In Memoriam, Robert Herman

The metier of a street photographer is to traverse the city unseen, incorporeal.  A gifted few, like Robert Herman rise above the role of witness to conjure and coax poetry out of light, color and form.

We live in the strangest of times when simple things like pausing to talk to a stranger, embracing a friend or sitting at a table in a coffee shop can place us at risk, or endanger others. The city, as Robert knew it, has vanished. And he is gone from it too.

Yesterday we gathered to remember and celebrate his life and legacy.  It was good to come together, feel the love and shed a tear.  Even if we did so at a virtual remove, which was equal parts beautiful and surreal.

Thank you Tom Ashe and MPS DP for the moving tribute you put together.

Media features

Any media feature will be fundamentally different than a long term documentary project. In essence, a media feature asks the subject to represent his or her life and compress it to fit a scripted story of a few minutes duration. After the NYT published my work on Olmedini, there was an immediate response from media outlets requesting features.

I've tagged along on a few of those shooting BTS and paying close attention to how the media chooses to represent him. Without exception, visiting crews have tried to recreate my photographs as if they were the script to follow. So that instead of looking at Olmedini directly they look at him twice removed. Furthermore, none of them have acknowledged their debt to my images and have instead treated the story as if they were breaking it for the first time.

But I will say that Victor Javier Solano of Noticiero Univision 41 was an exception to this rule. He did his homework in terms of research and drafted probing and sensitive questions for the magician. At Olmedini's request, he also interviewed me on camera. My favorite moment in their feature is when a homeless guy approaches in the subway and kisses Olmedini's hands, telling the story of how the magician had more than once fed him when he was in need.

Windows

Like poets nostalgic for the world outside their window, looking out and looking in, lost in reverie.

Smiles like pianos with a few missing keys.

Falling down laughing at jokes meant only for one another.

Waking up from a nap and rapping loudly on the bedroom door to let us know you’re up.

Flexing your index fingers and whispering “charka, charka” every time you catch sight of our cameras resting on the shelf.

Holding onto mami while you sleep, like pilgrims to their prayer.

Olin and Luca, we will always be in your debt: we gave you life and you returned it twofold.

You arrived; we became.

Alone

I always thought dating a photographer would be cosmically redundant. Then I met HRM and I realized photography could also be the glue that held us together. Our art has always taken pride of place and we support each other through thick and thin. So when HRM was invited to Blue Star Contemporary for an important exhibition of her work, there was no question in my mind that she should be there to install and open the show.

In practice, this meant that she would leave the twins for the first time in fifteen months. Left unsaid, but possibly of equal importance, was the fact that papi would take care of them on his own while she was away: feed them, bathe them, keep them happy and well. HRM cried when she left for LGA and she cried every time she saw Luca and Olin on Skype. The twins would laugh and kiss the screen of my phone when they saw her on the other end. For the most part they were perfect angels the four days she was away. Luca would ask for mami a couple of times a day and cry a bit when he realized she wasn’t there. Olin is more reserved with his emotions and mostly kept it all in. On the fourth day however, he went and stood silently by the front door, staring at it. After a while, he turned around, found my eyes and asked for her. I could see the pain in his face and I explained - again - why mami had to leave for a few days and promised she would come back that night.

HRM arrived after they had gone to sleep. We decided it would be best if they saw her in the morning. But while I was getting ready for bed, Olin cried and HRM went in to soothe him. When he realized it was her, there were tears of relief… and anger. There was confusion too, as if he was unsure if this was real or a dream. Luca woke up and soon they were both sobbing uncontrollably. Even though they wanted to be held, they averted their eyes from her and looked away. Hurt. It took us a long time to calm them down. The next morning, awake and refreshed, they bounced back. Olin ran around pointing at HRM and then at me, calling us out, over and over again, celebrating our reunion. Luca was blissful too. Last summer, when I was forced to be away for weeks at a time, it was probably hardest on me. They babies were just happy to see me again. But their sense of time has evolved and the complexity of their emotions has deepened as well. Also, it’s different when babies are separated from their primary caregiver, which in our household is HRM. They feel their trust has been broken in a fundamental way.

As I weighed all of this in my mind, I couldn’t help but think of migrant infants, not much older than Olin and Luca, separated from both their parents by cold, unfeeling beaurocrats at the border; grief-stricken children left utterly alone and hopeless. They are put in cages. The damage to their psyche seems catastrophic, incalculable to me, their wounds indelible. As a country, we have failed them, even though they are not our own.

Departure

Magifest, here we come! And I can safely say, there is no better dressed passenger than Olmedini El Mago.

The road to Magifest

I arrived in El Barrio early this morning to help Olmedini prepare for his headliner performance in this year's edition of Magifest in Ohio.  This is one of the biggest stages in magic and we are thrilled to be a part of it!

https://www.vanishingincmagic.com/magic-conventions/magifest/#performers

One-on-one

Does your New Year’s resolution include becoming a better photographer or taking your practice next level up?

Aside from my own artistic practice, I dedicate a significant part of my time to being an educator. I'm on Faculty in the Masters in Digital Photography program at the School of Visual Arts and also in the One Year Conservatory in Photography at New York Film Academy.  I teach workshops internationally in countries like Cuba, China, and across Latin America.

A couple years back, I started tutoring privately, one-on-one.  I've had students from distant countries like Russia or Turkey come to study with me; students as young as High School or as accomplished as full-time art world professionals.  Mentoring is a beautiful process because it is targeted to meet specific goals and help identify and develop individual strengths and craft strong personal visions.

Write me if you're interested and we can begin creating the course of studies which best suits your needs.

Photo by Yana Nosenko

Manhattan Menagerie

We are getting ready to welcome the New Year in our Manhattan Menagerie!

Among their Holiday gifts, Luca and Olin got a ladybug with wheels they can ride on. It’s a nicely crafted thing: minimalist and charmingly designed, upholstered in soft naugahyde, with antennae that look like black lollipops and wheels that spin 360.

At one point HRM gave the ladybug a push and rolled it over in Olin’s direction. Olin thought the ladybug had come alive and moved of its own volition. It threw him into a bit of a panic. While HRM was busy comforting him, Luca played on with the toy.

Noticing Olin’s distress, Luca took action, pushing the toy clear across the living room to the front door and then hiding it behind our stroller: out of his brother’s line of sight.

In 2020, may we learn to become better keepers of one another.

New Interview for VSI

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.