03 april 2009: allison

my obligitory reminder: click on the photo to see it bigger. these are scanned prints that i ran through my old typewriter. viewing the text larger is rewarding!

for those of you just tuning in: i started posting this series of photographs to my blog in 2009, while i was still shooting it. the idea was to photograph a different person every day. this project spanned three months of lugging my big camera with me everywhere i went and obsessing over who would be my next subject. i intended it to function primarily as an exercise in constant shooting, in breaking down my personal taboo of asking people to be photographed, and for exploring spontaneous portraiture. I also hoped it would function, secondarily, as a self-portrait. As I've lagged sometimes months between sharing them here, suddenly, two years has elapsed. this time provides the distance to see that secondary function emerge at the forefront. when i flip through this series i see a time capsule.

i shot this portrait, along with a slew of others to come, at a bar in williamsburg called iona. i spent a lot of time there over the course of a couple of weeks, meeting jade's friends and waiting out an awkward relationship transition at home. i didn't know allison at all. i knew her so little that i invented the words to type on her photo. i had no idea she'd become my neighbor, that's she'd sell me girl scout cookies and offer to deliver them in improvised uniform, that we would cook together and vent our troubles at my kitchen table.

to see more of this series, click here.

01 april 2009: miss sarah brown

there are certain moments when you are struck by love. especially when you are just falling into said deep feeling, these moments are poignant realizations of admiration. usually they stem from small gestures that signify something greater, something important to you. maybe it's something you've knowingly searched for. maybe it's something you never knew you wanted until that moment. whatever the trigger, for me, these moments slow the pace of the world and heighten all senses.

behold, a moment at freddy's back room, roughly two years ago. this place no longer exists, having been demolished to make way for luxury condos or shopping centers or some such nonsense that none of us really have the funds to support.

sarah brown used to host a reading series there, monthly. it was possibly the best activity in all of new york (this statement biased by my own interests of course). rather than read from well written books or highly praised poetry, the readers would read from the ratty pages of their own teenage diaries. requirement: what you read must be so horrifyingly embarrassing as to make you physically cringe. hence, the title of the event. CRINGE. i cannot express in words what hilarious fun this was to watch. The comedy came from empathy, from having been there. and oh, was i there. i have 4 boxes full of faux paint-splattered, hello kitty, puffy rainbows, rhinestone-studded, behind lock-(albeit pickable by bobby pin) and-tiny-keyed tomes of cringe-worthy words to attest to this. and finally, i had something to do with them.

over the course of roughly a year, i laughed so hard i found it necessary to smack my fist on the table. on a few occasions i downed a pint of grapefruit vodka and soda to fuel the courage to stand behind the mic and cringe myself, reading ridiculous histrionics over ex-gay boyfriends and jaw-droppingly heinous 'poetry' about affairs with chefs. really bad bad stuff. but getting behind that mic and hearing others slapping the table and roaring with laughter easily constituted a year's worth of therapy. we've all been there, and we can all laugh about it together.

when sarah compiled entries from readers from freddy's into a book (Cringe: Teenage Diaries, Journals and Abandoned Rock Operas) she included a few of my 'gems' in the body of the book and a whole lot of anonymous excerpts and miscellaneous scrawlings and samples collaged into the interim pages. dreams about george michael written on garfield stationary. reports of rick springfield on hello kitty red and white. hearing that these entries had been selected for publication was at once exciting and horrifying, but having experienced the joy of laughing at myself in public (really cathartic!), i decided not to fret.

there was, unfortunately, a wet towel dampening the experience of cringe in my life, and it came in the form of a boyfriend who shall remain nameless, who was less than thrilled with my 'exhibitionist' activities. sharing these entries in public advertised the fact that in my 30+ years, i had actually shared love and lust with someone prior to him. the horror. he refused my invitations to join me even on nights i wasn't reading to see how fun and harmless it all was. he picked huge fights with me upon my return from cringe nights and gave me the silent treatment for days. he refused to accompany me to the publication party of the book and not surprisingly, awaited my return from said really fun and awesome event where i met so many great people and felt so proud to be a part of, with a fight. cringe became a bittersweet night, and so, i started to go in secret, just to avoid the fights, ridiculously sneaking around as though i was having an illicit affair or sleeping with prostitutes.

