Being There

Last coherent conversation with my Father

I never lived in this apartment, apart from one month in 2015 where I came back to Ireland with the intention of trying to get to know him again and to remind myself of who he was and where I came from.

Last coherent conversation with my Father

Dublin, My father had fallen about 6 months previously and damaged some bones. He was checked on by a friend who determined quite rightly, that he was in trouble. Between my Sister and my oldest brother, John, and their friends that were still living in Ireland, helped get him situated in a new place.
In the meantime, he had been hospitalized and then sent to ‘Our Lady’s Manor’ which is a care home administered by an order of nuns. This is literally moments after I saw him for the first time in 3 years. I was gutted when I saw him, so physically diminished, yet bright and coherent despite the crumbling infrastructure.

Last coherent conversation with my Father

Dublin,. My oldest brother, John, dealing with immediate arrangements for Dad, a Taxi, and his job back in the UK.

Last coherent conversation with my Father

Waiting by the elevator at Our lady’s Manor care home. My thoughts during this time were to apply the same psychology through my camera that would help determine the best images to get in the moment. As I was looking at my father, I could see his demeanour, indicating that he wasn’t really sure about what was going on in that moment. The following image carries on this psychology and is manifested on my brother, as he amply reflects my own thoughts in that moment.

Last coherent conversation with my Father

Waiting by the elevator at Our lady’s Manor care home. My thoughts during this time were to apply the same psychology through my camera that would help determine the best images to get in the moment. As I was looking at my father, my brother, John, came to my focus attention. This is hard for all of us.

Last coherent conversation with my Father

Dublin,. In the tiny elevator at Our lady’s Manor care home.
It became clear that it was very difficult for me to figure out which emotion was calling me the most. I made the picture to solidify the moment.

Last coherent conversation with my Father

I remember my dad talking about a film that he said was profound; “Being There” with Peter Sellers. The sentiment of this film is reflected in these images.

Last coherent conversation with my Father

Dublin,. This is my brother, John, saying goodbye for now to our dad. Me giving him that hug, would look just the same as this, and it would be the following day. The last time I would talk with him.

Last coherent conversation with my Father

Dublin,. A view, one that I’d seen many times before, but from another point.
My father spilt most of his life into this area, everyone knew him, he was a hand, act or part in this area for 88 years.

Last coherent conversation with my Father

I remember my dad talking about a film that he said was profound; “Being There” with Peter Sellers. The sentiment of this film is reflected in these images.

Last coherent conversation with my Father

I have vague memories of being a child holding his big warm hand, and he would turn back to me like this, and say something.

Last coherent conversation with my Father

Dublin,. I literally got off the plane got in a taxi and came straight out to see him at the Manor. The trip back to my friend’s house where I was staying, was a real-time tableaux of images from the window of the train, segments of my past life in Ireland, chunks of memory, good and bad times, little vignettes of thought and memory synchronized and dispatched with the rhythm of the tracks.

Last coherent conversation with my Father

Dublin,. A view, one that I’d seen many times before, but from another point.
My father spilt most of his life into this area, everyone knew him, he was a hand, act or part in this area for 88 years.

Last coherent conversation with my Father

Dublin,. A view, one that I’d seen many times before, but from another point.
My father spilt most of his life into this area, everyone knew him, he was a hand, act or part in this area for 88 years.

Last coherent conversation with my Father

I remember once my dad talking about a film that he said was profound; “Being There” with Peter Sellers. The sentiment of this film is reflected in these images.

Last coherent conversation with my Father

The last look.
I had a deadline, my part in a charade. I got one day with my father.
The window frame tells me that I have no control, I include it in the frame, to convey a sense of constraint. Other things going on outside the window, are reinforcements on this concept.

ICR

IMPRACTICAL
COGNITIVE
RESPONSE

or, subjective writing on objective subjectivity, and the art of internal forgiveness and cognitive art™.

I hate long texts, they intimidate me, please press the Forgiven button here to skip to the end.

