The Question Unasked, Unanswered...

 

1/21/2017  Photo: © Stan Banos

Well, errr... that was fun! KInda, sorta, in a way... if you're into that kind of debacle. And without a kill switch to stop one of those participants from talking out of turn, we just got more of the same coming; just as we will continue to be held hostage to the perpetual cacophony of outright, baldfaced lies pouring forth from his anus shaped orifice without the inclusion of a much needed electric shock switch. 

And when Trump asks about Hunter Biden, all Sleepy Joe has to do is ask him why son Eric said they get all their money from Russia- and when he denies it... ask what foreign nationals he owes $400 Million to.  And when he says he can't because he's under audit, remind him that is not a valid excuse, and when he recovers from the shock of the electric, fact check switch- ask it again...

Praying For A Small Miracle

Photo: © Stan Banos

Not her, me! It's never fun going to a major city for any length of time and coming back empty handed without even one shot. I was in NYC for four days- half the time it rained, the other half spent with my elderly moms. Half a day remaining; got up early and walked up Fifth- a coupla almosts. Went to LIC for an hour and a half- Nada. Hey, I tried. Time to head back to the hotel to make my way to the airport; walked through Herald Square past The Garden- and as I lift my head up cussing my unfortunate fate... prayer answered!

Get On The Good Foot!

 No idea the Dutch could dance... So - Dang - GOOD!
 And no matter your ethnicity- These gals are an absolute joy to watch!

Frankly Speaking...

Finally! I finally finished American Witness, The Art And Life Of Robert Frank by RJ Smith. Took almost a year, and not that it was all that bad, it just wasn't all that... exciting either. Really didn't know a lick about the guy, except ya know, The Americans. And I think I did see him one day, he lived a block from me for a coupla years back in NYC- but it coulda been just another scruffy old guy on The Lower East Side. But I've always been fascinated by guys who meteorically rise to the top from jump- and then intentionally throw it all away for something else, which... they're usually never quite as good at. Very different from your average superstar genre that burn out on drugs, excess, whatever- shitload of them. Paul Graham, Stephen Shore... throw in Michael Jordan to mix things up. All packed it in at their peak to pursue the road less familiar. Graham and Shore, both pioneers of color in their respective fields, gave it all up to embrace smaller, experimental projects that most photographers pursue on their way to finding themselves and honing their vision. Jordan tried another sport he was not exactly best suited for, and Frank went full out into independent film making. His most infamous film being Cock Sucker Blues, the life and times documentary of The Rolling Stones on the road; which I excitedly got to see one day at MOMA, only to struggle (unsuccessfully) to stay awake throughout its overbearingly prolonged ennui. I suppose one could argue that it does take a special something to take the drugs, sex and debauchery of "The World's Greatest Rock and Roll Band" and turn it into a major snooze fest. But Frederick Wiseman he was not.

To be honest, I only thought I was gonna read that part of the book that dealt with his photography days. How is it that this Jewish/Swiss immigrant created the seminal photography book of the Twentieth Century? The book that turned a craft into an art form, and a series of blacks, whites and greys into a searing indictment of the most prosperous country on the planet? The book that inspired countless photographers and photography wannabes decades hence. Well, American Witness offers very little in the way of that. We don't learn about what he did on the road, the stories behind the individual photos, the personal insights into his shooting process. And not through any fault of the author- but because Frank was dead set in not divulging, imparting, or discussing any of the above. Joel Meyerowitz articulate he was most certainly not, and he didn't give an outright shit about teaching- which is not to say he was without ego, or impervious to the demands of bill collectors. But if you, like I, were hoping to catch a purloined glimpse into that special secret sauce gestalt that ignited the visionary magic that resulted from that most legendary of road trips- hitch a ride elsewhere...

Fortunately, one does get to hear about various assorted sundries of interest along the way: Uncle Ansel exhibiting photos in a Chinese laundry at $25 a pop, Gloria Steinem's double life as a one time CIA operative, and one long and diverse cast and crew of creative characters both genius, and delusional. It's only after The Americans that the book actually does pick up, exactly because of that colorful swirl of characters that surrounded his life after he threw himself into the more collaborative world of film making, the new medium he then so fully embraced and devoted himself to for the remainder of his career- perhaps, in good part because it was an endeavor he could neither fully control, nor master. It wasn't just him and the Leica he so effortlessly controlled. Every film was a separate life force, a different personality with a different set of challenges. 

