9/23/12
8/26/12
8.26.12
There's a new gallery on my site called "What Happens in Vegas". I get mildly crazy when I spend time in Las Vegas... but I like that it provokes a strong reaction from myself and from most people I know. Usually, within a day or two of arriving, I start to feel restless, angry, judgmental. I think I'm better than everyone else. Then, I go eat some prime rib. So yummy. I never eat prime rib in New York or anywhere, really. I'm impressed by the lights, by the large shrimp... the desert landscapes that surround the city are strange and lovely. It's hands down the least moist place I've ever been. The volume of water required to keep the golf courses grassy and the swimming pools wet must be staggering. Scientists predict Lake Meade will run dry by 2021. I can't imagine why anyone would go shopping in Vegas.
I'm happy that ultimately the place holds no real power over me as it once did. All of this says more about me than it does about Vegas.
In Mumbai, there are "strip" clubs where the Women don't actually take off their clothes. The men "shower" the Women with money as they dance. The Women keep the dough. The subtext of this (for the Men) is: "I'm rich! Money means nothing to me! I do this all the time! I get so bored with all this money, what shall I do... ah, I'll throw my money on this dancing Lady... She is dancing just for me! She will not come home with me! I will return tomorrow to throw more money on her!" No problem, everyone gets what they want. A few weeks ago, restless, I took an evening walk: http://brianscott.photoshelter.com/gallery-list
I'm happy that ultimately the place holds no real power over me as it once did. All of this says more about me than it does about Vegas.
In Mumbai, there are "strip" clubs where the Women don't actually take off their clothes. The men "shower" the Women with money as they dance. The Women keep the dough. The subtext of this (for the Men) is: "I'm rich! Money means nothing to me! I do this all the time! I get so bored with all this money, what shall I do... ah, I'll throw my money on this dancing Lady... She is dancing just for me! She will not come home with me! I will return tomorrow to throw more money on her!" No problem, everyone gets what they want. A few weeks ago, restless, I took an evening walk: http://brianscott.photoshelter.com/gallery-list
8/10/12
8/10/12
Brooklyn, NY Spring '12 I spent a few hours hanging out and taking Sonny's picture at his ancient bar in Red Hook on the Brooklyn waterfront. The bar is called "Sonny's". It's a place he's run since the 80's (and that his family has run for much longer) that was once popular with dockworkers and, since there are no more docks, is now popular with people who do other things for a living, as well. The place features really great music and art. Sonny is a painter. We had a right nice time "shooting the shit", as they say...
8/4/12
8.4.12
Havana, December '12 At Chang Chang's house on the eve. of the San Lázaro procession.
 
Hurley, NY July '12 Moppy and Stella in a hole.
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7/19/12
7.15.12
Woodstock, NY July '12 Jill swimming during a storm.
New York, April '12
Here is one of the Blue Man Group ads that I shot this past May. the NY times just did an article on the campaign, you can read it here: http://www.nytimes.com/2012/07/16/business/media/am-i-blue-these-ads-answer-yes-campaign-spotlight.html?_r=2
7/7/12
7.8.12
Hello! I'm off to France tonight (pronounced "Frants" in case you don't speak the language) to go to an opening at Espace Dupon in Paris http://espace.dupon.com/ where the above photo will be exhibited. I was a winner in the PX3 photo competition this year for a series I shot in Cuba at the San Lázaro procession- the photo above was one from the winning series. The opening is Tuesday night. I'm going to hang out with my friends Jen and Amelie as well but mostly I plan on sitting by myself on a bench somewhere eating bread. How do the French make such good bread? Is it majick? If you live in Paris and see me, feel free to say "hello" but don't expect to understand my reply because my mouth will be full of bread. I got eating to do, is all...
You can see my entry and some other winners here:
Two new galleries on my site: one is an ongoing project featuring my friend Sara and her parents Yolanda (who had a stroke) and Phil (who has dementia). Sara has been through a lot in caring for them, it's had a profound impact on her relationship with them both and I'm happy I've been able to document some of it. The other new gallery is ...
7/1/12
7.1.12
Hey, I just stepped out for 6 months but I'm back. This photo was taken in Rajasthan. On this day I had decided to buy a new shirt. I was riding in a bicycle rickshaw and was vaguely cranky because my driver had duped me by taking me to a jive shirt shop on the other end of the city that sold scratchy, cheap shirts rather than to the shop I had asked to go to that a friend had recommended to me as the place to buy a really nice, soft shirt in Jaipur.
