Good afternoon. This is my third attempt at being public. Once more into the wilderness of my eccentric mind.  This is another spread from the book.  I returned from Vancouver two weeks ago, having finished printing the book.  If I say so myself, it looks quite special. Here is another attempt at psychoanalysis.  I'll focus on the picture on the right. In my younger days, I had the opportunity to spend a number of months in Jacmel, Haiti.  This picture was shot in the small village of La Vallée on the top of a mountain, which is so characteristic of Haiti: place a village on top of a mountain and name it “The Valley.” Haiti was like submerging myself in nineteenth century Africa.  The second I got off the plane, I was in a completely foreign place—a fourth world country, if such a thing existed. Existence was almost medieval.  Unlike the Mosquito Coast, you don’t have to travel to the interior to find subsistence.  It’s right there on the exterior. Introspection, if you’re interested in such things, can be accomplished without journeying inward.  It’s right there in front of you. One of the great gifts Haiti provided me was the ability to see that even though the Haitians had next to nothing, they seemed extremely happy.  I couldn’t get over it.  Over the few months I lived there, their singing, laughing and graciousness continually amazed me. Despite their poverty, lack of health care and education, they seemed to not only subsist, but to persevere with joie de vivre.    How is it that we as a nation have everything, yet seem angrier and more depressed than a country that has absolutely nothing? Shot over thirty years ago, this is one of the few pictures I shot in my early life that was a pre-cursor to my current work.  Most of my earlier work was quite sober and very serious, which fit my mood in my twenties and early thirties. This picture, however, seems to exemplify the humor, whimsy and slightly surreal qualities found in my later work. It’s a picture I still like, even thirty years later, which is rare for me. You don’t know if this chicken is leaping, or exactly what’s going on with him. I like the fact that things are deliberately slightly out of frame—the chair on the right and a little bit of tree above. I look at this picture and I think of the spontaneity with which it was shot.  For me, it’s my typical mixture of controlled and conscious composition with spontaneity. I walked into this little courtyard, and this chicken was standing on top of this box.  I got the camera ready, and just as I prepared to shoot, the chicken prepared to jump.  I waited and snapped this frame, the only frame. If I had waited any longer the picture would not have worked.  I like that quality to it. Lastly, I think it’s important to discuss the medium used to create this…

Welcome back.  I have to admit, blogging, tweeting, emailing, texting, is very strange to me. I enjoy letter writing, so blogging feels somewhat familiar, but yet very strange. It’s as if I am writing a private letter to a public audience….Anyway, I hope you find reason to enjoy my innermost desires, etc. This spread from the book brings to mind several things. First: the picture.  It is quite old, shot in 1999.  I still like it. I have a problem with actually liking my pictures—it usually takes me a few years, or at least a few months, before I start to tentatively embrace them.  But this one, surprisingly, I liked initially. This photograph was actually quite serendipitous.  These are two very funny Canadian twins who are not really models at all, but agreed to model for me for a period of time.  Unfortunately, they no longer model, and this tree no longer exists.  It was an opportune moment to get all of them together at the right time. Second: the layout. Many people have commented on the fact that my books have type with the photographs. I have had to spend some time in introspection to understand why I fell that the right text, rather than limiting the photograph, enhances the photograph. I was an English and Religious Studies Major; I have a love for English and the literary word. When I was younger, I just assumed I would be a novelist.  I had the sentiment but not the skill.  Maybe this attraction to text with photographs is a leftover version of my dormant desire to be a novelist. Regardless, I have always tried to integrate some writing—humorous or straightforward—with the photographs.  As I am a visual person, design—how the text is laid out and how it relates to the photograph—is very important.  It goes back to that idea of classical thinking where proportion and composition must all fit together.  The text has to complement the photograph.  It cannot be extraneous, superfluous, or unnecessary.  Somehow, someway, they all must work together seamlessly. Third: Mr. S.  Over the last few years—in my books, on my website and in my newsletters—we have created a Mr. S character, which in some cases is a loose personification of me. Mr. S is an anachronism in the twenty-first century.  He is eccentric and original.  All things I strive to emulate rather than avoid

Well. Here I am. On the internet.  I am not so sure someone like me belongs here. I shoot film. I listen to Beethoven and Copland. I visit the post office daily. I relish my daily morning paper. But, technology calls, and I feel compelled to try and enter the twenty-first century on all four feet. I look forward to any comments or thoughts you may have about these spreads from the new book, even though they are small on your screen and the book is huge. Some pictures just sort of happen very spontaneously (think  Henri Cartier-Bresson) and others are very created (think Irving Penn’s still life portraits). This picture was created. What strikes me about this picture is the old adage, “location, location, location!” fused with “production, production, production!” This was originally shot for New York Magazine in the summer of 2008. The original concept was to create an essential New York picture and incorporate the great New York icon, the yellow taxicab.  That was my only direction.  The first step: location.  One of the problems finding a location to shoot 30 cabs in New York City is finding space, and then getting permission. After much searching, and several failed attempts, we found ourselves at 125th street underneath the west side highway.  The second step: logistics. It was a long and arduous process arranging to have 30 cabs at the right place at the right time, perfectly placed for a seemingly whimsical photograph. After that, shooting the picture was very simple.  The whole story was about this couple in love. Placing them on top of the cab was my idea.  Again, shooting the picture was the easy part.  Throughout my 40 years of photography, the hardest part is always finding the perfect location, and then the production involved in making it happen. The second thing—which has to do with photography in general, not only this one photograph—is composition. Composition is to photography what rhythm is to music. It is about symmetry and proportion, resonance between the photographer and subject; where everything fits just so. Almost like iambic pentameter in poetry, or natural cadence and body rhythm.  To me this picture represents not only everything in its right place, but also the right proportions, the right relationships, the right cadence.  Composition is seriously lacking in most photography in the 21st century.  It has been abandoned—whether due to lack of skill or lack of interest I’m not sure. It seems to me losing a sense of composition is synonymous to having an irregular heartbeat.