Fountainbleau

Miami Beach, Jan 2013

There was a time long ago when my friend was always sulking.  It was hard to watch.  A wry and wild woman's spirit breaking apart.  I couldn't comprehend this stage perhaps because I was younger by some years.  That can be enough of a hurdle.  Her proverbial window was closing.  One I managed to overlook.  It never occurred to me that I had a view.  I suck at acceptance, but have been good at being sensible about things beyond my reach.  She wanted to reach beyond the sea.  I once suggested making music and art were similar in heartache and reward, but the older woman I was speaking to had a shell to her ear.  I often wonder if my friend has any suggestions of her own to occupy her mind.

A Darkroom Diary

Bathroom for Butoh © 2010 (15x15 print in water)

2013 and the past permeates.  My parent's 25 year old home is a smokey wreck from a boiler eruption.  In order to save some of mine, I stayed over to oversee the clean-up crew.  Soot, grime, and dust is floating in the air.  Finding it's way into our nasal passages.  Clinging to everything we hold dear.  I hold.  'What is important' is the question we all must ask ourselves, I suppose, when shit burns.  There's no fire, but here I am putting it out none the less. 

now?

"Apocalypse" - Albert Goodwin, 1903

A Darkroom Diary

Records and Roomies, © 2010

My first 15x15 print only took 4 hours of test strips and one final image.  

Things are looking up in December.

Lightbox

Plate 19

"To me the most powerful moment in the whole process is when everything comes 

together and for that instance my life makes sense."

I saw Brief Encounters this weekend.  It was thrilling and disappointing to have the veil lifted from images I've grown so fond of in such a short period of time.  I can't help but buy into the fantasy being reality.  The outcome never changes either.  Image is what matters and then I just think, "Genius!"  In seeing Mr. Crewdson, I realized he was dealing with real conflict.  The awkwardness of watching yourself work,  reveal, and lift veils.  Then having to share more, again, in a lackluster Q&A to what seemed like a room full of wealth.  I wanted to give him a hug.  

I left wonderland without letting him in on the secret.  It was a long trip.  I needed to get back home for some processing by staring at my living room ceiling.

A Darkroom Diary

"Without ego there is no art."

I found myself uttering these words to a fellow artist.  It was the truest statement I've made in ages.  Since Sandy came barreling through infecting everyone with cabin fever, not much else has mattered. New York was beaten badly.  Her citizens have and continue to show a natural resilience when something larger than life strikes.  I've joined in, making visits to my parents on the Island, work, a park, Mamita's, another park, a donation drop-off, and a volunteer center, but I've still got the fever.  It's not about order or elections.  It's inside, debilitating ideas.  Barreling through my brain.  Clearly, there's breath enough to blog, but I worry whatever ego exists is too damaged for the good stuff and the rest ends up crystallized dust.

Collodion wet plate by Tomi Ni © 2012

If nothing, then Occupy!

A Darkroom Diary

Bathing Baby © 2010

Peace

"New York, 1972" by André Kertész

A Darkroom Diary

A photography student working on a series of tintypes asked me to sit for him.  Excited to witness the process, I agreed.  All that was required was stillness while he coated, metered, and timed.  I can do that quite well, actually.  I sat still for a few sun-infused seconds.  But pretend those seconds were years.  That's how I remember the moment now.  Because the image was a 'test print,' I got to take it home.  I stared with longing as the days got longer.  Becoming harder submerged in water.  I wished I could've been more expressive.  Flexible.  Tried something new.  Not waited.  I've held it and wanted to break the thing.

Portrait by Tomi Ni, 2012

The thin sheet of metal sits safely on a stack of old books, in a room where I spend most evenings working on the art of staying very still - to feel myself breathe in cool.

La Voyage dans La Lune...

my secret Post Secret

I'm sure this is no longer 

your space,******, and that you've disappeared 
into the deep end.    
I just wanted to write your ghost 

to say I think about your being. I hope you are dreamily 
blissful, am glad we were friends for as long as we lasted, 

and love you an ocean more.

Love Potion #25

Louis ~n~ Lucille 

Collage by Louis Armstrong

Flushing Town Hall

La Flamenco Femme

A Darkroom Diary

Geek Love, April 2012

Summer begins...
Project #2

A Darkroom Diary

Ty Llwyd Baby, May 2012

Project #3 / Session 2

Graduation Day!

Graflex Crown Graphic 4x5

a journey begins
 

Silvery Light

one day...

A Darkroom Diary

Oona's Tree, 2011

I used to climb a tree when I was allowed to hang, literally, in front of my old house 

in Jackson Heights.  I'd jump onto its arm like a gymnast, then sit to let my feet dangle for days.  Looking up, I'd see 

the chipped veins branch out into a baby blue sky.  If I squint hard enough, 

I can pinpoint exactly when my tree started to shrink. The way older people do when they can't take 

the bus anymore. The way the corner candy store began to stay open all night.  

The way Mister Softee chimed from a million blocks away. I wanted to hold onto that tree 

as the city shifted.  In the nights before we moved. When I knew 

the woods were waiting for me to leave.

close the gap

back to work

Space Dreaming