I’m many miles high in the sky, somewhere between New York City and Houston, Texas, according to the sky map, over Louisiana.  I fly Jet Blue because one can watch live t.v. in real time while flying coast to coast. On this day particularly I am grateful to have access to 24 hours networks. MSNBC’s signal is not penetrating the thick clouds, however CNN is. I would prefer to have the voice of the left accompanying me on this four hour trip to keep me well informed of the breaking events of the takeover of Zuccotti Park/Liberty Square today, 11-15-11.

My day began abruptly. I awoke from a very inefficient sleep at 5:30 a.m. and remained alert when I turned on the television and heard that our billionaire mayor had ordered the hostile takeover, the surprise attack, the big sweep, at 1 a.m., of the encampment, trying to deter the movement from what I believe is the imminent actions planned for Thursday, November 17th, 2011. Shocked, dismayed, utterly disgusted and on top of all that, realizing that of all days, I was heading away from this firestorm, into another kind, in a red state, presided over by a fading, embarrassed GOP presidential candidate. I would not be there to join the ranks of defenders and outraged 99%er’s, after all the time and energy that I have invested in this movement, not nearly as much as or as significant as many, but with the same heart and zeal as most.

So here on route in the sky southwestward bound, I can only do what I have not yet done during this past two months that have begun to change the world as we know it, and that is, I can write. I have used my most precious tool, the camera, to document as much as possible and I have not made time for pontificating on paper with my other tool,  a keyboard full of letters and possibilities.

I feel quite helpless being away from the situation and sad that I can not contribute my energy today. I will not have the time nor the freedom in Houston to join their ranks, if there are any occupying anywhere at the moment. I hate that fact too.

So I will write my thoughts and feelings and hope to establish a voice to accompany my photos heretofore.

The latest news that CNN broadcast was that the police were ignoring a court order to allow the occupiers back in the park. They had the papers stating that it was unconstitutional. Yet there were still hearings happening at 2:30 e.s.t. and a final decision was to be rendered by 3:15 according to the correspondent. Somehow, I doubt that deadline will be met but I will stand by.

The thing is, this decision is perhaps the one we have been waiting for. The pivotal moment the uprising turns into a revolution of remarkable proportions. I’m not being or feeling overly optimistic, like Michael Moore giddily proclaimed last week at the “Occupy Everywhere” discussion at New York’s New School University.

Moore’s optimism of the future of the movement and the change he believes it will exact, was inspiring but not 99% convincing. He said, “our ship has sailed in”. This I completely concur with, but will the storm currently at sea, wreck it or will it find the right tidal wave of support to usher it safely to shore.

I surely hope for the latter. I hope that the visionaries who have stuck it out since nearly day one are not deterred, but determined. I hope that those who have dipped their toes in, will finally dive heart first into the daily actions. I hope that those who have been dedicated and have made their way to any occupation anywhere, will not feel defeated and embattled and scared and will continue to show up literally and figuratively often and as much as possible. I hope that those who still continue to ask, “what’s their central message?”, “what’s their demands?”, “will they go away when the going gets tough?” finally understand those answers loudly and clearly.

Those answers are continuous and constant. They are now, they are then and they are yet to come. They cannot and should not be defined so sharply just to enable those without imagination or vision to have something to respond to. They need to come up with their own queries and they need to continue to search for the answers, the truth, the ultimate shift in consciousness. That is the only true answer for me because to answer is finite, which means to neatly wrap things up and move along. NO! This is not something to rush, this is NOT something to push through like an agenda because it must be something that enables people to exercise their free will, from this day forward, for the betterment of all, not just a few.

If that is too difficult to grasp, then just turn a blind eye, turn the other cheek, and pretend like something greater than the sum of it’s parts has not already evolved. That is until it cannot be denied or ignored and then welcome to the party, welcome to the future!!!

I take responsibility for being here but I also must try to understand why.

I’ve made mistakes, I haven’t hustled like a true New Yorker with grit and guts and greatness. I have coasted for too long and too often. What work and glory and success I’ve garnered has mostly come to me, not me to it. Some of that is self-doubt, some of that is my bank account.

I had no big windfalls to begin with. I had no trust fund. I had no partner in crime. I just had me, with all my deficits, fears, hopes and self-taught talent.

But that was never and is still not enough. I go through periods of personal self aggrandizement and then I wilt away like a seasonal plant who has to wait for the next shift in the planet. Those ups and downs are not my special domain. They belong to so many artists who wish the world was a kinder, gentler, more welcoming place. We/ they wish that we/us could just pick up the phone and say, “hey, I’m still here, ready, able and willing to work”. But the pit in our stomachs blocks our courage.

I woke up this morning ready to be productive but got stuck on Facebook, reading about everyone’s full lives, interesting travels, working opportunities. I wasted a lot of time feeling Schadenfreude and sad and knew I had to start writing even if no one listens.

I wish not to be reflecting this angst and I wish to be instead expressing thankfulness for what I still have. Perhaps spending the last 10 hours pouring through 10 years of my photographic life with my husband has influenced this mood. All of the good times we shared in the first few years, some travel and adventure that we rarely have the opportunity or funds to create now, reminded me of what I long for.

The first trip with Felix. Kanatee Reservation, Oregon, 10-2001

Then an article in the New York Times about the Newport Jazz Festival and I just wonder, why I’m never hired or invited or have the money to go on my own. All of this is passing by me, rapidly, and the future does not appear to be better, especially as the whole world implodes and the piece of the pie shrinks to mere slivers.

This state of mind shall pass too. But for this moment, I must reassess and re-assign the responsibility of my destiny. I don’t want to take complete blame but I need to figure out how to move forward. Perhaps it is time to turn my skills and talent in another direction. Suggestions and feedback are welcome…

08-09-11

2008 Nautica New York City Triathlon

The first elite pro female to exit the swim at the 2011 NYC Triathlon...

