Inspire

Why is art supposed to move and inspire us? Art is found in ancient caves and under incredible security in multimillion dollar buildings in Paris, New York City, Florence and Rome and hundreds of other cities. How is it that we found some items to be particularly moving and important or of any value? Why do we need someone to tell us what art is suppose to be? Does saying something is priceless really make it priceless? Why do we favor one work of art by the same artist over another? Why does one medium thrill us and another bore us? I’ve seen the Mona Lisa, and I was not impressed; not with the painting itself, although other works of art have moved me more, but with the atmosphere of her location. Under this thick case, with soft lighting and a line in front of it that you cannot cross, all you can see is her smirk and sparkling eyes. Then you hear twelve different languages around you all trying to decipher what she is all about. As you make your way through the touristy crowd to get a better view, someone taller comes along and stands dead center in your view. Honestly, I’d rather stand in a cave looking at a simpler painting that is a thousand years old rendering an outline of a human form created by human hands.

I love art and I am completely fascinated by the known and unknown creators, the mediums they used to create and the history behind their pieces. Egyptian wigs, chairs and toys can be seen in the Metropolitan Museum in New York City and considered art because of the intricacies that embodies them. It is amazing when you start to think about the anonymous person who wove these tiny braids for a wig and the unrecognized painter who painted bright colors for toys. And then seeing Michelangelo’s David in Florence, I had no idea from photographs that this sculpture was more than life size and just as beautiful as you hoped it would be in person. So here, we have the unknown artists and Michelangelo. We all know Michelangelo to be an eccentric and incredibly talented in many ways, but does knowing this makes his work more inspiring to the human soul than an unknown? Why do we have a need to analyze art all the time rather than just letting it automatically overwhelm the spirit and bring us to an emotion we didn’t have before we saw the piece?

When I see something that makes me want to pick up my camera and photograph it, what motivated me to do so? Did something truly inspire me or did it all just "click"? I’ve never had the nerve to have a gallery show because I couldn’t bear the thought of being criticized, and most importantly I couldn’t stand to hear people say, "I wonder what on earth possessed her to take that image?" In all honesty, I really don’t know the answer to my question. For the most part, I just see something and feel the desire to pick up the camera and capture it. Perhaps I look where others may not, but that is just being observant. That “take a breath and stop moment” happens often than we think in our busy lives. Many people don’t just stop to smell the freaking roses and are missing out on moments that could inspire them in some way if, they just stopped to notice.

When I was walking around Paris on a very wet, dreary day, I saw the leaves just lying sporadically below my feet and could see the texture of their crackly, dry forms lying on a wet, cold surface next to a dark stone wall. The combination of textures and lights and darks and reflection were just fascinating. Honestly, I didn’t know how the photo would turn out but I had that 'Ahh' moment and knelt down and took a few photographs. I wasn’t looking for the moment, it just came upon me and I was able to just stop and let it inspire me.

As I look at the image that inspired me, I can remember the exact day and the mood I was in. I had feelings of loneliness and sadness with a sudden desire to hold the hand of almost anyone. I felt as if this sadness would go on forever, and that there was no one to see and understand what I was experiencing. Did my feelings set the mood which, inspired the image or did the image I see at the time, a photograph in my head, inspire my feelings?

Perhaps art exists so that we can be inspired to think and feel and question and know that there is no right answer. While we may not have the time to look for ourselves as to what can inspire us on a daily basis, thankfully, there are people who take the time to interpret and show us what should be seen and appreciated.

I think it is wonderful to travel around the world and fight crowds to discover art we hadn’t seen before, especially when the art itself was created in a quiet moment, in a quiet place, by a single person who found the vision to create. Maybe it is just like the inspiration to create a small piece of the human form by placing a hand on a wall and outlining the human touch.

What is Old?

Shortly after I moved to San Francisco eleven years ago, I got a job as a production assistant for a film crew that was heading to the Philippines. I was thrilled at the prospect of going there and I was very excited about seeing a true third world country. I had been to Mexico, but Acapulco was much too touristy to qualify. When you can decide on Italian, French or Steak House for dinner, it is not a third world experience. The Philippines are beautiful. Manila is hot and humid and way too many bugs. The rice fields are old Asia and just amazing, and so are the people. The beaches are absolutely breathtaking.

