Portait of the Month: Ganga Girl
This is the part of the show where the audience (das you) gets to tell me what they think about a particular portrait. I am collecting a crew of people with sharp and discerning eyes that have really given me a fresh perspective, more than once. Also more than twice, but less than a google.
Sometimes I like a picture very much, but am insecure about liking it. See here’s the problem. Just about any little kid (and some adults) will be inordinately proud of a large bowel movement they had last night. They may, quite justifiably, reflect on it years later with some fondness. But that doesn’t mean they should take it and show it to others.
Just as often, I just need someone to tell me I am doing a good job, that it will all be fine. Please tell me what you think, how you would adjust the crop, so on and so forth. I’m all ears.
On to the pic.
Take this fine pic as an example. You may remember my Low Keys of Varanasi. I shot this around the same time, and you can see the dominance of black in the composition, although its by no means a Low Key. It was a girl selling poojahs on the River.
By the way, a poojah is a small religious ceremony any observant Hindu can do to nab some quick and easy karma. That’s how karma works, you just get it whenever you can, a little here, a little there, a big slopping helping now and then. The poojah is simple, you light a candle, put in a little leaf dish boat thing, and waft it out onto the Ganges while reciting something or other.
Being a focused and sincere Christian, I don’t often find much reason to do it, besides maybe a chance to see pretty lights on the river. I do have Christian friends who just pray thanks to Jesus and fire that sucker up anyway, but I was not in the mood and decided to decline.
Mistake. These girls make their living off of soft bellied suckers like me. She tore into me, using every line in the book, machine gun style, without a singe breath. “siryoubuypoojahnowberyberygoodluckyouluckynowmyorphannomamanodadaberyberyhungryonlytenrupees….”
I decided surprise her by asking her for money. This sometimes gets a chuckle. Surprised she paused for a second and I swung my around, all smiles. I took the shot when she was doing some quick math. There is a basic equation that works the world over. If camera = tourist, and tourist = money, then camera = money. I saw her eyeing my soft underbelly.
“you take my picture, you give thirty rupees!” she said triumphantly, so relaxed and confident in her new position that she didn’t bother rushing anymore. I used my secret king-fu technique against this unassailable logic. I laughed loudly, from the belly, like Gordon Liu in Shoalin Drunken Monk.
This sometimes gets a smile. But I was outmaneuvered once again. She looked so furious and sullen that for a second I feared I had done the wrong thing. All apologies now, I offered one rupee.
This fresh affront elicited a world class sulk that so convincing, so emotional breathtakingly genuine that I relented. You see, this is a game we play together, one closely related to the game of haggling in the market. I’m no slouch at this game, but she gets a lot more practice and naturally has much more drive to win. I gave her 5 rupees.
As she walked away in mock disgust, she couldn’t really hide her momentary smile.
Nazareth, shawermas, and the circle of fire
Israel is as thick as my grandma’s cornbread, sweet and fresh from the jiffy box. You cant walk two feet without tripping over something mind-blowing. I have been here many times and thought I was used to it. I am not.
But today I went to Nazareth for the first time. I saw the unearthed old village where Jesus played as a kid. This morning I walked by a synagogue freshly unearthed that was certainly attended by Jesus at some point. Bought camping gear in Tiberius where he pushed out in a little boat and gave his mind-blowing sermon. Of course as I write this I am sitting on the top of mount Carmel where Elijah fought the prophets of Baal.
But Nazareth was truly moving. I went to a church that was built on layers of other churches going back to byzantine times. In the very middle is a tiny grotto that is believed to be the place where Mary heard the angel.
What do you think of looking at these things? It all grows on you slowly, and many abstract things become very real and sure. In your mind, you sometimes imagine Jesus as a large floating spiritual being. Being in Israel snaps it all down to earth, into the real. A small hebrew boy who was raised right over there, just like anyone else is raised. A young man that taught with such passion and fire that everyone remembers the hill that he talked on, which other that that one auspicious moment, is just like any other hill around the sea of Galilee.
I woke up this morning at the rainbow gathering in the Golan, looked outside my tent at rushes and oleander, fig trees and a small stream, winter clouds in the sky, a scene almost exactly like the one that would have greeted Paul on his way to Damascus, Peter on a fishing trip, or the Nazarene possessed man in his lucid moments between fits. One thing that would not have fit in very well is the roaring apache helicopters practicing maneuvers 20ft above our heads.
My mind goes to my family in Goa. Especially to Rachel. She is so deeply entwined in me that we are never really apart, and the longing so deep for her that I am never really close enough. She is always on my mind in every thought and decision. I wanted her to taste the perfect shawerma I ate in Nazareth today, just in front of the church. To get good food you have to go the arab cities. My beloved, it was as good as our falafel in Rehovot, did you know that? And it was followed by baklava so sublime, so elevating, that you had to close you eyes and sigh after every bite. Oh how I wish you could taste it!
