the last day of winter

before the spring storm that dumps another 40cm snow. we are now only 25cm from the record snowfall totals

the michael crummey "wreckage" tour of chicago

The gun shop out of the way it was time to sight see and being in Oak Park we started tripping over his houses. Needing a smoke we stop in front of his studio and compare notes with what happened. She also was fine with the guns in the case but when they started coming out, she felt nervous.

I was looking up the street at a parade of Asian tourists walking in the middle of the street. I photographed the parade when one of them spoke. We know the rest… raced over to her made the snap with her friends giggling and finding out her nationality thanked her in Japanese to the shock of the rest of the crowd.

Hungry, i chose a national chain of cafés for a snack when the Outer Cove Ontarian noticed the Cosy Corner in downtown Oak Park and wondered if we could get something typically “american” there.

Ah, perfect i would have gone for the nationally bland when she chose a blandness of a more local flavour. Much better as there was still a waitress who could give suggestions - the from away was always asking for them. At Penney’s Noodle Shop in Bucktown, at Wishbone the next day and now. It seemed the big item was any chicken dish.

She had the patty melt, I had and egg mayonnaise on toasted rye with a root beer.

The waitress kept coming back to see if the food was good, a photograph had to be made, the Japanese parade passed us while eating and we waved.

The people behind us were from Dominican and laughing about the photo professor there.

My fear was what to show but ended up making it a Michael Crummey The Wreckage tour as part of the book takes place in Chicago – personally would much rather have done the Fogo Island part of the tour but…

This meant all the shadier parts of the city while heading over to the old stockyards. Stopped at the new Comiskey Park mentioned the foresight of the city leaders in pulling down a landmark to put up the last generic ball park in the States. The subtext of the tour was architecture and dislocations of peoples – all of which Chicago is famous. So past the site of the Maxwell Street Market until the city determined that the south side needed a yuppie ville - we did pass the Maxwell Street Market Theme Park where it is now designated space to be quaint - past the former Robert Taylor homes where there is now a Starbucks, mentioned that the expressways went through the black neighbourhoods. Through the stockyards and the neglected areas that surround Bridgeport. Down to Pullman to see the planned city and where the riots took place. Back up through the East Side and South Chicago passing the vacant land of the steel mills and pulled down houses. Finally passing the “restoration” of Soldier Field into something that Steven Spielberg could use in Close Encounters. Past Presidential Towers which used to be Skid Row and where places were set aside for the poor until people actually moved in

Dark now and knackered, dropped her off at the hotel and crawled out to the Kennedy for the drive back to Peasants Pissoir only to find that due to the warmth of the day she had left her coat in my machine.

THE QUAKER AND THE GUNSMITH

With the help of a Mennonite.

Or why - yet again - I am not an artist.

It was Sunday I was in the city early as I had to find a free space to park and meet up at the steps of the tute by 10. It was a great morning - I over compensated for the drive down so had plenty of time, I also had an empty bag, so I could swarve about the Loop making snaps without the hassle of trying to find the camera in the bag. It was out found quite a few things surreal wandering and made it in time to let her into the Hopper exhibit while I went around back and prepared for classes and sat quietly out in the first hint of spring so far.

The main goal of the day was to head out to Elmwood Park and thank buddy for his help in trying to get the chandelier into the country. Being I we drove the entire length of Grand Avenue rather than take the Eisenhower, as it was a better way of seeing the city. I realised that I was taking the subway for speed but popping one’s head out of the ground every once in a while doesn’t necessarily give one an idea of the city - I started taking bussed and this time took a street the 74 blocks. Stopped a couple of times for those truly lost signs days gone by - a Paul Bunyan type holding a tail pile, a giant crayfish, things that scream the states.

To tell you the truth didn’t know how to act or what to expect walking into the gun dealership - those 15 years at Friends had me wonder if this was the right thing to be doing.

It was this coupled with the bipolar attitude of contemporary society. He knew that we were artists, which stereotypically means the wrong side of the fence - if he were equally stereotypical. I’d seen ARMED IN AMERICA where every gun toter was spouting the second amendment.

I was worried about his feelings of me taking snaps in the place through our perceived mutual misunderstandings.

Ah 15 years at Friends taught me not to judge or at least be willing to modify my judgement when encountering something that doesn’t fit.

It was a mom and pop place his wife was waiting on someone he was in the back room and got up when he heard that weird accent that happens when you cross an Ontarian with someone who lives around the bay.

He came out to say hello exchanged horror stories about the ATF. I photographed both of them together first with Zequinho wanted everything to turn out. Then with the digital so as to send buddy one. Which were sort of unfortunate.

Felt better when I realised that the place looked like a camera shop. I could almost forget the lethal weapons. Guns spook me I don’t care how inert they are. I made small talk but was uneasy being close to them.

I could hear the firing range in the back.

But buddy was great he was as geekish about guns as I am about cameras. Others joined in talking about the representation of guns in movies and on TV. Buddy mentions breathing and I - finally feeling at home bring up breathing to steady a camera. He takes us in the back to show up the firing range. Which is deafening when the door is opened. He is strict no live ammo with the guns.

He gives us the rundown of who is who in the firing range saying how one person is a model new citizen. To me he seems strange as while everyone is dressed casually he is in a Burberry and tie. He also towers over the rest of the crowd.

