BirchLane.net
March 2006 (edit mode)
Friday 31
Thursday 30
Wednesday 29
A poem by my friend Olga:
I went to your apartment today, and packed up your things;
that were still so fresh and filled with life,
as if you were still here, sitting on your sofa and watching me,
warning me not to wear such a tight shirt to school;
Because you thought I was a little girl
that you could take care of, and you DID take care of me,
Like the sea takes care of the waves, and the sky takes care of the sun.
And what if one of us were to reach to the tape deck that is no longer there
And turn on one of the cassettes that you bought, so many years ago?
What piece would play first? ...The Ravel that you loved and I hated?
Or a Tchaikovsky that I could dance to, back and forth across your floor
as you looked up from washing the dishes and smiled?
Today I layed down on the loveseat and put my feet up,
Like you always said I should do when I was tired,
And I cried because you couldn't sit down next to me
And tell me a story about your work or your parents or your lovers
That I could hear over and over again, that is now engraved in me.
And I cried as I gazed over at the empty space where you used to be
On your sofa and, later, on a hospital bed
Reading a book and, later, playing with something that we gave you to keep
your hands occupied.
I found some old pages of the diary that you kept, during
the year in Berlin, when my mother was born.
You wrote down her every movement, I never expected it
But everything you did was unexpected.
I found the pictures that you stored in a black envelope
on the top cabinet shelf, that show your friends from another time,
your girlfriends on the front, who signed the backs
of the cards with love, your handsome fiancé who you talked about
all the time, your daughter as a little girl, and a creased picture
from 1928 of you, five years old with bangs, and your parents...
I cried because on this earth you are now a pile of ashes
Inside a white wall in Tranquil Memories,
Alone until your daughter comes to join you---or myself---
But far above the clouds as in my heart,
You are young and beautiful, smiling in a field of daisies
As I walk in this country that you brought me to
Knowing that we are still together, inseparable
Like the roots of a birch tree in a Moscow park.Looking
It was movie night at
Tuesday 28
Monday 27
What You Are. Today I had a
Sunday 26
Saturday 25
Something Wonderful. Woke to an amazing sunrise.
Went for a walk and saw Spring appearing in the landscape.
Found myself in the cemetery. This marker seemed so sad. I wonder who she was. So far I haven't been able to find any information online.
And I was struck by this:
Met with Beth and John regarding photographing their wedding, which is August 18, a Friday night. The ceremony is at Wistariahurst (where I would love to photograph) and the reception is at The Yankee Pedlar Inn (where I once worked refinishing antiques--the memories; and Betsy worked, too--at The Clam Bar). I had a wonderful conversation with Beth and John and I think they want me to photograph their wedding. Beth works at The Valley Advocate and John runs The Eleven's and Tully O'Reilly's.
Friday 24
Landscape.
Detail:
Thursday 23
Madonna and Child.
Wednesday 22
Disappearing Ice.
Tuesday 21
My First Dance. Part of the BNI process, is the dance; a time when you meet privately with another BNI member to learn about their business so you can help them grow their business through qualified referrals. Today I had a delightful conversation with Brookksley Williams of Eat Consciously at my loft here in Eastworks.
During the evening I went to Treydon's Bar and Grill for a glass of wine and met the new Executive Editor of Local Buzz, Greg Saulmon and his wife, Mary. He was there to interview Jody for the Bartender of The Week column. He needed a photo of her so I photographed her:
Monday 20
Networking. I spent this morning at a BNI Training Session; I agreed to be A Visior Host at our chapter. In the year 2005 Business Network Int'l passed over 4.4 million referrals in 4175+ chapters with over 82,000 members in 26 countries resulting in more than $1.7 billion in business!
Sunday 19
Back To The Hospital.
My cell phone rings early this morning.
Actually it doesn't ring; it plays Beethoven's Ninth Symphony.
"Dad," says Daryl.
"Hey, Daryl," I say. "What's up? You ok? You don't sound good."
"I knew I shouldn't have gone to my indoor soccer game today."
"Why?"
