.

I was to go to Richmond to see virtually clichéd uninformed MFA show by someone so scarred by the WGAS that years were spent in exile before even daring to return to making art.

Unfortunately I know nothing of things fibroid so I took my mum knitting and all and headed down I-95. I foresaw it as some strange hybrid road trip, history trip – as I seem to remember my former step father Dubious Johnson having relatives in Charlottesville and then there is that strange great great grandfather of mine…

I wanted to see the new stadium for the Nats.

Whom am I kidding I wanted to do a ding dong ditch. I wanted to reprise the one that I did in Montpelier making this the third long distance ding dong ditch on the east coast – one needing an asterisk for after driving from charm city to north of Amherst Massachusetts the intended victim had headed to D.C. that same day. I also burned up the brakes past the pads down to the metal - wondered what that strange high pitched grinding sound was when I tried to stop was - on the motor during that trip as I had “borrowed” the machine for a couple of hours.

Don’t know what I was expecting but I never seem to learn from past mistakes. Overpacked photographically. In fact over-packing seems to be the theme for the trip. With little time to think, I brought everything with me just in case which usually means more decisions when there should be less.

In this case – following the Montpelier model - thought that I needed a digital to document the act. Joãozão for snaps of wander ™ and to get snaps of my mum, the leiquinhas. Still don’t know why I compartmentalise duties to specific cameras as I fully well know that it is not needed. I work better when there are limits – and I keep repeating this as I hope that one day it will sink in.

Road trips seem to be in the blood. This one, however, I think that my mum wanted to tag along not only for the open road but also because in an attempt to fathom why someone would do this.

- You mean you aren’t going to actually see her?
- What would the point of that be? Then I would just have to be social.

Knitting in hand we headed out at 9AM sharp because I said 9AM, even though we were ready a half hour earlier. I would drive she would lengthen by four feet the scarf she had made for me. Little did we know that we would see an even longer scarf in the exhibition laid out on a table.

Even though I dreaded the Baltimore -Washington corridor – beltway to beltway, things went well – except that I missed the turn 395 turn off that was to be a short cut through DC and my view of ball park of the former Expos. This meant a ride around the Capital Beltway and no relief from bypassing what could be interesting.

Being rusty I didn’t have the point and shoot out so that I could make snaps along the way but don’t know how it would be taken by the passenger to see me constantly whip it out at 70+mph which seemed the standard speed along I-95.

I could catch it on the way back which would be more leisurely was thinking US 1 for the return trip so that Joãozão wouldn’t be bored.

Dreaded the Baltimore Washington corridor – beltway to beltway but zipped through.

Liked Richmond – it seemed that Cary Street was a main shopping area but all local – people were out and about a cross between old State Street in Madison and Burlington’s downtown.

Turned off for the ding dong ditch but forgot to coach the passenger, as I stopped she started to unbuckle her seat belt and as I left the machine she almost turned off the engine and was getting out.

Frazzled I had to tell her the rules – motor on, stay in the machine, I am to walk up calmly – running draws attention and besides people are hardly ever in the front of their places. I shall place something by the door, if there isn’t a mail slot, take a snap and come back to drive off.

The coaching unnerved me, I went nervousy to the entryway and while I found the mail box, I couldn’t frame the camera correctly – I don’t know why I was worrying so much the front room looked abandoned – made three quick snaps another from the machine as we drove off.

Again the future Starbucks baristas of VCU had a better lot than those of the WGAS, a room a piece, it didn’t seem like some cynical attempt at a some mass produced art fair with pretension. It also seemed – whether by trust or apathy – that the students had to take responsibility for their space without the fear from the faculty that the entire show may not be a spectacle.

Pity the work didn’t live up to that. But again I am being unfair the ratio of good work was about the same as the WGAS. There it seems more impressive by the mass of people showing.

The fibre expert who came along for the ride couldn't shed much light on the fibre piece - looks more like a rug.

