267. Halloween

266. Fall

Tonight my mom came over to carve pumpkins with the kids. She was an hour late because she couldn't remember how to get to my house. Most of the evening she had such trouble finding her words that we had trouble understanding what she was saying.

Through out my day my daughters are constantly calling me... "Mommy help me...Mom I need... Mama can you get..." This is the sound track to my life and it reminds me how much my girls depend on me. At one point in my life I was dependent on my mom too. And as I grew up the dependence waned, as it should. But as an adult I have always been able to rely on her for companionship and advice. Tonight I realized something that has been buzzing around my consciousness. I no longer have that support system in my life. It is really kind of scary.

265. Indulgence

I played with the kids and their ghoul and goblin friends for most the day. The kids had way too much fun and sugar - yes too much fun is possible. It was one of those days that was terribly exhausting but that I will miss so much when the girls are older and don't have Halloween Parades for me to watch. In was one of those days that over indulgent parents of Generation X prepare for Generation Y. It may seem ridiculous but let's hope that all our over the top attention will raise the next greatest American generation. Heavens knows that we need it. Its either that, or learn a new language and move to China.

264. Doing it

I am all talk.

Several times in the last 264 days I have discussed the importance of students being exposed to learning opportunities outside the classroom. I have seen students learn and an incredible rate in the field by doing rather than listening. It is remarkable. This is what I preach.

My daughter Katie is transitioning to middle school next year and I have just started investigating schools. There is one new charter school that has some really great approaches to education. Some out of the box thinking. But honestly I am afraid to try some that outside the norm. The school is brand new and doesn't have a proven track record. It isn't organized. I can't ask anyone about their experience of sending their children there. And because it is unknown I am scared. And because I am scared I don't want to take a risk.

My students that registered for my first field studies class took a risk. They trusted that I may have an approach to learning that is outside the norm, but effective. So why am I afraid of alternatives forms of education for my own child? Because what you grow up with becomes norm... comfortable... and it is so hard to ever look past your comfort level.

263. Pit

We all have one of those people in our life that when we think about them a hard pit forms in our stomach. Someone that always makes you feel bad and annoyed. We all have one. Usually you try not to come in contact with them - avoidance is a great policy when it comes to psychos. But then there is always that friend that stays in contact with the psycho. Your friend calls from time to time to update you on all the psycho's psycho behavior. At the end of the conversation the pit is back and I spend months getting rid of it. Damn...

262. Direction

Not sure which direction to head tonight and too tired to care.

261. She just hates me...

Katie received a poor mark on a homework assignment. I asked what happened. Why the bad grade? Her response... "She [the teacher] just hates me!" I had to laugh and this only frustrated Katie. I laughed because it brought me back to when I was a student and I use to think the same thing. That teacher's were bias in their evaluation. Now that I am all grown up (a teacher) and I had to rethink this... I try to remain neutral but I will admit there is a little bit of truth in the stereotype. Students that try hard, ask questions, are involved in classroom discussions, and are respectful I have a harder time giving them poor marks. I become vested in their lives and education and I want them to succeed. These students motivate me as a teacher. Students who are apathetic, defensive in posture, show up late, fail to complete assignments and then shrug when you try to find out what is going on? I don't hate them, of course not... but I am not as motivated to go the extra mile.

260. Derivative

Garry Winogrand  will always be a favorite photographer of mine. There is something about his lack of respect for convention that my eye is drawn to. His working method included taking hundreds of thousands of images (many of which he never saw) knowing that shot gun approach would generate any interesting photograph. The art of his work came in the editing process - the ability to select great photographs out of the thousands of mediocre ones.

I don't consciously try to emulate his style... but I am beginning to think that my work will always be derivative.

259. Nature

Whenever you visit and nation or state park there are always these signs that explain to you how to interact with nature. Odd... just thinking that humans are animals at one point did we become so civilized that we can not survive without civilization.

In the last couple of years I have started teaching students out in the field. Some of the classes incorporate camping and inevitably some students complain about roughing it in a tent, and not showering. For these students the idea of roughing it is some how barbaric and subhuman. I think about all people in the world that live in conditions much more destitute than a typical American campground. I think about all the humans that lived on the earth for the past 1,000,000 some years without modern conveniences. Have we really become that soft that fast?