clearly this was not the man for me.

so let's return from my bitter rant (sorry!), to the moment you see pictured above. i've just fallen head over heels in love with jade townsend. freddy's backroom is so packed for cringe that we sit on the floor behind the readers, holding hands. as sarah introduces the next reader, i look at jade. he is laughing. he is there with me. and i'm so much in love.

i do not want what i haven't got

before

hair.

i've been thinking far too much about it lately. i just can't seem to be happy with any haircut in the past year. this could have something to do with the fact that i refuse to pay for a haircut, but thankfully, i have a fairly buddhist standpoint on the issue of hair. it's not a big deal. it will just grow back. if you mess it up terribly, we'll just buzz it off and start over.

during

so the other day i hit my limit. i've been told i look like a mother, 'too sober', like a skinhead's girlfriend, like a troll. the list goes on and on. so on saturday, after helping jade buzz his unusually shaggy (but still adorable) hair off, i made good on my ultimate back up plan and let him take mine all off.

after

and i have to say, i am happier with it than i can remember feeling about a haircut in a long time! it's likely you won't agree. but don't worry. it won't hurt my feelings.

i wasn't looking!

labor day. eastern parkway, brooklyn. in the heat of the crowd i caught him staring intently at her shimmering butt, index finger on the disposable camera trigger.

i'm in the middle of epic spring cleaning, alternately sifting through many snapshots that make me feel old as well as hand-made prints that affirm what i always knew: i was never a very compelling black and white photographer, as much as i love the magic of the process and the beauty of the print. however, there are a couple of gems that i was happy to see again. like this one from....egads....how do the years just blend together?!.....2004.

el tercero viaje a la habana, cuba

i still feel like crap, but well enough to take the soup pot away from my bedside. gross! now none of you will come over for soup again. i didn't use it. it just made me feel more secure having it there. but as i asked jade for it, feeling weak and nauseated, defeated by a stomach bug, i got nervous for a moment that maybe it was some abhorrent behavior practiced in only my family and he would be disgusted by me.

it's really nice to have someone to take care of you when you're sick. the first two days were taken up solely with sleeping, moaning, thinking i was definitely going to die, deciding that if i didn't, then i surely didn't have enough strength to get through the rest of this life, mixed with trips on the half hour to the bathroom for unmentionables.

finally, today i am still bedbound, but well enough to feel stir crazy, bored and whine about the bedsores i must have amassed from three eternal days in bed.

i have a minute to sift through my photos from cuba. yes! i'm back. in 2009 i went to cuba and my head exploded with an overload of visual beauty and intrigue. i shot literally thousands of photos that, by and large, haven't seen the light of day. in 2010 i went to cuba and felt so much guilt that i had not processed those photos, that when the head explosion came, i punished myself by largely ignoring it and shooting a few snapshots on my iphone, which have also not seen the light of day. in 2011 i went to cuba and only took my camera out for a half day. therefore, i have a very manageable handful of photos to share with you. one day we'll catch up with the rest!

overheard while boyfriend wrangled with mousetrap

doh!
gah!
damn!
how do you.....?!
gah!
this thing!


****quiet*****

oh! i could totally be a fur trapper!



p.s. don't give me grief about the trap. blame the man of the house.

oh, the petty injustices and disappointments of my world.

fear not, people. i will not use this blog to say anything of importance. that said, let's get down to the most recent crimes against kitty joe. let me set the scene for you.

i'm tired. i had a triumphant opening on friday night (yes, as far as work and exhaustion go, it was my opening too). but many things were put on the back burner in order to meet that deadline. hence, weekend does not equal weekend, and sunday night found me still plugging away to get a proposal out.

it's 9pm and i've eaten one meal. i have at least three hours of work ahead of me. i cave in to the huge craving for a burrito. even though i know i will not be california burrito satisfied and i will feel guilty for spending the money even though i have soup in the fridge, i desperately need a burrito fix. so i go to calexico, the hip newcomer to greenpoint, and i wait a half and hour in the party atmosphere, shouting my order over the music and waiting impatiently. by this time i don't care if it's california good. i'm so excited to get home and tear the inauthentic paper-lined foil from its beautiful body.

