Chaos Behind My Eyes

I’ve always been accused of having such a calm easy going demeanor, nothing could be further from the truth. People just can’t see life from my side of the eyes I look upon the world. True I project what I want them to see and feel while I try to figure out where we’re going photographically. But I am trying to get a feel for the magic of what is hopefully about to happen, giving that chemistry time and space to happen in. Whether in my tiny little apartment studio, or in a vacant house, or farm, or even some field somewhere magic works best when it is unrushed.

I’m often asked by a model what I’m shooting, and if it’s a head shot why are they are nude, that question usually come from the uniformed. I smile and say that I’m studying the way their bodies moves, but it’s so much more. It’s the angles I’m looking at, the way the light plays over the curves, and I’m giving them time to relax and get comfortable with me and themselves so that their bodies move naturally. I don’t usually see a lot of tension in them, after all they agreed to pose nude in the first place, but it takes time for that comfort to grow, and for them to become unaware of me or my camera. It take time for them to grow comfortable enough that they start talking about life, love and their body’s quirks. It take them time to grow comfortable we me, to trust me with their lives as well as their bodies.

My friend Dave has the right idea, getting to know each other for a day or two, go camping in the forest primeval, or just have them around for dinner and a fire, get to know each other as work-mates but as friend also. It pays to have an understanding wife or soul-mate, it helps to have a place way out in the middle of nowhere. But the rest of us have to do the best we can with what we have, and you can build that bond, but you can’t rush it. That bring us back to that chaos I was talking about, remember that.

So much of the chaos comes from knowing I have a lot to make happen in the time allotted me, plus I have to be right on with the technical stuff as well to get the results I want so that final print will turn out the way I want. It’s that terror, that absolute panic that I live to master, to get under control, that delicate dance I must do on the edge of a sword to get the results I want. I love real film, the unpredictably of the medium, any other way seems like cheating to me. I love the terror of it quite the way I love getting to know my models, to tell them they have a nice little tush when really, I mean it.



Dave

Mea Culpa

Where to begin, first I apologize to all who missed me. I took a break from writing, and concentrated on home and hearth. My health is fine, and my sprites are as well. I’ve been going to group sessions for my stroke, passing on the information I have for people in the same position I was a few years ago. It’s kinda hard on me, being on the same floor I was, walking down the same hallways, but I’m so much better now. I’ve seen the people I’m trying to reach listening to me, taking some comfort from the things I share. The staff too seems to be happy I’m there to give their patients some hope for their future. Each month it’s a new group I interact with, sometimes there’s a hold over, or family members comes back to find help, to get some answers. I try my damnest to be honest as I can, and warn about the pitfalls as well. In the end I guess that’s all I can do to make life easier, to shed some light where everything seems so dark.

I’m making friends with the physiologists, he sometimes share his own personal pain in his life as well. It’s an easy group, almost like talking with family, but better somehow. I guess it’s because I get to go home afterward's , and don’t have to see them till the next month. But it so nice to be able to share things with them, I tell the patients that so lucky to have the services of the physiologist were as I had to figure this out all on my own. I had my stroke too early to get this help, it wasn’t until last year that they figured out that stroke was so debilitating, and that there was good money to be made as well. Funny how the profit motive comes into play, I can’t say that my hands are clean either. I have an idea for a book on my experiences, I’m looking to find out what questions get asked the most. Mea culpa indeed..., but I really can’t see making much money on my project, enough to cover the cost of printing. Fame doesn’t interest me, I’ve seen first hand how much it cost you personally. One loses a lot of their freedom, you are always on your guard in case you say or do the wrong thing when people are watching.

So as I say, life goes on, and I’m lucky to be a part of it. Obviously I didn’t really want to die, and I didn’t but there I was stuck with a mind that had betrayed me. I’ve gone though a lot to get back to almost were I was to begin with so I guess I have a story to tell as well as a life to live. I’ll update as the sprite wills, don’t hold me to a date certain. Life has taken a turn for the better now and I mean to enjoy it, as well as the people who love me.

I'm Well

For all those out there who were worried, I apologize. Just been caught up with life and keeping home and hearth together. I will update soon, promise.

Mexican

I was born in 1948 around the time of massive civil rights activates, too early to really do much good for me. In Texas at that time I was a second-class citizen. The real civil right came 20 years later, but by that time I’d about had given up and moved north. Years of racial bias had taken a toll on me and my spirit, it was all around me and I didn’t care for it one bit. As a child I heard a lot of unflattering comments about German, Polish, and Blacks. Out on the street I had to face the ugly comments about me, about not being smart enough, dirty and lazy, I didn’t care for that characterization either.

