Tony Jackson rocking it out to Ballroom Blitz at the NorWesCon Saturday night dance.
waking up slowly
Tag: photography
work just handed me business cards to schmooze with, telling me to “slip them in my bra”
365: 77 – 18.03.09
Looking up from my book to step onto a crowded bus, I slipped through everyone to the very back to find an unexpected puddle of empty seats around a very young, equally unexpected boy. No more than sixteen, maybe seventeen, eyes fixed out the window, obviously aware of everyone staring, he would not have been exceptional except that he was dressed as if he was only five minutes out of the Arab Emirates, all flowing, air thin white robes and leather string sandals, except for a light blue, very out of style denim jacket, a bare, acid wash nod to the weather as torn out of place and time as his traditional Saudi white and black ghutra and ougal. In the morning commuter gloom of black and gray and raincoats, his shining white looked completely bizarre, like a theater costume at a funeral, setting him completely apart.
So I sat next to him. We’re all strangers somewhere.
I should not be this suprised to find my juice bottle from whistler is half full of chambord
Jones also worked as Ansel Adams’ assistant
Pirkle Jones, Marin County, by Ansel Adams, 1948.
Photographer Pirkle Jones, best known for his images of California’s migrant workers and changing landscape (including a collaboration with Dorothea Lange) and his iconic Black Panther pictures, has died at 95.
artpost: modifying the face as object
 Landscapes | Landscape I | 120x100cm & 60x50cm | 2008 |
 Landscapes | Landscape II | 120x100cm & 60x50cm | 2008 |
 Landscapes | Landscape III | 120x100cm & 60x50cm | 2008 |
 Landscapes | Landscape IV | 120x100cm & 60x50cm | 2008 |
Landscapes, a self-portrait series by Levi van Veluw
one of my employers accused me of being affiliated with criminal terrorists
365: 67 – 08.03.09
Reading Vellum, a book mixed in dark Sumerian myths that mentions a childhood spent in Slab City, I feel the world is held together with cellophane, that everything touches a clear film of shared experience; a theory continually upheld by strange synchronicities and fantastical, personal proofs, as I perpetually discover that the people out there I’ve never met, but read about, turn out to have been next to me all along, living only ever one singular person away.
time to live
I’ve got a sudden photography gig tonight, very last minute. Nothing fancy, only a conference dinner sort of thing. People making speeches, possibly some accountants schmoozing after. Their photographer had to cancel to attend to a funeral, and Lisa was kind enough to recommend me as her replacement. In order to save them, I had to cancel my original plans to attend the Workless party party, but I figure it’s for a good cause, both for them and for myself. It’s been too long since I’ve had an opportunity fall into my lap to swoop in and easily excel at something, soothing panicked people happy. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I can still go dancing after.
COILHOUSE: Better than Coffee – The Flocking Behavior of Starlings.
experiential over material
if you blink, you miss it (travelling through Canada in the fall)
a moment
One Last Time:
“According to the submitter: “The night before the burial of her husband’s body, Katherine Cathey refused to leave the casket, asking to sleep next to his body for the last time. The Marines made a bed for her, tucking in the sheets below the flag. Before she fell asleep, she opened her laptop computer and played songs that reminded her of ‘Cat,’ and one of the Marines asked if she wanted them to continue standing watch as she slept. ‘I think it would be kind of nice if you kept doing it,’ she said. ‘I think that’s what he would have wanted.'””