It has been far too long since I felt it worthy to post and blog and write and whine and reveal here, publicly as if anyone has time to spend reading one more online posting these days. However, I will do this, as an attempt to eliminate the persistent claw at my chest. I am compelled by the outcome of events yesterday at the 11th annual New York City Triathlon.

Dreary conditions for the 2011 NYC Triathlon...

The calm before the storm. 2011 NYC Triathlon...

Let me note first of all that the NYCT organization has not had the good manners for a second time in 4 years, to note the death of two of the participating triathletes on their website or to post any condolences. The first time an athlete died, I was there armed with my full camera gear, sharply shooting my husband Felix who was participating in his first NYCT event in 2008, but NOT (very important point), his first triathlon. From what I witnessed yesterday, there were many, way too many, obviously choosing this event for their very first triathlon, if not, first ever sporting event of this type. NOT a prudent choice by all measures.

Little did I realize that I was photographing the tragic results of one man's attempt to complete the swim portion of the 2008 NYC Triathlon

The urgent medics try to resusitate 32-year-old Esteban Neira of Argentina

But sadly and shockingly to me, still awaiting Felix somewhere in those crowded waters, it was too late...

The crush and the rush of the athletes exiting from the Hudson while the man who lost his life is lying on the ramp unbeknownst to them in their frenzy to reach their bikes.

That year in 2008, I was awaiting Felix’s exit from the Hudson river swim portion (the hardest part for him and most), a year where jellyfish were in abundance, and where many athletes were getting stung as they struggled to complete the 1.5 k swim. Several minutes before I spotted, Felix, much to my relief, amongst the thousands of heads bobbing through those challenging jellyfish laden waters, I watched and photographed in horror, the man being hoisted onto a stretcher and desperate medics trying to resusitate him. I was not exactly sure that I was photographing a man whose attempts to improve his health by any means necessary, had lost his life doing so, until I read and heard the news later that day. Meanwhile the same applied to this year. I confirmed what I saw last night, as an innocent bystander that morning, that the two people rushed out on stretchers had died after attempting to complete the very tricky swim portion.

I finally am able to relax when I spot Felix, in his blue cap and sharp elbow. It was pretty remarkable to find and recognize him in the sea of thousands but I had my man's back!

Felix catching his breath after the 1.5 k swim in the jellyfish infested waters of the Hudson River in 2008!!

Felix Finishes the First of Three Legs, NYC Triathlon, 2008

I do not know the physical condition, prior to the event, of these two athletes who perished and will not assume the worst. However, what made me feel so urgent to write this, is the judgment that I rendered while watching so many other participants who were clearly not prepared, nor properly trained, and seemingly clueless about the intensity and inherent dangers of the sport of triathlon and who it seems, had the naive notion that this was some quick weight loss scheme. And as we know all of those can be more dangerous than the extra pounds if not executed very carefully.  In fact, I made a few comments to Felix who was there as a spectator this year due to his weekend work schedule, that there was a preponderance of overweight people (mostly young women), exponentially more than other years and I suspected that they were doing this as a desperate attempt to lose weight. Ironically my sentiment was echoed by an elite athlete in the New York Times article that I read last night (see last paragraph- http://www.nytimes.com/2011/08/08/sports/man-dies-during-new-york-city-triathlon.html?_r=1&ref=nyregion). Many of them were on bikes suitable for transportation around the city or a short recreational outing but were not appropriate for this sport.

I understand that not everyone can afford a top of the line triathlon bike (Cervelos were the flavor of the day with Conalgos and Pinarellos and Cannondales, etc. trailing). These bikes are minimally $2000 each and way up and even though so many of these participants have the means to buy these bikes, they also most likely have the dedication to the sport. And that means that they take it seriously, which is the only option before one spends over $200 for an entry fee and bragging rights and perhaps goals that are not so easily obtainable, like whipping into triathlete shape.

Felix Flying in the Second Leg of the New York City Triathlon, 2008

As a person with her own weight challenges and who has been married to a man who is the most disciplined and dedicated athlete that I’ve ever known, this is an easy conclusion. TRIATHLONS ARE NOT THE TIME TO LOSE WEIGHT! The time to lose weight is BEFORE, not DURING the triathlon. Because there are no amount of pounds to be lost, that is worth losing a life for.

Felix has written his own recommendations. I will post those below, in case you are interested in the gospel according to the real expert in the family. Thanks for listening…

For all those interested in my passion & dedication to the 3 sports, cycling, swimming & running, today is another great & special day for me because the 2nd biggest sporting event in NYC happened, the NYC Triathlon.

Whether as a participant or spectator I always learn something. As a bike builder, seller & cyclist, I will try my best to share my expertise with others who share the same passion. Triathlon is a serious sport & should be taken as potentially dangerous. One should keep in mind one’s goal including the many challenges through the course. First the swimming part-make sure your body is prepared to be adapted to the distance. Make sure that when you transition from the water environment to your bike and it’s specifications that you fully understand the mechanics of your bike and the capacity of the power of your legs. Those are very, very important tips to ensure that you don’t fall or regret ending your race too soon! As well as knowing your bike you need to know the course and the terrain before you embark on it. If you make it through the first two legs of the race, when you get to the run, make sure you have extra energy left in your legs as you will be almost there, the hard part is behind you.

It’s sad to see someone finish the race due to mechanical problems on the bike or worse yet, it’s sadder to see it end on a stretcher.  Felix Telles, 8-7-11

Felix Finishing the Final Leg of the New York City Triathlon, 2008

Finally, here are several more images from the Triathlon, many of which the NYCT would never publish and others which I would like to share for reasons of admiration, inspiration and personal pride in my own private triathlete. Enjoy…

Paratriathlete being assisted out of the Hudson...