The proper way to be is to maintain a Practical Cognitive Response during adverse conditions. However, as I’m learning, objectively, about myself, I tend to naturally lean towards the impractical.

Impractical Cognitive Response is brought to you today by way of complex post traumatic stress disorder, intermittent self awareness and the lack thereof.

I have problems with processing behaviours of other people, specifically holding them to a standard of behavior, -which I believe, has mellowed over time, but for all intents and purposes, is impractical, as it has a tendency to get dinged frequently, causing cumulative internal negative cognitive response.

I have identified that I now have some expectations, something I believed I was immune to until recently. My expectations are, basically, as I’m still figuring them out with the professionals, based on a set of parameters which, I hate to admit it; manners & politeness. I hate it because I remember as a child, how that thinking and behavior was banged into me by others who weren’t practitioners of their beliefs. I hated the humiliation that came with that protocol training. I have vague memories of prefabricated buildings with eggshell blue walls and the burned underside of piano keys.
However, here I am, with these expectations, now as an adult. Those vague memories don’t make much sense but have something to do with early humiliation, loneliness, ostracization and arithmetic.

Im also learning about boundaries. Im learning how not just to have them, but how to internally justify them to myself, which is is fundamental stuff, the most basic sense of self and integrity, which I obviously didn’t have as a child. Learning these things is like going through puberty part deux. Some of us are born with these necessities instilled from the get-go, some of us spend our childhoods in survival mode, which lays waste to everything else of lesser importance, all of that shit comes back in adulthood and by that time, there are standard societal expectations of you, which are unbearable because you are still doing remedial studies that you missed out on earlier.
With age, the brain hardens, and the learning isn’t easy, and it comes with radical change, and the broaching of safety zones; I have to feel safe to make any moves.

These terms help. Clinical language about one’s self, and what that self is, from a semi outside perspective: audience of one- myself. Otherwise known as objectivity, but that word I reserve for others, or art, or critical thinking; things I actually like. That’s not to say that I don’t like myself, I do, mostly, for reasons I’ll get to later, or maybe never. Maybe I’ll keep that stuff to myself and be happy with it, or just not discuss it for other reasons I don’t want to consider now, because I have something more pressing to do.

My method of communicating with myself is like negotiation. The closest thinking I can think of, in literary terms, is that of Samuel Beckett, or Louis Ferdinand Celine, though these are merely similarities, and not necessarily the minutiae of my cognizance.
Negotiation, because in order for me to get a thing out, I feel like I have to substantiate it, reinforce it, and I do that by a mixture of anecdote, example, and literary fact. I use this as foundation building material, but ultimately, I think, this looks like hedonistic digression. Maybe it is, but I like to think of it as cognitive art™, so I embrace it.
Again, audience of one.

I record my therapy sessions. I have been using these recordings as fodder for learning new audio editing programs, learning how to make podcasts and learning how to formulate dialogue for radio and the short span of attention syndrome. I say umm and ahh a lot. So much so, that I can now visually identify them in a wave file. I am 90% correct when I don’t listen to the audio and make cuts. Thankfully these are non-destructive programs..
There is value in the pause. Gaps in dialogue that are filled with the whirring cogs of thought and structure. They give me clarity upon listening, which shows me both my internal process and an external struggle. Objectively, they present a sense of genuineness, subjectively, I know what they are; shuffling paragraphs and chapters of explanations and foundational texts into position like an psychological air traffic controller, shifting pieces to fit within the allotted timeframe that the space of therapy provides.

I think thats enough for now, I’m actually satisfied I was able to get this out, insofar as out can be.

The Fucking 35 ‘cron

Ok so I’m in conversation with a friend and he mentions something about Leica lenses and trending prices of one versus the other, and then this just comes out of me like a projectile vom moment. It’s so good I’m blogging it. Slightly modified for context and clarity, sort of.