258. Frame

It is all about the frame.

257. Purple II

This post is part 2 of 2... see last night's post for context.

Two more composites continuing my artwork for Empowering the heARTS competition focusing on the cycle of domestic violence. The blue image above symbolizes the transition from honeymoon to physical violence. In this image the escalation of violence is verbal and demeaning. The space is within the private home, but in a place that receives guests - the living room. This is a place that the neighbors might get a hint at trouble in the home. The husband criticizes his wife or excuses her actions as stupid in front of the guests. When the visitors leave the conversation becomes louder, the words more threatening.

The cycle of violence continues later in a more private space... the bedroom. Here it escalates to the physical - a slap, punch, kick, or choke. The color has become red with agression.

256. The Color Purple - Part I

It may appear by my blog posts of late that I have been a little lazy. Well I have to confess... that is simply not true. I have been working on several projects that have kept me running at a pace even more crazy than frantic. Now that most of those projects have been completed I feel I can discuss at least one of them.

A few months ago I entered a competition in the Santa Clarita Valley sponsored by Single Mothers Outreach. The contest paired a writer and artist to tell the story of several women honorees in the Santa Clarita Valley. I was paired with writer Martha Michael from Santa Clarita Living Magazine to honor the women who founded the Domestic Violence Center of SCV. The idea was simple. Martha would interview the honorees and I would take some photographs. We submit our work, there is an exhibition in November, and the winners are announced. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

It took me some time to get a hold of the honorees. When I finally had a chance to talk with them the true enormity of the task started to emerge. My original idea was to take some candid style (a la Life Magazine) images put together in a photo essay. What I didn't understand is for protection and privacy I wasn't able to photograph the honorees, the Center, the building, or any of its patrons. All these women were victims of abuse and were too terrified to have there picture involved in this project.  Floored, but not deterred, I had to think up another approach and fast. I dug up an idea from an installation I completed in graduate school. At the time I was working with shadows as symbolic place holders. As I left graduate school I put this idea to bed, and after 15 years I took it out of the bin and dusted it off.  In this case, the shadow returned as a symbolic placeholder for the women and families that could not participate in the project.

Martha's story focused on frequency of domestic violence in middle to upper class homes - that it isn't just a biproduct of the lower class and undereducated. She started her story with a perfect family standing outside a perfect home. This is too where I decided to begin my story with Martha's vision. The outside of a beautiful Santa Clarita home. The perfect family? The shadow. Here the cycle of violence begins - this honeymoon period. This is the public space and no one would suspect that this family would have something to hide.

Tomorrow, the second of the four images... stay tuned.

255. Ug

"Ug" is all that comes to mind tonight. I have been staring at the screen and procrastinating by responding to all the emails I can stand to answer. The day was productive, but uninspiring. I am trying not to think about the additional cuts to my program. This budget is really getting me down.

254. Self Reflective

There is something that is totally satisfying about exhibiting photographic work from this blog while at the same time absolutely terrifying. As an artist I second guess everything that I do - swinging wildly between genius and completely lame. I felt somewhat satisfied today listening to my colleague Daniel Catan discuss his opera Il Postino. It premiered in LA this month to fantastic reviews. I have always seen Daniel as genius, but humble. But never someone who would second guess his talent. It is nice to know that even the best and brightest wonder if they have it.

253. Pain

I was talking to my friend Tom last night - we talked about getting older, our parents getting older, and the pain left behind when you lose someone you love. Tom mentioned that it is so much better when you don't expect death. The pain from sudden death of a love one is a blow, intense, but overall easier than a knowing that death is coming. I have experienced that blow, the smack in the chest, pain so intense that you can't breathe. A pain I never want to feel again. I told Tom I didn't get it. Who would choose that pain from sudden lose over getting to say good-bye? His response made me understand. His father has Alzheimer's and the disease's path has been obvious for the past several years. Tom explained that he has felt pain, not intense pain, but subtle pain over several years. The grieving process has already began and will continue for years and then some after his father passes. Collectively, even though not intense, the amount of pain is greater because it is over such a long period of time.