The athlete on the right of the para-athlete is rushing past him, oblivious to all around him except getting to his bike. Sometimes I think that the goal should be to just have fun and not always to win or prove how fast one is.

My emotions run high for these who have special challenges when they have safely completed the swim, bike and run...

Even those in good shape physically and weight wise can run into trouble in the swim portion...

Clearly in some distress after the swim.

The look of suffering. It's not as easy as it seems to some...

Another swimmer needing assistance...

A beautiful moment for one para-triahlete as she transitions from the water to her special needs bike. BRAVO for her indomitable spirit!!!

Some of the late swimmers. Notice how one is floating on her back, a common sight for the many who think that swimming a mile of freestyle is not going to be so difficult. Trust me, It IS!

But ultimately for most of these athletes it is all worth it for the right to wear this medal!

My happy husband photographed, being congratulated by a friend, by his proud wife!

Stigma, Denial and HIV/AIDS, Lesotho to New York

Student: Enid Farber

Mentor: Lucy Winner

Date: March 5th-7th, 2009

Plate 1
It has been a familiar and somewhat disconcerting pattern in my own life that often coincidences emerge and can be read as some kind of telltale sign at any given time. Just as I was about to embark on the readings and writing for this class, “Stigma, Denial and HIV/AIDS, Lesotho to New York”, I was suddenly a newly minted victim of a stigma that is just starting to take shape in New York City and beyond. So as I read the material, I found myself relating as a kind of kindred spirit, a clear departure from my years of relating as a friend of so many who have lost their lives to this epidemic as well as others who have been living with HIV for much longer than they ever expected. Furthermore, many years prior to my returning to school, I worked on an AIDS hotline, and became a voice of comfort for strangers as well as semi-educated on the disease. This was well prior to the current advances that have allowed many to live much longer.
The stigma that I refer to above is also related to an epidemic, one that creates havoc and instability and all kinds of life changing problems but is NOT an imminent health issue of life and death proportions. My own situation was bed bugs and it not only has caused much financial and emotional consternation but some ostracization that reminded me of what HIV positive friends had suffered in the early years of this health crisis. Fortunately in New York and its surroundings, most of that early ugliness has passed in the affluent communities. Education and public awareness of just how HIV is transmitted has helped alleviate much fear. But in many communities that is not the case.

Plate 2
Certainly that is the case and the norm in South Africa and perhaps in certain immigrant and poor neighborhoods and communities in New York City where enlightenment and access to facts is overshadowed by the preponderance of myths. Both authors Jonny Steinberg and Helen Epstein, compassionately, convincingly and authoritatively bring to light, the enormous societal challenges and burdens of countries and societies decimated by the most challenging health issue of modern history. Some would conjecture that cancer is more of a health problem and statistics would probably bear that out. But in the case of HIV/AIDS, the stigma and psychosexual complications that it inflicts upon those infected persons and those just navigating their sexual lives, is enormous and often too much to bear.

Plate 3

Epstein devotes Chapter 12 to the twisted way in which the United States, under the rule of George W. Bush ad his evangelical stranglehold, who incredulously has received much praise and self-adulation for his African AIDS policies, tried to once again impose its moral imperative by funding abstinence only programs. But she is convinced that a particular program, “Zero Grazing” might be the only sensible long-term attack that works because at its core, is a compassionate approach that understands this particular culture. The author also understands that “Zero Grazing” recognizes the undeniable power of human sexuality and its integral relationship to the culture that has been ravaged by the no win choice between sexual needs and desires and life and death.

Plate 4

Plate 5
Not only do mere mortals have to face this inescapable monster head on every waking hour, every breathing moment, whether HIV positive or negative, the fear of either contracting the virus or dying from the disease is never far from the frontal lobes of ones psyche. But beyond that fear and the reality is the absolutely paralyzing stigma that is always swirling around in their universe. The idea that sex, which is about birth and life, is also about an undignified sickness and death is overwhelming. In the case of Sizwe, he could not reconcile the need to be in control of his mortality, and his need to know that his life would be forever extended through his progeny, with his rational understanding that being tested would perhaps allow him to live longer through drug therapy if he was HIV positive. He struggled with the fear that if he found out he was positive he would lose control of his destiny and his resolve would be undermined. He clung to his patriarchal notion of passing on his lineage and that an AIDS diagnosis would disrupt his sense of security about his genetic immortality.

Plate 6

Plate 7
As I read the chapter entitled “Sizwe Magdla” towards the end of the book, where Steinberg finally discloses his own relationship to AIDS in Africa, (p. 289), I am struck by how long it takes for him to reveal himself. Without reading further, I wonder if there is some purposeful point to this chapter. Is this the psychological backdrop to his understanding Sizwe’s ongoing hesitation and fear of being tested and finding out the truth? A few pages later (p. 293), Steinberg admits what was to be the crux of his common alliance with Sizwe, as he describes the demons that seize him post testing. He turns the negative judgments of others inward, at least what he perceives to be those thoughts. He says to himself what so many hateful people have thought; he seems to accept that poison, battering his self-esteem. Then and there, the clarity of stigmatization is realized that he so eloquently expressed in the following words…
“And that is the sine qua non of shame. At its root lie myriad watching, judging eyes that look at one and see a disgusting and gluttonous figure. They are the eyes of others, but one has internalized them. They are strangers’ eyes whose watchfulness is nonetheless experienced in secret on the inside. When one stands in a crowded room and a person shouts ‘HIV,’ the very name and embodiment of ones shame, the secret opprobrium expressed by the strangers inside heads for the real strangers on the outside like electrons in a force field. You are suddenly struck with the sickening feeling that the contemptuous eyes have always been on the outside; that is their natural home”. (p. 293)