So far the guns have been revolvers and rifles but for him buddy goes into the safe and brings out an automatic strange looking gun. He pulls the trigger. Beth and I flinch, we want to leave, in cases they are fine out of them…

Buddy keeps asking the owner if parts cane be switched and the owner keeps shaking his head. It won’t be legal. Buddy wants to buy it but wants to fire it first but only after he knows the price. There is a stalemate.

We head back to the front of the shop. Meet his wife. Ask if there is a favourite liquor or beer that he likes. He doesn’t want anything, as he didn’t do anything we thank him and leave.

I was glad that I am not an artist. If I were I would have already known that what this person is doing is bad, that all his type are evil and wouldn’t have to go out in the world to have my most declarations questioned. That I wouldn't bother to try to understand his position or his ideas the way the moose stew slurpers and cod tongue kissers cannot understand my herbivore status.

Buddy was a great guy, we probably would have drinks together or meet in any other circumstance but by both of us being open and willing to help I came away seeing humanity in someone that we rampant liberals are supposed to despise. Beth kept saying that she felt that we all probably weren’t all that far off philosophically as for me I always find it nice when what most people see as black and white end up in shades of grey.

Guns should be tightly registered and regulated as we do cars, dogs and the like. I can also see why my opposites can say that guns don’t kill...as I cannot imagine - well the exception of Burberry Buddy - anyone there going beyond hunting. But this also could be 15 years at Friends.

Why I hate Chicago

Saturday noonish for a brunch at the much vaunted Milk And Honey where the pregnant blonds of Bucktown meet. A mistake. The day became an endless circling of blocks first at the hotel then – after the crawl to Bucktown and going down Division at parade speed – we circle the blocks only to find both cafés with queues out the door.

We head to Wishbone and a 20 minute wait.

An attempt to save the day by speeding by the Michael Jordan statue and posing in front of Oprah Winfrey’s Studio.

Over dinner at Penney’s Noodle shop we discussed the plan of action, I went into my weird version of tour guide where every bock was a new diversion. I could see it happening still in the race to get out of Chicago we took the el to Bucktown. On the way back the bus – you can see more on a bus – and in the end took a nice walk under Michigan Avenue – less tourists – back to Ohio Street.

She wanted to see my Chicago – the closest I want to come to Chicago is Madison – but my Chicago would be seeing if certain sites still existed – the Little People’s Museum in Marquette Park, or wandering about South Chicago and the East Side. Nevertheless we both being artists and me working where I do we thought that we should go out in search of art - no mean feat.

She caught the bug by buying a five day bus pass and wandering about Pilsen.

For me this hasn’t been a great month for art as all my fears about the medium seemed to not only manifest itself but grow. Looking at more portfolios than I care to, while I found great intellectual treatises, many works that referred to other works or the short comings of the medium that was being used. I saw work that took a distanced cynical look of the world as if to get closer or more involved would infect the artist with SARS or some other deadly disease. The fear that comes across in the nightly news was also apparent in the photographs -either by distance or by the fact that the snappers would never leave their studio. As one student put it, it seems that art having nothing to do with craft or an engagement with the world is simply one person saying that they are smarter than another person and is about as universal a way of communicating as Friesian.

It was a good night for it as there were three openings in the three realms of the gallery world. The plan was to go from the established to the “innovative” to her show on the periphery of the gallery universes here.

We were unfashionably early to the show of Ken the elder, he wasn’t there yet but and there were few people mingling. It felt strange to actually see the work. Chatted with the directors and looked at some work that would have potential with my class.

Ken arrived we exchanged jokes – but he had these handlers who seemed intent on protecting him from people in scarves and with odd accents. So we left. Was hoping for a boost in morale by running into former WGAS faculty inmates but to no avail.

Headed over to River West for Buddy’s opening which was just the opposite. It was packed - CTA trains as rush hour are less populated I couldn’t think or hear so a few nods and a departure. The work talking more about other work than anything in the world itself.

Lot’s to talk about heading to her opening which was a blend of the two. Less crowded, worse small talk, finding out that the Upper Canadian hunter had made the chandelier piece – one person said that she knitted cosies for hand grenades.

The best part of the evening was seeing an ex-student who was scoping out the gallery and - NYC style – had small prints of her work.

They were funny, visually complex, had multiple levels of entry and quite well done, close to the best thing I saw all evening. As an artist model in schools and groups, when there was a break she would photograph the people painting/drawing her with herself in a mirror at times making herself look like the paintings they were trying to make, the mirror’s frame working like an ornate border for the painting. At times everyone was looking toward the viewer creating even more of a confusion. She was looking for places to show the work.

After nodding and smiling and making sure she hit all the judges, we left but being Chicago, nothing in the area was open for a snack and there wasn’t enough time to go anyplace before the train back.

After dropping her off at the hotel, I made snaps through the windows of the closed restaurants on the way to the train.

Now I remember,

it was the day that I found out that Josh was killed, I was wandering about in a daze with too many surreal things happening at once. I had also run into someone who worked at the WGAS at Auntie Crae’s.

I was back at Wordplay as my evil twin was leaving but as he was leaving he introduced me to this woman whose name I forgot but I managed to get a snap off anyway. He raced off leaving us to small talk before parting.

As was the case back then, of the many snaps that were sent off one went to my bayman brother who at the time was living in the Battery - in Chris Brookes’s place but this is another one degree of separation story.

It seems that my bayman brother from Port Kirwan had someone over when this snap of a woman appeared in the post who was the woman he was beginning to date and finally in a bout of insanity leave the Battery for Portugal Cove Road.

