I made a lover's prayer

Mojave. 2009.

A poem, inspired by Gillian Welch's "I made a lover's prayer."


the sharp, sweet ache of loneliness slides into me
it has its own tang
like blood on the tongue

fall is come to wrap me in its arms of early dusk

there isn't anyone else.
not the man that i dream of;
not that man that i hope for.
there isn't anyone else.

Educate! Agitate! Organize! ...Vernon

2007. Vernon, CA.

That's downtown LA in the background. My brother Tom was nice enough to drive me out to a site I was photographing for my one and only photo job. A college friend working as a professor's assistant in New York suggested my name when the professor needed photos of a few sites in LA for his new book.

It was fun to track down the sites and sleuth around for good angles. For the site in Vernon, I ended up climbing up a tippy stack of wooden flats so I could get a good angle. There were bees living in the crates. Even my memories of the place--a large parking lot, scattered with trucks--are in black and white. Ugly industrial buildings on lumpy pieces of land, bulging asphalt smeared over unused railroad tracks; Vernon seems like something that should have been left to rust long ago. Instead, it's part of the ever-more-heavily used port and distribution center of Los Angeles and Long Beach ports. The grit keeps layering on, and the sky gets paler with the years.

After I finished taking photos, Tom and I walked around a bit, exploring. I had some film left in my camera (still a few months before my trusty cannon rebel 2000 quit for good), so I had Tom think of a story, then tell it to me as we walked across a bridge over one of the trickle-sized "rivers" of LA. I took pictures as we walked and he talked. He's very expressive with his hands, but I liked this photo better than a close up of his gesturing. The tee shirt doesn't describe Tom so much as it sums up an inherent part of his beliefs and goals. He's a great guy, a great brother.

Chevrolet

Just outside my house. May, 2009.

This is late, for last night, when the "upload photo" button wasn't working.

Bombastic

I miss my level!

Bomba, the other half of Bombassidy, is in Ecuador studying gardens in small villages. She's amazing, and clearly looks great with a buzzed head. I can't wait until she gets back.

Bar 717 Ranch/Camp Trinity ("Camp"), 2006.

West

On the ocean, just west of the western-most tip of Africa, off the Senegalese coast. Facing North America. 2006.

Canyonlands

May, 2006: Petra, Jordan

Amazing how much this looks like Zion. It was probably 100 degrees in May. My friends and I found a cat wandering the ruins, crying. We gave her some water.

I wonder how long until all of the water in Zion is gone, and it's as dry as this desert.

The Farm; The Light

I love this picture. I took it Labor Day Weekend in 2008, near Santa Rosa. It's late afternoon. Family is spread out, some in the pool, some sitting on the porch, talking. Bare feet up on empty chairs. A beer in the left hand as the right gestures out, following a point home.

Warm dry air sliding across almost-dry skin. Too cool for a moment, a chill up the neck and down the arms, and then warmth again. Rich cheese, spilled out of its shell, forming a puddle of delicious fat on the plate. Hand me a cracker, will you? No, the round one.

Pink Flowers, Late

I watched the first two installments of John Adams last night, and never got around to posting. So here it is, late.

These long dark evenings make it hard for me to get things done. My impulse is to bundle up, snuggle down, and watch TV until my mind rots. Instead of fighting the impulse, as in years past, this time around I'm indulging it, and I find myself immeasurably happier because of it. I let dishes pile up in the sink all week, then attack them on the weekend--usually during the day. I get all my chores done on Sunday.

These flowers caught my eye on a walk sometime this past summer. On Ellsworth Street, a few blocks from where I grew up. Their delicate pink pedals, framed so carefully by the deep green leaves, called out to be recorded, remembered. Noticed.

Backlit Cosmos, Yellowed with Halogen

I got home late tonight, around 9pm. I'd gone to a movie--"I love you, New York"--and then tried out the new self-serve yogurt place afterward. It was nice to take myself out for an evening.

I took my neighbor's dog out for a short walk, as I'm dogsitting for him, and being out in the crisp night air reminded me how much I love night, and that I should push back against the impulse to stay inside once it's dark out. I love the quiet, the clean feel of the cold air sliding past my cheek and down my neck; I love feeling warm in my coat as I walk, hands in pockets. I love singing to the dark sky, to myself.

I took this picture a few months ago, back in August when even late nights weren't this cold. It's outside an elementary school near my house. Their flower garden was both overgrown and well kept--the attention paid was apparent, the care given, clear. I wonder if that's how we all want to feel: well kept and wild at the same time.

Dawn in the Mojave

Dawn woke me up.

I was sleeping in the Mojave Desert, on my way to Utah. I hadn't bothered to set up my tent, which meant that star, and then moon, and then sunlight was bright enough to wake me. I was completely alone--the nearest road was six miles away, where I could hear an occasional car sling past.

The wire towers had hummed, loudly, last night. They were still going when I fell asleep, just three hours after dark--5:30 p.m. in early November. But when the moon rose, I slowly realized that I couldn't hear a sound. The wires were quiet, and so was everything else. As I listened, a few small animal sounds skittered toward me, or away, and then were gone. The emptiness of sound was complete.

Under

This photo was my first (and so far, only) in an art show: Emeryville Art Exhibition, 2009. Seemed like a good place to start.

I took it from a train heading to Davis. We're crossing the north bay, and I'm facing west. The bridge is the bottom of the old car bridge; the new one is behind me.

I call this lighting "Jesus is coming" lighting. Whenever I see it I feel like I'm waiting for god to float slowly down from the clouds, ready to forgive us for our sins and explain that everything is all right. Then maybe we'd all do yoga together, and everything would be kosher.

Lisa suggested that I start this blog, as I liked taking pictures so much (she claims this makes me an artist, though I'm not sure I feel comfortable with the title; maybe once someone buys a piece). But in any case, I am starting to get more serious about photography, and am thinking about framing more pieces. Perhaps this blog is a good place to start.

Please, let me know what you think. I'm curious.