Plate 8

Plate 9
Denial is another powerful emotion, even in the case of the president of South Africa, Thabo Mbeki, as described by Epstein, on pp. 139-140. Is it no wonder that young people were in denial about the risks of unprotected, casual and multiple partners when the president made it his mission to deny the scientific findings of the AIDS epidemiology, as if to save face for his country and its rich cultural heritage and yet imperfect political history. I was struck by the inspirational, emotional and hopeful words that Mbeki recited during the signing of South Africa’s new constitution that Epstein shares on p. 118. I am reminded of my countries recent election of a politician who seems to share Mbeki’s same sense of social conviction with a poets sensibility and I worry that humanity will always find a way to digress as the forces of hate may be too great to rewrite a better history ultimately.
I was home working one day and had the television mindlessly running in the background. That day, February 19, 2009, Laurence Fishburne was on the daytime program, The View, commenting about, attorney Eric Holder’s haphazard words about racial relations in America. Holder said, “we are a nation of cowards when it comes to discussing race”. Fishburne’s much more diplomatic wording was, “maybe he should have said that we are afraid to deal with this issue because of the shame that is involved” (Fishburne). This comment grabbed my attention as I had been reading “Sizwe’s Test” for several days. The simplistic truth to that statement is a way to distill the very basic psychology of a disease that has battered the self-esteem of a whole continent and continues to challenge controlling the spread of the virus. Human frailty can be blamed. Even the good doctor Hermann was grappling with his own internal conflicts, of wanting to heal and save lives but sometimes succumbing to his own internal judgments.

Plate 10
The insistent pervasiveness of human nature has always been and always will be inescapable. But there is always hope as Epstein illustrates by profiling the Elizabeth Rapuleng’s of the world, a woman whose organization Sizanani Home Based-Caregivers provides refuge for AIDS orphans and Steinberg’s example of Kate Marrandi, a nurse without whom, many would have fallen by the wayside without anyone in the world to care for them. Because, I believe that sometimes it takes more than a village. But mostly it takes one person at a time, it takes one heart big enough, selfless enough, organized and smart enough, it takes courage against all odds, it takes an unshakable, unflappable, never-say-die hearty soul to perhaps save but one life.  And it takes information, education and public awareness to tackle an epidemic, whether because of concurrency, promiscuity, or poverty, no matter the cause or origins.

Plate 11
Citations:
Epstein, Helen. The Invisible Cure: Why We Are Losing the Fight Against AIDS in Africa. First ed. New York: Picador, 2008.

Fishburne, Laurence. Interview. The View. ABC. New York, NY. 19 Feb. 2009.

Steinberg, Jonny. Sizwe’s Test: A Young Man’s Journey Through Africa’s AIDS Epidemic. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2008.

Photographic Credits and Captions:
Plate 1: “STDS, HIV, AIDS: Cures Found Here”, Victoria Street Market, Durban, S.A. Personal photograph by author. Apr. 2003.

Plate 2: “Moyotechture”-The Door, Moyo Restaurant at Melrose Arch, Johannesburg, S.A. Personal photograph by author. Apr. 2003.

Plate 3: “Prickautions”. Love Carefully, Aids Prevention Billboards carefully orchestrated in the South African Landscape, Outside Johannesburg, S.A. Personal photograph by author. Apr. 2003.

Plate 4: “South African’s Finest”, Sexy Couple, SAMA Music Awards, Sun City, S.A. Personal photograph by author. Apr. 2003.

Plate 5: “Two African Women and an African Bird”, SAMA Awards, Sun City, SA. Personal photograph by author. Apr. 2003.

Plate 6: “Smiling Medicine Man: Smiles Don’t Solve The Ills of All”, Victoria Street Market, Durban, SA. Personal photograph by author. Apr. 2003.

Plate 7: “Laughing Medicine Man”; He laughs at the attention but his life is all but amusing, Victoria Street Market, Durban, SA. Personal photograph by author. Apr. 2003

Plate 8: “African Boys in the Hood”; Checking out my erotica promo card at the free portion of the North Sea Jazz Festival, Green Market Square, Capetown, SA. Personal photograph by author. Mar. 2003.

Plate 9: “Beware”; Young Man Protecting His Turf in the Largest Township Outside Capetown, Cape Flats, Capetown, SA. Personal photograph by author. Mar. 2003.

Plate 10: “Bathroom Exhibitionist”; Happy, Playful Women, SAMA Music Awards, Sun City, SA. Personal photograph by author. Apr. 2003.

Plate 11: “Marketing Children”; 3 Children on display, Victoria Street Market, Durban, SA. Personal photograph by author. Apr. 2003.