I heard about this when from the twin but it seems that it had gone around St. John’s. It turns out that this person was Beth - yet another from away who at least is lucky enough to call the rock home although she is really an upper Canadian from the GTA - fellow Gros Morne residency person - long before me - now the bayman brother’s partner.

Knowing that Beth was an artist with whom we are still trying to collaborate on a show - my idea for a working title is PLAYS WELL WITH OTHERS. - due to the fact - mentioned this summer that I photograph the things that she would pick up to put in a sculpture. Anyway knowing that she is an artist I got this call for artists for this gallery for a group show.

She sent in work. It was accepted and she now was in the process of trying to have it make it from the edge of North America to the Mid-West. If she could get the piece here she would follow spend a few nights in Chicago - I said it being the second city of the states was sort of like Corner Brook without the culture.

The problem was the skittish paranoia and the fear that some official would make a serious error and let some terrorist in the land of the free had all in power deferring to others.

To back up the piece in question was a chandelier made of bullet casings made because she has two son’s of the age that get sent to Afghanistan.

I have already wrote about the gallery, now it is ATF’s turn. When finally she had the piece crated, it was shipped and arrived at customs in Chicago where it sat because no one wanted to say that the bullet casings - no caps no powder - were harmless. So they held on to it. They wanted a real gun dealer to come out look at the piece and say that it wasn’t nor never could be a weapon. This was Monday the show opened Friday. She was still in St. John’s.

I had a student - who at one time lived in Baltimore as she owned one and was fascinated with them. She put Beth on to buddy in Elmwood Park who called the ATF to see what was up only to find out that he could do nothing.

Beth was on the phone to this bossy person from ATF who told her to shut up and listen all the time but did come up with ways of getting the work into the country and finally one worked.

Beth got a hunting licence on line and being a hunter could now import the chandelier.

She arrived at the WGAS Thursday evening after passing through our own passport control and heightened security I believe the level was carmine.

A friend – being in town – which is another long entry – and being in a show here has me once again glad that I am ambivalent to the lure of the gallery, I realise that this would be more bighting if they were lured by me but nevertheless…

To be in this show which was juried, there was a $35 entry fee. When the work was accepted she had to pay the handling and the shipping and finding a customs broker – even though there was an international call for entries – she was one of two international artists. The work has to be ready for hanging by the artist. They were slow to respond to e-mails and phone pleas to the point that their voice mail message doesn’t even imply that you can leave a message. If the work is sold they take 40%. She will stay anonymous until the show comes down as will the gallery.

This seems like a great deal for the gallery as I am sure that if there is a paid staff there are at the most two people the only cost that I can see is the rent and utilities There seemed to be 50 people in the show if one in four were accepted that would hint at 200 people applying $7000. What a windfall for even when they pay the juror, and hand out the prizes – there was even a donation box by the plonk and bikkies there will be a hefty sum made for the place and if work sells…

And the work for the most part was pretty bad.

The sad aspect of all of this is that those who apply to shows like this are the ones that can least afford it. My friend thought it would be a hoot and thus jumped in but being international she thought that the fee would pay for some the other expenses. Being there, though, I saw all these new artists some I know could barely afford to make work but were lucky with their $35 bet. I then thought of those who weren’t and others who were there scoping out the joint wondering if they would have a chance at the next round.

All this gallery has are juried shows with entry fees. Do they rake in $80 000p.a. banking on the same hopes that all those reality shows use to their advantage.

Back in the dark ages at Goldsmiths’ we were not only warned about shows like this but how they were in essence usury as there was no risk on the part of the gallery who were riding on the backs of a financially strained artists.

The touching part of the evening was when I met someone who I knew who was scoping out the place and trying to determine whether she should enter the fray for the next call for entries. She showed me her work and – frankly it is too good for the gallery. My friend and I told her so but I had trouble coming up with alternatives.

In full disclosure - it is to my shame that I took part on the usuary end of this equation - mea culpa - my only excuse was that I was young(er) and more gullible.

diana + test report

I became the geek that I am by others assuming that I would be interested in things primitive and plastic and telling me about what they have found – so I am not so much a source but the cheapo primitive photographic version of the Utne Reader – a clearing house.

I had heard about the new Diana + but thought it an affectation, what coming from Lomo, and decided that having the real thing I could do without it.

I did want questions answered though and no one was forth coming with them.

I wanted to know if the images were biased toward the Holga or Diana. If there were 16 small images or 12 large ones, if it had the Diana fog or the Holga fall off.

The people I knew with one – from the Macmannie WGAS paroled writing grad through Nance’s deep extra cover – chose to ignore me.

The misplaced Tanzanian was flaunting his while I was at Sewanee, saw no images though, but the last straw was when some BFA student brought one into Manipulated Pretensions. It wouldn’t be long before photo hating –albeit users of the latest in high tech digital cameras - fibre grads would find a justification for having one.

I bought one the next day – no BFA scum is going to out geek me!!!!

It came over packaged but looking remarkably like the Diana of old with modifications for the younger generation “N” instead of “I” pictograms as well as distances, options for the old puny Diana neg or the new holga like size and the new notorious pinhole setting.

Keeping to my rule of finding film as bad as the camera I am using got some outdated Fortepan 400 from the camera shop and went out making snaps.

