Thank you Shlomi Ron and the Visual Storytelling Institute in Miami, I enjoyed being interviewed for your podcast series on the subject of Visual Literacy.
https://www.visualstorytell.com/blog/what-makes-a-photo-tells-a-story
Willets Point revisited (by the NYT)
Many people have written me in relation to the NYT article on Willets Point which was published yesterday. The Times assembled a talented team and the photographs are beautiful. But the images misrepresent what happened there and essentially miss the mark journalistically.
I photographed Willets Point during its heyday, back in 2009-2010, when the mechanics didn’t realize yet that the end of their epic, decades-long battle with the city was fast approaching. The work I did is collected in the book YONKEROS, published by La Fabrica Editorial, Madrid, 2013.
Little remains of the Willets Point I loved and knew so well. All of my friends are long gone from the junkyards. And the area is in a sort of twilight zone with the neighborhood renewal project stagnating for years now.
The piece in the Times revisits the few gladiators who are still there, who were too broke and shattered to leave the arena of their defeat.
Jiayang, coffee and twins
Being a father of twins means perpetually multi-tasking, like a juggler high up on a tightrope, wearing a clown costume.
On the rare occasion the kids decide to sleep in for 15 minutes you feel overwhelmed with the feeling of freedom and possibility.
Immediately, I knew what I wanted from my fifteen minutes in heaven: french press of Antigua coffee and Jiayang Fang’s New Yorker piece on Hong Kong. But first things first: I hastily washed and cut a half pint of blueberries for the twins and set up for their breakfast. I also prepared bowls of different cereals for papi and mami.
I sat down with the magazine, poured a cup of coffee and started reading; it was as brilliant as I knew it would be. For weeks, I had been following Jiayang’s Twitter dispatches from HK as she meticulously prepared her piece. Her essay opens with a riveting scene in City Hall, which most days functions as a performance space. A troupe of students is boldly putting on a play about the protests, which are simultaneously happening on the streets outside.
A page and a half in, I reached for a bowl of cereal, poured in the milk and when I went to take a spoonful realized I had taken HRM’s bowl instead of mine. My forehead crumpled in disbelief, but I was hardly surprised at myself.
Then I heard the sounds of Luca and Olin stirring awake in the bedroom.
Last look
There’s always a great sense of accomplishment when you see your work on display in an exhibition, and then a tinge of sadness and regret when it’s time for it to come down.
Although the show closes today, I knew that yesterday would be my last visit to “American Truth”. My first stop was at my framer’s to thank Christian and Jacqueline for the beautiful work they did for me. They were about to close shop and were touched that I stopped in. Christian kissed me on both cheeks when I left.
Then I had two special guests brighten things up for me. First was my friend and Curator of Photographs at the Museum of the City of NY, Sean Corcoran. I had shared my work-in-progress with Sean and it was a pleasure to discuss the project and view the finished prints with him.
A bit later Olmedini himself walked in.
It’s hard to make photographs knowing your subject will never get to see them. So I was glad when he arrived and we had the gallery all to ourselves. Arm-in-arm, we walked through the gallery. I described every photograph in detail, and the meaning each one holds for me personally. We recalled the early days when we were first getting to know each other and setting out on this amazing journey together.
Why have exhibitions in the first place? For me, it’s quite simply to have moments and conversations like these.
“American Truth” closing tomorrow
Tomorrow is the last day to see “American Truth” at SVA’s Visual Arts Gallery. Here’s a great interview with curator Jasmine Wahi on Buzz Feed!
Lies and misconceptions
I recently read an article in the New Yorker which argued that corporate America is convinced baby food only sells if it contains large amounts of sugar, which explains why ready-made foods are mostly fruit. We find this endlessly frustrating.
Our twins, Luca and Olin are thirteen months old and they enjoy kale, broccoli, cauliflower, beets, seaweed and a whole bunch of wonderful foods that America thinks no baby will swallow.
My deepest respect and gratitude to my wife HRM, for educating their young palates and - in her own quiet way - speaking truth to power.
One year
One year.
We are really starting to see the power of the mind assert itself in big and small ways: recognizing the same object in different modes of representation; understanding call and response; beginning to build the language skills necessary to communicate their needs and preferences.
But my favorite part is the sense of humor, because it feels so personal.
Tonight I cooked Olin and Luca their first pasta dinner. We are at the baby-led eating stage, so mostly I spoon food onto their tray and they feed themselves. Midway, Olin extended an arm and offered me a bite of his noodles. I thanked him and gave Luca a significant look. He reluctantly extended his. When I was about to take my bite, he took his arm back and ate it himself.
People say Luca smiles with his eyes but when he’s being playful he also wrinkles his nose and shows most of his six teeth.
Luca’s arm came out a second time, and he pulled it back again, chewing on the food despite his enormous grin.
I prepared a really good looking spoonful of pasta and brought it close to his mouth. When he went to bite I pulled it back and fed myself instead. His eyes widened with disbelief but then he smiled again and looked at me as if saying “you got me good that time, papi”.
Gratitude
Forget Black Friday, forget the latest toys.
Our children need our time. They need our attention. They need our love.
If we give them these, they will be grateful.
And so will we.
This is Olmedo Renteria
This is Olmedo Renteria, better known as “Olmedini El Mago”. Originally from Ecuador, he is 78 years old, blind and makes a living as a magician in New York’s subway.
Over the past year and a half, I have been documenting Olmedini’s life. A dozen images from the project will be on view as part of “American Truth” at SVA.
More information here.
2:40 AM
2:40 AM
HRM is feeding our wide-awake, jet-lagged twins. I’m getting ready to fly out to Guatemala. I agreed to this Artist Talk and Workshop months in advance, never thinking that it would come right on the heels of a second trip to Korea.
Olin and Luca are sitting, side by side, strapped into their tall baby chairs. The sleeves of their striped pijamas are rolled up to their elbows. They look like identical ‘prisoner of love’ dolls, propped up on a shelf.
As I pass by I can’t resist bending down to kiss Olin’s forehead. He looks up at me and then slowly raises his hand to my mouth. There’s a little slice of red grape in his fingers, his favorite snack. He places it on my lips, ever so gently, like a petal drifting to the ground.
When I go to kiss Luca, he follows me with his eyes and raises his hand to my mouth placing a bit of grape in it as well. He smiles and says “papa”.
I feel like sitting down, unpacking my bag and hanging up my jacket.
Getting ready for “American Truth”
Meantime, over at CHV Art Services, we’re starting in on framing for “American Truth” opening next month at SVA.
This is my debut exhibition for “Olmedini El Mago” and I’m so looking forward to Opening Night!
More details coming soon -
Tamborín
There’s a man down the street who was born and raised in Tamborín. For generations his family has grown tobacco and rolled cigars. He sells those here. Across the street and two blocks down, another guy sells miniature bottles of J&B, three for five. That’s oK. It’s fall and they fit just fine in the jacket pocket. A couple more blocks of Broadway gently sloping down and I arrive at the park.
The cigar is already lit and my index is drumming the cap of one of the bottles. I want to find the bench where I usually sit with my boys. I want to hear their laughter and linger on the memory of their faces. Then I remember that there is no smoking in parks in Nueva York.
I circle back and find a bench outside. A car with the windows rolled down is playing bachata loud enough for the whole neighborhood to party. They stop at the traffic light. The driver and three passengers are clapping their hands in the air and singing the words to the song.
It reminds me of the day we left the hospital with the babies, nervous and excited to bring them home. Bachata was in the air that day as well. It’s the anthem of the streets where they were born. I laugh and I can hear the boys laughing with me, together at last.
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.