I bought a scratchy shirt and had agreed to visit the shirt salesman's home village someday up near Delhi to meet his family and have dinner when on the way back, instead of being returned to my hotel I was taken, against my wishes, on a tour of historic Jaipur. The old man who was driving had stalked me outside my building for two days. He knew instinctively what I know and what the shirt salesman knew: I'm a sucker. Be persistent and eventually I'll buy a scratchy shirt and take a goddamned tour of the city in your squeaky rickshaw.
The ego can be the most insidious thing, don't you think? I'm in india for the first time, riding in a bicycle rickshaw for the first time through some of the most insanely crowded and chaotic streets I've seen. My driver is is an elderly man who is pedaling like a drunk teenager, flying around cows, people, cars... It's really fun. I'm in India... but in the back of my mind, I still have a saggy diaper over the scratchy shirt: somehow, a part of my brain actually believes that achieving my goal of purchasing a shirt- a soft shirt- is the most important thing going on in my life at the moment. But the truth is less obvious and goes something like this: I'm alone in a new place, I can't scratch my ass without thirty people staring and smiling and I'm a little scared and defensive because I haven't figured out how to buy a candy bar with confidence yet and I don't want to be taken advantage of... and as I see this, I'm suddenly relaxed and actually smiling at myself. Then, up ahead, I see an elephant walking down the street. I've never seen an elephant walking down any street anywhere, ever. It's the largest living creature I've ever seen and it's just strolling down the street with everyone else, as if on it's way to buy cigarettes. It pulls out into the passing lane and reveals these two guys pushing a car and I take the picture. It's not a great photo but it's sweet and the timing is good- but what I really like about it is this: It reminds me of how happy I was riding around with that old Man that afternoon and how I had been reminded of my first rule when traveling (and when living, in general): Don't have a rigid agenda, be open- and say yes to (almost) everything, even if it means letting other people have their way... and A few days ago, I got an email from National Geographic telling me they're considering running this photo in their magazine in the "Your Shot" section, which somehow makes sense.
June, '12 Ania at JFK
June, '12 Las Vegas has some things and doesn't have other things. Two of the things it does have are pillows and decent water pressure, as documented above. I was in Vegas working on a Blue Man appearance at the Electric Daisy Carnival electronic music festival out in the desert. By the time I took this photo, a coup had taken place at the hotel where the majority of portly, jolly and good natured guests had been slaughtered for meat by wasted, semi nude teens and twenty- somethings who's actual goal for the weekend was to go as ape-shit as possible and to keep going ape-shit until it was no longer possible. I was finding refuge in my room, waiting for my lobby call and taking pictures of pillows as a result. The flip side: riding on one of the best amusement park rides ever at the carnival at dusk that took us up 60 feet and swung us down and back up at high speed for 5 minutes with glowing lights and fire below, the vegas skyline in the distance, purple-blue sunset behind the mountains.
3/5/12
3.5.12
My subway entrance, 7th Avenue Q/B, Brooklyn.
11/30/11
10/31/11
10.31.11
I woke up from a dream yesterday at 4 a.m. because I had just been broken up with by a make- believe Girlfriend that my subconscious had created for me. I had never met her before, of course- but I really, really liked her. Guess what my subconscious had her say to me. It had her say this: "You and I just never really connected... everything was just so... even sex, the sex was just so... painful..."
So, a couple of things: I was in a great mood when I got up because I got to experience a rush of gratitude at realizing that no one had actually said those words to me- and I also was happy because I have respect for my subconscious these days. If I'm in need of some ego deflation and I'm not getting it from the outside world, my brain steps in, creates a lovely girlfriend from previously stored data and has her dump me in a not-so-gentle way and then lets me off the hook by waking me out of a dead sleep, as if to say "smarten up, Buster... next time it could be for reals. We can kill a few housepets tomorrow night, as well... or make you have the tropical fish dream again." As for my make- believe ex Girlfriend, I just want to say briefly: "Tammy (I'll call you Tammy, if that's ok), I really enjoyed our time together. I don't remember much about our relationship but I'm sure it was nice, with some sweet moments. The last 11 or 12 seconds were hard for me but I appreciate your honesty and really wish you well in future fake relationships. Don't let the (dream) door hit you in your (make- believe) hind- quarters on the way out." Which brings me to the very next thought I had after ending things with Tammy and regaining consciousness: the Occupy Wall Street protests.