Now I am on top of mt Carmel, exactly where Elijah called down fire from heaven. If I could call it, where would I direct it? Certainly into the hearts of every soul around me, and everywhere else too. I would direct such a stream of living fire that the truth and love of Yeshua (the little boy, the rabbi, the broken body, the light filled body alive again!) Would be as clear and real as the rocks and trees that I awake to every day. Such fires are not ours to direct. Direct them Hashem, Melech HaOlam!
Tomorrow its back tot he rainbow, and so much that I love. Back to fire circles and working together. Back to the stories and lives of my beloved family, imperfect and beautiful as they are. I cant wait to in the circle again and share yeshu bhajans, to sing More Love More Power and, I am a Rainbow my Soul Will Never Die.
Portrait of the month: Power Girl
Photography is like big game hunting, with fewer bangs. You are on the move, thinking about a lot of technical details, wondering whether to be stealthy or bold, with a lot of black gear jangling around your neck and shoulders.
Sometimes a photo just jumps out and shouts in your face, hey take me! In this case, that’s exactly what happened. This girl saw my camera and jumped out and demanded that I shoot her. She then valiantly fended off all the other waifs with the patented windmill attack (a complicated maneuver involving rotating every limb at high velocities a full 360 degrees) before posing dramatically.
Man, thank God she wasn’t a lion.
This part of the blog is where you get to critique a shot and tell me what you think. I am putting up shots that I like but am not quite sure about, maybe I have a nagging feeling there is something I could have changed.
It’s nice when people fawn and say, its perfect. It’s also nice when people point out what I could change. You can’t lose. Tell me what you think.
Oxymoron of the moment, Varanasi in low key.
It is no secret that Varanasi is my favorite place on earth. Nowhere is India more thick, more pungent, more vibrant and startling than in the oldest human city on earth. It’s like condensed India syrup, that you really should add a few cups of water to before you drink.
I decided to bring my camera and be ready. But be ready for Varanasi? Not a chance. It always surprises.
I mean, It’s like saying, I’m ready to have my abdomen trampled by four hundred and twelve water buffalo with tap dancing shoes on. Of all the things you would undoubtedly be in that moment, ready is not one of them.
One problem with bringing a camera to Varanasi is that, you’re hardly the only one who thought of it. Everyone needs the obligatorey shot of a sadhu and a guy soaping himself up on the river in the morning. I was trotting down the street, looking for more interesting shots when I came under fire from two dozen canons that swiveled to capture my every move. Oooo look! He’s stepping again! The canons were wielded by a loud raucous flock of middle aged Korean women who, emboldened by superior numbers no doubt, decided to throw all courtesy to the wind and get what shots they could while the spectacle lasted.
After all, its not everyday that you see a 6″2 dread-locked black man striding down the choked streets of India. The rapid fire report of their many shutters sounded like someone snapping armloads of twigs. Not to be outdone, I swung my giant white 70-200 towards them and snapped away like a paparazzi. In the end we all got a bunch of fairly worthless shots.
Enough of that, on with my mission. My own photography mission. Try to shoot the varanasi that people rarely see. Wandering around, I started to see shots I in the gullies at night in low key. If you didn’t know, Low Key is a composition style that favors black and other very dark colors.
They’re not underexposed, you are shooting pictures of things that are dark by nature, and in doing so reveal shape and line over detail and clarity. It’s also a powerful tool for mood. But it is not easy to understand, you have to look at them for a minute to catch the subtlety of it./As an artist, I think its a great tool. Here’s are some of my attempts.
Varanasi is anything but low key, but looking at it this way somehow tames it, let’s it breathe. This time Varanasi surprised me with its softness, the bare feeling that these shots convey. Of course i will post my classic varinasi pics too, but these were part of the vision i had, let me know what you think.
Out out out.
Today I am going out again with my camera and renewed purpose. One problem with living around stunning imagery all the dang time is that it stops stunning. You trot past so many flabbergasting things on your way to get buffalo milk (for cereal) that your few remaining ghasts refuse to be flabbered at all.
But just a few days ago I dragged it out and returned with a smile on my face. I had to slow myself down, but I got shots I never tried before. An as Usual I brood over every shot and bemoan its mediocrity. All artist are predictably narcissist, perfectionist, and tortured. What’s new?
Here are a couple, feel free to tell me what you think. Especially if its constructive criticism. ["Its pure bullocks pizzle, c'mon just say it" - finding neverland, remember?]
A monk upgrade, notice the hat.
a woman with babya
This is a development for me because I don’t like to take pictures of people unless I am setting them up in a studio for a portrait. Just taking pictures feels rude. To convey life and story into pictures like this is challenging, but I am up for trying. To me these feel a bit flat, but its a start.