How and What I Learned

I am requesting 10 advanced level credits in “Stage and Live Performance Music Photography”. Since 1979 I have mastered the specific art of capturing musical moments onstage in very challenging conditions that was learned mostly through trial and error. The mastery of the magical, musical moment in low light conditions involves a great deal of discipline, patience and sensitivity and good manners. It required me to learn the limits of film and processing with both black and white and color negative film and slides. As part of my documentation I am submitting prints, tear sheets and written testimony from other industry professionals who are very familiar with my work.
My history in the music industry began while I was living in Sarasota, Florida in 1979. A friend who worked as a jazz disc jockey took me to a concert in Tampa, Florida. I had just been gifted with my first professional level camera and I was intent on learning how to use it without any formal training. My love of music and photography propelled me to be a quick study. The concert featured a legendary jazz saxophonist, Phil Woods and my first live performance photos were shot with a Nikon FM camera, 50mm 1.4 lens and Kodak Tri-X film. I was not familiar with the possibility of “pushing” the film to optimize my cameras capabilities in the low light until later on. I also did not have the accurate lens for capturing close images of the musicians onstage and quickly realized that was a necessity. Sooner than later I acquired a 180mm 2.8 fixed lens one of the essential tools in a performance photographer’s arsenal.
In addition to the right lens, appropriate film and suitable ISO (film speed), I quickly learned one of the most important protocols of documenting in these settings–that being the required and good etiquette needed to be respectful of both musicians and audience. For instance, on many occasions, I have shot alongside other photographers, some amateur fans, others general press and the rest music photojournalists, whose normal domains are not the stage, and who would use motor drives and shoot incessantly without pause, hesitation or consideration of those around them. This method is appropriate and warranted for sports photography or in large arenas where the music is loud and raucous but not for most jazz clubs or smaller venues. The first thing that a student of music photography should do is turn off or take off their motor drive, a rule that I established early on.
Although the “decisive moment” can be as fleeting as any in sports, I quickly realized that there would be many more of those during an average 45 minute set and shooting as fast and furiously as I could, without being a distraction, earned me good will in the long run. A good example is my 1991 photograph of Mario Bauza surrounded by dancers during a concert celebrating his 80th birthday, entitled, “Mario Bauza Birthday Bash”. That precise moment will never be repeated yet I did not have to keep shooting in hyper speed in order to nail the shot, I just had to have the right instincts to fire the camera in an instant. Another such example is my 1993 photo of Tito Puente entitled, “Heavenly Tito”, which I only discovered on a contact sheet buried in my files, after he died.
The key to capturing an amazing expression and gesture, like in my photo of Jaki Byard at The Visions Festival in 1998, is to be acutely alert and attuned to the music without losing concentration. The ability to constantly scan the scene directly and peripherally is a gift and a skill. My forte has been the ability to do that as well as compose discriminately, react passionately, and remain respectful to the artists and the fans, all at once; lessons best learned in the field.
In my 30 years of performance photography, I have learned how to navigate and negotiate tight spaces and find angles that captured the best side of the artist onstage. Dramatizing the scene and finding the exquisite strands of light on a musician and/or instrument is aptly represented in my 1981 photo of Peter Tosh at the Agora Ballroom in Atlanta, Georgia. This approach was imperative to my success at capturing images that were technically proficient as well as full of character and emotion.
Simultaneously respecting the artist and the audience and the rules of the venue has allowed me to continue my lifelong documentation of performers. Dressing appropriately according to where I was shooting has been a key component which is another facet of the decorum of music photography. But more importantly has been the understanding of when it is appropriate to use a flash and realizing that in most circumstances it is not only taboo but unnecessary for executing a much more aesthetically pleasing photograph. I was privileged to photograph presidential candidate Bill Clinton in his first campaign in 1991 on the trail and during a fundraiser at Club Tatou in Manhattan where he played the saxophone. Most of the press photographers used a flash when the stage lighting was excellent and abundant. My experience as a music photographer yielded a much more natural looking image as evidenced in “Timing is Everything”, Bill Clinton, 1991.
Staying until the very end and never placing the camera far from the eye have been important self imposed rules. Some of the greatest shots that capture history are caught after the musicians have silenced their instruments and then proceed to the edge of the stage to take their bows. This photo op is exemplified by two iconic images, my 1983 photograph of Ray Charles, entitled “Jumpin’ for Jazz”, the blind musician standing up without assistance and virtually leaping, and my 1989 photograph of Cecil Taylor and Max Roach entitled, “Ten Year Reunion”, an image similar to the Marsalis “Brotherly Love” photo mentioned below, that portrays the very diverse personalities of the artists in an instant. Both photos were shot at the end of the concerts when other photographers had scurried off long before the “fat lady sang”.
The quiet contemplative moments between notes, such as my 1983 photograph of brothers Wynton and Branford Marsalis entitled, “Brotherly Love” and my 1993 sound check photograph of Rolling Stones drummer Charlie Watts entitled “From One Charlie”, have produced some of the most effective images and iconic portrait studies. An agile and swift trigger finger on the shutter of my camera, my instrument, has enabled me to create those striking photographs.
These methods that I have outlined are some of the lingering lessons that I have learned from the special conditions where I have created my lifelong body of work. Had I chosen to devote my time and energy to the wilderness, capturing images of the abundant creatures of nature, I would have an entirely different vocabulary. The value in being self-taught and learning on the job, is that I can impart my direct wisdom to others who might follow in my footsteps. Much of the techniques can be taught in a classroom but only to a certain degree. Nothing replaces the actual implementation of these techniques especially when you cannot replicate the conditions anywhere but in the field. I am proud of the fact that my classroom was in and out of a bag and that I learned by performing these exercises instead of just imagining. Those who have the opportunity to be taught by great mentors and artists and then learn the rest by doing are very fortunate. I did not have that opportunity and so I did the best with what I had and am happy to share those results in my quest for credits by evaluation.