When I was about nine a cousin of mine and I snuck away from the family gathering we were having at a local park. We went to the swimming pool that we weren’t allowed in because we were Mexican. We stood at the chain link fence and watched all the other white kids splashing and playing in the water. That was my first real introduction to racism and exclusion. I remember standing their being kept out and not welcomed at all. A few years later when I was old enough to ride the bus and go to the movies on my own. One of my rituals was to go to The Coney Island Hot Dog stand, and get a dog or two. One day one of the counter-men asked me, in Spanish if I was Mexican or Black. I spoke little Spanish, but I told him clearly I was Mexican; I started getting the best dogs then.

Still later in high school, which started in 1963, around the time went Kennedy was murdered in Dallas, I remember going to wood-shop where we were listening to the radio about the killing. A kid there said it better not be a black man that had killed him, but he was looking at me. I was only one of a few Mexicans the school had, there was only one black guy. I got along in school pretty well but I kept my head down and made a much smaller target. I didn’t do well, the lower ¾ of my class, but I was bored not ignorant. Living up to expatiation's I guess, the only thing that most teachers figure I was good at was my hands some I was channeled into a blue-collar mentality.

Finally in 1968 civil rights came to San Antonio in a big way, the powers that be had to make a choice to get Federal Spend for their worlds fair. Suddenly things began to change even if ever so slowly. To get Federal Appropriations they were forced to treat us better, but under the surface things didn’t change that much. We won recognition for our race, for our ethnicity though the city had capalized on that for years, next best place to Mexico was their thinking. Fiesta was a big party that’s held every year in April-May. It’s origins are rooted in the bias that we endured, Mexican house-hold help was used to celebrate the Anglo’s win over Mexico in the war for independence. To the victors goes history as the saying goes, but now our history is slowly coming out.
On PBS, American Experience the other night part of the story of how our civil right were won by Carlos Cadena among other of the civil right movement. Mr. Cadena was our Thurgood Marshall although less well know, and it’s well past time that the part he played is told. “A Class Apart” is the story of that brave struggle. Had those people not won we, as a class of people would have been lost forever had the forces of prejudice won. There have been lots of shows recently on PBS celebrating Hispanic Heritage month. I just wish I had been taught in school when it was happing, I would have been prouder of myself and of my class then, it almost came too late to do much good, but the tale needed to be told.

Not Much

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Woodstock

Toward the end of the summer in 1969 I was in the great state of Maine staying at Acadia National Park. That was the summer of Woodstock the festival of Rock and Roll, mud, and love. I however was nice and toasty warm in my little van up in Maine and the festival didn’t appeal to me because it was rainy and cool so I passed. As I was walking through camp one morning I spotted some kids my age who’s tent had gotten sopping wet because they hadn’t trenched around it and the rain had really come down the night before. They were also starving and I’d had some soup left over from the group camp for the kids that I held the night before. Over the soup they told me about Woodstock and invited me to come with them but I was really too comfortable to venture back into New York state.

Let me backup a minute and tell you I was camping out in Maine because I was on a tour of the north-east and Maine was my last stop. It had been a great tour and I was learning a lot about me and the country. It was my twenty-first year and was the longest I had ever been away from home and the furthest I’d ever been. Just bumming around and having a great time with nowhere particular to be. Just a kid on my first trip away from home, meeting people and getting used to who I might be. I had gone east from Texas all along IH-10 then up the east coast, avoiding New York City and had gone to Providence Rhode Island then my travels had taken me north. I was writing poetry, full of angst and heartbreak which was appropriate for the times, for me and the country.

I had read Steinbeck’s “Travels with Charley” the summer before and fell in love with Charley, Steinbeck and the country. I was a little unsure about the country to tell you the truth but I was willing to learn. I had learned about staying at State Park’s (the only place that was safe from being hassled) and now I was interested to learn all about National Parks. Kids, that the first and most important thing to know about the National Park System and friendly adults. On my first day in Maine I walked down to the shore-line to watch the waves crash onto the rocks. One wave was strong enough to wash pasted me and to loosen my shoes grip on the rock and I started sliding into the ocean. I had no way to stop my downward slide but a friendly hand was offered and I was saved. Another kid and his girlfriend had seen what was happening to me and he became my new best friend. A few day later I got the idea to have a cook-out and invite all the kids from around the camp to my campsite for music and food. A lot of the adults volunteered some onions, potato and stuff to cook and some beer for the older kids and we spent the day making a big pot of soup for all.