The trick is, you just have to go do it. You don’t heave to be perfect at first. I have a great camera that is up to the task. The images are out there, milling around and kicking up dust. Even when you dont feel like it, you have to get out.
I got some great tips over at strobist and other sites I ruffle through. One even suggested putting snippets of paper in a hat with words scrawled on them like; “street”, “faces”, “close-up”, “moody”, “black and white”, and “poultry” and pulling them out randomly before you head out the door. Then you try finding those exact shots and capturing them.
Hmm…I hope I don’t get close-up poultry.
Snakes, Yaks and Bears, Oh my!
I just saw in the newspaper that Beyonce is playing Dorothy in the stage adaptation of The Wiz. It’s an adaptation of the Wizard of Oz with an all black cast that is a life long favorite of mine. The movie version had Diana Ross, Tipsy Russell, Quincy Jones and even a teenage Michael Jackson. Famously they encountered all kinds of bizarre (even drug induced) animals and enemies, but eventually figured out that their own inner strength made them overcome and yada yada and so on and so forth.
I only bring it up because, c’mon Wiz casting agent people, if you are looking for someone who can face weird new worlds and master strange animals and even befriend them, Beyonce is all wrong. First of all, she’s too big. I went to see the original The Wiz on stage with Stephanie Mills, who is no larger than a squirrel but has a voice so strong that would make Pavarotti dig in his pocket for a Vicks. Secondly, I know someone who has done it in real life and happens to be very small.
Yaya was made for Oz. And not the 100 foot stage with actors, but the population one billion, deep and exotic, elephants monkeys and chapatti Oz that we call India.
If you needed any proof, take last week as an example. Ya Ya looked on the side of the road and saw a bunch of snake charmers with a few of these.
Now your average person is intrigued, but keeps one foot pointed away from danger and keeps a common sense cobra buffer zone of at least 20 feet between them and the hooded snake. But Yaya, instead of running or recoiling, just did this…
and before you know it….
Not to be outdone, her brother swollowed his fears and managed this…
but since one snake is clearly not enough she nabbed another and went back to collect the cobra…
Even Leaf boy got into the action
As she walked away from the snakes that day she swooned and said in a dreamy voice, “Oooh I LOOOVE snakes!”.
Also did I mention that she played with a bear?
Got it to trust her by feeding it food.
Even got it to fall in love with her…
There is a picture missing here, the part where had to run over and take her hand out of the bears mouth. He had decided that he loved her so much he couldn’t let her go, and had caught her finger inside the cage. She screamed, I ran over and pulled her finger out (not really knowing if there would be any flesh on it) she cried and looked at her unbroken skin and perfectly fine digits, then petted him again. Lets you pull that one off miss Beyonce!
Then of course she rode a Yak.
So i am thinking that flying monkeys, evil witches and giant mutant puppets (you have to see The Wiz!) would be no match for this kid.
My other kids did nearly all the same things, but none with the same sheer willpower and fearlessness. love you Kiddo!
To Iran, with love
Iran is in turmoil. I am a small echo of that turmoil, sitting at my desk in the himilayas.
To say I care about Iran and Iranians would be a gross understatement. Four years ago they were a shape on the map, and any mention of them conjured up images in my of traditional headgear and the inevitable AK-47 held in an upraised hand.
Just days ago I returned from the Peace in the Middle East gathering in Turkey for the fourth year in a row. Just days ago I clasped arms with my Iranian brothers and wished them a safe journey back to Tehran.
They are some of my dearest friends, the kindest people I have ever met (even the world famous good cheer and helpfulness of the Canadians would have to bow out of that race) and I love them dearly. Iran is not a shape on the map anymore for me, it is the amazing homeland of my brothers and sisters, whom I have shared an unlikely and surprising long friendship.
Only days ago I noticed that we were flying over Iran and even over Tehran on Turkish Airlines flight 1070 from Istanbul to New Delhi. I strained to catch a glimpse of it, but it was shrouded in darkness. I contented myself with a prayer and a recommitment of my promise to my friends to visit them in Iran.
“After the revolution” they would always say. Can you listen to Radiohead in Iran? “After the revolution”. Do you think we can have a rainbow gathering in Iran? “After the revolution”. This was always said with great certainty, with a knowing and patient smile. Like saying, after sunrise.
What is happening there grips me, worries me. But that is nothing compared to the great risk that all my many iranian friends are surely taken. they all told me that Ahdeminijab would be gone soon. the election was in a few days. I thought I was sending them home to a new and more hopeful Iran. Instead they are returning to chaos.
I share all this about myself to humanize this. Doubtless if you are reading this you are my friend or family, or maybe someone who just got a little hooked on our crazy life. I am a human being, I suffer and care and act stupid sometimes. I pray and breathe and like vanilla ice cream and anime flicks.
