Cuckoo

It was a Thursday night in Los Angeles. I was hanging out at House of Pies with friend and actor Jim Hoffmaster, subject of my film Acting Like Nothing is Wrong. Throughout my years of spending time in LA, House of Pies has remained a favorite venue for us and our friends. 

A man I have noticed there many times before was dining alone. A striking, lanky older gentleman, he always wears a bedazzled peaked hat and a wool, black uniform of sorts accessorized with gold trim, pins, and turquoise & silver jewelry. You can't not notice him.

I've seen the way he saunters in, or out. He always holds my attention. 

After Jim and I were seated I debated aloud about asking Mystery Man if I could photograph him. Truth be told I’m shy about approaching someone in public, a subject I address in

my very first blog, “Don’t Be Shy."

Jim encouraged me, so I walked over and introduced myself by name and as a photographer. “I’ve noticed you before” I said. “I love” - and I pointed - “your hat, your jewelry, your big smile.” I asked him to tell me about himself and he said “You’re too young to remember, but I used to be in a band.” Well aware that I look younger than I am, I said “Try me.” 

“The Chambers Brothers” he responded. "We had a hit song with 'Time Has Come Today.' 

You’re damn right I remember! “Time" was big in 1968, when I was in high school. 

“I’m Willie Chambers” he said, clearly pleased I knew the song. Willie, along with his brother Joe, wrote that “psychedelic anthem” as it is often described. Their brother Lester sang lead.

I sat there, somewhat stunned. Tears welled in my eyes as I pulled together his past with mine. Over 50 years later there we were, two individuals with polar backgrounds having a chat. The Chambers Brothers had performed at the iconic venue Grande Ballroom in Detroit as did Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, The Who, etc. I was too young to attend those concerts, and frankly, oblivious about these soon-to-be world sensations. But on the opposite side of town, in my pink bedroom on Riad Avenue, I danced to "Time."

If you remember the song, you will know the “cuckoo” reference. You can hear it just 4 seconds in. Funny how little nuggets from a song become indelibly etched in our minds.

I have access to Willie's contact info but what would I say? "Meet you at House of Pies"?

Maybe I'll do just that.

Willie Chambers, photo by Jane Rosemont, 2024

Listen to the song!

Chambers Brothers band, photographer unknown

The Slump

Every 2-3 months, I go to Los Angeles for a self-imposed art retreat. In the small apartment I rent from a friend I set aside time to write, create collages, maybe both, but making photographs is de rigueur. There was a pall hovering over me this time around, and none of that was happening.

For me to not want to grab a camera and head out even for a few minutes is rare. I took time to “cry it out", sometimes with my pillow and sometimes on the phone with my best friend/husband. There didn’t seem to be one thing that put me in this slump, but rather a cluster of circumstances. It felt as though I was unable to resolve any part of it, certainly not the aging element.

One day I headed to Glendale for an appointment to see my hair guy, Ray. It was time to refresh the red and get a trim. Perhaps that would cheer me up? Before I went in, I gave myself a photo assignment. In the immediate vicinity of his salon, which is on a nondescript littered street, I’d take a photo that would illustrate my frame of mind. Then I’d take a photo to describe how I wish I felt. Both photos are shown below. The photos, although not remarkable, did cheer me up, moreso than the color & cut.

I ended up spending quality time with friends later that day and the next. Those interactions were certainly uplifting. Now that I’m back home in Santa Fe, JuJuBe and Josie are prescribing fur and purrs and my husband has an ample supply of hugs.

Photography as a healing tool, how about that!

The Kiss

My parents were married 94 years ago today. If I recall correctly from Mom’s account,

it was a small, quiet celebration of their devotion to each other. They went on to raise eight children, and lived long enough to see their 68th anniversary.  

This photograph was taken and hand colored to honor their Silver Anniversary in 1956. It had a special place on my parents’ dresser. I was three years old at the time, and from the moment they showed it to us kids, that photo - the elegant frame too for that matter - fascinated me. Through the years I'd wander into the room just to stare at it. It represented my whole world.

Many years later, a couple of years after Dad died and Mom was aging gracefully, I was chatting with her while she dressed for the day. The photo was on her bedside table, and I noticed a smudge. “Mom, the glass on your photo is dirty” I said, and approached to wipe it off. I stopped in my tracks when I saw that the smudge was an impression of her lips. Speechless, I held it up to her, pointing to the spot. She glanced at it for a second then continued dressing. ”Well, I still need to kiss him goodnight” she said.

I don’t know who eventually wiped that glass clean but it made me sad.

Taking pictures these days is easy and cheap, and we often lose appreciation of the value that an image can hold. Food photos and selfies are ubiquitous. When do we notice that a photograph is exceptional, or even sacred?

If you were allowed only one photo in your home, which would it be?