American Commons

On Tuesday, I had the chance to hear photographer Robert Dawson speak at the San Francisco Public Library where his exhibit Public Library: An American Commons is on display through June 12. Representing 17 years of work that is still in progress it is epic, touching and enlightening.

Dawson, a native Californian who has also written and documented extensively on the topic of water in the West, is clearly much more than a photographer. His library project takes the perspective of an anthropologist, social commentary, architectural appreciation, literary critique and poet. While he documents temples of reading with grand structures in New York, Los Angeles, Boston, Seattle, Portland and other urban hubs, the most fascinating are tiny libraries in remote towns. In many places they are the only source of the written word or internet access. One in the desert, no larger than a garden shed, serves as both a library and post office. He also has a fascinating series of images of post-Katrina New Orleans libraries, victims of that tragedy we don't hear much about.

Though not in the exhibit, he shared new images of the tool library in Berkeley.

Anyone in San Francisco should take time to see the exhibit or catch one of Dawson's talks listed in the link above. He plans to eventually publish a book but will likely spend another 17 years on that. His next goal is to visit the middle part of the country, especially those areas that are strongly anti-government to see what attitudes are about public supported libraries there.

The dichotomy he emphasized in his talk is that not since the Great Depression has use of libraries been so high and funding so threatened. For some, the library is a lifeline to seek employment online or find warmth in the winter. With that comes much more and a reminder that this is a true American Commons.

The Woodward Line

The Woodward Line pierced through the city that winter held in a grip as strong as that of a blacksmith.
Bowlers and workmen's more practical flap caps barely held in the cerebral heat until it danced down the street with ever seductive old man winter, swaggering and jingling ice cycles in his pocket like pieces of silver and wedding diamonds. Love always chases the next opportunity, just as metal razor clipping cling to the seductive magnet.
The audacity of silk top hats, dancing nervously above chattering, fluoride blazed teeth, anxious to return to their steam heated townhouses with inlaid floors built by immigrant Scandinavian hands, never to see a manicure but able to cut the perfect parquet.
These strangers shared that moment, one they saw disappearing as it happened, ice melting into mustard gas before freezing into a haze of atomic bombs that eventually warmed up as collateral damage before their memory floated away with the dust of two towers falling on the heads of their darting great-great-grandchildren who were christened with the middle names of these ancestors they had only seen in musty photo albums.

The Woodward Line disappears into the white abyss of memory from the dawn of the previous century, one of many lines slowly erased by expired hearts and unidentifiable relatives in photographs banished to the yard sale heap.

MAGPIE TALE: The Lost Art of Poultry Photographic Portraiture

(Our contribution to this week's Magpie Tale community.)

When news began to spread in 1826 of Joseph Nicéphore Niépce's "View from the Window of Le Gras" -- believed to be the first photograph -- excitement swept Europe and the Western Hemisphere as enterprising souls realized that the implications of this new technology were infinite.

While kings, queens, prime ministers and other rulers would soon be sitting for their portraits, a more practical application began with arguably greater economic and social implications. By the early 1830s, livestock and barnyard animal photography was quickly emerging as one of the lesser known growth sectors of the Industrial Age. Though significant in Europe, in primarily agrarian United States and Canada, it proved to have even greater importance.
No studio held more prominence in the field than Oak Leaf Studio in Akron, Ohio. Founded in 1851 by the Mullgardt twins -- Hubert and Hobart, German immigrants who established themselves as photojournalists during the Mexican American war -- it soon gained a national reputation. After the war, they settled in Ohio and established Oak Leaf on Mulberry Avenue on the western edge of downtown Akron.
Similar studios had been established in Manhattan, Boston and Philadelphia. These urban technicians may have been more skilled with lenses and darkroom technique but lacked the Mullgardts' rapport with farmers and, more importantly, their feathered and furred subjects.

The Mullgardts captured many handsome images of stallions, goats, mules, mares and heifers. But it was their poultry work, especially their exquisite rooster portraiture, that built their reputation and was central to taking the poultry industry from being a village-to-village cottage industry to a national enterprise.

Before the arrival of Oak Leaf Studio, farmers were able to market their chicks and eggs mainly by line drawings or written descriptions. A farmer in Fresno would not likely buy several dozen hens from a distributor in Pennsylvania just because of faith in a glowing paragraph description, but seeing a handsome photographic image was all it took to convince and entice them to put the money down and have a flock sent by rail across the continent.

