Harold Feinstein, Photographer, Dead at 84

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So many photographers I didn’t know that much about. Harold Feinstein shot street, wars, nudes and flowers. Published and showed. Photo League. Political. Artistic. Prolific. Damn. He even turned down a place in history by declining an invitation to put images in “The Family of Man.” Cannot imagine the conversation he had with Steichen.

Not all that much time left to see them all who still live and shoot, those whose images influenced my work. The photographer dies, the images, along with the stories and spirits within, live on. The viewer need not know anything. All he needs to do is look. By sharing their work, great photographers make the world a better place, in addition to making better photographers.

What do Harold and I, or HCB and I, for that matter, share in common? In addition to a love for the photographic image, we feel the pain when the shutter is pushed. There’s a moment, sometimes long, sometimes short, when the decision to shoot has been made that the world stops, except for the operation of the camera. The thinking ends. The camera goes click, speaking to the photographer, keeping its captured image secret, telling the shooter that its time to do it again.

Feinstein and his fellow masters of the craft, especially the women, learned at a time when the revealing moments occurred later. They kept shooting their film filled cameras, not knowing what had been captured, uncertain, yet confident, that they had what their eyes saw. Now, we have digital cameras to confirm our instincts. Some might say they had superior talent, overcoming the shortcomings of their equipment to hone their skills. But, I am sure he would not have, even though I didn’t know him.

Our subjects remain the same and light will always be light. And, though we see the world differently, when we pick up that camera and point it and shoot it, we are no different from all those who came before. We photographers make the images; the camera merely takes it.

Living Room Theatre in Boca Raton

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So, you go to a movie in Boca Raton and sit in seats that make you feel like you are your Living Room, assuming you have furnished your TV watching room with reclining, leather backed chairs. You can order a drink at a bar to sip waiting to enter and then carry it into the theatre. Very civilized. They show indy movies, have series with speakers and show oldies. You can see the movies, hear the sound and not hear traffic noise or police sirens.

 

STACIE, Dental Hygienist at Dr. Gornsteins Office

STACIE, Dental Hygeinist-6

So, when you move, you need health care providers: doctors, dentists, massage therapists. Anxiety producing. Fill out forms. Connect with insurers. Get used to new hands probing your mouth, anus, ears and all the other orifices that make your system work.

Dentists! Bad experiences. Small teeth. Bad gums. Years to get the mouth under control. Don’t have all my teeth. Implants have cost a fortune. Periodic visits to periodontist, dentists, endodontists and tooth crafters whose jobs I cannot describe have worked on me. Root canals! But if I want to eat something other than knishes and Ensure I need to go.

Here is my new hygienist, Stacie. She did a great job as I gripped the chair. But, how many of us look at the people working on us? We shut our eyes, hoping it won’t hurt, but feeling better when our teeth are clean and our mouth feels good. She may look like she’s from outer space, but she did a great job on my mouth.

DUCK’s New Grill

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So, in Burlington, we lived in a condo on the third floor. No grills allowed, at least not ones with charcoal or gas. Had an electric grill which sort of boiled stuff. No lines or burn marks. Now, back in a home, I got a grill.

Now, I am not one of those champion grillers. I like chicken and steak, veggies, corn. Don’t have dry rubs or special marinades, except for one made with Jack Daniels and maple syrup. I can turn out a meal for two, eliminating the need for a giant unit. Not really invested in the skill, but love to cook.

Have given away all my tools. Need a fork, spatula and tongs. Wire brush. Cutting board. Cover. All new stuff and an extra tank. Feel like I live at Home Depot.

Bigger question: will we cook. Down here, everyone goes out to dinner. Early bird specials. Off season reductions if you pay cash. Not so easy to find locally grown stuff or prime meat. But being home has its benefits, especially since we pay so much for Comcast and A/C. Best thing: no drinking and driving.

Don Featherstone, Dead at 79

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So, always good to leave the world better than you found it, however you do it. Don Featherstone, a man whose name you don’t know, did. His art graces lawns from here to everywhere, unless you live in a gated community where uniformity trumps art. You see the plastic forms and without knowing why, you feel better about life. And, we owe the feeling to some guy who, one day, sitting at work, in a plastics factory, far  away from the Everglades, but obviously close to Wonderland, created a flamingo.

Leonard Duckman October 10, 1908 – Father’s Day 1963

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My Father died on Father’s Day. He’d been sick for a long while. I was a kid. Didn’t get to know him all that well, though people said I looked and acted just like him. Bought him a present to give him when he came back from the hospital. Don’t remember what I bought him or what I did with it. Don’t have many images of him. I can see myself in his eyes. He wouldda loved Sharon.

Paris Jews on the Mend – #2

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Pere Lachaise Cemetery in Paris has several areas honoring Jewish dead. The French didn’t do enough to save Jews when the Nazis invaded. Selfish and self-absorbed, some helped load the trains headed to the death chambers. Somber as it may seem, this sculpture of a death procession reminds us, “never again.”

So, what does this have to do with today, DuckToday? I am sad and depressed about the killings in Charleston. A friend brushed it off saying that had there been a Temple near-by, Jews would have been killed. To me, that avoided the point. Racism and anti-semitism, while rooted in hatred, irrational hatred, aren’t the same things. Hey, we were all slaves! But to hate because of the color of one’s skin, thinking one person is better than another, that their bloods shouldn’t be mixed, that they don’t deserve a place on the planet, in the valley of human kind, that is unfathonable.

I mourn the 6,000,000 as much as I mourn the 9 who died needlessly. Acts of terrorism, both, man’s hatred of his fellow man never abates. Very sad.

Paris Jews on the Mend-#1

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So, we went to Paris for a month. Planned a while ago, we just wanted to hang out, not jump from a Viking River Boat or a bus. Rented a pied a terre in the Marais, the traditional inner city home for France’s Jewish population. We found it alive and vibrant, not hidden and Jews not afraid.

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Now, that’s not to say they publicize their home. Doors and windows don’t have any Jewish images – no stars, no tablets, no lions or lambs.

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You can still wrap with a Lubovich, rebbe in training.

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And, you can buy falafel, if you can figure out who has the best and are willing to stand in line and eat standing up.

Golden Age of Travel Photography

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So, we just came back from a trip to Paris and settled in. We have not had a chance to breathe comfortably or eat in. Boxes piled everywhere. Have not been to London or seen anyone’s underpants, but we drove from VT to FL, packed and unpacked (enough), flew to Paris and hung out on a beach. Now back to real life, if you can call it that living in South East Florida, West Boynton Beach, Valencia Reserve.

Some have asked where we lived. For someone like myself who didn’t like to go anywhere, we have moved a lot since 1999. Thought I’d be Brooklyn dead, but as one of my friends from Maple Street said, “you cannot predict the future.” Moved too many time recently, running away, more than I was running towards. Hopefully, I am here, now.

I took some pictures, along the way. Not enough. None up to the standard of Frank Zachary, who died at 101. He worked with Slim Adams, Henri Cartier-Bresson, Robert Capa and Arnold Newman, selecting images for style magazines of the day, magazines that informed, in addition to selling lifestyles of the rich and famous. He defined how looking at well structured images, by great photographers, could make the reader feel as if he was at the place pictured, not just sitting in a chair looking at them. Without his eye, none of the shots would have been seen by so many.

All of the shooters he worked with are my heroes, photographers whose work make you want to give up your camera. Not sure any editor would ever look at my stuff, another reason not to share and to give up. Well, I won’t.