After all the kids had went home (back to camp) one father came and chased his kids home and sat and talked for hours it seemed. He’s brought some beer and we sat there until the early hours talking about life, having kids and the responsibilities of adulthood. He was the first of many men who told me that their lives and dreams were over once the kids arrived, they sounded so sad and lonely. I was the first chance they had to tell the stories of what they’d lost in their hurry to grow-up and to be adults. That had a profound effect on me and I took their story’s of lose to heart. The dad and I became friends for the time we had and I was invited on day trips and became the recipient of their left over food when they left. In fact I became such a regular feature of the park and the campfires that I really didn’t have to worry about food for the remainder of my stay. I was living a charmed existence except for not calling home to check in and my mother was getting frantic. But I was twenty-one and I was having the time of my life and couldn’t be bothered.

Death Panel

I’m not about to get into the end of life debate now roiling the country. Instead I’ll tell you about my plans and the way one person feels. I want to have that talk with my doctor, in fact I’ve already signed a living will. I’m not willing to saddle anyone else with that responsibility or to leave it up to anyone to decide for me. If there’s not a shred of hope for my recovery I want to be made as comfortable as possible and let me get on to the next phase. Personally I feel that we have the responsibility to make room for other’s yet to come. Like an actor on the stage we owe it to ourselves to know the time to make a graceful exit.

I am sixty-one years of age, still young and vital, still with dreams and desires yet to fulfill. Though my time is running short there is no end to my drive to make this as full a life as possible. I feel as though I survived my stroke for a reason and I’d like to share my story with as many people who will listen. I’d like to bring some comfort and some hope to the people who share my illness. There seems to be no end to my art as well, I still have the desire to express myself and there are still some image I want to create. I still have that urge to communicate though my photographs, to tell stories of love and loss; the fleetingness of time and beauty. There are many thing I have left to share while there is still time and the space in my heart.

I came into this world with my own mind-set and no one could change that even though they tried. Like mercury you could push me into a corner but somehow I’d slip out around your fingers. I had my way of doing things and living my life by my rules when I could and even when I couldn’t I’d find a way. I was always looking to be a character when I grew up and I guess I’ve realized that goal. I’m very satisfied with my life up until now and I see no reasons to change in mid-stride. There are those who think I’m too old to be creative, too old to be of use as well. But as long as I have my mind, I can function and feel of use I intent to survive as long as I want. That’s the key to me, wanting to survive. When I feel the time is ripe and life holds no further interest for me I’ll take my marbles with me and play no more. That’s my right as well as my duty as I see it

I watched my father as he ran to the doctor’s every time he sneeze or felt an ache or pain. Of course it was a social occasion as well to access those who had survived in his circle of friends. I’ve seen other people who’s life has been long and they come to their doctor to complain and are surprised when they get pills. Doctors are supposed to do something to try and ease pain or discomfort, that’s their nature and their duty. If you don’t complain you don’t get pills is the way I see it. I don’t even want medication for sexual dysfunction, I’m not dying for an orgasm. I figure that at the age I am it’s a normal part of life, especially after surviving a stroke so I’m content to be my age. For me it’s a quality of life issue rather than the quantity of that life. I see no reason to have my life extended if I don’t get any quality. There are now expensive options to extend your life an extra six months or nine months but where’s the quality in that? If you’re young enough to have children or there maybe a cure fine but why put off the inevitable. All this talk of “death panels” simply clouds the issues, how to exit this life with dignity and grace. I do not wish to suffer and drag my existence out longer than I have to, it’s not right for the people I love and care about. I remind you that this is just my perceptive, some may agree with me and some will not. It’s simply my decision.

Hot Air

From my mid-thirty’s to my early fifties I was really involved in Hot Air Ballooning, both as crew-chief and as a beginning pilot. I was lucky enough to travel from the one end Florida on interstate 10 clear though to the California end. I was very in demand as a crew-chief getting not only the prettiest but the smartest crew I could find. I traveled with different commercial ballooning outfits to events countrywide making the pilots look good in front of their clients and the general public. At one event in California for a major brokerage house once we had the balloon set up I organized the crowds into a manageable line helping the women get in the balloon without worrying about the fact that they were wearing skirts. Because I was working freelance I could generally get the time free and it was one of the way’s I could make good money and could perfect my competitive skills as well.