This photograph is one that I took near the ancient rice terraces in northern Philippines. I saw them and thought how endearing it was to see grandpa helping to take care of his grandson. I was stunned to hear that grandpa was 72 years old and the boy was actually his son. This tribe, lived in huts, walked around either naked or wrapped loosely in red cloth and lived off the land and the rice terraces. They are also a very small people. Averaging about 5’4” tops, I felt like a giant towering over them at 5”10”.

I was shocked when I saw the place where they lived and how they lived but I was just utterly astonished when I found this father and son. This was so completely different from the life I had experienced. Life here was simple. No televisions or phones and no home could be seen for miles. Life is what is truly appreciated and revered in their world. Of course, it helps when there is no money or goods to desire beyond something to eat or smoke.

I can look at this photo today and feel the heat and humidity, smell the fires burning and food cooking and remember laughing more than I had in a long time. These people were giving, caring, accepting and fun. Life is just simple and you accept what you have and make the most of it. Here is a man who isn’t concerned that he may not live to see his son grow old enough to marry. One night he got lucky and low and behold, he got lucky again with a son. End of story. There is no worry to make sure he brushes his teeth at night, no college fund, no X-Box or Game Boy and certainly no TV. It is about being a part of the community and doing your part to live a good life no matter your age.

I just had my 37^th birthday and I still have problems turning 37. OK, it has only been a week but it still sucks and the feelings are not waning. I’ll spend a lifetime hoping to be as happy as the Filipino tribal man and living as simply as he does but I live thousands of miles away in a world that is filled with concrete and steel and every tree has been planted with purpose, not by nature. I live in a world of credit cards, bills, gas stations, grocery stores and accountability for all of my actions. My tribe won’t take care of me when I’m sick or feed me when I’m hungry. Getting old is not fun in a privileged world or what we think is a privileged world. Getting laid and having family cookouts every night of the week doesn’t sound so bad in a third world life. I would not care about growing old in that world.

American Dream

I don’t get it. What is the "American Dream" really? It can’t just be the two story Colonial home, 2.7 kids, two cars in the driveway of the Colonial home and one Golden Retriever chasing the mailman down the tree-lined sidewalk in front of your neighbors two story Tudor home that also has two SUV’s in the front yard. In my world, people can’t afford this. The median cost of a home in San Francisco was just reported to be almost $700,000. Seriously! So when I saw this beautiful landscape driving home one day, I had to take the shot. Yes, I was driving across the Bay Bridge and trying to take a photo at the same time, but I promise I was careful.

I actually took a level photograph of this scene, which wasn’t easy because I did not look through the view finder but just sort of stuck my hand as near to the window as possible. Admittedly, I got lucky. But I took this crooked photo, on purpose, because I was thinking about this American dream crap and just how off kilter it was too. Ergo, the photo is reality, in my opinion.

The reality is I will never own a home in San Francisco -- never. While the crazy dotcom era is gone the price of a home here is still out of reach for many people including me. Honestly, I love apartment living. No maintenance, no responsibility and no property tax. I don’t get these people who say I am throwing money away. Please. I have a one bedroom apartment in San Francisco, I have a garage and I pay in rent the equivalent of a car payment for most people! OK, a Jaguar payment not a Hyundai but you get the point. I can be downtown in 10 minutes and at the beach in five. Life is easy! That is the American Dream if you ask me. Americans have it so easy but yet we make things difficult for some strange reason and not in a good way.

There is a great commercial out right now with this average guy who can’t stop smiling talking about his huge house, his new car, his golf club membership and his new lawn mower; and he continues to say how he is in debt up to his ears to have this life. Dude! Simplify! Why do we give a rat’s ass about competing with our neighbors if this is the outcome? Americans have become a society of overweight and lazy and yet demanding bunch of idiots. Gimme, gimme, gimme. Well, look where that has gotten us. It’s Visa, MasterCard and American Express who are making a killing in our society now and that is just so wrong. They are preying on the mentality of “I need to have everything that is advertised in front of my face to be happy”. But then there you have it, the American Dream—to have as much as you can of whatever you may want. I wonder what our forefathers held as the American Dream. I highly doubt it included an iPod, GameBoy, Hummer or plasma screen TV.

I’ll take the simple life with the simple payment plan, and for me that is: to experience life and the world around me and not care one iota of what my neighbors may have that I don’t have. I will admit to owning an iPod or actually two and a new pair of shoes never hurts the pocket book. But that is just the joy of being a girl, an American girl who lives an American Dream which is in the moment for the moment. I also understand that my actions affect someone else somewhere else in the world. I take that seriously and I know that my selfishness may hurt some one else and I don’t like that feeling at all.

