Thursday, 30 August 2012
It seems to be the case with this nude taken on a distant afternoon of 1994 in the living room of a house on a hill in San Francisco.
It is funny how the details contribute to make these memories even more vivid and paint the whole exercise with a tint of romance and nostalgia. It was taken in a small house on Kansas Street, on the Potrero Hill District. There was a plum tree and a small rose bush in the garden which only produced a single strongly scented pink/orange specimen every summer...
This neg refuses to go away and this particular print, capriciously tilted and mysterious, remains strong and still enchanting.
Wednesday, 29 August 2012
My son's face is as variable as that of the light of day in whatever season he's living. The top shot, taken during a snowfall in February this year, brought an impish smile to his face since he could play snow dude and make a snowman and throw snowballs at his sister and father.
The second image records a completely different mood and it is evident his distaste for having been asked to stand still for a few seconds in the middle of an unsuccessful crab-fishing expedition at the local beach.
All told, his life has moved on from being five to being six years of age, and these two shots should remain as testimony of the wonderful days spent frolicking around in winter as well as summer just about the time he is about to start the new year as a member of the Second Grade in his primary school.
Wednesday, 15 August 2012
He is a decent, soft-spoken man who allowed me to photograph him for the portrait on top of this page. The lower picture I got him whilst he was trying desperately to get some sleep as he sat at the entrance to the church, at eight in the morning, having been unable to sleep a wink the night before due to the aforementioned shenanigans of other rowdy homeless men. His little basket before him had a few coins, all copper, and not much else.
Friday, 10 August 2012
There I was in a camera shop in the Strand, London Olympic Year, minding my own business, talking tripods with a friend.
And then, whammo!, there is that image again: Le Baiser de L'Hotel de Ville, by the old master. I ran to the front of the store, camera at the ready, and managed to get it right just in time before the lovers disengaged from what seemed a tasty entretien and then they went their separate ways.
The Lord works in mysterious ways.
Praise the Lord... and Doisneau.
I have wanted to publish this image for a long time for reasons unknown except to the affection one feels for one's blood. I know it may sound a bit incongruous but that's how things are considering that one was born in 1922 and the other in 2003.
This is a link through the use of an old ID picture (my mother was 18 years old at the time, so it must have been 1940) and my young daughter who will be nine in two days. One exists young and growing, and the other one remains forever eighteen years old, etched in an old black and white shot and of course in my memory to my dying day.