Didn’t wander much, didn’t wander at all, as I doubt that the good people of Richmond would think highly of someone forcing a cane octogenarian about the city on foot. Pity looked like a great city for a walk. Nice tree-lined areas. Property abutting other. Plenty of semi-detached housing signs of forced sociability. The houses along Main Street reminded me of Baltimore which had me thinking about a mid Atlantic housing style.

Reviewing the digital snaps at Weezie’s, I wasn’t satisfied I had to make another run at the house if I were to have anything that I could use for the notification. This time calmer went back did the deed and headed back out of town.

I couldn’t calm down which usually takes place on the walks – so sped back up the interstate this time taking I-395 only to find that it doesn’t go through. Not only did I not see the new ball park but we were stuck in traffic along New York Avenue for a good hour.

It is only 10 clicks or so from Pikesville to Utrecht. It was only 3PM and it being Sunday even with the MTA I should be able to make it by closing at 5PM. I even hedged my bet by standing on a corner where I could catch either the northbound or southbound M-3 - it seems that it really doesn’t matter which way I go.

I had made a make shift work area – the balcony to cut on using scrap cardboard I found – a box cutter with a reasonable blade and quite a few straightedges. I was caffeine free and was whispering the mantra measure twice cut once. I was going to use my puny screwdriver as an awl.

Twenty minutes later, when I was ready to head back to the condo and try another day, a bus came from both directions. Picked the correct one as more often than not the cash box was broken meaning a free ride. The MTA is the closest to riding public transport in a country struggling to be third world – cash boxes on buses rarely work, the seats on the metro remind one of bed in hotels that charge by the hour, the brutalist stations beg tagging. The meanest trick is the GPS system that announces the wrong stations – it can be one station in advance, the same station all the time, or at random, I think it is Baltimore’s sick joke on the blind and deaf.

Waited another 20 minutes for the train, for a 10 minute trip.

But I was calm, went in bought what I needed thinking that I would get the discount that I do in Chicago – 300gsm blotter paper, book thread, PVA glue, bookbinding needles – want to see this get through security, passed on the awl – I am not made of money.

Heading down into the station, I heard the train coming, raced down, swiped the card like a pro, then down the two floors – for some reason Balamer has this useless empty level between the pay booth and the trains, a gigantic ante room when the rest of the place is empty to begin with – down the steps stick my hand in the door and I am in.

In most places this isn’t a problem but I am sure with other transit systems trains run on a regular schedule but here one isn’t sure, given the choice of waiting or getting on chose the latter.

Proud of myself, I was two – maybe it was three, I was listening to the GPS announcements – that I noticed the skin peeled back on the back of one my fingers. Luckily it wouldn’t be noticed on the seats of the train. You cannot eat but you can bleed on the MTA.

Lucky again. The M-3 was waiting allowing me to wait on the bus for 20 minutes for the five minute ride back.

Still calm, still professional, set up the bookbinding area. Made sure all the pages were cut to size. Made the front and back cover, printed out the portfolio cover – twice minor editing changes – printed out the title page and colophon for the book, edited the portfolio, then clamped the book, measured the distance twice, made sure that I could see the marks and using my little jeweller’s screwdriver – alternated between Phillips and slotted – started to make the holes eight of them. Harder than I thought but there were only eight so I could finish the drilling before I got a blister. The screwdriver wasn’t deep enough to drill all the way through but again not problem as I could go the rest of the way as it was only the back cover that I had to go through.

It was then that I realised that had edited the book, the order would be wrong. No problem as I could carefully rearrange the order once the holes were drilled.

Finished drilling I took the pages apart and found that half of the pages were upside down. Thought on how I could change the size and re-do the cover when I also realised that a page was missing.

Good thing it is only a hobby.

While I was fretting that digital photography makes one lazy, I hadn’t come to realise that the same thing was occurring with me using Joãozão. When a Tennessean was in town – ex WGAS – I used one of the leiquinhas. When I went to send a snap via e-mail, I was horrified with the amount of dirt and water spots that were on the neg. I noticed the same thing with the snaps I had made when racing to the train. It seems that either water spots don’t happen with 120 or with the larger format they are not noticeable.