"The game didn't count. It was just for fun."
"Oh."
"And I got tripped and got this bad rug burn on my knee."
"I hate indoor soccer."
"And I got slammed up against the boards."
"Yes?"
"And I got the huge bruise on my forehead."
"Damn."
"And I think I might have broken a bone in my hand."
"What!?"
"Can you meet me at the hospital emergency room?"
Broken scaphoid. Needs to see his Orthopedic Surgeon this week. Yes, Daryl has one. No Lacrosse. No working at Old Navy--at least until he sees his Orthopedic Surgeon. He is now resting at home with his friend, Kiley.
Saturday 18
And the Lord said to Satan: "Behold he is in thy hand, but yet save his life." So Satan went forth from the presence of the Lord, and struck Job...
I found a book in the laundry room this morning. I was drawn to it; to pick it up and open it--it called to me. I read a few pages and then the book flap. I read:
Before Martin Gray was 20, he had lived, in his own words, "centuries." For Those I Loved records those centuries as a haunting monument.
Martin Gray led a pleasant life with his family on Senatorska Street in Warsaw for fourteen years before the month of his "real birth," September 1929. From then one, he and everyone else in the Jewish ghetto were plunged into an endless hell of butchers and bombs, corpses and concentration camps, a nightmare from which it was impossible to awake. At that period, "our lives had the resistance of stone, and our stones the eternity of life."
In the midst of the holocaust and annihilation of his people, Martin Gray mastered the techniques of survival. With the help of an amazingly resourceful gang of rogues, he slipped sacks of wheat into streetcars that were still circulating between Warsaw and the ghetto, right under the noses of the SS and Polish "Blues." This smuggled food helped to keep alive his family and the abandoned children in rags who emerged from the shadows with outstretched hands, crying "Have pity, Jewish heart." Martin Gray swore to survive the cruelty, outwit the "beasts with men's faces" and avenge their victims.
And he did survive, not only the extermination of his home in Warsaw, but the dreaded "lower camp" at Treblinka, a place of unimaginable horrors. Afterward, he escaped to become a member of the Resistance at Zabrow, then an officer in the Soviet Army, seeking out and eliminating Nazis who had gone into hiding. Soon Martin Gray passed into the American zone of Berlin, and set out for New York and his frail grandmother. In three years, the ferociously industrious "Mietek" (his childhood nickname) made his fortune as an importer of antique furniture and porcelain.
Then, in a soaring chapter, Martin Gray describes an idyll; a new life in southern France in a chateau surrounded by the sea and music, a lovely young wife and four precious children. Suddenly, in a flash of forest fire, Dina and the children were burned to death. Martin Gray was "scandalously alone," with nothing left of his life but himself.
The flames of war's inhumanity ravaged Martin Gray's life when he was fourteen; by the raw will be crawled out of the devastation and built a strong personal fortress. What incredible qualities and faith sustained this modern-day Job! When savage punishment beat him down again and again, his response was to reach for the highest and noblest values a man possesses. His story transcends all religious beliefs; he personifies the shining triumph of the indomitable human spirit....
Later in the day, I wrote to my friend Olga for I felt this was a message for her to write her story, her grandmother's story and, in fact, today, in her journal she wrote:
In honor of my grandmother, and to give myself something to believe in, I'm going to start a new project. I'm finally going to begin writing a book about my family. A huge venture, I know, so I'm not even going to look into the technical details until I get the first hundred pages done. Then of course I will look for an editor and maybe seek some sort of funding for the publishing process. I'm pretty sure I know what I want to call it, though: Photographs, Diaries, and Shoes. All the mysteries that I found in the closet as a little girl and, over the years, have come to know. I have tons and tons of photographs, starting with pictures of my great grandparents, holding my grandmother when she was a baby. Vacations, weddings, parties, and just people in their apartments...80 years of memories. Even as I think of how much work and late-night editing this will take (in addition to college classes), it's so beautiful to see this possibility in front of me...
