Don’t usually shoot people wearing hats. Got my friend McQuade to hold the reflector. Never shot Bernard. My shoot loosener fell flat. “Not a good day for the Yankees. Old. Injured. And they lost.” “I don’t follow baseball,” he said.
Tough to work alone. When one of my guys finds the light, it makes them smile. All my photos become a bigger collaboration with the people I shoot.
Chad sporting a Prince Valliant look.
Scotty has his pouch.
Amy received a certificate for attending a Peer Emotional Counselling Program.
New girl in town.
So, here is a crew that cares for cars. Most of us don’t know squat about our cars anymore. To care for the car, owners need to learn, understand and trust. Then you got to be responsible. Cannot just go from gas station to gas station, forgetting about the pipes, tubes and tires. I lost at least one much loved car to bad service. Never again.
Redemption. We seek redemption for different reasons. Larry promotes a clean environment, relying on the arrogance of those who cast their containers aside after binging on the beach. He lives to drink another day, clearing the beach and adjoining land of debris. We get to enjoy the view.
Excited about their prospects. Young. In love. Living in the wild. They have friends and community. Will it be enough? And for how long? Her bird tattoo honors dad who loved birds. Mom wears the broken heart.
So, I represented Eric light years ago in Rutland. Must have called him in jail, when public defenders didn’t deign to do such things, except for the privileged few. He asked something and someone answered something. From then on he has referred to me as Mrs. Duckman.
Trying to build a portrait photography business in Burlington. People don’t spend money on such things unless they go to high school or get married. I don’t have money for a studio or advertising or professional quality lighting. Spent too much going to school and then the market dropped. So, I came up with a promotional idea. Donated a portrait shoot, a headshot and a digital image, at a screening of Tatoo Nation, a movie about how prison tatooing in California started the tatoo boom. Wouldn’t you know it, a kid who wanted a tatoo won the raffle. He doesn’t have ink. But he wants to become a musician. Right now he fights some demons, but he feels as though he is headed in the right direction.
You had a life to live forward to and then the guy dies. Wasn’t tough enough before him; now you got to move on alone. People keep records and tell stories. You got dignity and pain. Sometimes they cancel out, leaving you who knows where. But everyday you got to take your beauty into the street with your head hung high and smile.
And, sometimes, you have to maintain the mystery!
Dennis died April 2 at the age of 54. He didn’t look it, as people say, but what does that mean? What does a person’s years have to do with how they look? People look like they look. We all see people differently based on our experience. If we have seen someone, an aging relative or friend, who looks haggard or tired, we may assume that all at this age will look the same. If the person shows energy and promise, we might make more positive deductions. But they mean nothing. The people whom we observe leave an individual faceprint. The better the shot, the more we see. If we listen, a little, the more we learn about the person, not necessarily about life as it applies to all who have been born who have or will wander into our lives.
Our man, Dennis, here, looks strong and weak. He’s tired of the bullshit life put in his path and on top of whatever he needs to do to avoid it. See the wrinkles under the eyes, the deep routes in his forehead, the downward tilt to his lips. He’s wearing a raincoat on a sunny day and a wool cap on a not so cold one. Colored like the flag, he looks like he dressed for the walk, albeit inappropriately. He didn’t. Not a lot of patience to stand still, but he did. I gave him a dollar. Dave Parker gave him a dollar that I had given to him earlier.
People mourned him.
Just one way out of the Courthouse. Always a good day when you can leave through a front door. The rest of life’s problems could be simple, but they are not.
Amanda’s carrying the burden of her father’s sickness and trying to stay clean and sober. She looks great and sounds positive.
Larkin has a place and a relationship. Both need furnishing and care. He’s got a good heart.
Molly has programs to attend and needs teeth. She is so happy to have her life back, too. Larkin protected her when they lived in the woods.
Brian says he spent time in jail for a crime he didn’t commit. He’s out. Now, he needs a life. Hasn’t gotten help. He’s not sure he needs it. Who knows.
Karl would be lost without the street. “Hey Duck, take this photo.” Never saw the people before. Young woman is a poet. She recited a poem she made up. He cut her off. Ending his physical therapy for hip repair. Has to get around with a chair. Vision going. How long he stays in his apartment is up in the air. Asked me if I knew of a place to live. Me? Why would anyone ask me about a place to live? People all jive him, without knowing what goes on. They play him, not taking the time to look beneath the shell. He acts like he’s Donald Trump, firing people. From what job? Who knows? Lives in another world, one where poets live. He will be more lost without a place to live. I told him to go to the hearing, deal with the bullshit and keep his apartment. Always have to show up. And it may mean missing a day on the streets. He’s got a pad full of problems and poems.
Not seeing well, but clear headed, now, Scotty needed his stick. He doesn’t see, well. He has social skills, but limited physical ones. People take advantage of him; stealing his money, getting him drunk, not listening to his needs. He thought that someone had stolen his stick, because he gets special treatment.
So. when I attempted to shoot him, he resisted. “Haven’t you taken enough pictures of me?” No. “I have to find my stick. Where’s City Hall? I might have left it in the bathroom.” We walked. We talked. I had to hold him. He stumbled. Not a photo shoot.
He remembered, with help from Matt Young, that he may have left it in the bathroom at City Hall, but he wasn’t sure. Had to stop at the bathroom, where e inquired of a guy taking a shit, by peeking over the divider. Not shocked, the shitter said, “not here” We went to the Office of the City Attorney, a stop I needed to set up an appointment with Richard Haessler. He’s not there. Scotty is getting shakey. Well dressed people in the hall, black and briefcases, looked away from us, more interested in their pitch to whomever in City Government they needed to reach. Again, not pictures. Only Scotty, Not sure why?
But we found his stick.