What the F&%$!!!

Imagine there's no Heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today

Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace?

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world

You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one

~ by John Lennon


My little place in this world is simple with very little complications. I own my own business, I pay very little for a great one bedroom apartment in pricey San Francisco, I have friends who keep my head above water and a cat that likes tummy rubs. Days go by and I don't have to think about anyone else in the world but me. But I recently spent time with a group of people that forced me to think about how as a culture we seem to tolerate bigots, racists, ignorance and religious fanatics. I stepped outside my little world, and realized more and more that I have no choice but to deal with, either directly or indirectly through the media, those who want to live there lives by telling everyone else what to do.

This image was taken at the Gay Pride parade in San Francisco in June. The parade is always a visual eye-opener, a place where I feel anyone can have a great time. Shortly after I got there, a woman came along and just sort of planted herself in one spot and then whipped out a hoola-hoop. She was cute and smiled as she did her thing. She was fascinating to watch as she went in time with a band that was playing off in the distance. People would stop to watch her or, like me, photograph her. It was a beautiful day and people were quite jolly and spunky; and they were there to obviously have good time of whatever sort that may have been.

These moments of enjoyment with hoola-hoops or some other innocent venture, appear to be fewer and farther between. The Gay Pride parade and those who attended, either gay or straight, were just there for a good time but there are those who can only see evil and immorality. Dealing with the bad side of human nature just sucks and seems to be waxing at a great pace. Exactly how much more shit is going to happen between now and when I'm, say, 50-years old? How many more people do I have to deal with who no longer practice basic manners or behave in a completely self-serving way? How long am I going to have to tolerate fundamentalists who blow people to bits on their way to work? How many more doctors will be killed having dinner with their family because some asshole thinks an abortion doctors deserve to die? How many more priests are going to be protected after raping children for decades? How many more pension funds are going to be wiped out by executives with $1 million trust funds for their kids?

Suddenly, I'm aware of my own mortality and I wonder why anyone would want to live to an old age when they have to live in this F&$% up world. I feel so sorry for those people who were on their way to work only to be killed by a rogue zealot stupid enough to strap on a bomb. I feel sorry for the people who try to do better in the world only to be picked off one by one, until one day we're stuck with a "bad" majority. Now, I don't know that that is actually going to happen but it seems to be the way. The bad kill a few at a time and the good go about their business. The bad procreate at lightning speed and good reproduce in smaller and smaller numbers. I just don't want to be here to see that day. I watch a lot of the History and Discovery Channels and know that millions of years ago a huge meteor hit the planet just off the Yucatan in Mexico and wiped out everything. I'm just wondering, if a meteor hit the planet today and we had to start all over again, will we be better off? But then of course the real question is: would history repeat itself? Would we really just do the same shit all over again?

I just think life would be easier if we all lived a little less by the book and a little more by "live and let live" in a good way like a smile and a nod when someone passes you on the street both wishing the other a "Good Day".

I Spy...

We are all guilty of people watching and we all have been caught staring at some point or another. But I have learned to watch from afar with a camera and a long lens and really study my subjects. I can get up close and personal and no one is the wiser. I can watch, imagine and pretend I am a part of my subject’s life and they never know that for a short moment in time, their lives are impacting someone else. So completely unbeknownst to them, I have made them my muse.

While sitting in a Paris café, I saw a man sitting slightly ahead and below me. I could see over his shoulder and see his face perfectly when he looked toward the street. Had I been sitting in some typical American diner, my impression of him would have been much different. But I was in Paris on the Rue de Rivoli. I knew this guy had to be more refined than what the sideburns, wrinkles and basic black clothes would have said to me in America.

In America and my experience, he was a truck driver, a construction worker or a factory worker. However in Paris, France, on this shopper’s dream of a street, he had to be something else. The way he drank so specifically and with such purpose from a cup and saucer. The fact that he used cream but not sugar said to me that he was a man’s man in some strange “Misti” way of thinking.

I watched him for 20 minutes or so, just wondering how he lived his life. I had my camera at the ready as always. His face was interesting and I wanted an interesting moment. A moment to remember when I looked at my pictures back home in my little apartment in San Francisco; where, I would again try to imagine his life and remember my time in that café, in Paris, last fall, on a rainy afternoon, just watching time go by. Then he pulled out a cigarette.