After a successful start in Akron, family tensions going back to Bavaria arose, and in 1860 Hobart left for Tennessee and later became second only to Matthew Brady in capturing the brutality of the Civil War. During Reconstruction, he opened a small studio in Knoxville called Oak Brook, but he specialized in wedding and holiday portraits that were never as magical of those of roosters and hens.

Hubert continued undaunted, passing on the business to his son Heinz and son-in-law Everett in 1882. Both Hubert and Everett died during the 1901 smallpox outbreak, but Heinz soldiered on, continuing to produce the most stunning poultry portraits in the Midwest. By the 1910s, he had opened up franchises in Fort Wayne, Moline, Pottsboro and Duluth.

Heinz's only heir, Trudi, continued the business until the 1950s when she sold it to the Ohio Agrarian magazine and it slowly began to lose much of its magic. Trudi was warmly remembered from the 1920s onward for her chicken dance at the annual Farmer-Stockman Ball in Columbus. Plans for a statue of her in central Akron have been discussed for years, but a benefactor has never emerged.

Who Was Shorpy Higginbotham?

The other day, Friendatella (whose caller identity is "Blocked Caller") and I were walking around the Mission, and we stepped into The Apartment, one of the less pretentious vintage stores in the Mission. The owner has a laid back, affable manner, and we had a long discussion about the many "analog" photographs he has, most of them conveniently categorized and generally informal snapshots that seem to have come from abandoned family albums.

He had an especially interesting series of beach shots from the 1940s taken in San Diego. It was interesting to look at the faces of young men in their teens and early 20s some six plus decades ago. What stories might they have had and what was going through their heads as they stood in groups with their arms around each other with unapologetic affection one would not see even in groups of gay men today.

Such photos in the age of digital images made me glad to recently come across two great blogs I'd never seen before -- Shorpy, named after a young boy working in the mines of Alabama a century ago and Accidental Memories, which also features odd, often historic photos and random bits of intriguing art.

Both of these remind me why I decided to start blogging more than three years ago and that I would like to get more "into" it than I have in recent months. Sometimes I resent Twitter and Facebook for killing off blogs or distracting me. At least I managed to kill off my Friendster and MySpace accounts eons ago, but I hope to make more connections with blogs of this order that have intrigue equal to that of the mystery of Lora Direnzo. Too bad she never got to meet Shorpy.

When One Name Is Enough

Much as I adore women with a single, dramatic name, I must admit it's been a downward spiral from Nazimova to the horror that is Fergie over the past nine or ten decades. But this morning I was lucky to see some of the best ones of the previous century when I joined Bryce Digdug and went to the Richard Avedon exhibit at SFMOMA. (There was also one for Ansel Adams and Georgia O'Keefe, but I don't go to museums to see postcards.)

At first I was sort of luke warm about going. And the exhibit started with his most recent works that were interesting in their own way, including the political portraits that often looked like mugshots with expressions of deers caught in the headlights. Only in San Francisco would a father point to a portrait of Henry Kissinger and tell his four-year-old daughter, "That man was one of the most horrible war criminals of the 20th Century, and he is still at large!"

Things kept getting better as we made our way to the increasingly older portraits until we arrived at his 1950s fashion portraits. There were Dovima, Verushka, Twiggy -- those great women of single titular identities.

There was also Suzy Parker whom I first fell in love with in The Best of Everything where she played a boy named Gregg. In case you've never heard it, here is the Beatles (who looked great in 1967 Avedon portraits) tribute to her.

Hold the Map Close to Your Face

The JuJune Institute has been posting notices about their Time Camera all over the Mission these days, inviting us to go to their website. In this day when the web is supposedly killing all forms of print media, I am pleased to know that a chartreuse piece of paper stapled to a PG&E poll can increase traffic to a website. I've not bought my Time Camera yet, but I hope get one in time for Easter to capture images of dodo birds frolicking in Mission Dolores Park as children search for their colorfully dyed eggs.

I Need a Muse and a Few Drugs

Despite a super nasty cold hitting, I'm trying my best to be upbeat for Miss Bow's birthday. We may have to reconsider my initial plan of springing free all the dogs at the city shelter and taking them with Bow and me to the Chuck E Cheeze Pizza in Redwood City.