when the moment arrives, however, my frenzied mouth is not rewarded with the frijoles negros, avocado and crack sauce the menu promised, but big chunks of gag-inducing beef.

sadness!! disgust!! mutiny!! i must spit the bite out in the sink and run the water on my 20-years-without-meat-offended tongue. and then i must re-wrap the burrito for my carnivorous mate and internally cry for the loss of a dream. to punish the world, because the world really gives a shit about my stupid vegetarian plight, i go to bed without eating dinner. because i'm that pissed off and stupid. oh, the very important trials and tribulations of kitty joe.

Announcing! Duke Riley/ Two Riparian Tales of Undoing/ Opening Reception Friday, February 25th, 6-10pm

Dear Friends,
This show, put simply, constitutes the fruits of a solid year and half of my labor. For those of you who have wondered what exactly that labor entails, now is your chance to understand. Sometimes by rail, sometimes by helicopter, sometimes by beat up pick up truck, and sometimes, just in front of a laptop, I work with Duke Riley to execute projects. Come celebrate the opening on Friday night, or swing by before it closes on April 9th. Duke's announcement below.

Two Riparian Tales of Undoing
Magnan Metz Gallery
521 West 26th Street
New York, NY 10001
On View: Saturday, February 26 -- April 9, 2011
Opening Reception: Friday, February 25th, 6--9pm
7:30pm: Performance by Lara Allen


Please join me at the opening of my next show, Two Riparian Tales of Undoing, at Magnan Metz on Friday, February 25th from 6-10pm. For this show, I divided the gallery space into two projects that I completed in the past year outside of New York City. Both projects deal with stories of riverfront communities that were destroyed, and address how these events relate to the current global political and economic climate. I've included a broader description of each project below.

Reclaiming the Lost Kingdom of Laird

Petty’s Island is a tiny island situated in the middle of the Delaware River between Philadelphia and Camden. In 1850, Ralston Laird immigrated from Donegal to Philadelphia. Shortly after his arrival, he set off for Petty’s Island, where he married, had ten children, and declared himself King. The generous king helped several struggling immigrant families to also establish themselves on the island. Over fifty years later, the island was eyed for industrial development. The elderly King was the last to remain when a mysterious fire finally drove him from Petty’s Island.

Today, the island is a fuel storage facility owned by the Venezuelan oil company
In April of 2009, Venezuelan president Hugo Chavez offered to donate the island to the state of New Jersey for wildlife conservation. Details regarding the toxic waste cleanup are still being resolved between the two governments and the island remains off-limits to the public.

Using the historical society and the Internet, I tracked down and contacted all of the surviving descendants of the king, reestablished their royal status and minted a set of commemorative plates bearing their royal images. Artifacts from the site of the king’s former palace were also uncovered over the course of several unauthorized visits I made to the island.

Coincidentally, a group who identify themselves as the LKLA also permeated the island and painted a large-scale monument to Ralston Laird—the rightful King of Petty’s Island—atop one of CITGO’s remaining gas storage drums. It can only be viewed from satellite or aircraft, and from that vantage point, interestingly, bears a striking similarity to the Laird Family Royal commemorative plates.

I decided it only fair that Chavez be alerted that this once mighty kingdom is re-staking a claim on his land…

An Invitation to Lubberland

Buried beneath the city of Cleveland is a prehistoric river known as Kingsbury Run. Before it was rerouted underground, itinerant workers made their home along its banks. During the depression of the 1890s, a “tramp census” conducted by John McCook indicated 6% of the population of the United States were itinerant. At that time Cleveland was regarded as a “hobo’s paradise” because of the gracious handouts itinerants would receive, and lenient treatment by the city’s police.

During the Great Depression of the 1930s the itinerant population swelled to 30%, and the Kingsbury Run grew into a sprawling shantytown. However, a series of gruesome murders occurred along the Run, targeting the hobos. As a band-aid solution to stop the serial killings, the police department arrested and displaced the population, burning the neighborhood to the ground.