It is a pain to load in comparison to both Dianas and Holgas. In an attempt to not have fat rolls the area where the spools go is fiddly as a notch from the base has to go through the piece that holds the film in place. It has to be perfect before the back will shut and in the frozen tundra of the north with gloves it was quite slow. There were no fat rolls, however, the camera is harder to wind on – there is a definite resistance. I am torn about this for it means that the camera doesn’t move to the next image simply by my carrying it about like the old Diana but I did develop callouses.

It doesn’t leak light – I used no tape and no fogging nor the old Holga thumb print.

I was looking for a camera which had definite f stops something that the Holga doesn’t have, that work. Changing apertures on the old Diana would result in fogged images. I was also looking for the Holga clarity fall off.

It was a mauzy day on my first outing but a lot of snow. I treated the camera as if it were the original Diana – making snaps on the sunny setting. Everything was horrendously underexposed – images that would have been fine with the original Diana were not there at all. The only image that made it was one with a pronounced shadow and even that was only barely printable.

Reading a Maldito blog out of Tennessee, it was stated that maybe the f-stops were off and more closed down than they stated so I did the unthinkable. Pretending that I was a real photographer I used a light meter to measure the scene then bracketed.

The second outing was during a bright sunny EV 15 day, still mountains of snow, I took it to Lake Michigan to give it a work out.

-20c day only exacerbated the problems with loading and unloading but developing the images they were all fine. Funny thing bracketing between sunny and cloudy bright didn’t really show that much of a difference.

I like the camera, I like the images they are smaller – barely – than the Holga but have the Holga fall off I was looking for. Even better at close range there is the circle vignette. I like - even though my fingers don’t – the stiff wind on as there will be no unintentional overlap – been carrying it in my bag for a fortnight now and the frame hasn’t budged.

Although it is double the price of a Holga and still think it an affectation – especially now that ‘designer’ models are being made – I would choose he Diana + over the Holga.

I also like that the viewfinder is directly over the lens making it easier to compensate for parallax, i simply move the camera up a bit.

I am not all that wowed by the pinhole as no information was given about where to begin exposure wise – tried it twice and there was no image. Also don’t like it as I fear that the aperture ring will slide from sunny to pinhole without me noticing – obsessively compulsively check it as I don’t want to have happen with it what happened in Petty Harbour with the bulb setting Holgas – moved to bulb without me noticing it. I notice a looseness already with the bayonet that holds the lens on when not using the pinhole although I have only taken the lens off three times.

This is a relief for while the images from this don’t look like tradition Diana snaps – which varied from camera to camera anyway – it means that I don’t have to hoard my old Dianas. It may mean that for those snobs amongst us the traditional Diana price may drop on e-bay.

My frugal ways initially saw $50 as a bit much but inflating 1960’s prices the original would have been about the same.

This winter has been out of the ordinary. It has snowed every other day dumping around 4 inches each snowfall – except for last week where it dumped 16 inches then turned bitterly cold.

So far I have had the machine jumped as the battery simply gave up in the cold, helped push out other machines as they helped push mine out due to the ploughs of Winthrop Harbour trying to clear the commuter car park after all the spaces were filled with cars.

I get my exercise not shovelling the driveway but trying to clear the entrance to the driveway after the crack street crew of Peasants Pissoir block the driveway with heavy wet snow.

The temperature has not made zero F twice in the last fortnight.

Madison has broken the snowfall record for the city and it is only mid February.

I am aware of this not by going outside but because it is the talking point of the winter. People are complaining about the cold and snow. The primaries have been relegated to the second spot on the 10 o’clock news as the weather man comes on and tells us how horrible it is outside and how it is not going to end. This is then updated three times during the half hour broadcast signing off with check in to-morrow at 5am for further updates on the weather.

I kind of like it. we are dealing with a real winter, there is snow there is cold - a bit more than usual but it effects those who complain how?

I came to the realisation that seasons are pretty much superfluous during the Superbowl. Here were the finals of a sport played in late autumn and winter by manly men in an enclosed stadium of a southern city of choice. The only time it will be played where there may be something approaching winter will be in an enclosed stadium. I used to hope for rain as that would be as close to actual weather one could hope for.

It is no different with us lesser mortals. It is a race to the machine, or maybe a long wait on for the bus. Only two die hards are doing their walking exercises. Most of the kids are driven the block to the bus stop where they sit in their parents car until the bus arrives. This isn’t due to the cold it is common practice.

What I find strange in all this complaining and warnings during the newscast is no consideration of the poor and homeless who don’t have the option of living in a weather-less state. There has been no mention of warming stations – unlike the summer when cooling stations are reported.

Sure it is cold out. Sure my feet are drenched due to the deep snow but when else will I see cities form on the lakes around here, see slob ice on Lake Michigan, try to deal with the unrelenting white – not being in Chicago the snow doesn’t turn grey as quickly – photographically.
It seems to me that winter people are more friendly perhaps due to having made the decision to be out in the cold and finding those few like minded people turns them into comrades by default.

This has been a long winter as it did snow heavily in December but even forgetting the warm spell that brought tornados in January, even in the worst of years this will be over with by mid April when there will be that short window of opportunity before people start the summer heat panic where once again due to modern technology one will only have a minor brief contacts.

The ritual began, I think in grad school where after listening to DOWN YOUR WAY with Brian Johnston and reading The Guardian, I would head out on an awayday to some village to wander and make snaps.