When my step-dad was ill I didn't include the last year of his life as part of the grieving process, but in retrospect I was grieving before his death and for months after. I have thought about it. Even though the grieving process was longer I was able to say every thing that I wanted to say to Papa.  We all have to go someday, but at least if you know death is coming you can make your peace, tell your love ones that you love them no matter how painful.

252. Tale of Two Sisters

Today Katie walked into a tattoo palor and convinced a tattoo artist to give her an elaborate temporary tattoo. Her attitude says everything - all confidence and sass. We will be lucky if she waits until the legal age of 18 to get her first tattoo.

Abbey followed her big sister with no intent of getting a tattoo, but didn't know how to say "no" to the women's generous offer, so she sat still and said nothing. After the artist finished, Abbey thanked her politely, ran up to me in tears, and asked me to remove it as quickly as possible.

It is hard to comprehend how two sisters could be so different.

251. Bohemian

My biological parents were both doctors, and my step father a lawyer. Although my childhood was pleasant it was fairly conservative. Some how I grew up to be an artist, married a musician, and our child get to stay up half the night,  have their hair colored, and help hang an art show. The creativity they have been exposed to at such a young age will likely have them rebel and become Republican bankers when they grow up.

250. Texting while Driving

My friend Nikki has this theory. She feels that some people are capable enough to text and drive. Some people are good multitaskers and simply have superior dexterity. She is one of those people - no doubt. I am not trying to make a case for texting and driving (neither is Nikki) but she does have something. Many of our laws are made from the lowest common denominator of intelligence. We have to make a law to put your child in a cars seat - really?

I was driving home tonight thinking about a photography project I did 20 years ago. It was called the LA Freeway Journal. Inspired by my mentor Robbert Flick, I rigged up a 35 MM Nikon with a motor drive pointing out the back seat of my volkswagen bug. As I drove I pressed a remote cable release and photographed fellow travelers in their cars in traffic on the 101 Fwy. The end result was a grid of images, maybe as many as 200. Each image was a profile portrait of a person framed by their individual car windows. 200 bored strangers in traffic.

Tonight as I was thinking about the Freeway Journal I thought it would be interesting to recreate it. I picked up my iPhone and gave a couple of quick test shots before I realized... is this legal? Guess they do need that law after all.

249. Shooting from the Hip

It was a long day. I had a class from 9:30-11:50. The second from 11:50-12:50. The third from 12:50-2:10. The fourth from 2:20-5:20. The fifth from 5:20-7:20. I taught so long that my voice went weak and my hands started to shake.

At 3:21 PM I was explaining the process of how to make a manual exposure and trying to wrap up how shutter speed effects motion before I let the students have a break. I had a DSLR in my hands that I was using as a visual aid. At some point, the planets aligned and the perfect decisive moment appeared before my eyes. I put the camera down on the desk to stabilize it in the low light and snap today's blog post was created. I didn't even look through the lens. Can I really take responsibility for this deliberate composition? Or did I just get lucky?

248. Groupies

Almost forgot to post tonight. Two sick kids, my own throat sore, and pile of grading at 12:30 at night. Will I make it?



- excuse the typos...posted via Windo's iPhone

247. Questions

Abbey:
"I don't know. Still don't know. [Whine] No Mommy! I still don't know! [Whisper] Mommy I don't like it... its not funny. Mommy! [Crying]"

Me:
She doesn't like that I quoted her verbatim and ran out of the room crying. So much for the guest blogger. So onto Katie.

Katie:
"It looks like a butt crack. It looks like it has hair on it. It kind of looks like a rock. Is it something you did in field studies today? A hole? Sandstone! [Said confidently] A star. An abstract painting? I think it is your nose.

Me:
It is a pumpkin.

Katie:
How could it be a pumpkin? That's weird. Is it, LIKE mushed up or something? Is it a moldy pumpkin? One that was thrown on the ground? I don't know.