Olga writes:
Mara gave birth to her daughter in mid-August of that year, in a little quiet military hospital. She was in Berlin on business with her husband, Misha, a revered war veteran who had translated an important treaty from Russian to German. After arriving at the hospital, she was in labor for twenty-three hours. The only activity that eased the pain was running up and down the hallway. Because the hospital was nearly empty, the nurses did not try to stop her. After the labor was over and she was able to hold her little daughter in her arms, Mara asked the doctor, “why are my feet so red?” The doctor smiled. “Well,” he said, “we weren’t expecting you, so we painted the hallway.”
Weeks later: Mara and Misha sat in their Berlin apartment with their daughter, who they had named Liza, short for Yelizaveta. Misha would later give her the English nickname Betty. In one of the photographs, Misha is leaning back in his chair with his usual look of triumph. Mara is looking down at something with a quiet smile. Then comes a series of pictures of Mara cradling Liza in her arms. And finally, a portrait of Mara, head placed on folded hands on the arm of the sofa, her hair a black sea of gypsy waves, black pebble eyes, mouth turned up into a small mysterious grin.
Misha, Mara, and Liza left Berlin by train. They passed through parts of war-torn Germany and Poland, and the ashes of the Russian front. Decades later, Liza would still feel the destruction and the misery of those places of her infanthood inside of her. Mention of Nazis would still send a shiver up her spine.
Back in the tiny communal apartment above the cobblestone streets of central Moscow, life continued. Six people lived in the room: Misha, Mara, Liza, and Mara’s parents, Olga and Leova. They shared the bathroom with their neighbors.
Mara and Misha officially divorced fourteen years later. A few years after that, Misha married a woman that one of Mara’s friends had (upon Mara’s request) set him up with. Her name was Yelena. He gave her the English nickname Lucy. Together, they traveled to France (being one of the first couples allowed to travel outside of Russia) and visited her cousins. They were happy in Paris. They walked the streets beaming, and said, “At last we are free.”
Misha and Yelena died in a nursing home in America, he of heart failure and she of Alzheimer’s. They now lie next to each other in Forest Lawn cemetery; their plaques read “Beloved Husband” and “Beloved Wife.”
Mara is aging in America, bed-ridden and without memory. But she is still beautiful, without a wrinkle on her tanned skin, still looking at everyone with those black pebble eyes and sometimes even flashing a remnant of the young woman’s smile.
Liza is now called Elizabeth. She lives in Los Angeles and has a daughter of her own.Friday 17
Confirmed: one more wedding. An internet friend, Laura, of New York State.
Thursday 16
Two More Weddings? Maybe....
Wednesday 15
Yin and Yang.
This morning a friend writes:
Bruce you know I love your images and often tell you that, I will say today that this one stands out for me. My god she (Perri) is so lovely. I get the impression of incredible wisdom and a peace that does my soul good just by osmosis. I'm moved to tears by your image. Thank you for posting this. Thank you for your art.
grace love and peace
Connor
Soon after Connor wrote, my friend, Olga, who models for me, called to say her grandmother passed away in her sleep this morning. She was clearly and understandably distraught. Her grandmother and her were very close--friends, in fact. Olga moved form Russia to Los Angeles when she was 8 with her grandmother and mother. They moved so that Olga could get a great education. She says, "I will definitely speak at the service, even though I have no idea what I will say. How can I describe the most important person in my life, the person that understood be better than anyone, the person that made me who I am?"
Tuesday 14
Spring?
Monday 13
Walking On Thin Ice. I woke early this morning. It was very foggy. I went down to the pond to photograph the old bridge pylons. I walked a few feet out onto the ice. I fell through the ice. But not too far.
Was getting wet worth it? I don't know. I like this photo, though:
In the afternoon, I met Evangeline. She wants to do a photography internship with me.
Sunday 12
Tired from trip to New York City.
Saturday 11
New York City. In New York City, where these things happen, I met my editor for the first time at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I waited for her on the steps of the MET. Daryl and Kiley and Danielle and Mike were visiting the Egyptian wing inside the museum. Soon, these two girls appeared. I could not help but think of A Tale of Two Sisters.