During the wandering I would stop buy some postcards and, especially in winter find a pub to have a pint and write them after the sun set and before the return train to London. I would post them on the way to the station and when taking the night train back, think it neat that I was also on the train that my cards were on. I would obsess on the post mark, check the dates, run for first day issues and couldn’t understand why people insisted that I date them when the post office did it for me.

This continued to be part of travelling no matter where I was. It was the way that I stayed in touch with some people. I corresponded by postcard with an ex-Beloiter back in Maryland for some 25 years before running into her at the Ram’s Head. I would exchange postcards with another ex-Beloiter – there was something about Beloit and postcards - where the exchange became so fast and furious that we couldn’t even think up messages. She had the advantage as she would winter in Florida and thus had no shortage at all of weird cards. The ones from Annapolis were usually had from restaurants and bars.

At Goldsmiths’ we used postcards to communicate about the next class meetings and had set up an etiquette – no museum cards no reproductions of paintings they had to be the John Hinde type picture postcard. This continued after we finished the course.

I would try to choose the postcards carefully – but wouldn’t spend more than 10p in GB and 25¢ in North America. I'd look for the quantity price. Suitable for framing postcards weren’t interesting at all. I would find that after all my deliberations, I would choose the incorrect amount for some, those that I liked when they were on the rack weren’t as interesting when I was writing them. I would buy them with certain people in mind and found that there was a better match on further reflection.

In Sewanee, thinking that this would be a perfect environment for their writing, stirlings, quickly before I got the caffeine shakes, I went looking for some. In 1998 there were som great ones – of the university and the surrounding area, even think that I found one of the airport on the other side of US 41A.

This time it was all religious except for one of Stirling’s and I realised that this part of travel had gone by the wayside. Thinking back I tried to see when the decline became so pronounced that it had really stopped being a habit.

I did notice that it was harder to find postcards – the last time in Baltimore I only got them at BWI/Marshall although the Natty Boh shop had them – I am sure that Horror Place had them. I also found it harder to find stamps. I do remember looking for them, though. I think that I bought some in Burlington Vermont. I simply didn’t remember it being such an effort.

I realise that with the rest of the world post cards are dead as there are e-mails, digital cameras and…blogs, I thought that I was pretty much immune to modern technology and had it pretty much under control.

It seems that I found that I am wrong, those Sewanee picture postcards are around the house somewhere awaiting to be written.

THE USPS

Trying to catch up on the books of wander, I head over to the post office in Bristol to post the one that was supposed to go out in November – was hoping for one a month.

Hand over the pile to Soens, after they have been divided into country. She picks on up asks what’s in them.

Say snaps, and they should be thin enough to fit through the template slot. She bends them and says but they don’t bend. We also debate whether they slide “freely” through the template slot. All of this will determine the cost of the postings.

She pulls out a flow chart to determine what to do and determine that they are “large envelops” and the cost will be $1.35. they weigh two ounces and in the past they would have been roughly 69¢. I am relieved as if it was considered an unbendable item it would have been more.

The postings to the states done we then move on to the European Union where the cost is a mere $2.00.

Now ready for the true north strong and free, an envelop is placed on the scale, Canada is typed in and the cost is…$1.00. both of us flummoxed, we realise that the silliness of the structure of the envelop doesn’t matter only weight.

Nevertheless those of you who want continued postings, should move to a place where the postal code starts with a letter.

Things one can do with a 104F fever:

1-Clear the driveway of snow – simply drop and roll a couple of times.
2-Likewise defrost the freezer.
3-Control the temperature of the paper developer in the 60F darkroom – but don’t hold the tank while developing film.
4-Keep hot glue viable longer.
5-Aid in the liquefying of Liquid Light photo emulsion
6-Likewise keep argyrotype solution warm enough so that all the ingredients will go into solution.
7-Develop Polaroid film more quickly.
8-Catch up on all the making of books and postcards as supposedly rest is required.

Deciding not to make any snaps digitally on the return trip so that I could illustrated the entries was an excellent choice. In choosing not to the snaps made were not a reiteration of what I thought or did but have become a remembrance.I stated that map-less, I was unsure what small town I was in specifically knowing that it would have been less of a problem digitally as all would be in order. With the extended wait until I could develop the film – Carol breaking her arm and school starting – I thought that it would be even rougher but with the lesser images made, there was of my memory to fill in the gaps.It seems that the outing was worth it. I am not sure how good the images are as I was photographing things that, while I didn’t mean it, scream souther. I was more in search of sense of place habitation - so steering clear of the Wal-marts and generic suburbs that one runs across – an irony with a stereotype as what can be more southern than Wal-mart and any big city has a suburb.I was hoping that I was looking for the same type of specifics as when I was wandering the North-East in Minneapolis and fixating on taverns, or the taverns in Baltimore. The conveniences when I was in Vermont anything that wasn’t a chain. I realise that it seems when one aims a camera when one isn’t on the interstate it is hard not to scream nostalgia but nevertheless, I was curious and was photographing the objects of my curiosity.The computer is to flying as the darkroom is to driving. While awaiting the particular task to be done one can surf youtube, check e-mails, update their facebook site. In the darkroom one pretty much has to concentrate on the task at hand.As the darkroom is meeting in the glim, driving is meeting on wheels needing to concentrate only so much one might as well put one’s life in order.