It could be due to the fact that with the big lads I use Fuji film while with the leiquinhas – I give them the respect they deserve and buy arista.edu ultra. I rationalise that I like the retro look but it is the price.

Because of this inherent sloppiness, I thought that on my wanders™ about Chicago, I would only use the liequinhas – up until now I simply chose to forget – this time having less time before the annual grad hazing ritual at gallery 2, I took them both. Couldn’t make it a great wander ™ as i had less time, and was sort of at a loss as i have trolled the Randolph Street market area now almost as much as the Loop. Some colour formalism sneaked in.

Went for the old tropes of empty restaurants and the outdoor seating areas that were being set up – everyone was fooled by those 20C days. A zig zag pattern before the morning coffee and scone and the first victim of the day.

Lunch was better as I had to head back up to Randolph Street as a wholesaler up there had a nice vegetarian sandwich roasted vegetables on a baguette, it was warming up, so the plan was to find a bench and eat it before one more passion fruit smoothie.

Ran into the may day parade calling for a recognition of what immigrants – illegal and legal – do for the economy – really cannot see one of Chaney’s kids cleaning toilets in some suburban home. It was massive and once I crossed over to the side where I could get back to Gallery 2. I stopped and watched a bit.

Started photographing people in the parade who were photographing other people in the parade – I know not original but what do you expect from someone who still does Winogrands in the 21st century? I really don’t think anything came out of it except that it took my photography down a peg to where I was back to note-taking in a less contradictory sort of way.

Felt like a migrant after the parade for there is no place in the West Loop where there is a bench much less a park. Grazed back to G2.

Maybe not… well maybe

I had all these little things that I wanted to do before heading to Charm City – make two books, send out postcards using the remaining 41¢ stamps, fill up the new computer with work.

I forgot that getting a new computer – even a Mac – is never as easy as they say. Spent the evening loading applications, configuring the web browsers, and trying to get my name that was misspelled off the computer. Heading to sleep mumbled an ‘oh well’ as I saw that none of the important stuff would be accomplished.

However, after my two mugs of coffee, I was ready to go at 6AM. Listening to the end of Angela Antle’s show and awaiting The House, I realized that it wouldn’t be hard to print out 17 images, before I had to leave. In fact this was a safety precaution as I already had printed them if I wanted to make a box instead of a box.

Reckoned that if I printed them all I could, cut some book board, take some book cloth and put it together one evening while I was there. I could make use of some art supply shop in Balamer for the cover. I don’t want to risk explaining needles and and an awl at airport security.

At the risk of living up to my unfounded ‘hyper’ status, the images were printed, the board was cut and had the 11 postcards ready to be sent- the coffee had kicked in and I was shaking up a storm - when Carol asks what I am doing. It seems that I mis-calculated, I thought that I had an hour left when I should be leaving in 15 minutes.

I begrudgingly left the postcards as I couldn’t find the addresses needed.

Metra on the week-ends is horrible. Climbing aboard at the second station the train was already nearly full with families of screaming children, tried to read, but it was more fun watching people perplexed at boarding a train and having to stand for the 90 minute ride into Chicago. It seems that no-one reads, I would even take listening to their i-pods, but instead sit across from each other and scream.

The train was late getting into Chicago and while I had over two hours to make it to Midway, the effects of the coffee had turned from elation to panic.

Actually it was in the process of turning. Realised that I hadn’t cut the back up images to size arriving at 10:30 I could head over to the school, use the cutters and as long as I got on the Orange Line by 11:30 I should be ok.

The train arrived at 10:45. No problem if I make it to the school by 11, I can trim the images, head down to Utrecht and buy some cover paper, get two egg and cheese bagels from Sonny’s and be on still make the el by 11:30.

10:55
There is construction on the el along Wabash, all the stations are closed.
11:00
Monroe Street is closed for the new bridge from the park to the brand new ‘tute. Jackson Boulevard is closed as they are fixing the bridge over the railway.