Once I helped crew for the Disney Balloon Team and their “Mickey Mouse” balloon. Most of the balloon people in San Antonio were there and it was a big deal to crew for the balloon. I and my friend George Maxfield made up one team the idea of which was to follow the balloon as it made it’s way over town and then to be the first team to be on site as the balloon landed and help with the deflation. George and I followed that balloon with me as the spotter and George driving, we followed that balloon through town and out to countryside were it was beginning it’s descent. Because I knew the area pretty well I knew that the pilot was having to make quick decisions on the best place to land a thee-story balloon. I though that this looked like the likeliest place but all the other teams decide to go on further. I screamed for George to turn in here and my heart was in my throat at the thought of being wrong but as we rounded a corner I was so happy to see the balloon beginning to lay over and we were the only team there to help them. I got a major kick out of that moment of pride as we watched the other teams drive up moments later, but we were number one and all without benefit of a radio! Bye the way, did I mention that I’m very competitive.

George and I traveled together sometime and we became great friend’s, it didn’t matter to me that he was older and had a son my age. Chasing after a balloon early in the morning brings you closer to someone and traveling together make you tight. I had about four pilots who were giving me lessons on piloting a balloon, each had a special skill that they brought to flying. George was my favorite and he was nice enough to give me more time in the balloon than anyone. One morning after we had gotten the balloon inflated I was pilot in command and it was my job to take off and land. It was a great morning and I had a great launch, we even flew close enough to pick leaves out of the tops of trees as we made our accent. We were about twenty minutes into our flight and everything was going so smoothly then I spotted an airfield and decided to try a touch and go. I checked with George and he said give it a shot. Now a touch and go is really that, you bring the balloon down, touch the airfield and go off again. To have any control over the balloon you heat the air to rise and let some air out to bring it down. Sounds simple but it take great finesse to do the job right.

So I let some air out of the balloon and countered with a short blast of heated air to begin my descent, the airfield was still a ways away and I was right on course and we were descending well. I let out some more air, bringing the balloon to within about thirty feet of the ground then I felt a cool breeze in my face and we began to drop like a rock. Just as I began to burn George yelled burn which meant to put hot air in the balloon. We kept dropping like a rock, George yelled burn again two more times and we kept dropping. As we fell to with in feet of the ground I turned to George and told him how sorry I was as he yelled burn aging. We got down to within inches of the ground before the heat reached to top of the balloon and we started to rise. Let me make two points here, an older balloon is more porous than a newer balloon. It leaks more air so it can take longer for the heat to cause the balloon to rise. Also the joy of ballooning is there is no sensation of air around you because you move with the wind, so feeling cool air is very unusual. I immediately turned over command to my friend George because I realized that this was very tricky air we were in and I was really spooked. So on we flew looking for a good place to land.

Exactly the same thing happen at least two more times as we tried to land, we’d get a cool breeze in our face’s and the balloon would drop again and we hit hard then the heat would get to the top of the balloon and we’d rise again. Once went we hit hard enough that the balloon went over far enough to touch the ground and drag us a few yards and as it rose I saw a tree dead ahead. Well we hit that tree about two third of the way up and then the heat in the envelope lifted or ripped us up through the tree limbs and George yelled to get down. I ducked to the bottom of the basket as my friend laid over me but he was looking up at the balloon to see if it was getting ripped to shreds. And then we hit the ground again as George said fuck it we’re down and pulled to top out of the balloon so we stayed on the ground. As we crawled out of the basket and surveyed the groove we plowed into the field George told me he had to pee and I told him that I already had. Then we had to walk about a mile to the road to find our chase-crew to cart the balloon out. By happenstance that ended up being the last time I was pilot in command. I went on to fly many more times, even in Colorado at Thanksgivings before ballooning lost it’s draw for me. I meet a lot of terrific people and got to know them well and I’m grateful for their companionship so early in the morning.

Cutting Room Floor

My grand debut was not to be, I sort of ended up on the cutting room floor but not quite. I’m still supposed to be on the website and You Tube so my plan was kind of derailed unfortunately. However the presentation went on with Jill Bolte Taylor as the keynote speaker and it turned out to be a wonderful event. Ms. Taylor is a very dramatic speaker and is so very knowledgeable about the human brain. So much of her talk I felt was aimed at me and helped me to understand what exactly happen to me although we had different types of strokes. Her’s was a bleeder caused by a malformation whereas mine was a blockage, a piece of plaque broke lose and caused my damage.