I also liked riding about with a camera, and while, this time having a place to go, not really having a time where I had to be there.
This wasn’t a particularly long trip, but this was one when I never really had to “make time.” The Great Trek North (and East) to Bonne Bay and Beyond had me nervous on making the ferry reservation in North Sydney, even so we risked stopping a couple of times along the way.I was relieved on how easy it was for me to stop and if my brain was working slowly, turn around to get back to a point with potential although at times I wondered if like on the rock, I could stop anywhere and walk. When there was light, I couldn’t have “made time” if I had tried.
All my geriatric cameras performed admirably, no light leaks and except for the lethargy in the cold no ruined negatives – I caught the refusal to work in the cold so one neg was blank on the trip.I don’t know if I liked black and white so much as I didn’t miss colour. 36 rolls of film to develop in a day is manageable. I think that I do like the distance that black and white implies.

What this does is open up new destinations. Forget about US12 to Minneapolis, am thinking Winnipeg, then through the lakes. Then the mythical town of Flin Flon on the Saskatchewan border, Provincial Route 2 to it terminus way up in black fly country. I head to a map to find roads that not only connect places but are the only connexion.

It was nice that we left the aerie of The Domain for a lunch down in Tennessee proper. Being up there is being in a Xanadu as it disappears in the clouds. I could never see it from below and in all directions it is separated from the rest of the state some mountain road.

For me, however, it renewed the interest in driving back ignoring the interstates. I had hoped to do as much but didn’t dare think about it or plan it for fear of it not happening due to my hyperactive caffeinated state kicking in and for some reason having to make time heading back.

Eating in Cowan and seeing a part of the state that was so different from the Domain that I wasn’t even sure that it existed, had me wanting to go further.

I did finally place Sewanee when I saw the memorial cross on the return trip..

So after an evening at the concert with the Preservation Hall Jazz Band and getting my free tea from Stirling’s. I packed said good bye to the P.M. – heard champagne corks popping - as I said that I would be off at first light.

First light brought the coldest day so far, frost on the machine, this car had been everywhere now, which I had to chip away. Then a back way through town, stopped at Shenanigan’s as I saw a nice formal arrangement then down the mountain stopping along the way in the hopes that I could look back at Sewanee – nope – and down into the rest of the state – no problem.

I had not to rush, I had plenty of time, but soon became overwhelmed with things that I wanted to photograph knowing that if I stopped everyplace, the trip would take a month.

At the same time it seemed that all the towns were running together, I could not get up to any speed and was getting impatient. Thanks to the interstate I was alone more or less on the road but seeing the distance I had to travel, felt that I should choose my stops wisely and make notes for some future time when I could return and make more snaps.

I had wanted to do this with US 12 to Minneapolis knowing that I would rather go through towns than bypass them and interstates are made to bypass everything. This could be like spring training US 41.

US 41 as it goes through Peasants Pissoir meaning I could stay on the road and be not six miles from the house.

This was the reason that I packed Joãozão even in its extreme delicate state. I wanted rectangles I wanted building that would be centred nicely in the frame, I wanted them to refer to older photographs of trips.

A great cinema in Winchester, the downtown looked interesting also but thought about making it home.

Stopped a few places before Nashville. Since I haven’t seen the snaps, the places are a blur. Normally when I stop I pull out the map and make an annotation marking where I stopped and what I saw. This time I raced out without the maps needed – the one in the machine for New Brunswick didn’t seem to help at all – and there was a paucity of free maps along the way in the welcome centres entering the states. On the back roads they don’t make such a fuss crossing over. Wanted to stop in Nashville but it was too big it seemed though like a big northern city – bought my New York Times Atlanta edition at a Starbucks just outside of town – surrounded by the South.

Was more interested in the strips along 41 than I was in the town itself. Made a diversion to see where the Nashville Sounds play – pretty dilapidated for a class AAA ball park. Was taken by the flea markets, the local businesses that were along the road but the trip really didn’t start until Kentucky.

In Guthrie I stopped to make a few snaps of the Kentucky/Tennessee border, then kept stopping. A drive in, a pink elephant – one of many, playing tag with the railway, lone outbuildings. It was here that Joãozão caught the cold and started acting up. It was noon and about -28C.

Ah then I remember the time on the ice of Geneva Lake when the shutter wouldn’t open.
Ubaldo is pressed into service but then in a moment of lucidity think of warming Joãozão and seeing if that will help.

So between outings away from the machine, I would place the camera on the dashboard in plain sun warming it until it was needed. When needed I would race from the machine camera under my sweatshirt until I was near where I wanted to make a snap, and then hurry. Joãozão would allow four snaps maximum before wanting to be back in the warmth.

I realised in Kentuky that I had slowed down one time circling the block to photograph the Paradise Cinema. The only people I ran into were those piling out of church and driving away. Trenton, Pembroke, Hopkinsville, Madisonville.

“Trapped on the wrong side of a long train while photographing a ball park in Sebree.

My fear of going too slowly was modified as I realised that this being winter it wasn’t that the pace would keep up until Chicago but I would run out of daylight. That freed me some bit as I modified the route to staying on 41 until dark then heading back via the Interstate.

Tennessee’s talk Stopped in a town with a great ball park complex just in time to be cut off from the road by a lengthy coal train, Joãozão under the sweatshirt while I was making dashes hither and yon.

NPR kept me company into Indiana.

Progress hit Indiana in a bad way. I was alone on the roads in Kentucky – I realised that there was a four carriageway bypass – a parkway - that most motorists were using leaving the US routes to us northern gawkers. Crossing the Ohio was impressive again this time I could see it. Evansville looked a right pit but with promise photographically but US41 from then on was an interstate wannabee fast not really bypassing anything but everything on both sides cleared far enough away that it might as well be.

