November 2015 – Lorin Duckman Today

Koramatsu, Not Again

The Morikami Museum and Japanese Gardens has a chilling exhibit. Featured are the bags carried by Japanese to internment camps. These tickets, replicas of the actual ones which directed the people to one of seven camps, show how insensitively and how inhumanely the US Government dealt with people within our borders who had ties to a nation with whom we were at war.

The internment of Japanese during the 2nd World War was wrong. Treating those from Syria who would seek asylum or the 2,000 who have already been vetted the same way would be worse. Have we not learned that in addition to being the world’s policemen, we are a homeland for the oppressed. Our country has the resources to deal with its problems, just not the will. Revisit what we did. Look at the MSS St. Louis. We just need to be careful and the vetting needs to be smartly done. But our borders should remain open to those who need our protection and to those who want to become part of a nation with a conscience.

Rabbi Tobias Rothenberg, 94

Rabbi Rothenberg says he is a collector, bordering on hoarder. He built a library at Temple Anshei Sholem which shelves 2.000 books. He studies talmud, leads prayer and remains dutifully loyal and connected to his wife, Ethel.

Part of living a long life iinvolves luck. Part of it has to be love. And part of it is having a home care worker.

How else would you get around?

Swamp Rat

I used to walk on the bike path abutting Lake Champlain. Seagulls screamed. And occasional rodent looking creature would wander by. The sky changed. The Adirondacks, too, adjusted their colors. But, by and large, the Lake stayed the same, except for some ice and waves. Underneath its surface, boats lay. People fished, but pollution and invasive species had driven out eatable fish

Now I walk at Arthur R Marshall Loxahatchee – National Wildlife Refuge. There’s a swamp walk and a marsh trail. People bike and walk. You can rent canoes or take a tour on a boat. Butterflies flutter. Birds flyby. When its cool and they are hungry, gators surface. Invasive plants have taken over here, too. And golf courses have robbed the place of water needed to support fish life which would bring more birds by.

I’m learning to love it. Swamps seem dead. Monotone in tone, except for some green ferns, brown trees and azure algae, they offer little contrast and no colors of deep emotion or bright feeling. Everything below seems dead or dying. Scat of different sizes, shapes and color lays around. Light flutters, every once in a while, peeking between limbs, bouncing off leaves made shiny by morning dew or their natural enamels. Frogs chirp, the male ones advertising for mates. Little birds fly through narrow spaces. Spiders make webs, hoping to snag a meal. Things live. Things die. It smells. Nothing spectacular or exciting, except the nature.

Rita Erstein, 91, And Her Memories

When I shoot portraits, I ask that the sitters dress a certain way. I suggest they bring a prop or two. It gives me something to talk about and having something special in the hands of the person posing makes them realer. The stories, genuine as they can be, elevate the shoot like nothing else can.

So, Rita’s part of a project to shoot old/old people. She called me young. “I’m not young. I am young old. You are old/old. I am honored by your presence.” She reluctantly took off her glasses, telling me, “I don’t like my bags.” Hey, Rita! You get bags by getting to be your age. And besides, “you are beautiful.”

As for the book. Her husband, Buzz, whom she married after WWII carried it in France during the war. It was a book of Jewish prayers given out by the Army. He carried it in his breast pocket, because it felt uncomfortable in his rear pants pockets. When the German bomb exploded, he caught shrapnel all over his body, but not his heart. The book protected him.

Richard Horowitz, Baton Maker, Dead

Richard Horowitz died. He left the world better than he found it.

He played Timpani drums and made conductors batons. Nothing is seen more during a symphony concert than a baton. And nothing is more welcomed than the beat of the timpani drum. One might think that the drummer doesn’t even have to be a musician. Just wait patiently for the right moment and barge right in.

No member of the orchestra can set the dramatic tone fast or more effectively than a timpani drum. No one can lead an orchestra without a baton. Richard had his drum set right in front of him. Armed with what you can be sure was one of his homemade drumsticks, he waited the conductors cue. Vmmmm, Bam.

Salisbury, VT – Forgotten Lives

So, I used to live in Salsibury, VT. Still have two friends who called themselves, “The Lake People.” They lived on Lake Dunmore, just up the road from Keewadin Dunmore, a camp for the privileged. People weren’t so friendly in Salisbury. Not a lot of Jews. A smelly egg place. Some antique stores. And the put in the power lines that drove out the wildlife, ruining my view.

I loved our house. Sharon hated it. Always cold. Bugs. Mice. Fear it would slide off the side of the rock.

We had turkeys and deer in the front yard. Hoards of mosquitos. Snow drifts that cost a fortune to plow. Wasps. Trees felled by lightning. Maple trees which someone tapped, paying us off in syrup of all grades. Our lives there were complicated.

When the cost of upkeep became too great and the ability to earn a living disappeared for many, people just left. We managed to sell our place. The new owner defaulted.

Luca, Photographer, Likes His 50MM CanonL 1.2

I always have a camera with me, except when I intentionally don’t. Jay Maisel said it was the first rule of photography: always have a camera with you that you know how to operate. My camera, Walker Evans, doesn’t like to stay in the car. He could attract thieves. And he doesn’t like the heat. Besides, how do I make a photo if I don’t have a camera?

Why not carry it? Somedays I just want to look. I want to see more things and not just ones that might be photographical. I also scout better when I am not thinking of shooting, maybe because I feel six pounds lighter.

So, we are shopping in Boca at Whole Foods after seeing the exhibition at the Boca Museum. On my shoulder is a Canon Mark III and a 50mm, L1.2 lens. A clerk in the produce section walks over and asks, “That a 50,1.2! How do you like it?”

“I love it.” It’s Walker’s favorite lens; my favorite walking around lens. I took shit from Dominic Chavez and Peter Turnley at two Maine Media Workshops for using it. Two photojournalists of note, they tried to get me to switch to a 35mm saying I would capture more deatails, some of which I didn’t see. These guys like a lot of background. Me. I think the 50mm is more versatile, works for street, landscape, portraits. Makes me use my feet. Cannot be lazy. Works in low light. Tack sharp. Who cares if it is a little omnipresent and sits on a big camera which draws attention? Since I shoot mostly people who know what I am doing, I don’t need to be slinking around. Usually, when I want it, I get great bokeh.

“Mine, too,” said Lucca. “Got it tattooed on my arm.”