I get to the school at 11:05 – no problem as long as I make the train at 11:30. Go up try to cut the paper but by now the coffee has effected my already deficient math skills. Cut one image and decide to give it up before I make a cut I would regret. Buy the paper, fold it hoping that it won’t show on the cover and race out – crossing the park and heading down Van Buren.

Of course it was all worry for nothing as I was at Midway by noon for a 13:20 flight. In fact I could have made the 12:30 flight.

I find that I am an expert traveller which whisked me through security – well except for the bomb swipe test on the film shield bags. Decided that I’d rather starve than eat what was offered. Midway is about as vegetarian friendly as a jigs dinner.

Crit week allowed for a new normal in which the wanders © of Bridgeport and Little Village provided the model. Instead of heading east with the flow of commuters went upstream to head west. Exiting the back entrance the relative quiet allowed for a common symphony as passing the platforms the voiced announcements would state both in unison and then in dissonance their numbers

Track number 6
Track number 6 7
Track number 7
Track number 7 8
Track number 8


It was Pilsen via the Pink Line to-day – a walk along 18th street to Halsted then back up to look at work tangentially related to the world outside the walls. My travelling companion Joãozão.

Colder than the other outings, my hands were becoming numb, wasn’t all that keen on taking them out of my pockets to make snaps, the area obliged by not requiring me to do so.

I was expecting a street of shops that were as distinct as those along 26th Street, what I wasn’t expecting was the amount of vacant storefronts. I thought that Pilsen would active as I did see mixed in with the latinos the new urban pioneers but it barely held my interest some diversions especially when I crossed areas that I saw on the Blue Island 26th Street bus. Tried to remember what I actually saw. Hung around the six corners a bit hoping to make something of the street furniture. It was the most heavily populated area with people sitting about, some waiting for the bus Really couldn’t do much with either the formalism or objects left as neither caught my interest. A couple of nice cafés but I was out to wander ©.

This coloured my thinking when I made it to Halsted, thinking the street would be more or less the same – especially when I went under the railway tracks and entered the dystopia land of University Village, I headed back staying south of the tracks until I ran into a mural the Virgen de Guadalupe consorting with some footballers. Actually this street held out more promise but it was time to head back for the main event of the day. Making grad students cry.

When I think that Chicago has got over its fear of others I run I always find that it is not the case. From the south , the Burlington Northern Santa Fé tracks acted as a moat over which one could see the towers condos of the University Village urbanistas. The infiltration of people not like them was discouraged not only by only being able to enter at the underpasses, some of them were blocked off.

This area – the old Maxwell Street Market used to be so cool, there was an individuality to Halsted Street, The Hill Streeet Blues Police Station used to stand above the vacant lots, now there pitches for UIC., Starbucks, and dry cleaners. Tastefully placed among the endless condos.

Downed my sorrows with a passion fruit smoothie.

One counts one’s lucky stars when one ventures away from the WGAS and see how those less fortunate have to contend with the art world.

A field trip to Milwaukee to see an Eastern European photography exhibit and the MFA show of a former inmate from the WGAS now at UWM.

It was a graduating class of eight I believe. I couldn’t count them them all for instead of getting the usual 20 feet of running space “curated” by a faculty member and that 4H club feel, the recovering WGAS BFA had half the gallery.

What is she to think when she enters the real world and expects galleries to look like this. Why would the good misguided folk at UWM get her hopes up into thinking that art can stand without a rave or a carnival atmosphere. Their students will come to expect to be able to control lighting, a space that doesn’t look like a maze and not completing with an adjoining work that comprises pink, neon and constant white noise, or worse an interior architecture display.

It is nice that schools like ours along with other more enlightened centres of learning like say the Visually Challenged University show their truth faith in art by mimicking the artfairs that with summer almost here are just around the corner. The only blessing is the lower tuition which seems only fair considering…

21st century ying yang

just as - for no reason that i can account for - i have had a great couple of days making platinotypes, my laptop self-destructs.

it was polite though, notifying me of what was to come.