Breaking Bread

Every time I grow through the Grand Army farmer's market something new catches my eye. New flowers, a strange fruit or vegetable, a new craft apple vodka maker (there's more than one?). And then there are the scenes that are so common across the city - and the world really - that it's sometimes hard to notice them in this strange food fantasy.

It was the brief moment of these men breaking bread together, laughing together, forgetting the 4am alarm they woke up to that morning, and sharing stories together that drew me in on Saturday. Hidden behind a tent in plain sight, just far enough away from the crowd who all of a sudden seemed more like food tourists than neighbors, was a different kind of signal of what brings people together.

Portrait of a memory

As I think more about the perspective I bring to my photography, I find portraiture the defining narrative with all its metaphors for life, character, and moment. A few weeks back I was in New Hope for my cousin's wedding and as I moved around, capturing moments and freezing time, I realized perhaps for the first time that I was saving a memory.

I admit that in writing it it seems fairly obvious. That's what defines photography in one of its most basic interpretations. But it's not so simple if you scratch a bit harder.

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This might be how interior designers, architects, and even UX/UI experts think - they see the whole coming together as one - the people, the smells, the reflections, the way the light carries from one part of the space to another, the way the space drags people out to dance and repels others... I could go on. As I imported my photos and began editing, what emerged was infinitely more complex than individual photos side by side. A portrait of a memory arose with its range of emotions painted in color, contrasts, textures, and choices.

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I admit I don't know exactly what I'll do with this new insight except to hope that by sharing it with you, perhaps something resonates in a way it hadn't before. Perhaps we'll all learn something together.

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A Brooklyn Sukkot

"Excuse me, are you Jewish?" I get asked this question about 100 times from the exit of the Subway to my apartment.

They're Jews on a mission and they're quite persistent. I don't know whether to ignore them (seems rude), say yes (leads to a longer encounter), or say no (lie). There's probably a better answer (see below) but Sukkot in Brooklyn pulls out a funny characteristic for New Yorkers.

The Hasidic Jews who celebrate and flock to the streets to shake their lulavs and etrogs with you are trying to hasten the coming of the Messiah. The more blessings the better. Literally. It's like a big tally - we just need enough points to win. It's more direct contact with religion than most New Yorkers typically contend with.

But during this week another phenomenon emerges. New Yorkers smile. If you're patient enough, you'll see someone pop up from the subway to be greeted by a team of mitzvah makers, maybe first with a puzzled look, and then, as they confirm their Jewish identity (or just ask What is this all about?), a smile make its way across their face.

We New Yorkers aren't used to having strangers greet us, having strangers engage us in an unfamiliar activity. We put up barriers. Signs even. But when we do let our guard down (albeit with a lot of nudging) a different side emerges.

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Reframing Nature

Expression can be found everywhere - in the lines of our neighbor's face and in a fading flower's bud. I hadn't thought about plants, landscapes, and other stills in such a 'personal' way before but it became ever more clear to me as I learned more about composition and explored my own voice and vision.

Was there a coherent theme behind the stories I was trying to tell with my portraits as well as my nature, landscape, and urban photography?

For much of my work the answer was no. But that was because the photographs themselves were crap. My best work shared consistent themes across the pieces, whether it was the rush of a creek, the wry smile of a stranger, or a bicycle abandoned on the street - stories, strong composition, and a certain something unexpected.

I mean that last part literally. Especially with the proliferation of Instagram and friends we've taken photos of just about everything. What remains, and David duChemain has said this much better than I will here, is art. In some ways it's like when the French remade their cuisine post WWII with the scraps of food around - essentially what became the hallmark of Western cuisine for a century. The basics will be remade over and over, but our job as photographers is to find not just the 'best' expression of it, but 'ours.' 

Family

I don't take enough photos of my family. Perhaps I've subconsciously taught myself iPhone = family/snapshots, bigger camera = 'real photos.' Somehow I've relegated my family to a lower priority than strangers when it comes time to taking authentic portraits and capturing memories.