Perri called from inside the museum. I was surprised I did not see her walking up the steps outside. Maybe I was busy photographing the sisters. I went inside the museum. "Bruce," she called. I turned around and there she stood; taller and thinner than I expected, but very well-dressed. We spent almost one hour looking at the exhibition, "Robert Rauschenberg: Combines," which we both found exhilarating. We then met up with Daryl and Kiley and Danielle and Mike and walked through Central Park, heading toward the zoo. Along the way, I photographed Perri.
A few more photographs here.
And once upon a time:
Friday 10
New York City. After my BNI meeting, I picked up Daryl and Kiley and Danielle and Mike and we headed down to New York City. It was a glorious day; the temperature climbed to the low 70s and we all had a wonderful time.
The four of them in Times Square.
"Danielle," I said. "I have to go back and photograph her." I had said hello to her when we walked past the Newborn Nursery at FAO Schwartz. I went back and photographed the Newborn Nursery Nurse.
A few more photographs here.
Thursday 09
Conversation. I think it was Samuel Johnson who said "I look upon every day to be lost, in which I do not make a new acquaintance." ("The Life of Samuel Johnson" by James Boswell) Today, as part of the BNI new member process, I had a wonderful conversation with Susan Brin-O'Brien of Suzens Designs.
Wednesday 08
Marketing. I spent all day reading the sales/marketing book Daryl gave me for my birthday.
Every moment of your life is infinitely creative and the universe is endlessly bountiful.
Just put forth a clear enough request, and everything your heart desires must come to you.
~ Gandhi
Love Poem With Toast
by Miller Williams
Some of what we do, we do
to make things happen,
the alarm to wake us up, the coffee to perc,
the car to start.
The rest of what we do, we do
trying to keep something from doing something,
the skin from aging, the hoe from rusting,
the truth from getting out.
With yes and no like the poles of a battery
powering our passage through the days,
we move, as we call it, forward,
wanting to be wanted,
wanting not to lose the rain forest,
wanting the water to boil,
wanting not to have cancer,
wanting to be home by dark,
wanting not to run out of gas,
as each of us wants the other
watching at the end,
as both want not to leave the other alone,
as wanting to love beyond this meat and bone,
we gaze across breakfast and pretend.
Landon, owner of Treydon's Bar & Grill.
Tuesday 07
My Birthday. When I turned on my phone this morning there was a message from my sister, Darlene; she sang Happy Birthday to me. What a wonderful way to start the day. And then Nadine watched me wash the dishes.
Tonight's menu:
Vegetarian Lasagna (Chopped Spinach, Chopped Broccoli, Grated Carrot, Corn; Vodka Sauce)
Steamed Asparagus; then gently warmed in Virgin Olive Oil and Dusted with Parmesan Cheese
Salad
Garlic Bread
Brownie Sundaes
Wine/SodaWe had a wonderful dinner. Danielle got me a Gift Card to The Blue Moon. Daryl bought me an awesome book about Wedding/Portrait Photography Sales & Marketing. And Mike bought me a bottle of wine. Oh, and witty birthday cards from each of them, including Betsy, which truly moved me. After dinner we watched American Idol.
Monday 06
Alicia DeBrincat
Artist Statement Object, Moment, Memory Series
Objects surround us and are part of our everyday existence. Some of our possessions we cherish for their beauty, others for their value, and still other, more utilitarian objects for their function. In the series Object, Moment, Memory, I use the traditional genre of still life to celebrate these fascinating things that surround us, yet are quite often the unsung props of our lives.
It is amazing how merely glancing at an object, so common and mundane in and of itself, can be a window into a past place or time, can trigger a memory, will remind us of a person we loved who is no longer in our lives.
I approach each painting as a kind of portrait, selecting objects that remind me of a certain person, a specific situation, or a particular mood. Each grouping of objects contains a personal significance for me, yet these objects are so common in all of our lives that each viewer will bring his or her associations to each image. Thus, not only is each painting a “self-portrait” of a moment in my life, but it becomes a “portrait” of a moment in every viewer’s life as well.