The sky was dark and dreary and rain was ready to fall. Nevertheless, this man was sitting outside, doing what most Parisians love to do and we in foggy San Francisco just can’t. They enjoy sitting outside, drinking coffee and most likely smoking while watching the world go by as they pause for just one moment in their busy lives to reflect. Americans really need to learn this fabulous habit. We always seem to feel this need to move, to do, to be and to control.

It took him three tries to light his cigarette in the moist atmosphere that surrounded him. This gave me the opportunity to time taking his image at the perfect moment. I only wanted him, the light and the cup on the table in my frame and I only got two shots before his hands went down.

Looking at him in my photograph now I see how much more refined and less weathered his hands are compared to his face. I again wonder what he did for a living. I again wonder what or of whom he was thinking while sitting at that café. I am still wondering if he ever knew even subconsciously that for 20 minutes he was a part of my life and just never acknowledged it to me for his own reasons. Perhaps playing his own game with me.

I have numerous photographs of people I have seen for a split second in my travels around the world and I will never see again. I still look at these photographs and wonder about the people in them. I wonder if they completed what it was they were doing when I saw them. I wonder if their lives got better or worse after that moment they were in my life. I wonder if they ever do what I do which is to wonder about the lives of strangers and let them run wild in their imaginations.

I wonder.

Stopped

When I was young I innately knew that I had to leave my small hometown and go where there was noise, lights, life and people more like me. I spent hours thinking about far away places and how I would get there. My first stop was New York and I was just 18, naive and overwhelmed in numerous ways. Although I was incredibly intimidated I could not haveFine Art loved it more. Today, with the passing of time and both myself and the City older, it is no longer intimidating to me. I miss the days of yesteryear.

Back in the days of the late 80’s and early 90’s the City never resembled the Disneyland that it does now. I hate it. No, I utterly abhor it. I loved not knowing what would happen and being on edge and knowing that something strange would happen walking through Times Square every time I walked through it. I wasted hours watching the street entertainers in Washington Square Park an how can anyone not miss the banter of two angry people telling each other to “Fuck off.” Walk through Alphabet City or Tompkins Square Park? No way.

Today the City has been tamed. Memories of a man chaining himself to a light pole with a dozen cops watching or a man digging through the garbage or the whispers of “smoke, sense, smoke” in a dimly lit street or being flashed by a man on the 6 train are all I have of the old days. Well, memories and hundreds of photographs. I used to hide my camera under my coat because back then you never knew what could happen. Yes, I really was flashed on a full 6 train and I wanted to say something like, “Are you really trying to impress me with that?” but those were the days that you never knew if you would be knifed or shot.

Today I walk around with my camera always at the ready and people actually stop to let me take a picture. Now, don’t get me wrong as I completely appreciate the courtesy. What a boring story! Now when I “see” a photograph, I don’t have to be sneaky and worry that my camera will be stolen. I just pick up the camera and take a picture. Therefor my photographs today compared to those from 15 years ago are much different and much more thought out and much more editorial than the documentary style I had back then. Then, they were just a moment in time. Today I can look, think, plan and see so much more into what I could do rather than flash and dash as I used to.

“Stopped” was taken in midtown during the day. I had nothing to do but my favorite thing— walk. I first saw the clocks and thought how fascinating and imagined people in Paris sharing cocktails in a bistro and people in China sleeping the night away. Then a guy came up to the corner and started drinking coffee. He added to the story of the people in NYC and what they were doing. At this point, I started to take some photographs and how exciting it was when the taxis drove by! It was as if I had stopped time around the world for just a moment. The man was frozen in time, the taxis were stopped dead in their tracks too and around the world, I had forced everyone and everything to just stop for a split second in time. Of course I’m the only one in on the secret but just as well as I’m the only one who matters in this scenario.

I love this photograph because it reminds of Henri Cartier-Bresson. I’ve always admired his work and how he looked for those precious moments in time. He was always ready with his camera and because of that we have his amazing photographs. I may not have been ready to take this photograph 15 years ago when I had to hide my camera. Because of the changes time presents, I was ready and able to see things in a new light. Maybe I don’t have all the crazy stories to tell anymore but I think my images tell their stories much better than they used to and now I can always be ready when they present themselves to me.

I do love the memories and days of old. As fast as time goes by and we wish we could hold on to certain moments, the passing of time cannot be stopped, even for me.