Title: Free Flowing and Flowering Vulvas-Judy Chicago’s Dinner Party

Student: Enid Farber

Mentor: Raul Manzano

Date: November 15th, 2008

Following our last class tour for the Interpreting Art in New York City Museums class, I attended a lecture in the same museum. It seemed a perfectly complementary closing statement for this class and all that I learned and how I grew intellectually as an artist. Four panelists and one moderator reminded me that the most instructive and beneficial way to view art is through the prism of information about the artist (Tate). I cannot emphasize enough how understanding and interpreting art is much more of an exact science when a foundation of information is provided beforehand. The benefit derived from authoritative previous interpretations and explanations is also extremely useful for a novice art interpreter.
Judy Chicago’s own thorough and extensive research that precipitated her abundant project, The Dinner Party, is proof positive of how the more you know before you initiate or execute your ideas, the more powerful and remarkable the result.  I cannot imagine another artistic endeavor that was precluded with the amount of time and effort and devotion and research and training in arts that were not familiar to the artist previously, than The Dinner Party. Chicago had to learn the crafts of fine china painting, needlework and ceramics, not to mention the historical research that she had to undertake in order to learn about the amazing lives of more than a thousand women. Many of these women’s biographies were grossly underrepresented in literature and she had to delve beyond the surface resources to make a statement about their contributions that were often suppressed.
Her intention was to gather the spirit of these women whom she felt were some of the leading historical or mythological leaders of their respective times and to create a virtual conversation that would inspire generations long after their impact on society was realized. So that women could inherit their lessons and never forget their contributions. So that those that never had a voice could finally be celebrated with a grand and respectful tribute through the stunning effect of art. Her symbolism is so carefully orchestrated and so brilliantly executed that one can only wonder how one woman alone could have channeled the ghosts of these extraordinary women and told their story in one singular lifetime. Because she did, Judy Chicago is perhaps one of the greatest feminists of all time. This tribute to women is a testimony that is truly revolutionary and if studied carefully can influence and inspire all women on many levels.
Silence=death, that is the motto that has been used by Gay rights groups who have fought the AIDS epidemic and the attached stigma that it has engendered. The visual logo is a pink triangle floating above those words. It harkens back to Nazi Germany when homosexuals had to wear it to be properly identified, just as Jews had to wear a yellow triangle. Judy Chicago’s table was constructed as a triangle, apparently to symbolize equality. But beyond that interpretation and intention, I see it similar to the meaning of the AIDS movement association, that without a voice we die, that we must not hide or we will fade away, that we must not allow stigmas and prejudice and sexism and racism to keep us quiet and passive or we will not survive. Chicago has resurrected the voice of so many women who never were acknowledged or appreciated in their times and the triangle is, in my opinion, a way to symbolize the platform for those voices.
For the purposes of objectivity, I should refrain from too much of an explanation of my own plight as an artist of the female persuasion. But through this lens of experience I am able to relate to “The Dinner Party” in a profound way. Although a significant amount of women artists have attained great stature and are considered as important to the art world as their male counterparts, there are still so many more barriers and obstacles that they have to conquer. Jazz photography, for instance, is dominated by men as is jazz journalism and of course the body of musicians that play the music is still mostly comprised of men.
I asked jazz musician and scholar, Lewis Porter, about the exact statistics and he directed me to an article entitled, “Cool Chicks and Hot Licks”. The author wrote, “according to a recent study by the NEA on the work life of jazz musicians, women still represent only 15.6% of jazz musicians, with the majority being vocalists”. (Herzig). Thus the glass ceiling is less penetrable for a woman playing an instrument previously played mostly by men and there are stigmas in some cases. I have observed that even some other women have a hard time taking a female trombonist seriously, and for a woman daring enough to play a male centric instrument getting a gig is often an insurmountable struggle. The point is, in my world of jazz, I understand how suppressed women’s voices are, even now, almost 40 years after the creation of The Dinner Party.
On the second section of The Dinner Party table, is a plate that depicts the artist, Artemisia Gentileschi, a Roman post-renaissance artist born in 1593 who was one of the most prolific artists of her day yet a lot of what she created was credited to her artist father. Gentileschi was raped by an artist her father hired to tutor her, an ultimately absorbed the shame that was inflicted on her even though she was the innocent one. Many of her paintings were a cathartic release for the mental suffering she endured. On the comprehensive website devoted to her body of work, there is a painting entitled, Self Portrait as the Allegory of Painting. There is a comment about her life that supplements the work and it states,
“Artemisia completed this painting at the end of her stay in Rome. A mature and respected artist, she moved to Naples. She acquired the patronage of Philip IV of Spain, Charles I of England, and the Duke of Modena. With such regal patrons how could an artist of this magnitude have been so easily forgotten by art historians? Was it simply because she was a woman?” (Parker)
That last question is what drives Judy Chicago to devote so much of her life and soul to this project. After all, what else would compel her to open herself up to so much controversy and criticism?
Perhaps it is no accident that the last place setting on Judy Chicago’s Dinner Party table belongs to last but not least, Georgia O’Keefe. I have admired O’Keefe’s work ever since I discovered the medium of photography and learned about her and her husband Alfred Steiglitz.  The work that I was drawn to were her paintings of flowers, specimens of nature that she portrayed very much in the spirit of female sexual parts, similar to Chicago’s plates.  The similarity or the tribute or whatever it is meant to be, certainly begs the question, was this intentional and did Judy Chicago have the blessings of Georgia O’Keefe? These two women have taken a part of a woman’s anatomy that for many would be seen as vulgar and made beautiful art and objects of them and perhaps de-objectifying women in a very conscious act of defiance.  Is the vulva as icon a route to empowerment for women? As feminism competes with the current culture of total immodesty where women are pushing their sexiness and sexual attributes more than ever, can exposure to The Dinner Party influence a younger generation of women to respect their elders in the feminist movement who made it possible for them to be in positions of power today and not to take their rightful places in society for granted?
That answer is complicated. I’m amused by a couple of quotes from young women of this generation who are still proud to be called feminists. A Washington Post staff writer, visited the newly installed Dinner Party, in 2007 and interviewed Chicago who asked the young journalist what she really thought about the work…
“I came clean and told her about my reaction . . . mostly. I told her that the obvious vaginal imagery made me squirm. But I chickened out and didn’t tell her that “The Dinner Party” looked like a relic of stereotypical, bras-a-blazin’ feminism. It looked so ’70s, like a burnt-orange carpet that someone had been too lazy to replace. It didn’t seem relevant to the feminist topics I care about, like balancing work and family, and young women thinking it’s okay to starve like their favorite celebrities” (Beckman).
Chicago was not offended and reminded her interviewer that, “I think we’re all educated to be frightened of female power and . . . I think you should be upset about the culture that made it that way” (Beckman).  Undoubtedly, the fragility of the feminist message and legacy is a concern for the woman who coined the phrase and concept, “feminist art”.
I am forever in awe of “The Dinner Party” as artistic, social, political and feminist statement, the scale and scope of which might never be repeated. Judy Chicago’s book, “The Dinner Party” begins with a quote that echoes my sense of concern for the generation that inherits the benefits of feminism but somehow many seem oblivious to the lessons. “Lucky are you, reader, if you happen not to be of that sex to whom it is forbidden all good things; to whom liberty is denied; to whom almost all virtues are denied; lucky are you if you are one of those who can be wise without it being a crime.” (Chicago)

