Moxie

This is a photo from an article I sent to some of my friends about an exhibition at the Harvard Art Museum titled "The Way We Never Were" (link) questioning the narrative of life in postwar America which, the article claims, was built around commercial photography.  Man, I love the pictures.  You can see their influence on many of today's most highly considered art photographers.  

Of course, photographers like Robert Frank and Lee Friedlander and Diane Arbus and Garry Winogrand gave us a different vision, and I am mad for those, too.  

So, tongue in cheek, I sent the article with the following message:

"They are liars.  Those photos are EXACTLY how postwar America was.  Harvard is a bunch of fucking commies."

C.C. wrote back, “History is written by the whiners.”   

I thought that funny enough to send to Q with the message, "I wish I were half as clever as my friends," to which he replied, "We all wish that for you."

As C.C. put it, "It's a cold room."

I wish I could go to see the exhibition.  

I thought about going out to make my own shitty photographs yesterday, but I couldn't muster the chutzpah to do it.  The more I thought about it, the less appealing it was.  These pop-up "vintage" markets aren't really vintage at all.  There are booths full of old jeans and t-shirts, and though I love the crazy hipster kids who costume with delicious creativity, most of the crowd looks like the clothing hanging on the racks.  There are armies of people wearing t-shirts and jeans, an ocean of dull blues and beige.  

Why chance a hostile encounter for that?  So I did some internet chores for awhile, but by mid-afternoon I felt terribly guilty about wasting the opportunity, so I grabbed my cameras and headed out the door.  If I had enough moxie, I thought, I would use the Hasselblad on the crowd.  When I got near, though, I changed my mind.  I didn't have it in me.  And I was hungry.  I thought about going to the Asian market and getting some sort of snack.  At the last minute, though, I turned into the liquor store parking lot and parked.  I would just make a quick run through at the market.  I grabbed my cameras, got out of the car, and began to walk across the parking lot when I changed my mind.  It just felt wrong.  I didn't have it in me, so I got back in the car.  I decided, however, to drive by the market just to take a look.  I'm glad I did.  I didn't wish to photograph that lot today.  

When I got to the Asian market, I grabbed my Hasselblad. I had seven shots of color film left in it.  I wanted to shoot them up and take the film to the photo lab to get developed.  

The place was packed full of people.  I went to one of the booths and ordered some Sichuan fried chicken wings.  Then I got against the wall to wait for my order.  The interior was dark, but I took out my phone to meter the needed exposure.  I looked at the Hassie.  I could do it.  I looked around and put the camera to my eye.  The camera has a loud mirror slap when you take a picture, but the place was so busy, nobody noticed.  I held the camera by my side.  I wondered about shooting from the hip. With the Leica, you are still holding the camera in a shooting position even when it is not up to your eye, but the Hassie is a big box and there is no way you look like you are actually using it.  

Pow!

Rewind. 

Pow!

Hey, now, that was pretty good.  If the photos turn out ok, I have an idea for using the big old camera in the streets.  

The wings were good and messy.  I washed up before I headed out into the street.  I still had a few photos to take.  

Looking through the finder of that camera is nothing like looking through the viewfinder of a 35mm DSLR.  It is big and luscious, and so I stood at a street corner and finished off the roll.  Everything looked good, but it could have been an illusion.  I was excited to see.  

I drove to the photo lab.  It was busy.  Some tall old buffalo of a buffoon had boxes of old movie equipment spread out over the floor and was bloviating about it all to the kids who looked on, baffled.  I imagined he was giving it to them just to get rid of it.  They said they would have a look through it in the coming days.  I don't know why, but I found the fellow irritating.  

A girl was standing at the counter in front of me filling out the mandatory card for film development.  As I waited, the kid behind the counter said, "I was just talking about you yesterday."  Now what was that, I wondered?  "I was telling someone about your M7."  Huh.  Yea, that's the camera every hipster kid envies but can't afford.  I was like that for many years.  How can you justify spending that kind of money on a camera, let alone the lenses.  I tried all manner of alternatives for years until I decided fuck it.  As I read on a post today, "You can always justify buying another camera.  Some people do cocaine."  

That's pretty much it.  I drove old beaters and wore the same clothes for decades.  I could have the camera I wanted.  

But it's a slippery slope.  The justification keeps getting easier.   

If you have Instagram, here's a link that pretty much sums up shooting film (link).  

I am looking forward to being incredibly disappointed when the film comes back.  Truly.  But at the moment, I am happy.  I have hope.  I'm sure the images will be magnificent.  

I'm hoping for one good one, anyway.  

It was time to get back to mother's.  The day was wicked hot and the rains would be coming soon.  I bought a little pizza for dinner.  It was a early, but I made a cocktail and told my mother I needed to do some reading.  My life in her house is intellectually sterile, and I've decided I need to at least read for a few hours a day.  At least that. 

I tried. I made an hour.  I'm out of shape both physically and intellectually.   But I'm working on both.  Each.  

I want to play more with the Hasselblad today.  There are places to go.  

I hope I have the moxie. 

Let's have a little Sunday music to help us chill.