Today, itinerant cultures both nationally and globally are being marginalized to the brink of extinction. The hobo census, a once a respected barometer for the American economy, is now obsolete.

Motivated by our current economic climate, I traveled the country by freight train, attempting to re-conduct McCook’s census, ultimately returning to Cleveland. By infiltrating the sewer system, I regained access to the forgotten Kingsbury Run. In search of the lost “hobo’s paradise” I followed the Run, beneath the streets of Cleveland, to its headwater.


For more information please contact the gallery at 212-244-2344 or info@magnanmetz.com
Gallery hours are Tuesday through Saturday 11am-6pm.

romanza..

that's right. texas shaped waffle in bed.

meanwhile, back on diamond street, the morning doves are probably having their usual morning courtship.

cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater!

it seems that groundhog day gets a bit more attention since bill murray got hilariously stuck in it in 1993. it was, however, always a big holiday where i grew up because i went to gravenstein school and we were not the ferocious panthers or the eagles that our teams faced off.

we were the groundhogs.

we were groundhogs in kindergarten and we were groundhogs when we graduated from eighth grade. (though sadly, i hear that a more recent class of junior high kids, reacting to that awful time of discomfort in your own pubescent skin, finally caved to the pressure of being the joke of the county school system and possibly to the harry potter craze, and voted to change the mascot to the gravenstein griffin. yeah, i also had to pause to even call to mind what exactly a griffin even is. turns out its a cross between an eagle and a lion. oy). but in the classic good ol' days before that blasted democracy interfered, groundhog day was huge! i mean, how many schools get their own holiday?! and guess what? groundhog day was as innocuous of a holiday that the jehovah's witnesses didn't even seem to have a problem with me celebrating it. brilliant! (though if you ask me, they may want to re-consider that stance. i mean, it sounds a little pagan or hocus-pocus to base a seasonal prediction on an underground animals behavior...) nevertheless, on groundhog day we dressed in our school colors--blue and gold. this tradition ingrained the idea in my little mind that groundhogs, the animals, somehow preferred those colors. but what else could you do to celebrate such a holiday? of course, you could have drawing contests.

so come with me back to second grade. i was decked out in blue nike swoosh sneakers, tall gym socks with a yellow-rimmed blue stripe, blue koo-lats (that's what we called 'capri pants' back then, except they were a little more skirt-like) and gold clickety-clacks in my hair. surely i was wearing a shirt too, but i can't remember which....what do you think i make this shit up?

a school-wide assembly was called to announce the winners of the groundhog drawing contest. i didn't think much about it. the week before, in a fit of shame at my lack of drafting skills, my big-time honesty good-two shoes self had lost out to my already fully developed self-consciousness and artistic inhibition. faced with the assignment to draw a groundhog, i'd finally followed my sister's advice and traced one out of the encylopedia. it looked a bit like this:

except, no offense to rmckay001, even better. cleaner. like an engraving. like the future boss would draw.

i turned it in to save myself from embarrassment, not to compete or win. but c'mon, principal lapinski, does a 2nd grader whose drawing style, even by 6th grade, only progressed to this:

(this, by the way, is a drawing sample from a hilarious family book that i'll share another time)

...suddenly start drawing encyclopedia worth block prints?

i should have been apprehended for cheating. at the very least i should have been glossed over for the prize. instead, and perhaps they were on to something that i never considered til just now, i suffered the even greater shame and humiliation of being awarded 2nd prize (keep in mind this contest spanned K-8), being praised in front of the whole school and photographed with the fake, for the yearbook.

i could barely lift my head.

somehow, this experience didn't instill in me a hatred for groundhog day. i continued to dress in blue and gold. i continued to listen excitedly for the seasonal prediction (though let's be real, by february 2nd, the magnolias have already bloomed in california, the green fields have already burst into gold mustard rhapsody...). but damnit, i'll never cheat again.

and by the way, in case the brooklyn groundhog has any confusion in its mind--it's not looking so good today.