Citations:
Tate, Greg, Edwin Ramoran, Vivien Goldman, Eleanor Heartney, and Faith Salie. “Negotiating Identities in Contemporary Art and Society” Talks and Tours: Panel Discussion. Brooklyn Museum, Brooklyn. 15 Nov. 2008.
Herzig, Dr. Monika. “Cool Chicks and Hot Licks, Hoosier Jazz News.” Acme Records. 18 Sept. 2008. 25 Nov. 2008 <http://acmerecords.com/hoosierjazznews/?p=63>.
Parker, Christine. “Self Portrait as the Allegory of Painting.” Life and Art of Artemisia Gentileschi. 1999. 2 Dec. 2008 <http://www.artemisia-gentileschi.com/self.html>.
Beckman, Rachel. “Her Table Is Ready Judy Chicago’s ‘Dinner Party’ Is Still a Conversation Piece.” WashingtonPost.com. 22 Apr. 2007.4 Dec. 2008 <http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/04/20/ar2007042000419.html>.
Chicago, Judy. The Dinner Party. New York: Viking Adult, 1996. 3-3.

Title: Ego Free Art

Student: Enid Farber

Mentor: Raul Manzano

Date: November 1st, 2008

The abandonment of the ego is at essence of Buddhism. And at the core of the artist, with very few exceptions, is the ego that needs constant nourishment.  After visiting the Rubin Museum of Art and learning more about the artistic process behind the very detailed artworks, I was enchanted by the anonymity of the artist but I was also bewildered. The apparent discipline that this art exudes and the sense of surrender to the communal effort and the spiritual goal is remarkable.
Within the paintings of the Himalayas lies the vocabulary of its artisans, as this was a culture of the illiterate and it was through the beauty of their symbols that they communicated.  The paintings are rife with meaning and gestures and one must learn about those in order to render an interpretation with authority.  This must be explored beyond a one hour tour but based on the tour guide’s effort, I will attempt to convey some of these ideas.
Spiritual enlightenment is the attainable goal of Buddhism, and the deity is the main theme of Himalayan art.  According to the history of the Bodhisattva of Compassion, otherwise known as Avalokiteshvara, who has 11 faces and is surrounded by a thousand hands with eyes, he made a promise that if he succumbed to narcissistic thoughts and anything that was for the benefit of self, that his head would break into 10 pieces and his body would shatter into 1000. Eventually he lost his altruistic bearings and this did happen, signifying a loss of control and discipline. When reconstructed, this deity was portrayed with 10 faces, each one symbolizing the 10 perfections (Mandala of Avalokiteshvara).
According to the Theravada Buddhism Portal the definition of the “Ten Perfections” are as follows: Generosity, Morality, Renunciation, Wisdom, Energy, Patience, Truthfulness, Determination, Loving-kindness and Equanimity (Thittila).
What is most fascinating in my opinion is the role of the individual artist in Himalayan based art, as it sharply contrasts that of western artists. The artists were considered no more or no less gifted then an artisan who made curtains, according to the Rubin Museum tour guide, Chantal Lee. They were at best, very talented draftsmen, similar to those that work for architects, i.e. rendering someone else’s concept, in their case, the directive of their religion, Buddhism. But unlike artists in the Western hemisphere such as Jeff Koons, they were not concerned with accolades, attention, appreciation, or acknowledgment. They were rewarded with knowing that their work was a step to spiritual enlightenment and surely, the Ten Perfections.
To illustrate the conspicuous difference between a western ego driven artist such as Koons and the eastern craftsmen of Himalayan art, where all artists are anonymous and equal, one only needs to visit www.jeffkoons.com. Nowhere on the world-renowned artists’ website is there any mention of the apprentices whom are the actual executioners of his objects d’art. In fact, it is common knowledge in the art world that Jeff Koons is the mastermind behind the art yet he does not lift a finger. Being the conceptualist is no small feat, however the fact that there is not a mere mention of the other artists participants, highlights how his ego is a guiding force in his life and work.  I am not suggesting that it is a bad thing as I cannot imagine a life of working without recognition, it just does not jibe with our cultural attitudes, even if any given artist or worker professes to be a spiritual person. Perhaps this comparison is too stark since Koons’ exaggerated commercial sensibilities and pop iconic art is 360 degrees from spiritual sacred art that is rife with lessons of humility and riddles of compassionate wisdom  (Koons).
Therefore if one were to research “Himalyan artists” in the de facto 21st century online library Google, their results would come up short. But if one goggled “Himalyan art” then there would be a plethora of information and resources. That is an important revelation as we can ascertain very clearly that the ego is exempt from Himalayan art and their culture is quite different than ours as it is based more on surrendering ones self to religious traditions as opposed to the west emphasis on individual achievement.
One artist that I did find, Tenzin Nurbu Lama whose origins are a small village in Western Nepal, Dolpo, credits his family for inspiring his artistic tradition of thangka painting. “Through five generations my family has taken care of and resided in Dralung Monastery – the main monastery in Bantsang and one of the oldest in the region. In this period of time, my family has passed along the traditional style of art known as ‘thangka painting’”. Lama, a contemporary artist, seems to enjoy the attention of the art world but he comes across as modest and unassuming. “…My art has been featured in photography books and I have had the opportunity to travel to France. In 1994, I got the chance to exhibit my paintings with sponsorship through the National Geographic Society. In 1998 my work was featured in ‘Himalaya’, a film about Dolpo, directed by Eric Valli. I have contributed drawings to a number of books and several movies including a children’s book based on the movie. ‘Himalaya’. In 2001, at the invitation of two friends…I was invited to America to teach thangka painting for two months at Cornell University…in New York. …My future aim and hope is to help towards the development of Dolpo and its people while also preserving our cultural heritage and traditional styles of art.” In the long history of Lama’s family I suspect that he is the only artist to enjoy the recognition of the prestigious art world (Himalayan Artists).
In summary, I do not want to stand in judgment of which artistic tradition is more admirable, that of the sacred arts artist who paints and sculpts in the service of spiritual enlightenment or the artist who is motivated as much by ego as other factors such as a higher purpose and yet who contributes and often sacrifices a life of material enrichment so he can fulfill his destiny as artist, all the while hoping for fame and monetary reward. But admittedly as one of those western artists whose ego suffers when there is no recognition for my good works, I have great respect for a tradition of art that is solely created to communicate the goal of spiritual enlightenment and to show mere mortals the path to achieving it.

