Photography workshop in Cuba

There's many ways one can explain the siren song of Cuba and its irresistible sway over photographers. For one, there is the lure of its surfaces, brimming with color and tropical light. For another, there is the nostalgic persistence of the past, which invites us to reconsider our relationship to the present and cleanse our spirit of the distractions of cyber-modernity. In Cuba the art of conversation has not been lost. And even the silence is shared; people still know how to enjoy a quiet moment together.

I’ve signed on to teach a new workshop in Cuba - Jan 24 to 31 - with my good buddy and Pulitzer Prize winning photographer Alex Garcia. Havana and Trinidad are on our itinerary, plus we’ll be there in time for the unforgettable March of the Torches!

More information here.

In Memoriam: Jill Freedman

I am heartbroken at the news that Jill Freedman has passed away. She was fearless, colorful and charismatic, fiercely talented and one of the most sensitive artists I've ever met. On more than one occasion I saw her tear up remembering people she had photographed and who had touched her heart.

Three years ago, she graced us with her presence at i3 Lecture Series.

A long night ahead

Making exhibition prints for “American Truth” at SVA.

Long night ahead. More coffee please!

Artist Talk, Festival de Antigua

Chapines, la cita es el 8 de noviembre.

El marco es el Festival de Antigua.

Ojalá y puedan acompañarme!

A double blessing

HRM and I have twins on both sides of our family. Her first cousins are twins. My first cousin has twins. And yet, when we were pregnant, it never crossed our minds that we might be next in line. We found out on the day of HRM's first ultrasound; there were two boys inside, just waiting to meet us.

Still feeling overwhelmed - and somewhat in disbelief - we shared the news with friends and family. We were roundly congratulated on this incredible, double blessing. Never having fathered a child before, a part of me wondered how exactly we would survive the blessing.

Today is eleven months since our twins arrived.

Every day has been a gift, even the ones where I thought I might collapse from exhaustion or let frustration gain the upper hand. These past few weeks, apart from them, have really tested me.

Nothing makes me happier than seeing their mother's face light up when she looks at them or hearing Luca and Olin’s laughter fill the house. I watch them grow and come into their own.

I understand a father’s heart now;

I understand, about that double blessing.

5780

5780.  That's how many years of Jewish history we count this Rosh HaShana. 

Traditionally this is a time to take stock of the past year and look forward to the new cycle of life which is beginning.  I am grateful for my family: their sweetness, their health and well being. I feel blessed to have the ability to provide for them and give them a good life.  I love my friends and colleagues who continue to inspire me and challenge me, who walk alongside on the often lonely road of art. 

I wish for all of us humans that we find compassion for each other, for our planet and all the beings who inhabit it with us.  We must reset our priorities and change our habits.  We must elect leaders who are not blinded by greed and personal ambition.

Shana Tova and a Happy Jewish New Year!

Elsewhere

“You are beautiful” he said, “But I will have to leave you”.

—-

When I saw my students last week, I joked that my body had arrived but my soul was still in transit. I now know that it’s taken up permanent residence overseas as long as my family is in Korea.

We call just about every day and my heart melts when I see Luca and Olin. Invariably they crawl over to the phone and try to climb through the screen to reach me. I feel the same impulse.

It’s funny and sad.

I worry about my wife because we rely on each other constantly to make things work. I know our family is doing everything possible to support her and to care for the twins.

But I still worry.

These days I can read poetry with my morning coffee. I can shoot new work. I visit exhibitions and apply for opportunities. Yesterday I spent six hours straight writing a grant. No interruptions. What a luxury of freedom and focus that was.

But as Kundera once wrote, life is elsewhere.

I cannot say I did not

“I asked, with everything I did not 

have, to be born. And nowhere in any

of it was there meaning, there was only the asking

for being, and then the being, the turn 

taken. I want to say that love 

is the meaning, but I think that love may be

the means, what we ask with”.

Sharon Olds, a favorite poet in this week’s issue of The New Yorker.

Jet lag is a real thing

I arrived at JFK last night and got home a half hour before midnight.  Today I have back to back classes at New York Film Academy teaching History of Photography.  It’s 4:30AM Korea time and I have another hour to go!

Wish me luck!

Homage on the streets of Seoul

A spontaneous, quickly sketched homage to the great Sophie Calle.

Holding down the fort.

Today was my turn to hold down the fort while HRM took her mom shopping for a pretty new dress and top; a small way of showing our appreciation for all of her kindness these past few weeks.

Olin was fussy, clingy and crying for no apparent reason. That lasted all afternoon. Fortunately, Luca was really patient and well behaved.

At one point, I had Olin cradled in my arms rocking him back and forth; his brother sat nearby playing with a toy. Without really thinking about it, I pretended to yawn loudly and then midway through the yawn acted out a fit of sudden coughing. Both babies looked at one another, then at me, then laughed at the same moment. I repeated this once more but more loudly and with greater exaggeration; they laughed even harder. By the fourth iteration, Luca was rolling around on the ground laughing hysterically and Olin cracked up so badly he spit out his pacifier and his whole face became one enormous, beaming smile.

Clearly, babies have a language of their own.

I’m learning it as I go along.

.

.

ps: the house in this photo is not where we live.

pps: I wish it was.

A pretty decent fit

Life is always a complicated balancing act. One of the things which has eluded me after becoming a dad is finding time for fitness.

All throughout my 20’s and early 30’s, I used to swim religiously, just about every day of the year. So when HRM told me about a swimming pool near her mother’s house I was truly overjoyed at the prospect of getting back into it.

This pool offers only one 50 minute slot daily for open swimming - the rest is blocked off for lessons. Last week I headed out for the first time and I was running a bit late. When I started changing in the locker room, I was devastated to realize that in my haste to leave home I had grabbed HRM’s navy blue bikini swim suit instead of my own (navy blue) trunks.