Here is a *slideshow of my photographs from the last couple- o' weeks of my hanging out down there. I will try to say this "in a nutshell", as they say. OWS is now a movement. It was a protest but mere protests are easy to stop with indifference or pepper spray and batons.
Few people really appreciate or enjoy extremism. I've learned in recent years that for me, extremism is a drag. It's irritating, it's violent, it begets more extremism and ends, usually, in a very sloppy, bloody mess with very few people the better as a result and with many people missing body parts, or worse. I've spent a fair amount of time down around lower Manhattan over the last year- when Osama was killed and during a couple of 9/11 anniversaries. I avoided OWS for two weeks because of these past experiences. What I saw and photographed during these past events went something like this: A heavily guarded media event on the inside and a vaguely startling collection of anarchists, conspiracy theorists, fundamentalist religious people, communists, tourists and zealous patriots on the periphery, all being stiffly directed here and there by a tense and heavily armed police force... and lots and lots of t-shirt sales. I got the impression that everyone had an explanation for 9/11, terrorism, whatever- and that everyone had a solution. Their solution. There was an unpleasant edginess, even with the quiet ones who stood silently behind intricately hand- drawn signs, what with so many people jockying to co-opt the tragedies of the planet and spit them back out in such a way as to promote their own world views and agendas. During the 9/11 memorial, I hardly thought about the victims. I left, edited a few photos and put them away and haven't looked at them since.
The slideshow I've made is trying to make a point about what I've seen so far at OWS. Some of the media and much of the political machine has been doing it's best to portray the OWS movement as simply a "protest"- a rag- tag group of extremist, bored or privileged radicals and frustrated, unemployed recent college graduates who are pissed off, jealous, lazy. What I've found is that that's actually an assessment that's either based in ignorance, fantasy or a deliberate attempt to discredit what is happening with OWS. Those elements must certainly exist but they alone could never sustain something like what OWS has become- and at this point they're outnumbered by the "regular" people. When a protest starts to resonate with the middle, lower and even some of the upper classes- with Fathers, Mothers, Siblings, Neighbors, Children and Grandparents- that, like it or not, is called a "Movement". Have a looky-poo!
* please go to this url for a much higher resolution version:
10/4/11
10.3.11
Ok, listen- I had a little break and I feel like I can write something about the pigs now- not directly, but I'll just give you this: When I was a senior in high school, we had a class picnic during our graduation week, attended by ourselves and the school faculty. We were allowed to drink back then because Vermont was the last state to change the drinking age and most of us had been "grandfathered" in- so we were partying at Lake Champagne (a body of water in my town that looks nothing like the larger, more majestic Lake Champlain. Lake Champlain, in the northwestern part of the state, is the 6th largest lake in the U.S. Lake Champagne is a pond in a campground/trailer park. The only thing the two really have in common is that if you jump into one, then jump into the other, you'll get wet both times). At some point, after several beers and hot dogs, a small-ish group of us decided it was time to take some revenge, veiled as lighthearted shenanigans, on some of the faculty whom we had harbored resentments against over the years. I think we splashed some water on the science teacher, maybe put some pie on someone else... it was good fun. I don't remember if we consciously chose to save Mr. Duffy for last (real name Mr. Kilduff but I'll just call him Mr. Duffy here) but by the time we got to our endomorphic guidance counselor (who kept a couple of goats on his front lawn so he didn't have to mow... he also refused to let me take typing class because it interfered with a required home economics credit or something- I'm typing with three fingers at this moment, still, after all these years) the energy had become more aggressive and a bit surly. Everyone was still having a reasonably good time, I think, but the smiles were a bit more severe, more purposeful on our side- more hesitant and questioning on theirs. I remember Mr. Duffy backing away from us slowly with a stiff grimace on his face that seemed to say "I'd like to take this opportunity to... to just apologize if I... if you'll just... no... I don't want you to do that...". As we seized him, knocked him down, grabbed his arms and legs and began dragging him to the water's edge, he started to struggle as if we were about to hurl him into a volcano. It was disturbing. There was something about his humorless state of panic and the way he gasped and groaned, twisting and convulsing to free himself, that I found depressing. It was such a shocking character break for a guy I'd only ever seen sitting behind a desk. I had a moment of pity and almost let him go... but by this point the group conscience far outweighed my own and we threw his ass into the pond.
