the father the son and the holy ghost

icon mania

lips

can't get enougb of doisneau

the very first olympic marathon

around athens in 1896...

very nice father and daughter shot

Leo Tolstoy said...

“I am conscious of myself in exactly the same way now, at eighty-one, as I was conscious of myself, my ‘I,’ at five or six years of age. Consciousness is immovable. Due to this alone there is the movement which we call ‘time.’ If time moves on, then there must be something that stands still.”

belated 4th of july photo

doisneau

Emilio SOMMARIVA .1920s.

wanted to find out more about him but couldn't. He's from Lodi.

the magical fruit!

the divine ms welch

but who took it?

the one, the only... Franz von Lenbach

truman capote

higgins 1959

Happy Family

Claude Cahun, self-portrait

trick? or treat?

time for a fix

La Morphiniste (1893) by Eugène Grasset

so totally love this.

when movies were young

walker evans, 1936

our favorite madman

MONIQUE JACOT
PORT LIGAT. 1966

diamond dogs

sometimes...

...you just get sucked into things.

just slightly off

a kind of alice in wonderland feel

Allegory of the Four Elements, Mark Ryden

time passes but the car stays

where am i?

daliesque (in fact, dali)

chilling with leonard

from back when a freind was a friend

i work in advertising

Odilon Redon

remy

Odilon Redon

all access

innovative way of wearing your backstage pass.

the eyes have it

for many years i believed that Kohl was invented by the Egyptians because of Elizabeth Taylor and her eyes in Cleopatra. but then i was told it was the Indians and i believed it after having seen Apur Sansa and the eyes of the beautiful girl apu marries.

duchamp by man ray

they were hanging out on an overcast sunday afternoon. they were supposed to go out for a walk but duchamp was feeling down, lackluster and preferred that they stay in and talk, maybe play a game a chess later. man ray was used to his freind's moods and so went along with him.

cecil beaton

sick and tired, unable to sleep, having smoked for the first time in weeks, dalia was depressed. she didn't see anyway out and so she imagined herself invisible and when her husband walked in she didn't say a word about the letter she'd found and ignored him, hoping he'd go away. he didn't.

Ballet Society NYC 1948.

beware the sharks

and the octopi

f. holland day

an american photographer. born to a boston merchant. studied painting then moved to photography. he's said to be the first to demand that it be portrayed as an art. subject of predilection young boys.

in my opinion an under-appreciated master.

Boston July 8, 1864 - November 12, 1933

there once was a boy named Jack...

we tend to think of obesity as a condition of our times along with anxiety and depression a side effect of the modern lifestyle. but there have always been heavy people, especially in the late 19th century when hardy meant healthy and meals were banquets for the rich of their times. jack however, was not of the gentry and so his weight was unusaul. in fact it was his mother's greatest pride that by feeding him a diet of cow's milk with a soup spoons of flower mixed in 8 times a day from his birth to his 3rd birthday she was able to get him up to a weight usually found in a 12-year-old at just 36 months.

ack was a healthy boy, fit as a fiddle, if somewhat capricious and prone to tantrums when hungry which quickly began to become almost all the time. it was one of these tantrums that led to his demise. his mother no longer able to keep his sated watched as he jumped the fence of Andre Johannson's pigsty one hungry afternoon God knows what he hpoed to acheive, eat a live pig? but in was the pigs that ate him. RIP.

frank horvat

i was going to say that it felt like we were never going to get old but that would be a lie because it didn't feel like anything except for a sensation of whirling... just a minute before we'd been complaining about the weather and how the sky was always gray and felt so heavy and how oppressive it was and then she leaned ever-so-slightly forward and our lips were touching and everything else, and i mean everything, dissolved into a mist of unimportance... by the time we broke apart again we were old and our children had left home and the garden was finally how i wanted it and all that was left was to wait...

joyce Bryant

Joyce Bryant, ballad singer, once known as “the black Marilyn Monroe”, photographed by Philippe Halsman.

Back in the day...

ahhh, yessss. i remember, the days of wine and song, the 1980s...i can clearly remember sitting in the back of a yellow cab heading west on houston, off to an evening in the west village or soho. it was summer and still light out. we'd heard of keith, i'd seen his work in the elevator he tagged in a friend's loft building in noho, and of course the classic crack is wack mural on the upper east side you could see from the fdr (which this may be but i think it's the downtown version). we all appreciated his style, so modern, so post-modern, such a perfect mix of high and low and as for the subject, crack was wack and still is. i never understood how is took root in the ghetto, after all its horrific effects were visible to one and all with the psychotic drooling zombies it created, far worse than the drowsy junkies, this was fucked up.

yes i am in fact talking to you

beware the dark

last night when driving home through the forest i nearly crashed my car into this bremen menagerie. thank god, i'd tuned up the car just two days before. the breaks worked perfectly and i escaped unharmed. (as did the beasts). but i really got a scare and when i came home i had to lie down in the dark and the silence and try to process what i'd seen. four animals one on top of the other, like some satanic rite, and yet, i knew it wasn't evil that had motivated this animals to climb on top of each other's back but a yearning... for harmony. harmony amongst beasts in the world. they were acting out of love. the cat and dog not actually laying down together but working together like chinese acrobats, balancing as effortlessly as if they'd spent their whole lives practicing for exactly this moment.

the next day i returned to the scene on my bike (i was too spooked to drive for days) and in the gray cloudy daylight i saw nothing. no evidence of the miracle i witnessed the night before. at first i was relieved and then disappointed but ultimately i realized that what was important was that i'd seen it at all (and managed to photograph it!)

end of the world/beginning of the day

dropping my daughter off at school on yet another foggy day i am struck by the apocalyptic vision just behind the trees. i hope this has nothing to do with that dream i had to many years ago about a nuclear bomb going off in boston.