I was about to call it quits but instead slipped them on. To my amazement, they were a pretty decent fit. So I swam in them and never looked back. In fact, now I understand why Norma Kamali charges $250 for a swimsuit to Arena’s $30!

Base camp

Traveling with babies can be daunting.  It’s less a matter of packing suitcases and sunblock lotion than a whole string of logistics and preparations, as if setting up base camp for an expedition.

But the rewards are amazing and you witness incredible growth spurts.

Yesterday, Luca learned to clap his hands together.  Olin had mastered the skill a week earlier.  Where Olin is a meticulous observer and more contemplative in nature, Luca is very determined and achievement oriented. Learning to clap was an event for him.  

That evening when we darkened the room for sleeping, Luca kept putting his hands together and making happy sounds, sometimes raising his body to a sitting position and clapping some more amidst big smiles.  HRM remarked it was his private celebration.

An hour later, I heard crying and went in to see what it was about.  Luca was awake and I gave him his pacifier.  He looked at me, clapped a bit more, and went right back to sleep.

X marks the spot

I doubt that people look at me and think “he’s so Guatemalan”. Or that when they first meet me they assume I live in New York. They probably don’t say to themselves “there goes a Jew walking down the street”. I sometimes get taken for a German - which I find strange - or an Israeli - not so strange. I am a frequent resident of Seoul, but not Korean, although my twins are in part. I have great love for Havana but my only claim to it is photographic.

The question mark that is me is done teaching for the summer and packing bags. Adiós Manhattan, see you in September!

The takeaway

We live in a culture that churns out photographs by the billions every year and then immediately discards them in equal numbers.

As a photography educator, I try to counter that trend in any way I can, but mainly by encouraging visual literacy and a deeper awareness of the history of the medium and it’s different traditions of image-making.

My message to students this week has to do with the difference between appreciating and being able to discuss photographs intelligently and merely “liking” them on social media.

The takeaway today: likes on social media are the same as money in Monopoly.

—-

photo by Lee Friedlander

Eight months with Luca and Olin

Saturday marked eight months of Luca and Olin being born.

One thing is certain: babies teach parents to live in the moment. And to be selfless.

That’s as powerful a life-altering force as any religion, philosophy or meditation practice I’ve ever encountered.

What a gift!

Bad-ass teacher

After a day of shooting on the streets of SoHo for our NYFA Summer Camp, we piled into the elevators back at school.  One of the kids - sweaty and eyeglasses misting over from the AC - turned to me and said:

“I used to think my math teacher was the most bad-ass teacher I ever had.  But I think you just outdid him”.

Ceremonial First Pitch at Yankee Stadium

So really, how does a blind man throw a pitch from the mound at Yankee Stadium?

Minutes before going out on the field, Olmedini and I discussed the issue with Yankee's PR maven Dolores Hernandez.

I was of the opinion that Olmedini should be discreetly pointed in the direction of the catcher and then throw the ball straight underhand, like a softball pitch.

He countered that major leagues pitchers always throw overhead. He then went into an elaborate parody of their body language down to chewing tobacco and spitting from the side of the mouth.   

Olmedini said in no uncertain terms that he would need something to chew on when he went out there. Somebody was dispatched to get a pack of gum.

Out on the mound, with 40,000 fans cheering him on, Olmedini grimaced a few times, looked away and held the baseball tight to his chest.  For a few beats, he shifted his feet and squared his shoulders for the pitch.  Then he reached overhead and, at the last moment, threw the ball underhand.  It sailed straight to catcher Gary Sanchez.  All the while, Yankees starting pitcher CC Sabathia looked on, grinning from ear to ear.

When Olmedini raised his hat to salute the crowd, the noise in the stadium was deafening.

And I never felt so proud.

The New York Yankees honor Olmedini El Mago

This morning six players from the New York Yankees arrived in East Harlem to surprise Olmedini.  As part of their annual "Hope Week", the Yankees chose five individual stories to highlight and celebrate.  After seeing my work in NYTimes Lens and Metropolitan they decided to honor Olmedini.  

As part of the proceedings, Olmedini performed for a group of children at Yankee Stadium and was presented with a check for $10,000 to benefit a charity which helps to train young magicians.  Also, the Directors of The Society of American Magicians were on hand to induct him as a member.  President Trump honored him with The President's Volunteer Service Award and sent a signed letter to accompany the same.  

Pre-game excerpts of an interview with Olmedini were broadcast on stadium screens and then Olmedini was formally introduced and asked to throw the ceremonial first pitch.  

It was a truly memorable day in the Bronx!

San Antonio and the black ants

Yesterday we drove out to the marketplace in San Antonio Aguas Calientes to soak up the small town vibe and get some last minute gifts. Also because Olin is fascinated by the bright colors of huipiles and other native weavings and objects.

As they always do in Guatemala, our twin babies created quite a stir around them.  Women drifted over from their stalls to have a peek at them, others even got up from their looms mid-weaving.

One woman confided in me that her brother and his wife had twins born to them: a boy and a girl.  Tragically, the girl passed away twenty days later.  The young couple looked towards religion for solace.  The surviving baby boy would sometimes sigh and tear up unexpectedly and the whole family would follow suit and wail with grief. 

Following Kak’Chiquel tradition, they planted carnations in a pot and helped the infant water and care for them, giving him a companion to grow up with in her absence.  A sense of peace was gradually restored to the household.

She also cautioned me that when you get angry with or scold a twin, they have the power to summon ants from the ground to bite your skin.

***

And a little postscript: this afternoon I was sitting with Olin on my lap and teased him about his trousers fitting a bit too snuggly.Next thing I know, a big black ant appeared on my forearm!