Month: September 2013

Richard and Skip Feed the Ducks

Last time we saw Richard, he and the sailor shared the set. Richard, today, came to feed the Ducks and mourn his sister’s death. He casts potato chips on the water attracting Ducks while remembering his sister. I tried to explain that potato chips weren’t good for Ducks. “…, they come right up to me and eat them. They like them.”

Skip aged since out last shoot. “Hard out here. Slept here last night …. You age fast on the street.”

Lot of effort goes into shooting on the street. Sometimes, you gotta find them. Sometimes, you gotta have equipment. Never know, as a street shooter. Then I gotta get them to stand still, which really isn’t easy if they are stoned, drunk, on meds or angry. I could go on. The biggest stressor? Do they trust me? Damn. I love seeing them. Fear their deaths. Questioned about the people I know or knew, I show them a portfolio of recent photos. Most of my notebooks have two copies, because I haven’t been able to find the person pictured. Never give to people who promise to deliver. Another thing to carry.

So, Richard talked, after he heard from me, “… about being alive, being alive, being alive.” “You gotta do what you gotta do, … even if it means doing what you can do.”

Lone Sailor Watches Over Richard North

Little nippy today in Burlington by Lake Champlain. Al fresco doesn’t suit me. But for a chronic drunk who hasn’t dried out lately, the feel of the Lake Breeze and warm morning mist offers sleeping opportunities few can appreciate and fewer would take advantage of.

But, there, in the shadow of ECHO lay Richard North.

And his vodka bottle.

I’m sorta glad the two of them look out for one another. Don’t you wonder what they talk about? We know the Lone Sailor watches for his ship, so he ain’t drinking. But what does he think about the mess, the bottles and the bodily fluids deposited nearby?

Aren’t you glad he has his gloves. Don’t want cold hands. Damn. I cannot sleep without a pillow either. You try lying on cold marble or granite. Got to passout not to feel the pain.

One day, I fear, he will end up like my friend Paul O’Toole, dead on a grate.

Burlington’s First Fall Day

New England shows its colors slowly, sometmes. This fall looks as if it will go on forever. Colors just coming out. I don’t involve myslef in reds and yellows. Send me blue greay. Matches my eyes.

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Started at the fishing pier where no one catches fish. Moved to the sailor.

Went home for breakfast. Not much doing. Headed to the Water Treatment facility. Bike path quiet. People taking boats out of the water. Windy and sneaky chilly.

 

So, I meander down to the water to make this shot, sliding across the rocks. Totally into getting the shot, I left my I pad, phone and journal on a picnic table. A guy came buy, wondering who would leave such valuable stuff unguarded.

Evan. He had a dog. Shadow.

Recently, houseless. Ended long time relationship. We know many of the same people from the streets.

Cheryl’s On ChurchStreet

I have been taking pictures of Cheryl for a while. Funny how when a photographer knows the subject, the images improve. You can feel the trust and see the honesty, despite the desultory plight.

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She has nothing, right now, she says. The evil step-mother took her money, leaving her homeless, a condition which caused her to have to return to jail to max out for lack of a residence. No one has given her any supplies, which she included in her requests just in case anyone would think she had a drug or alcohol problem which needed to be fed.

She delivered a message from a woman in jail who I have photographed. With no family or friends, the woman asked if I would write her. The woman faces the same prospect of maxing out due to a lack of a place to live. Not many supportive environments out here for people who have paid their debt. Dismas House heads a short list. But they kick you out if you don’t have a job, a problem for people with mixed substance abuse and mental problems.

Ryan looks out for her.

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Four months ago, she looked like this. What did society gain by keeping her in jail.

Eric Thinks He Knows

We care about him, despite his declarations to the contrary. Yesterday, he complained that too many people lectured him. “Social workers, street workers, friends and my mother ….” Well, Eric, it’s because we don’t think you will survive the winter.

“I just want a place to say what I know to be true. I know what they want me to do. Go to Voc Vermont. Eat at the Food Shelf. Sleep at cots. Then they’ll give me a place. Suppose I don’t want that? I want to be free. How bad am I doing? I do what I want. So, I drink too much. People have lived on the street for years, 30, 40 years. They tell me I’m just a baby.”

Ramon walked by. Offered Eric a cigarette. Ramon had a store bought pack. Eric took one and then rolled his own.

Sleepless in Burlington VT

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End of Summer. Atonal kind of day. Chilly following a blast of summer. Lots of people without places to stay, wondering what will happen when the weather turns frosty. But, for today, and the last couple of days, just find a place to crash and try to relax.

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Eric didn’t look like he would make it. But he has resolve. Won’t let anyone help him. It’s there when he wants it, but he doesn’t know he needs it. Not sure it will  make any difference or that he will survive.

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Probably want a Ben and Jerry’s, but they weren’t open.

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Battery Park offers a view of the Lake and the sky. A favorite spot for Rudyard Kipling when he lived in VT.

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Find a bench on the Battery. Protect your things and your skin.

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Asleep in mid thought. Had a place to sleep. Dozed in public.

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Near a bathroom facing the Lake. First time I felt threatened. Dogs running free. One kid said, “…, retard …, I love fucking up old men.” Not very Burlington of him, eh. I got scared and left.

Richard Stark Wins Best Canadian Short at 2013 Montreal World Film Festival

Richard Stark, Canadian/American film maker won best short film at the 2013 World Film Festival in Montreal with a comedy of style presentation, 30 Love.

 

 

 

 

 

So, a would be entrepreneur, barely able to make car payments auditions with his wife at a classy, upscale tennis club, thinking membership will advance his business interests. He’s a child-man with a clear headed, sexy wife who isn’t as sure that dealing with narrow minded snobs will make them happier or wealthier. They obviously haven’t played the kind of tennis which would be required to join the club or dealt with the kind of people who make up the membership. In the end, he has to chose between marital bliss and social mobility. Guess who wins and how it happens? Preston Sturgis would be proud.

 

Kate Lieber, born in 1918, lives in 2013

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Born in 1918, a monumental year in world history, not that anyone cares about the past any more, except those who teach it, Kate glows from life.

Kate lost her daughter, recently. The daughter, who lived in Ecuador, healed people. Mom mourns her, feeling the pain of outliving a kid. Tell me what you would have guessed her age to be?