He was a player no doubt, but sincere enough in his beliefs- he despised repetition, and was able to use his eventual fame and recognition to eke out the independent lifestyle he so desperately sought.

Good For The Goose...

Photo: © Stan Banos

We shouldn't have to be talking about this, this shouldn't even be a partisan issue- we should simply be following the guidelines that... REPUBLICANS themselves set up!!!

The American people should have a voice in the selection of their next Supreme Court Justice. Therefore, this vacancy should not be filled until we have a new president.   -Mitch McConnell, 2016

 Or in the words of...  Lindsey Graham!

Please, sign! I've never asked anyone, to sign anything, on this blog- but this is so vile, so dismissive of anything moral, ethical or humanly decent that we must make these lying, sorry ass SOB's live up to their own words!

The DEMS best grow a pair... 

Just Beautiful...

Let's see, how do I put this... OK, how 'bout this- the first* and last song (15:40) on this video are two of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard. Did I say how much I love her laugh?
*starts immed.

In Time Of Plague

Brian Rose has made quite the specialty of documenting the hidden histories of distinct geographic localities: The Berlin Wall, The Meatpacking District, The Lower East Side, Atlantic City, and now- Williamsburg, Brooklyn during Covid. Williamsburg is an area that has experienced hyper gentrification since the eighties, an area in Brooklyn that was largely split between distinct Hasidic and Puerto Rican neighborhoods; it followed the now well proven formula of an influx of artists and hipsters seeking cheaper rent, followed by the inevitable onslaught of big real estate and other well monied interests and residents. Out go the poor and low wage workers of color, in come the luxury condo owners with their accompanying Black nannies and caretakers like a scene from Ye Olde South (I kid you not- it was a common sight, pre-Covid)- but I digress...

Rose is more than adept at capturing the details and nuances that speak to the hidden histories behind that which is in plain sight. In Williamsburg, Brooklyn: In Time Of Plague, he deftly uses shadows, rain swept streets and the contrasting and competing styles of architecture to accentuate those vastly sweeping changes, changes further emphasized by the highly unoccupied streets of "these uncertain times."

 

Photo: © Brian Rose

I've walked these same streets on many an occasion, but unlike Rose I don't have the visual goods to show for the effort. I've considered and framed that very storefront many a time, and well... I'm just glad someone was able to do it justice. I have a general rule that I don't get a photobook unless it has at least twenty winners that I think capable of standing on their own. I can easily pick around two dozen in this case, and the rest of the photos add nicely to support and advance the overall character of this transitionary neighborhood in this transitional period of time. Oh, and the reproductions, in a word- superb!

Commitment March (cont.)

Photo: © Stan Banos

Photo: © Stan Banos

Photo: © Stan Banos

Photo: © Stan Banos

Photo: © Stan Banos

Photo: © Stan Banos

Photo: © Stan Banos

Photo: © Stan Banos

  

Photo: © Stan Banos

Life Is Short!!!

Good Luck- PASS IT ON...

09/09/2020

11:00AM   Pedicure Apocalypse         Cause, ya know... gotta look good! 
Photo: © Stan Banos

Today was the first day in which all the legitimate and cautionary warnings concerning climate change became (a trifle more) real, palpable and visceral to yet another (albeit small) group of people (in San Francisco). As rural California continues to burn unabated all around us, most urban Californians are content to just continue about their now semi-routine Covid existence. One crisis at a time, please! But nature, and the onslaught we have ravaged upon it, deems otherwise.

And again, this is just one small portent of much greater (and catastrophic) things to come. Because we won't always be able to simply pause, get out nails done and and casually take pretty pictures of the world burning all around us. And it won't be limited to CA much longer.

So look the best you can folks, cause the clock is ticking...  

12:53PM    Bay Bridge             Photo: © Stan Banos   

Choose Your Speed...

Gotta Love 'Em!                  Photo: © Stan Banos

I can only begin to guess how many protests, marches, and demonstrations the two above have between them. You just know they're hardcore (and cute), and have been for decades on in. 

The two below... not so much. But while some will be quick to find fault, hey, this is where many people's participatory level lies. And at the very least, they are sympathetic- unless you apply the completely cynical view that they have that sign displayed simply so they won't be disturbed from their leisure (and no doubt, there's many a Black Lives Matter sign displayed on homes and businesses as a matter of cheap insurance rather than solidarity). But before I, or we, are so quick to judge...