35 cron has always been THE lens to have with Leica cameras. It’s like a right of passage lens. It has nothing to do with the quality of optics or what people do with the lens, but it has this mythical status of achievement.
First you go from digital to film, and get into the film scene, and then you get a few fixed lens rangefinders and claw your way up through that lineage from cheap clean Konica’s to Yashica’s, Agfa’s, Olympus’s etc, and finally find that sweet Canonet, and lust for a QL17 GIII, and realize that it’s actually usable, and really produces some hot-shit pictures on your favorite film. Some people will go on to medium format beaters, and modular systems, Lomo, specialty, low financial impact cameras and into that camera obscurity rabbit hole.
Somewhere along the way you make the connection between that Canon/Nikon rebel and this new film thing your into, and start thinking about cameras that have lenses, and rangefinders and the Russian Fed/Voigtlander Bessa/Konica Hexar/bashed up Zeiss Ikon inevitably steps in and makes you a rangefinder photographer. Then its one, two, or a few used Screw mount Canon/Fed/Voigtlander lenses, and you’re always striving for that mountain peak of a Leica lens, and in the middle of all that comes a choice Zeiss ZM lens, something that puts you a little closer to that mountain peak.
One paycheck, after a christmas bonus or something, you can fill in the gap between your savings and that figure that sits in the back of your head, the one that you can deal with as a credit card debt, and that’s the day you can start getting serious about all those watched items in your My eBay, or forum classifieds, looking for that perfect Leica Camera deal. Whatever it is, maybe an M4, M2, M3 or even an M6. Your new bling Leica with your choice Zeiss, Voigtlander or Konica lens.
But in the end all you really want is that fucking 35 ‘cron.

Observations from a Small City on the Edge of a Crumbling Tectonic Economy..

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I’ve lived in Seattle since November 25th 2004, and in that time I have seen some slow changes, lost touch with a lot of people who moved on, disappeared left town etc. It’s really not until 2013 that the physical changes happened in the city that I could start to think I was living in a dynamic place.

I’ve lived in Seattle since November 25th 2004, and in that time I have seen some slow changes, lost touch with a lot of people who moved on, disappeared left town etc. It’s really not until 2013 that the physical changes happened in the city that I could start to think I was living in a dynamic place.

I came to the US with an expectations of grandeur.

I was really surprised when I got to New York, Boston, Chicago, Detroit and DC and was hit in the face with the fact that these were aging cities, and the sense that the people living there, really didn’t have much actual control or say over anything that went on, because democracy got in the way. Id assumed the US was bright shiny and new.
As a European, I had always grown up with places that were maintained and there was a real sense of local pride and everyone was involved in it.

Over the years and traveling around, I’ve seen enough of it to tell me that this country is definitely a continent in decline. A place strangled by conservative values, and disregard for everything except money.

The US is definitely not a place I want to grow old in, and yet, I don’t know where else there is now that hasn’t adopted the same capitalistic values, and with that the utterly destructive nature of that which is held in high regard: individualism.

 

 

Ernst Haas

In sorry to say that it’s only now, 25 years into my career, that I am becoming aware of Ernst Haas. The publicly available repertoire of the man’s photography is immense. His philosophies of remaining independent and never adhering to a dedicated style are self evident.

A quote from the Ernst Haas Estate website affirms to me, now 25 years on, that my personal belief and instinct were correct all along;

“Still, I don’t want to declare there are no highways of fruitful directions. In learning there are. Follow them, use them and forget them. Don’t park. Highways will get you there, but I tell you, don’t ever try to arrive. Arrival is the death of inspiration. Beware of direct inspiration. It leads too quickly to repititions of what inspired you. Beware of too much taste as it leads to sterility. Refine your senses through the great masters of music, painting, and poetry. In short, try indirect inspirations, and everything will come by itself.”

Be aware of forward inspiration, but reverse-engineer everything, think backwards and look for the defining characteristics and recurring foundations in everything. Everything else is just dressing. 

the legacy

“…the act of thinking thoroughly through a scene and preempting a moment to capture it, comes with experience. The experience shows when is the right moment to take the shot. Because the shot is a legacy of that decision…”