Before I write in the mornings, I peruse the news websites. This morning I came across this about the new photographers exhibit at MoMA (link). I didn't see myself anywhere in there. Selavy. But I'll admit, I haven't given up completely on the idea of my pictures pleasing someone. And therein probably lies my most fatal flaw. Selah.
I did go out with my camera again yesterday. I wanted to get lunch in a big Asian market near the photo store. I took my smallest Leica film camera and parked in the camera store parking lot because there is only a small lot behind the market and never a space. Just as I pulled in, though, I saw one of the two brothers who owns the camera store pull in, so of course I walked with him into his shop.
"What are you up to today?" he asked.
"I'm just coming in to get some 4x5 film."
"What? We don't have any 4x5 film."
"Sure you do," I said.
"We haven't carried that for years."
"Sure you have."
"I don't think they even make 4x5 film anymore."
"Sure they do."
It turned out they had one box of black and white 4x5 film. The brother went to the computer as the sales guy was ringing me up.
"Look at this. We sold four boxes this year. Five last."
He went down the line, each year's total in single digits.
"I guess you sold them all to me," I laughed.
A bag of 4x5 film I wasn't sure I would ever use in hand, I walked back to my car to stow the package. Then I walked back through the lot and crossed over to the sidewalk that led next door, camera in hand. I set the aperture wide open and lowered the shutter speed so I could shoot from the hip without notice knowing that none of the pictures would come out. There was no way I could hit focus in the dim interior with the lens wide open. I decided to get a bánh mì pho French dip sandwich with pho jus. The market was busy and I had a long wait, so I took a few photos of the place halfheartedly. I was sitting in front of three of the markets. Women took the orders and women made the food, all Asian and all looking very photographable. I wondered how to make that happen. Certainly it would be impossible, but I could see the portraits in my mind's eye, just where they would stay, I was sure. A woman in her early to mid thirties walked around in a slim black dress. She was obviously one of the "boss ladies." When I smiled at her, she gave me that look someone of high station gives a peasant just so they understand the distance. That made me giggle. In this part of town, there are a hundred Asian restaurants, some with gambling rooms, and, I've been told, brothels that no white men are allowed in. The city has adopted the idea of labelling different parts of town with identifiable monikers like NYC and other big cities do. This area is officially "Mills 50," but everyone calls it "Little Vietnam." Once a much smaller area, I think it was dominated by Vietnamese, but now. . . wtf do I know. . . I think it has a much broader Asian population.
When the sandwich finally came, it was bigger than I expected, the size of a foot long sub cut in half. I thought I would be taking half home with me.
Uh-uh.
Christ, that sandwich was good and the pho jus was delicious. I could have eaten two of them. I would have to come back again, I knew, thinking about asking the working women for portraits. Goddamn, I need to build that website.
From there, I went to a nearby art supply shop and bought a couple things. It was mid-afternoon. I decided to hop up to see my mother. It took forever to get there, though, for I had to pass innumerable school zones. Traffic was backed up everywhere.
Visits with my mother are becoming more tedious. We've taken to sitting in silence but for the occasional comment, or watching t.v. in the great room. There is nothing to do there but sit and stare or watch t.v. The people are all disabled to a great degree, so activities are out. Everyone is in a wheelchair. Half of them are suffering mental disabilities. What are they going to do, play hide the potato? So we sit and stare. This is pretty much what my mother will do at home, too, but she will be with her stuff, and that will make a difference.
For me, too.
When I came back home, it was too early for a cocktail, so I worked on some things around the house and read. But the afternoon was nice, and at five-thirty, I was with a Negroni on the deck, creature of comfort and habit that I am. After the Asian market, I wasn't in the mood for sushi, so I called the Italian place and got a takeout spaghetti carbonara. I opened a bottle of wine. After eating a sandwich in the afternoon, I realized that creamy pasta was not a good idea for dinner, but whatever. Friday night. Huh.
I woke this morning to a cooler house and wondered. I walked outside and felt the cooler air. It is our usual faux-fall weather that comes to fool us into thinking the tropical heat is gone. Nope. It comes back and we won't see weather like this again until November. But this week. . . oo-la-la.
I'll use a camera today. I don't know which one. Nor do I know what I will photograph. A Belarusian photographer once told me, "When you can't take pictures, don't try to take pictures." I thought that was a good idea, but now I know it isn't. Like every slump, you just have to soldier on until it passes.
Who knows? Maybe something interesting will come my way.
But I'm not wagering on it.
Hey. . . remember CDs? Remember when collections like this would come out? You'd buy it and like maybe one or two of the songs a lot and a couple other kind of and you'd put it on in the car and keep skipping over the ones you didn't like at all. No need for that anymore. Still, I liked the cover art.
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