Giving me inspiration to accomplish a little today instead of just holing up in bed is the Cindy Sherman exhibit at the Whitney. Another reason to make me want to go back east before the end of the year. Cindy has long been a muse for me and shares my love of "getting into character". Too bad she does actually perform these characters as well a la Tracy Ullman.

Dave's Photo Challenge: Women

Not my original but something I stole from somewhere in response to Tugboat Dave's weekly photo challenge. You can also make this an Interactive Friday assignment. If you're having trouble getting started here is an opening line that you can use to begin your story:

"Earlene and LaVoyce were a little disappointed when Buck from High Class Strippers arrived, but they gave him a beer anyway. Things started heating up when..."

Dave's Photo Challenge: Toxic

Tempting as it is sometimes, I've not been to one in about nine years. But I still eat these.

Tawdry

As a site noted for extreme good taste and elegance, the editorial team at Junk Thief had trouble meeting this week's Tugboat Dave photo challenge: Tawdry. We think that word describes a paint color that's sort of in between salmon and putty. That color was featured when Architectural Digest gave us a 12 page spread.

I'm Going to Water My Dead Plants That Are Dying

A middle-aged woman descends on the home of her eccentric mother who lives somewhere not too far from Manhattan in a sprawling, ramshackle home that may have once been a place of some grandeur. They bicker, the daughter makes her mother indulge her artistic pursuits. It's hard to tell which is the wackier of the two, or are they both misunderstood, or are both grounded but in values most of society doesn't understand? And just when it seems they are a normal family, one of them tells a child that AIDS comes from ticks and mosquitoes.

No, it's not Grey Gardens, and that tale has been so reworked now that I don't think I want to see it for another 50 years. The Mother Project follows controversial photographer Tierney Gearon and didn't leave me liking her necessarily, but it is a train wreck of a family that is hard to look away from but I'd want to be around for no more than three minutes. The mother does have some good lines on the order of "I'm going to water my dead plants that are dying," but I can't say I learned anything other than the number and names of Gearon's children. I can't deny the power of some of Gearon's portraits. But as I look at the striking photo above, I wish I could just enjoy it as it stands and make up my own back story instead of the one that I now know as reality.

Gearon comments at one point about having not been raised with boundaries, then says she has some for her children but not tpp many. Then she takes a photo of her 60-something mother topless in a barn holding her naked baby and screams at her son that it's inappropriate for him to come in, then tells him it's okay to come in, and then when he says it's a porno shoot she scolds him. Throughout the film she questions whether or not she's a good mother. I'm glad I never took similarly disturbing photos of my parents or pets. They'll rest better in the next century as a result.

Just Horsin' Around

Not sure I fully understood the theme -- outdoor statues? -- but here's my response to Tugboat Dave's weekly photo challenge. I also considered titling this "My Little Trojan Pony".

Did Someone Say Cats?

In response to Tugboat Dave's photo challenge. Taken at 1:07 a.m. , November 7, 2008, L'Eixample, Barcelona. For musical cats, I recommend this.

Chevy to Ford/Abstract to Concrete/Green to Red

Starbuck's is draining.
That relic of the old new economy blames California...
...and Florida.
People have retreated to their kitchens.
Bitter.
People in small towns remind us that they don't
cling to Bibles and guns.
But big city boys in Oakland do.
Rat-a-tat-tat.
Risotto and robbery fill the nights.
Now they're shooting people in the Mission again.
But it feels so distant in the Wednesday twilight.
Someone was gunned down last night just
a block or two away from where I shoot these images.
I can't help but be drawn to the patina of peeling paint.
I never knew Harrison was so full of green
that is abundantly evident this gray April night.
I pass these green pipes many times a week
but they have never held my fascination the way
they do this evening.
Half way through my snapping, a young woman stops,
transfixed by my image robbery until she says,
"Whatever class your doing this for, I want
to know where it is." I hand her a card
for this blog and enjoy the sounds of her
wistfully reading as she walks away,
"junk...and crime..."

Stolen Secrets and Other Misdemeanors

I think I've found a kindred Junk Thief named Square America that I appreciate being introduced to by Gavin Elster, a bit of a Junk Thief himself in his ability to cull the most bizarre and obscure postings on YouTube and other cultural artifacts on the web.

Square America features several themes of amateur photography, generally "candid" snapshots dating back to the late 19th century. Any fiction writer looking for inspiration should take a glance at them, such as the party photos which hint at mysterious, potentially dangerous behaviors without giving away too many secrets. Some are disturbing, some are just plain weird, and many more are outrageously funny.

