Nothing. Nope. Don't Care.

Morris, one of fourteen travelers on our 2006 excursion to Myanmar, was a curmudgeon. Between adventures, while the rest of us chatted over cocktails, he was nowhere to be found. While we bussed from one place to another, or navigated the Irrawaddy River in a refurbished mail boat, Morris distanced himself, clasping a Nikon F3 on his lap, looking off at anything other than us. Sometimes I'd watch him, noting he took a fair amount of photos and seemed serious about shooting.

A few of us were photographers, and we enjoyed talking about what captured our attention, the equipment we used, and so on. Morris walked by during one of our discussions, and I got up the nerve to attempt drawing him in.

“What are your interests in photography?” I asked.

“I just take photos” he replied. I didn’t realize how literal he was being.

“Do you shoot film or slides?” 

“Slides.” 

“What do you do with them?”

“Nothing."

“Are you saving them for your kids, or…”

“Nope. I just store them, I have hundreds of boxes in my basement."

“But you look at them, right?

“Nope. I just enjoy taking them.”

“Does your family know they are there so they can see them someday?”

“Nope. Don’t care."

One morning a few of us rose early to embark on a hot air balloon float over Bagan. "Balloons Over Bagan” lifts tourists above 40 square miles of over 2200 temples, a testament to Burmese religious devotion over the centuries. The area, one of Asia’s richest archaeological sites, has been designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site. As we lined up to get in, I was surprised (and pleased) when Morris approached me to share that he was afraid of heights. I told him he could stand behind me in the basket. “Thank you” he said, and he did in fact stand behind me at first. Eventually he shuffled to the edge, turned to tell me he was OK and proceeded to do what he did best.

Once we landed, he thanked me again. We never chatted after that.

A few days later the group ascended many steep steps to visit a temple. Although my bond with Morris was shallow and brief I nevertheless felt protective of him and wanted to make sure he made it up safely. Standing at the top, I waited for him to make it to the finish line. About six steps away he lost his balance and for a moment I thought we were going to lose him. I’m not kidding, it rattled me probably as much as it did him. I had to sit down for a minute to pull myself together. I'm sure he was wholly unaware of my concern.

Balloons Over Bagan was akin to a magic carpet ride over an exotic landscape I'd only seen in National Geographic. I’m curious about the photos Morris took. At the time, he was in his 80s so I’m sure he has left this mortal coil. Did anyone ever discover his slides? Maybe they were thrown away, which begs the question "why do we make art?” 

For me, art is meant to be shared. Enjoy! If you're so inclined, raise a glass of wine, juice, water, whatever, to Morris.

Full of Grace

Twenty one years ago this month my lovely mother, suitably named Grace, died at age 94. On the 4th of July, actually. I pretend the fireworks are celebrating her.

Mom wasn’t fond of having her photo taken, but occasionally she indulged me. It didn’t help that in those days I was shooting with a medium format film camera mounted on a hefty tripod. I used a one-light umbrella kit to ensure a soft, diffused look. Setting up was an ordeal, to be sure. The prep time made her more anxious, and any sense of spontaneity was thwarted.

I’d been wanting to photograph her in the bedroom, where a few precious artifacts spoke volumes about her religious nature. I doubt she had any idea that I positioned her such that they were crucial elements of the image. That statue of Our Lady of Fatima had been atop the china cupboard in our dining room where I grew up. It was one of many Mary likenesses throughout the house, and she was the most exquisite. 

Once the equipment was set up she sat dutifully, wearing an elegant set of pajamas chosen for the occasion.

POP POP POP

The shutter and lights captured a tilt of her head here, another tilt there. Big awkward smile, small awkward smile. 

Egads, it was boring. It didn’t help that Dad, who adored her, stood behind me coaching her in a way he felt he should. Although it touched me deeply to hear him say “Oh Gracie, you’re so beautiful, look at me, smile, there’s that smile…” I could see that the images didn’t reflect her playful, feisty self. In reality, she was not that compliant little lady sitting on the edge of her bed. 

Clearly, I wasn’t going to capture the essence of Mom this time around. Frustrated, feeling as though I had wasted everyone’s time, I relented. “OK Mom, we’re done.”

I spoke cheerily, making sure she couldn’t read my mood. She jumped up, instantly regained her character, and shouted “Thank GOD!!!” 

This photograph was that moment. One last POP, the last exposure on the roll, the Hail Mary.

Eeek! A Mouse!

Yesterday, I ventured into the wild. OK, so it wasn’t really the wild, it was just my yard.

It felt dangerous though. After the recent death of Gene Hackman’s wife Betsy Arakawa

due to hantavirus, the subject is heavy on our minds here in Santa Fe. Double masked

and gloved, I spent most of the afternoon cleaning plant pots and wood piles, with mice scurrying every which way. It reminded me of the time I turned on the leaf blower, and

out came a large family of mice. I swear there was mom, dad, grandparents, kids, grandkids, and close friends. I felt sorry for them. Did I interrupt dinner? A nap?

I screamed and jumped on a chair exactly like old cartoons would have us do.

I’ve ordered peppermint oil and Irish Spring, which have been effective in the past to deter the critters. Our out-of-doors will be minty fresh.

All I wanted to do this morning was go out to reclaim my space and take a few photos.

A "shoot & scoot" if you will. There was a dead mouse in a pile of leaves and yes I photographed it, but I'll save that for later. Or not.