Attending all the protests, doesn't do all that much once the event's over- does it? It's what we do between them that counts: voting, organizing, getting the word out, challenging the status quo.  I remember one rally where a brother informed the assembled flat out that most of them didn't have skin in the game, most of them didn't get beaten by cops where they lived, most of them hadn't gone to jail for simply standing up for their everyday rights- most of them were just there to feel good about themselves on one very beautiful day! 

Now, that particular speech... didn't go down particularly well. Ya might even say a whole lotta people did not appreciate it one single bit. And I know, cause I was purposely looking about to register their looks and grunts of discomfort and disapproval. And hey, I'm not pulling a holier than thou here folks; I'm a relatively light skinned Latin X, I got some measure of anonymity- in a crowd at least, not so much in a department store ('specially when I sported a 'fro, instead of a bald head). But I've never been busted for my beliefs (or looks), so my street cred's shit. But we all must live our beliefs in between the marches to some extent- which means we all must dare beyond our comfort zones some times, if those beliefs are sincere...

Protest Lite...           Photo: © Stan Banos

Commitment March, 8/28/2020- Washington, D.C.

Photo: © Stan Banos

Took a bit of time off recently, survived a plane ride devoid of Black Uniformed thugs loaded with gear, and made my way to The March in DC before spending a few days with moms in NYC. For the past couple of months I was hopin' and a prayin’ that it wouldn’t rain on said date, and fortunately, it didn’t- although hotter ‘n hell with humidity you could cut with a butter knife. Honestly, I don’t know how masses of people weren’t hospitalized, but then, I guess the vast majority of folks weren’t foolish enough to walk around in ninety degree heat for six hours non stop looking for photos... and it was an icee vendor when finally over that saved me from passing out.

Had always wondered what it was like to attend the original MLK march in DC back in the day over fifty years ago- the one you see with wall to wall people going towards virtual infinity on either side of the reflecting pool in front of the Lincoln Memorial.* Those B&W photos were almost like magic to me, and this event lived up to expectations in living color. Never did see so many damn people in one place in my life spanning several generations, two thirds Black, one third Other- and one very positive vibe throughout. We lacked the ultra-charismatic leader of an MLK, but those gathered were as in the moment, as they were committed towards the future. As one most poignant of signs put it- "They're trying to start a race war, we're trying to stop one!" Of course, there's so much more to say, so much more ugliness to address, so much division to heal..

Eventually, people made a human chain across the reflecting pool with their signs in hand- an inspirational sight to behold both in its simplicity and grandeur. Tempted as I was to follow on in for some unique photo ops and to cool my aching dogs (my younger self would have)- I just saw my current day self slippin' and a trippin' like some wounded wildebeest crossing the river with lions in pursuit. My two cameras were already smoldering to the touch and I didn't further want to test their much touted "weather resistance." So I rather wisely refrained, continuing to concentrate on the thousands of land bound subjects at hand. And when the day was done, I ended up with about a dozen strong contenders along with the blisters healing to this day. That evening it commenced to thunder, and rain fell the entirety of the following day, which was fine- the wait was over, the deed was done, the respite welcomed.

 

Photo: © Stan Banos

I was staying at a small B&B near Howard University, a historically Black neighborhood which was now very mixed and gleaming from that fresh squeezed, just gentrified sheen. On the surface everything was cool, people were friendly and everyone got along. But that certain new found look of forced prosperity comes at a deep and underlying cost wherever it happens, as a short talk with a local native quickly bore out. It is what it is, I suppose..

 

 PS- More photos to come..

*When I first visited Wash, DC, it was as a child with my family and a carload of relatives. We drove up to the the storied Lincoln Monument, and my father circled about trying to find the ever elusive parking lot. Having failed his quest, he threw his hands up, said what the hell, and parked the station wagon right smack in front of Mr. Lincoln's building. As we walked up the stairs, he turned around as we all noticed the motor cycle cop pull over to the curb, remove his helmet and shake his head at who would ever... By now dad had taken out his trusty Bell and Howell Super 8 and filmed the entire sequence with said cop, foot on bumper, writing out his ticket and placing it on the windshield before riding off on his Harley.