She spent a lot of time on the brain’s anatomy and brain function, she gave a tour of the brain and how each hemisphere works in relation to the other. Too much information to pass on here so I’ll just pass on the things at struck me as important. First the brain is very plastic in it’s ability to heal, to find different pathway around the obstruction. The brain is very social in it’s inner reactions, it loves to communicate. It’s this communication between each individual parts of the brain and with each sphere that makes up the sum total of who we are and the way we think and act. It is the very essence of who we are and what we are as unique individuals in this universe of ours. When we have a stroke or any brain injury one of the hemisphere of our brain ceases to function, our conversation with ourselves fall silent and as a result we are lost in our own brain’s.

None of this I knew before my stroke, only vague ideas that I was able to develop after the event and as I went along in the dark. I knew that I wasn’t happy in my present condition. I had a life that I loved and a lifestyle that was full of promise. I wasn’t willing to just give that up without a fight. I wasn’t content to become handicapped and live out the rest of my life that way. Instinctively I knew that returning to the life I knew was what I needed, to get back into the routine of my every day life. I had built over the years a pattern to my life that was a once familiar and comfortable to me. I had my friend, business acquaintance and a career that I enjoyed and got great pleasure in. I just couldn’t give that life up without trying my best to get it back. You know what they say, you never miss anything till it’s gone.

So that’s what I concentrated on, the patterns of life, my routines of life I had developed over decades. Jill Bolte Taylor invested my idea’s of those routines with value and explained the physiology of what I accomplished. She gave me depth to my experiences with my brain and allowed me to follow the rational explanation of the how’s and why’s of what I did. The brain is a very interesting organ, it’s ability to heal, it’s ability to communicate, it’s very ability to interpret who we are as a human being is as unique as we are. Everyone of us is a unique individual in the universe and should be respected.

Cutting Room Floor

I sort of ended up on the cutting room floor, not really but it feels that way. My segment got cut from the show and they’re using a man who went through the whole process with them. This is the one year anniversary and they want to showcase someone who was a success in their program. I’ll still be on there website and I get a page on YouTube, I’m still invited to the festivities with Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor. She is the woman who was doing research on the human brain and had a stroke and now she does lectures on her visions of god among other thing having to do with the brain. She even gave a talk on Ted.com that you should listen to.

My other news is more positive because it has to do with my future. The lady I’ve been telling you about has had it with the company and is now ready to go out on her own. She had given them until August to buckle down and get something accomplished but nothing positive has happened. She now sees what I’ve been telling her about the partners and there lack of vision and hard work. They’d rather follow unproductive paths than stick to the project at hand. Along with no vision they have no money and can’t generate the confidence to get any. Of course I had to tell her that my vision of the company had to be seen through the filter of my not have being pay yet for my expenses. I also told her that the company was being foolish by my having access to all the images that no patent has been filed for yet. If I wanted to I could steal the idea right out from under them and all for a hundred dollars.

So now that she is getting her business started and I’m going to give her the portions of film that shows her in meeting and holding discussions. Since I’m not getting paid I chose to use my talents to help her get a website going and help her get established. No real money right now but further down the line it should be well worth my time. Everyone I know is in some form of dire circumstances, either they have lost their jobs and are looking for new opportunities. The whole landscape has changed and not for the better in some ways. That’s the way it is in a new world we are facing, survive and change or don’t. The world doesn’t give a damn it just’s keeps turning on and on. That’s what I was talking about in last post with my talk of gumption. Life doesn’t stand still for no one and only the strongest survive. You have to go out there and make a new life and reinvent yourself for the age you find yourself in.

I’m facing a number of obstacles from some of the choices I made in my life. Many are the consequences of my stroke and the lingering effect of it. I don’t feel I am able to hold down a full time job, I haven’t the stamina for it. But I can play the game and give advice that might helpful and surly won’t hurt. I’ve been asked to sit on her board once she has set that part of her business. In the meantime I can help with the website, I can photograph her rise in business and be a trusted advisor. I aim to reinvent myself and to make myself a new life that I can work at until I am able to work no more for real. I don’t aim to be a dinosaur till the very end of my creative life and that’s somewhere in the dim future.