personal – Page 19 – Lorin Duckman Today

Harold Feinstein, Photographer, Dead at 84

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

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.

Tomas, Mueller Design and Build

So, exhausted after the first day of reconstruction. Tomas, master builder and redesigner, leads the crew on this not so exciting journey. All we are doing is make the place livable. Included in this are: color, shape and a door of dignity in the bathroom. On our way.

STACIE, Dental Hygienist at Dr. Gornsteins Office

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.

Don Featherstone, Dead at 79

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.

Paris Jews on the Mend – #2

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

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.

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.

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

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.

Family in Florida

So, we moved to South Florida, Boynton Beach. It’s near Del Ray. Haven’t seen Norman and Deena Burg for years, and, I mean years. We went out to eat. Deli food always comforts the Jewish soul. Went through the family tree. Many we remembered are dead. Some still alive, doing better than others.

Whose left and where are they? What do they look like? What are they doing?

Told them how we got here and why. Not a big deal, except that it took so long. But then again, it is. They are family.

Don’t have a lot of family. Nepotism didn’t help me a bit. But knowing people love Sharon, because of her desire to make family makes me happy. And it obviously makes others feel good, too.

Brennan – Just a Kid

I don’t shoot a lot of kids. Don’t have any and don’t have friends who do. That’s how you get the business, I suppose, unless you happen to be good at it. But I can shoot kids. I talk with them, even if they don’t know what I am saying. I don’t make noises, raise or lower my voice or contort my face. They look at me. I shoot.

This kid I found at a wedding rehearsal dinner. His mother, the groom’s mother’s sister, Julie, held the reflector. People hooted at him in the background, yelling smile and cheese and other stupid shit. I didn’t need any help. He’s a beauty.

In their faces are the beginnings of what they will look like. Even at early stages, they look like older versions of themselves. Their skin, so smooth and blemish free. Their consciences clear of scars left by battles for self-esteem. Their mother’s love them, too, hopefully forever.

Fear of Falling

A knock at the door Saturday brought bad news. Kit Stone, who lives above us wanted to know where Ann lived. Only four units on a floor in Westlake Residences. Hardly see neighbors, except when dumping garbage. Margaret Brown, Ann’s friend and exercise buddy had died from a fall in her condo. ME said she hit her head, fell and suffocated, according the Kit. Sad way to go, for sure. Before her time was consumed by loss of memory, organ eating bacteria, embolisms or gravy like blood. I’d mourn more, but I didn’t know her, except for a few hellos and good-byes. She never wanted to have a portrait. So, I don’t remember what she looked like. And I lived in the same building with her.

So, they tell you how folksy VT is, just a little community of like people living the dream. A way of life, special, they call it. I cannot tell you much about Margaret or about many people. Saw her recycling. Know she had a red Accura. Heard she was a doctor. This State can be impersonal. Lots of wide open spaces, canopied walks and only a few roads. People spend a lot of time commuting and attending meetings. Then they hunt, ski or ride their snow mobiles, if they hadn’t had licenses revoked. Kid’s sports dominate the fall. Festivals dominate the summer. Everyone rushing to go do something, somewhere. Never enough time.

Worry. Right now, I have my health and time. But it could change. I could fall. Need to be careful.

Nice place to do a crossword, eh?