Photography Thinks
Jack H. Press, a member of Burlington’s Jewish community, died August 4, 2010 at the age of 95. War veteran, father, salesman, tennis player and who knows what else. I knew him for less than a year. Serious honor to know a person who lived so much, even if he couldn’t remember many of the details.
My friend, artist Lance Richbourg, Professor Emeritus of Fine Art at St. Michael’s College, has been working on a picture of the Babe for several year. On three occaisons, he has taken a picture of me with his subject. He documents his progress with his work. At the same time, I age.
So, somebody tell me why he came to Burlington, instead of staying wherever he was?
Sometimes you come to a stop light and the woman in the car next to you is applying makeup. I passed the bus stop at College and Battery with my takeout from Big Fatty’s, only to see Kristen putting polish on her toes as Hannah watched.
Don’t eat much junk food anymore, because of the salt and the chemicals. When I did, I favored Cheetos, usually the crunchy ones. I could eat a bag all by myself. Usually took them one at a time until I reached the bottom of the bag. Holding the bag in my right hand, I would pick a likely candidate, one with size and shape, and put it in my mouth. To remove the fingers orangey glow that filled my prints, I’d wipe my thumb and first finger on my jeans leg, leaving a sunlike blotch. When I reached the bottom where the little pieces settled, I’d just pick up the bag and pour the remaining remnants into my mouth. To honor Morrie, the inventor or creator of one of life’s pleasure, play Battle of the Cheetos.
Usually in the winter, you see a lone glove that someone has dropped unintentionally. It falls out of a pocket or never makes it into one. Bummer, eh! Here, on the side of North Street, just up from Burlington College, at 2:00 pm on Saturday afternoon, lies a black, slightly-padded bra.
He says his parents were hippies who wanted him to have a positive disposition, so they named him Smiley.
Battling the big C can take work. Have to deal with the fragility of life and the unknowns of genetics. Then they cut out the cancer, insert poison to kill what’s left, and expect you to just move along.
Some people like parades. Some people don’t. The same thing could be said of circuses. I favor circuses over parades. Under the big top, the clowns clearly identify themselves.
So, they don’t have to look dirty or wierd to be on the street. They can have designer jean, be color coordinated, and branded totes. Open shoes. No jewelry. No tracks. A little thin, eh. Henna in her hair. Combed. Workers hat. Sign needs a little work. But, not all that bad for almost 10:00am on a Saturday morning in Burlington.