Sunday 05
In Her Memory.
Saturday 04
Spring Can't Be Too Far Away.
Friday 03
Got my camera back. Two and one half months later, I got my camera back today. When I went to first use it, I realized I forgot so much about it; the timer, for example. Finally, I got it:
Thursday 02
Wednesday 01
Famous People, Famous Places. A guest's perspective on my slide show:
Famous People, Famous Places is an experience to remember.
The event took place in a large office-studio of the second floor of Bruce's building. The lights were dimmed as everyone came in. There is a large screen on the wall, and Dennis, the owner of the studio, had already set up two rows of chairs. Bruce and I picked up several jugs on wine from the Blue Moon, along with a fancy cheese plate that was kindly prepared at the last minute.
When we arrived at the studio, Mo was already there with a tape recorder and microphone, to interview Bruce for her radio show. Bruce spoke about how he came to know New York City, and what inspired him to take the photographs. Then he went into his motivation for actually showing and publishing the images, at which point he referred to me as an important influence. I got my first ten seconds of radio time, basically improvising: "I started out modelling for Bruce," I said. "Eventually he began showing me old photographs, and I became fascinated. I really supported the idea of showing them to the world, because they contain so many beautiful memories. These people and places cannot be forgotten." Something like that. I'm sure that the interview will be online soon, and I'll give you the link then. I also photographed the event, and those pictures should be here soon as well.
The audience was mostly other artists and residents of the buildings. Bruce's son came with his girlfriend, which made Bruce happy. All in all, it was very cozy and close-knit. Dennis began showing surrealist/Dada films on the screen while people chatted. Shelly Lake, owner of SkyLake Studios, talked quietly with another artist in the corner. I had a conversation with Bruce's neighbor that at one point included a discussion of the chi-square distribution. Dennis and Jeff, a children's book illustrator, were fooling around with computer images. Mo and Bruce floated around the room, talking to everyone.
Finally, we decided to start the presentation. Daryl and Kiley sat in the front row, and David sat behind them, after asking them if they would be making out. I sat in the second row, between David and Marjorie. Bruce stood up and gave a brief background for the works, talking about his experiences in New York and the ongoing process of putting these images together. He thanked all of his online friends, who have given him "great support." Then he extended a special thank-you to me which, though I knew it was coming, made me blush like a schoolgirl. Thank goodness for dimmed lights!
And then, to the chords of eighties punk rock, the slideshow began. There were over two-hundred brilliant images, one fading into the other. Due to the comfortable setting, Bruce was able to give us a little running commentary. The picture of the street musicians, specifically the fact that one of them looks exactly like George Bush, made everyone laugh. Several self-portraits definitely got smiles from the ladies: "So handsome," said Shelly. The music was well-chosen...everything was catchy but nothing was distracting. At one point, a picture of a porn poster showing a naked girl with huge breasts was perfectly accompanied by the beginning of a song: "She's going out with HIM?". Bruce was worried about how the pictures would look all blown up, but it turned out to be even more powerful than the 600x600-pixel images that we have seen online.
I caught several murmurs of "that's great" and "wow" from the audience. At one point, David turned to me and said, "He has such a wonderful sense of time and space...really captures the moment." Meanwhile, I was beaming like a proud mom. I was also literally sweating, because the photographs were just so good. I guess I had been under the impression that I had seen most of them and, while many were familiar, I would say that at least twenty-five percent of the presentation was images that I had never looked at. I was truly impressed and touched.
At the end, there was extensive applause, accompanied by "Great job, Bruce!" and "That was wonderful!". I feel that seeing Bruce's photographs like that made us all feel closer to him, as well as to each other. I wonder if someday, when these images and others are in museums all over the world, if the twenty people that came last night will be regarded as a special elite, like the Quarante Immortelle. In any case, we will all cherish that special evening of art and friendship.The author of the "perspective:"
Me introducing the presentation. I was talking about working at Hearst Magazines and how the job afforded me the opportunity to do a lot of street photography, the history of "Famous People, Famous Places," and what might be happening over the next few months.