NPR lost out to Jesus Stations and I turned into the football playoffs.

The last image of the day was a giant illuminated JESUS SAVES cross outside Terre Haute.

Being a man I forgot to pack a map since the Pilot gas bar had none I made the mistake in thinking that heading into Illinois for I-57 would be faster in the dark – in truth I should have stayed on 41.

The mistake added 30 miles to the return trip, 25¢ a gallon to the price of fuel and a slower maximum speed.

I did forget out flat Illinois is around Champaign-Urbana. There were always lights on the horizon and no modulation in the land at all. Chicago was more pleasant coming in this way than via Indiana but it was still Chicago.

The Packers Giants game ran out just as the state did.

I was supposed to leave on Saturday, this would have given me time to wander back north along US 41 but asked the Deep of the deep south if I could stay another night in the studio.

Reluctantly he took the valises back inside.

I needed to wander a bit and photograph and needed to do so without having to be someplace. I was finally calming down and while my work was wanting some sort of book of wander to come from the time here.

I realised that being in a place where there is work all over that I didn’t want to look like a non producing slug. Up north it is easy to seem to be productive – an image a year will do it if your vocal chords are up to snuff. I also know that every morning I would head out and photograph objects along the property but that felt more like an exercise. I needed time for a walk and a think.

It would be a wander out a road that I hadn’t been on making large circles back to the house to see when deep and the nance would awaken.

Took Ubirajara and a lightmeter as I wanted to lose objects in a shallow space rather than have the deep space that I usually work with. I also thought that in homage to Sewanee aesthetics, if a book of wander did come from the time here it would be a mélange of styles.

Was up at seven, thought that they were up also as the dog had been let out. He was awaiting me at the invisible fence jumping and turning 360 degrees in the air many times as I headed toward the boundary. He would also be my assistant when trying to photograph on the property – cleaning the lens with his tongue, adjusting the objects that I was photographing.

Again a nice winter day overcast bright, warm – even though people down there were worrying about frostbite – no deep shadows and dark enough exposure wise to leave the lens wide open.

Wasn’t thinking too much about what I was photographing, I was lookinig for things that I could isolate, and trying to balance objects that reek of farm life and southern loss but wanted rural southern iconography. I seem to remember a lot of toppled bird houses. The allotments, the rears of horses, the prepubescent scarecrow, and time at the Sewanee Tigers ballpark where the formal came into play.

Tried to remember things from the time here in 1998 when I walked to Lake Cheston and again found myself there.

Made the first circle and was heading back to the house when I saw a potential snap. Reached in my back pocket to get the lightmeter and…

Checked my bag it wasn’t there, checked again. Emptied my bag to make sure. It had fallen out someplace along the way and now I would have to retrace my steps.

Instead I did the circle again much to the chagrin of the dog who thought I was coming back, and found it near the beginning of the walk on the shore of Lake Cheston in some leaves about a foot from the lake.

This deserved a trip to Stirling’s for a coffee and bagel – finding a student who seems to be constantly working ( what is wrong with these people!!!!) . A chat before heading back to see what was planned for the day.

A medley of talks…

In two movements.

It seems that it was Sewanee’s gallery afternoon as while I was opening in the Nabit Gallery, there was also an opening in the more prestigious – but oh so dark and and dreary – University Gallery. I knew it was more prestigious as they had hot dishes – butternut squash dip, mini quiche - to nosh on while looking at the work while over in the Nabit there were chips, and Oreos.

We both where to give a talk about our work and once again I realise that my fate is doomed to places like the WGAS.

I went first as my opening was first. I didn’t stick to what I was going to say as I forgot it and didn’t really know who was coming to the talk. I also found it strange to go into ao darkened room to show slides when the actual work was on the walls.

I was also clueless as to why I had done what I did – not true simply couldn’t put my reasoning into any rational order.

Started with the usual, that I am not an artist for the word art and all it derivations are about as useful as the word “the” it says nothing it is used mainly by those who are too insecure to actually think about what they are doing.

I also pointed to the sign made saying that these were photographic works. They are photographs not photographic works and harangued the sign maker. Again stated that if one has to go just this side of noun verbs to justify things don’t bother.

Then stated that I liked the medium because it was so weak, how shockingly bad it was to convey anything but what was exactly in the photograph, that it like language needed a bunch of them strung together to get any sort of idea from them and even then it is usually wrong.

Went to the large image and used someone’s comment earlier on how bleak the places looked where to me they were rife with life. Also mentioned on how one student seeing the wall o’snaps only saw the ones dealing with sex.

People immediately gravitated to that wall.

I then open the floor up to questions and when there weren’t any I started answering the ones that were brought up the night before in Shenanigan’s – ah if any school wants to engender debate have a bar either on campus or close by.

Then the questions started – the size the randomness what was the difference between the triptychs and the more loosely linked snaps. I mentioned that this arrangement was valid for what I was thinking when I put it up but if I had to do it again other arrangements would most probably happen.

Iconography questioned, specifics shown. Abuse hurled. Polite clapping. Wine poured. Oreos downed – they go well with white wine - and we headed to the second movement.

These images were digital works, there was a screen and a laptop blocking some of the works on the wall in preparation for the talk. The work looked like someone had vomited Photoshop using 80’s iconography – but wanting it to be art made them on ripped canvas.