Most of them feel like stolen secrets, mysterious portals into lives we have not experienced and asking us to provide our own context.

Your assignment, class, is to share your description in 500 words or less of what you think is happening in and around these two samples.

Are Those Bugle Boy Jeans You're Wearing?

Up Dos & Waterfronts

Junk Thief Luv Him Some Crime

Despite the name of this blog and its occasional tag line of being "your go to place for junk and crime," Junk Thief really hates crime, even the petty kind. You should just see him react to the frequent act of someone here in the Mission District urinating on the side of his 10-year-old Saturn. That's illegal, isn't it? Or at least a public health hazard.

However, books and movies about crime have always compelled it. Aren't gangsters sexy? Well, usually they're also Italian, so that adds to all of it. So last night while out for the evening meal on Valencia, as usual it was impossible to pass Dog Eared Books without stepping in. Junk Thief probably buys (yes, pays, not steals) 15-20 books a month from that place. There was a nifty little volume there by Giacomo Papi called Under Arrest (A History of the Twentieth Century in Mugshots). Junk Thief has always been fascinated by mug shots, though fortunately he's never been the subject of one, although he simulated one in episode 22 of Junk Thief TV.

What is it about mug shots that is so fascinating? Do they hold true the indigenous belief that a camera will steal your soul? Indeed, they are photos most would never want out on the net or media, but the more famous you are the more likely they are to be on covers than some artfully posed glamour shot.

Mr. Papi has compiled an intriguing array of shots. There are plenty of familiar and tacky ones such at the Hugh Grant/Nicole Brown, O.J. Simpson, Nick Nolte and other celebrities caught with their literal or proverbial pants down. There are a few that are a bit more unexpected such as Larry King and Bill Gates (for a routine traffic violation in New Mexico in the 1970s).

Plenty are political or document varying struggles for justice or social change, ranging from Malcom X, Emma Goldman, Jane Fonda, Jack Kavorkian and Fidel Castro. Of course, there are the outright criminals like Ben Siegel and really spooky ones like Jeffrey Dahmer and Timothy McVeigh. What's unexpected are some of the lump in your throat shots such as child prostitutes in China, Auschwitz internees and "homosexual criminals".

Since it couldn't be found on goodreads.com, Junk Thief felt compelled to bring the little volume to others' attention in case it shows up on a mark down table in your neighborhood.

All Around the Household

I came across this rather odd little book by Mark Robbins on the bargain table at the Phoenix Bookstore while running a few errands during lunch today in Noe Valley. While certainly not worth its original $40 price, it was definitely a nice diversion for $10. It's certainly not the usual decorating book but almost a Diane Arbus take on the House and Garden set.

Grounded in the belief that one's home is a strong reflection of one's personality, it is filled with only elliptical portraits of the homes, but full body portraits of the owners, many of them (mainly male and one drag king) in various stages of undress. It's an interesting idea, though I don't plan on publishing those photos from my household anytime soon.

While he seems to be contending that he's showing the anti-Architectural Digest vision of home design photography, most of the people have fairly affluent looking digs and toned bodies. Granted, there are a couple protruding stomachs, a muscle bound queen in Provincetown lives in a tiny attic hovel. But those are the exception. All the same, it's pretty fascinating to play this role of eavesdropping and snooping through people's homes. That's something I miss from my reporting days, but fortunately I get to enter many an impressive abode as a fundraiser, though I have to show much more restraint than I did when I went around with Leica, micro-recorder and notepad. Perhaps that's why I've decided to turn the tables with the exhibitionist blogging/vlogging these days.

Oddly, although most of the subjects are in the eastern U.S., Ohio and Rotterdam (of all places), there were four people I know featured, none of them from California. The vast majority of the couples are male, but fortunately they are posed as individuals and not in those annoying, arms around each other shots to convey that they are a unit. Ultimatley we all stand alone.

I mention the book in part to plug my emerging listings on goodreads.com Anyone who's been to my place can tell you this isn't even the tip of the iceberg, but it's a nicely organized site that allows you to share book titles and reviews with friends. It's clearly meant to encourage sales of the books, but, hey, that's a lot better than just reading blogs, eh? Thanks to Salty Miss Jill for introducing me to it.