Later, I drove (under the influence of canned beer) with two female friends to my house in the village. I was covered in mud and decided to jump in the shower. I had come to within what I now believe to have been seconds of convincing one of my female companions to take off her clothes and join me in the shower when I heard my Dad's car on the gravel as he arrived home early from work.
I still wonder sometimes what it would have meant for me, for her, for all of us- if my Father had caught his naked, teenage son in his shower with someone else's naked, teenage daughter.
My Dad would be obligated to tell her family. My Mom would be deeply hurt. There would be shame, guilt, remorse, lengthy punishments and restrictions, probably the school would be involved, there would be meetings, councils, tribunals, seminars, sentences, lost trust, news vans. A Priest would want to speak to us both (separately- I would never be allowed to see her, or any female, again). She likely would be beaten, sent away- but rather than go, she would hang herself dead. I would to this day be learning to cope with the repercussions of my self- centeredness and irresponsibility.
I hope this helps to illuminate my feelings about the pig races somehow. Try to make it up to the Tunbridge fair sometime, though.
Bethel, VT. Post- Irene
9/10/11
9/9/11
9.9.11
Rajasthan, Feb. '11 I grew to appreciate how Rajasthani men often looked like they were about to slit my throat for taking their picture but would end up inviting me to a wedding. This man did not invite me to a wedding.
8/27/11
8.27.11
I give you... Buddy. This dog lives across the street from my Old Lady's house in Vermont. Buddy is a Blue Tick Hound, which is a breed of dog developed especially for barking. Buddy barks at everything, all day long, soulfully, with his entire being. Look closely at this photo of Buddy- he's barking so hard his front paws are coming off the ground. This happens every time he barks, which is about five- hundred times a day, at everyone, for any reason. He's been barking at me for five years, every time I show up at the house, every time I walk to my car to go to the store, every time I get out of my car and walk back to the house with my candy bar. When I go biking and head out up the hill, he barks as if I were wearing a grizzly bear costume. When I arrive home a few hours later, he barks like he's never seen me, or any other human being, before. He's so cute, though and I really want him to like me. I went over there with a piece of steak once and he barked like I was going to slit his throat, then ran behind the house, where he continued barking... so I waited... about three minutes later, the barking stopped and Buddy came trotting back around as if nothing had ever happened, saw me again, freaked out even more and ran back behind the house. I will pet Buddy.
8/15/11
8.15.11
The resolution of the slideshow is crappy- you can see the higher-res version at: http://youtu.be/YMc4jer-suE
8/7/11
8.7.11
Colorado, Summer '10 Jen
8/1/11
8.1.11
New York, March '11 I was walking to the bakery on the corner in a tank top and sandals earlier today thinking "I love summer... I love my neighborhood... I love this bakery... look at that nice tree..." I remember late March, just a few months ago. Everyone wanted spring so badly but every day was like this one- wet, cold, crappy...with people lining up in quiet solidarity and mutual disgust to step around slushy puddles with scrunched up faces, hunched over, trying to pull themselves deeper into their coats. I think it was this same day where, a few blocks up the street, there were chunks of ice falling off a skyscraper and landing on the sidewalk. I looked at a bagel cart vendor standing a few yards from where some ice hit and we smiled at each other and shrugged.
Under the F train elevated tracks near Smith/9th streets in Brooklyn, Winter '10
Rajasthan, Feb. '11 Who here doesn't like goats? How can anyone not like goats? I walk about 200 yards into this desert and am about to take a shot of the herder sitting quietly with the high voltage towers in the distance. It's mid-day- very still, very hot... then this goat sneaks up and sticks his head into the frame like a hand puppet. Hilarious. Don't talk to me about how their eyes look satanic with little rectangles for pupils and how that scares you- baloney. I love goats.
7/30/11
7.29.11
Chernobyl, Ukraine April '10 the Woman in the background was one of four choir members at the Orthodox Easter service. She and the others sang for roughly five (5) hours. The service went from 10pm until about 4 am.
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