The lights lowered. She got up, thanked more people than there are credits on a Hollywood movie, and started the talk with endless anecdotes about her life, constantly referring to her hubbie in the front row. She then proceeded to show us all the images that were in the show – case me had missed them on the wall.

The key words were thrown in – iconography, meaning, - but never show in specifics. We got to know the names of all her pets and that they keep lizards I the house in winter. The talk orbited the work at about the same distance Pluto orbits the Sun.

The highlight came after a lab like hinting at her knowledge of things digital but showing us how she put together an image, layers and all, her thought process and what the image meant which when finished took up about one tenth of the actual piece.

Students seemed unimpressed.

In the end relieved as a decade ago this type of talk would have been given by a photographer – cameras would have been brought up, film debated, zone system hinted at ignoring what the images were about completely. It was nice to see that this had moved on to things digital.

I was thinking of what is a real winter day as I was wandering about Sewanee. I restarted my True North habits of getting up and out to make some snaps before getting down to work that was hanging the show.

While most people there drove, how else to show off the Range Rover, I was offered a lift, the Domain is small enough to walk everywhere, and I did so. Nothing is more than 30 minutes away walking, the roads are crooked enough to make it interesting.

The first morning walk was through the mauze, for a coffee at Stirling’s before heading to the gallery. The damp but warm – 5C – the mist heightened the surrealist of the area – community gardens with brightly coloured, electrified fences, chairs left out on porches and fields, a stone gazebo with a prepubescent naked life size doll that is supposedly a scarecrow. Thoughts went to the Rock except – no one was walking. There was no one to greet. Even the dogs that last time I was here would accompany me everywhere weren’t interested in a stroll.

The following morning’s walk was a bit colder but the sky was crisply blue. Deep shadows, I wandered by the Eastern Star Cemetery – bypassed all cemeteries as I deemed them too Southern, too gothic - on my way to downtown Sewanee.

The cameras of choice were Joãozão and the Diana. One would have thought that after the fiasco with aging cameras that I would have chosen more reliable ones but I wanted a rectangle if I got up the nerve and could slow down enough to take US 41 back. Proving that I never learn I also brought Ubirajara which caused all the trouble with the fogged film over the summer, hoping that I had fixed the light leak.

The walk downtown was for things passed rather than anything formal. Was more cautious than on the Rock, didn’t enter anyone’s property although I wanted to photograph the way that people use clothes lines – quite a few people had them on their front porches over the door. One property had over a dozen bird feeders.

These strolls were needed, I could see myself trapped in a gallery hanging a show – which was I was all afternoons worse my watch stopped and thought that it was earlier than it was wondering why all these students were hanging about when I was to meet them in a couple of hours. Winter days like these when I can be out without worrying about frostbite and windchill cannot be missed – although this being the South, the campus police were warning people about the impending snow – 2cm – and the possibility of icy conditions.

True North habits continued with tea and reading late into the night.

I try to help but at times it seems hopeless.

The Deep of the Domain is taking us out to lunch down in Cowen when, after parking the motor he races out, pulls out a camera, a camera in public and makes some photographs… in the street… and he makes more than one.

Thinking that I shall have plenty of time to explain to him over the meal, that if he wants to even come close to the standards of the WGAS that all lesser mortals aspire to, there are certain things that simply aren’t done and, if seen, will forever condemn one to a life surrounded by people who make things rather than talk about making things. There will be no chance whatsoever of calling those who talk about the concept of making things one’s peers.

When he then proceeds to photograph people, unknown people, and then talks to them, I realise there is more work here than I had anticipated.

You can only feel pity.

We are sitting in Shenanigans – The P.M. of the Domain, his students and me - discussing things photographic when I realise how backward this place is.

IT seems that in their intro to photography class they still use film – poor dears don’t they know what century this is? It is no wonder they have such a hard time trying to compete with those more advantaged students who not only get to use digital but are allowed to use any digital camera whatsoever. How can one possibly grasp photography not only using some outdated method of image making but being restricted to one camera that everyone is required to use.

They were speechless in awe when I announced that our Photo I was all digital even more so when they saw the new Photo I syllabus and found more to do with word than pictures. One asked what do we actually look at?

Poor things.

It seems that here in the deep south where people cannot afford the latest gigapixeled camera, the poor students are all required to use only a plastic camera in photo I. How sad, I thought as I heard the choice being justified by forcing the students to see and be aware not only of their surroundings but of light and their framing choices. I simply nodded my head as we all know now that any art making process has little to do with actually making anything but more on how one talks about the theoretical implications of the act if one actually made a photograph.

I felt sorry for the time these poor students were spending on trying to control the medium when if they are only read more and photographed less they would know that control is out of their hands and in that of dead and near dead nounverb using French philosophers – who probably only used a camera during their August holidays in Deauville.

And besides a well made photograph is so passé.

It gets worse. I found out that many of these students actually believe that the medium is useful for something beyond their own navel and have just returned from Haiti where with other non art students tried to come to understand the culture and society. What’s more they make photographs, write papers, and in following years go back and share this with those they met while down there. It seems that this is has been going on for quite a few years now.

Don’t they know that they should be going to “designer” tourism countries? We of the more enlightened send our students off to Vietnam, Cambodia and China so that they can condescendingly look at what is being made there and pretend it is of equal value of Western Art.

This trip has been quite an eye opener and cannot wait to get back North where people are less anal and in 15 weeks we have to cover more than one subject in our Intro to Photo so that our demanding students don’t get bored.