They are human too. By knowing a few of their stories, I see our connection, how they like Radiohead as much as I do, even though they have to listen in secret. They are human beings, believe it or not.
And they are dying. They are being beaten. They are standing up. they are fighting and informing and trying with all that is in them to make their voices heard. So thats what I can help them do, be heard.
follow on twitter here
BEWARE! - Incredibly graphic video, but its much worse to live it than to only have to see it.
So what can you do?
get informed, follow the news. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/8106507.stm and many others.
Get on twitter and offer survival info if you have it. Many useful things have been posted to help the iranians, like not using oil based skin products as it binds chemical warefare and riot control agents to the body. To remove the marks put on their houses by the Basij to show they are traitors. To not be violent, to take care and know that people are praying for them. Follow #IranElection, #Neda, #Basij and several others.
If you are a praying person, pray for them. Write congress and ask them what they are doing about it. Sign internet petitions.
Mostly take notice. This will shift the entire middle east region and effect millions of lives, even yours. The revolution is here, it could end in freedom for many of the brutal oppresion of many. maybe you can make a difference.
Portraits: Both sides now
This one was first. A tiny indian girl and her friend accosted me on the road and demanded that I take a photo of them. I noticed the stylish tribal piercing in her nose and decided to comply.
Not to be out divafied, her friend also applied her pressure and got one too.
if you see these two on a road in india, run, they are unstoppable.
Of course the story is that they then turned around and demanded that I model for them. errrr..OK. click
Turns out she is good photographer, I dont think i have a picture of myself that I can stand besides this one. thanks Poojah!
snip snip snip…
…children disgorging themselves from the village school in a cheering smiling wave, shouting Obama when i tell them i am from america. they are awestruck. so am i…
…sublime dulcimer music in istanbul, an entire street filled with bewitching turkish instruments. the resonant and sweet chumbush saz, the unearthly arabic flute called the ney, ornate ouds, bazoukis, doubek, more exotic intruments than i could take in, i played them all…
…the taste of koska baklava, orange blossom honey…
…the whooping shouts of rainbow family, welcome home. my beloved turks and iranians. ahmed’s arms around me again. caught up in the most unlikely yet natural friendship i have ever had. mahmoud’s huge smile asking me how is Kenya…
…playing mandolin around the fire, real musicians take up the tune like they were born for it. everyone dances…
…praying in my tent, my small fire waiting to be lit, a rich solitude speared through with pangs and thoughts of my family…
…walking in fethiye, i notice giant greco roman tombs carved into the hillside. amazingly beutiful and enormous. i have never even heard of them. anywhere else they would be a national treasure. here its another in an endless series of amazing ruins. we sat in a 2000 year old ampitheatre and i could almost hear them shouting…
…i sat where kai and i had ice cream. the sticky and richly flavored turkish kind, gelato vs taffy. i thought of my boy…
turkey. what can i say? i love it here. i miss my family, we had an amazing time. it was the doorway into our new life. One year ago we left america.
Climbing Truind:Rocky Balboa vs Kid A mashup
My son hiked 11 hours to conquer a mountain. I have that kind of unabashed man-pride in him that he did something very physical. He is a very cerebral and emotional kid, but seems to be able to turn a switch on and accomplish very physical things with surprising ease. I am sure I could not have done it at his age.
And here’s a dad confession. To us dads, kids are a kind of handy experiment always in within arms reach. Heres a sample of our thinking. How many stairs could he jump down and land without a fracture? If he sits on my feet like this, and I kick-thrust as hard as I can, like this, how far will he go? Yes, he’s ready to carry his own backpack through the airport, he’s been walking for weeks now.
No one ever wonders which parent tossed the kid into the lake to teach him how to swim. But, let’s remember that it was also the dad plucked the coughing and grinning kid out to tell him how good he did, how proud he was, and sometimes you even might get a swimmer out of your experiment. I’m not saying its right, or even legal, but it happens.
True to form I envited my son to take a eleven-hour hike up a very tall mountain. I honestly did not know if he could do it, but I was sure it would coat his tiny chest with hard won hairs if he did it. I knew we could always come down at any time, and I practiced my speech. It went something like, you really tried hard, I am proud how hard you tried, we will do it next time. Chest hairs would have to wait.
But He more than conquered. I couldn’t believe it. He sometimes groans when he has to climb home from Bagsu, 15 minutes straight up. Not that I blame him, it a ticker grabber for sure. But given the chance, he gave the Himalayas a serious smack down. When he got tired, he just looked up to the top and kept going. Sometimes you have to give a kid a big enough challenge to call up his true reserves.
Anyway I am as proud as a dad can be. I am amazed by him. What will he become I wonder? What will this life traveling the world and putting mountain ranges underfoot impart to him? I am not at all sure, but let’s see.
more pics anyone?