I had a chance to change that this last weekend when my parents had a joint 70th birthday party. They celebrated the joy of their love, friendships, and family surrounded by the people that knew them best. And with just a few snaps - and a few posed moments - I captured something I've rarely done before: the love my family shares with each other.

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I'm pretty sure my Dad was trying to tickle Mom

My biggest interest is still in street portraiture, but I'll be less snobby and selfish about when I bring my camera up to my eye.

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My mom doesn't like this one. Too bad

Making a connection

"We lost the diversity of the community. I used to know everyone. When I got married, all my neighbors cheered me on as I walked out in my dress. Now it's just like park slope - babies, strollers, white kids. The one good thing is that the restaurants are great. I just try to maintain a connection to my neighbors." - Elena 

Industrial Chic

"We designed this place from the ground up - a gut renovation - about six years ago before anyone else was doing it. Now we look around and it's all over the place. It kind of makes me want to tear everything out and start over. But I still love it - reflects the feel of what we're trying to do here.

I remember high school being so competitive. The first thing my parents would ask when I would come home was 'did you get any grades back.' That had a real effect on me. I think that competitive edge continues to drive me as an entrepreneur but I also knew I wanted to work for myself. I felt that first selling knives for Cutco - it's like the first thing you can do as a kid that's really self-powered. And man, I made a lot of money. Like, serious bucks for a kid."
- Brian

From Times Square to Crown Heights

"The international crowd always amazed me. It was just so crazy how they fit all the stereotypes - and the Australians were the nicest people in the world! But coming from Times Square to here was like moving home. There are such incredible people here. Although now we're starting to get tourists too. I guess we got written up in the guide books. Things change fast." - Chloe

Church Basements too

"I went to this one underground bar in Fort Greene to scout it out a few months ago. I go back last week and it's already gone. That's the pace of this place. And it's not just the trendy places. We used to be able to rent a church basement for like $1,000. They were just happy to see some extra income come in. Now they've got all sorts of packages and are selling themselves like high end studios. Hard to believe sometimes."

The end of physics

"I loved science and experimenting with new gadgets. Then there was Vietnam. That was the end of physics. Now I come to the gardens to be at peace." - Arthur

I miss the fire

"I miss the fire. I was always passionate about Japanese culture, but more for fun stuff like the games and art. Making the transition to making it my work meant more discipline and learning about it in new ways. I like doing sushi and the job here is great, but it's not the same. Cooking with heat just feels different"
- Julian

Contemplative

"Oh wow, I look so contemplative!"

The food is free

"I work three bars just to make ends meet, so I often forget what's on tap. But honestly I just want to work at the place with the best food. It's free you know."

Begin and Begin Again

“Slow down, take time, allow yourself to be wildly diverted from your plan.” 
- David duChemin, Within the Frame

Do you have a plan?

Do your friends have a plan?

Have you read a book about a plan?

If you're like so many people I've spoken to recently, we're surrounded by a myth that says everyone has to have a plan. A tight, artisanal farm-to-table, bespoke-styled plan with just the right mix of carefully curated serendipity and chance encounters. Stirred not shaken.

I too was one of those people. I'm probably still mostly one of those people but I've also chosen to have less of a plan and more of a path.

I made the change in part because I had to, but also because in that moment, I realized I was the force stopping myself from trying something bold. I was the block that was holding me back from doing more of my art. I was the barrier from doing more of the thing that brought me intense joy and satisfaction.

The path I've chosen is not special, but it's most certainly mine. That was my first realization: I was looking for something "special" when what I wanted was there all along. I found it in my work at the DOE and in my photography. I help people rediscover the connections, beauty, and knowledge around them. Whether it's dealing with data, teasing new flavors out of food, or discovering the shared humanity in the neighborhood through photographs - that is my path.

I'll share more about this journey in posts to come. Thanks for joining me.