246. This Little Piggy

Pig races? I thought I had seen everything. But I guess the farm has some surprises for the city gal.

245. Generation Next

1 - Ten year old

3 - 8 year olds

4 - Barbies

1 - Wardrobe full of Barbie clothes

1 - iPad

1 - iTouch

Keeping my fingers crossed for the next generation.

244. All I Got

I just got to sleep - so this will be short.

Tonights' photo - my stepdad's office across from the Music Center. I took my mom to the opera twice in the last week. It was something they use to do together for years. He always said how much he loved the opera but usually slept through most of it.



- excuse the typos...posted via Windo's iPhone

243. High school

When I was in high school I thought I made great photographs. When I got some distance from those photographs I realized that they weren't very good.

Tonight I am feeling like this whole blog is like high school. I have been going through the past 242 days trying to find what I would like to exhibit at the Ventura Art Walk next week. My critic is back with a vengeance. If there are any readers still out there, please comment will your favorite images and postings.

242. Wet

Sitting in a steamy car on the way to the Music Center. The air is stifling, without oxygen. The smell of leather is too strong and it is starting to make me sick. Combine with the bumper-to-bumper start-stop traffic I have to concentrate not to puke.

241. Metaphor

Memory is cheese - sharp, swiss, processed, blue?

240. A image never seen

Two thoughts on my mind today:

1. I haven't taken or posted a self-portrait in a few months. Photographer's self portraits are so absolutely intriguing to me. Photographers typically hate having their image made, and hence hide behind the lens. It is odd when we finally allow ourselves to be photographed. But when you photograph yourself as a photographer you are hyper critical - both of technique and of the subject.

2. At the end of my yoga class we lay on the mats resting for sometime. I thought what we must all look like laying there still with our eyes closed. I have never seen myself with my eyes closed. What must I look like?

239.

238. Color Blind

I took my Brownies troop (age 8) to a workshop on healthy eating and cooking at the Girl Scouts main office. For a nice change of pace, the workshop was intended for girls only and the main office had hired workshop facilitators to teach the girls. As leaders we got to hang out in the lobby and drink coffee - a leisure activity for once! About 10 minutes into the event a small, blonde, blue eyed 6 year old girl came running out of the workshop in panic calling for her mother who also happened to be one the troop leaders. She cried out, "Mom, I don't know what I am... Am I African American?" We all erupted in laughter.

The facilitators had began the class with a survey to collect data on the girls they were teaching. The first question - name, the second - race. This little girl had never answer this question before and had no idea what the answer was.

The incident was funny, but it stuck with me all day. This little girl was totally color blind before this survey asked her to label herself.  We collect data on race in order to monitor inequity and hopefully remedy those inequities. But it are we ensuring inequities by teaching little kids that race is part of their identity?

237. Hoarders

The trash man came today. Every time I hear him pick up the cans, I get a since of panic. I panic that something has mistakenly fallen into the trash and I failed to save it.

When I was 17 my dad's live-in house keeper decided to throw out a large bag of my things. I discovered her error about 5 minutes after the trash man left. There wasn't anything I could do. The sense of loss was overwhelming.  I would never see much of my prized Cure paraphernalia ever again. I had risked my life driving 80 mph on city streets chasing down Robert Smith to get his autograph and I would never be able to show it to my kids, or ebay it later in life.

Have you seen the television program called, "Hoarders?" It is like watching a train wreck - impossible to remove your eyes from the screen. The participants on the show are on exhibition for their lack of ability to throw anything out. Their homes burgeoning with stuff, lots of stuff. Most of it useless or rotting. Yet, no matter how useless the hoarders cannot part with their junk and rot and end up facing eviction rather than throw anything out. It is easy to make yourself feel better by dismissing them as all crazy.

I am far from a hoarder. Sure our garage is embarrassing but I will blame that on my laziness and my husband - he likes to keep stuff. Honestly I would love someone to come clean out the garage. I don't remember what's in there, so I wouldn't be worried about what got thrown out. And that's the difference between hoarding and laziness. I have watched the show... I know.  A hoarder cannot let someone else clean up their stuff - it terrifies them.