Citations:
“Mandala of Avalokiteshvara.” Himalayan Art Resources. 1997. 8 Nov. 2008 <http://www.himalayanart.org/image.cfm/16.html>.

Thittila, Sayadaw U. “Ten Perfections.” Theravada Buddhism Portal. 8 Nov. 2008 <http://www.theravada.gr/tenperfections.html>.

“Biography.” Jeff Koons. 8 Nov. 2008 <http://www.jeffkoons.com/site/index.html>.

“Himalayan Artists.” Quest Himalaya Adventures. 26 Aug. 2008. 8 Nov. 2008 <http://www.questhimalaya.com/himalayanartists/tenzin-nurbu-lama.htm>.

Lee, Chantal. “Rubin Museum Art Tour.” Rubin Museum of Art, New York. 1 Nov. 2008.

Title: Susan Meiselas Invades the Photo Centric World of Men

Student: Enid Farber

Mentor: Raul Manzano

Date: October 18th, 2008

Susan Meiselas and Mary Ellen Mark have not only survived the once heavily male dominated domain of hard-core photojournalism but they have thrived.  War, strippers, prostitutes, dangerous and hostile arenas that little girls with dolls were never encouraged to play in, whose mothers of these two warrior women would have never imagined their daughters intrepidly navigating.
Meiselas and Mark might not be perfectly matched in their styles, but both have published major monographs on subjects that most photographers might not easily gain access to. Meiselas gained the trust of carnival strippers in America and Mark was welcomed into the lives of prostitutes in Bombay, India. Side by side these incredibly moving and sympathetic photo essays leave one feeling less voyeuristic and more humanitarian. The ability to be a chameleon in any given sociological condition is a gift and a talent possessed by few and far between.
Meiselas’s war photos from Latin America are a great testament to her talent and strength. To be the non-casual observer and recorder with a camera in a war zone, requires more than a voyeuristic curiosity and technical aptitude.  Many years ago, I won a scholarship to The Maine Photographic Workshops for a class with the legendary National Geographic photographer, William Albert Allard. What resonated with me most was the welcoming speech by the director David Lyman when he reduced photography to “F-8 and be there” (Lyman). Meiselas’s work exemplifies this idea, i.e., access and the ability to convey these photographic opportunities coupled with precision of craft.
To confidently navigate the kind of photographic territories that Meiselas traverses requires a very distinct character; one cannot feel guilty or invasive or apologetic or hesitant. Like an ER doctor or a homicide detective, one must build a type of immunity to ghastly human horrors, and one must feel that their work is righteous and making a difference, educating those that will never experience these atrocities firsthand. Meiselas explains on her website, “I’m interested in the photograph as a cultural artifact of social history or personal history” (www.susanmeiselas.com).
I made a conscious decision a long time ago that although I hold the highest regard for the artistic beauty of these horrific images, that I could not be so detached as to create them. The question for me that remains is, ultimately, do these photos accomplish what they should, that is to remind humanity that war, oppression, subjugation, famine, etc. are not right, should not be allowed, withstood, and repeated?  With some resignation and sadness, I believe the answer is no.
This is not to suggest that the casual observer of these photographs does not walk away more aware, informed, perhaps emotionally moved or maybe angry and depressed. Or is it that one walks away more thankful for their intact lives, realizing that relatively even the poorest amongst us are much more fortunate than those we view in a paper or in a print. Maybe we are provoked to think how long will our collective good fortune last in this country of ours that has escaped this level of despair for most of our lives. Maybe we become inspired to spend less time obsessing about what we don’t have and more time grateful for what we do have.
But the opposite effect is always just around the corner, on the magazine rack or museum wall to the right or left of war and social commentary photojournalism. We are reminded of how much we lust for what others have when we are confronted with images of opulence in celebrity portraiture, fashion photos and shiny still life imagery.  These art meets commerce type of photographs are every bit as powerful and often influential as art meets social statement photography. The photographers behind the different worlds all have strong egos and a need to be appreciated and acknowledged. This can determine how hard they work at obtaining the desired image by any means necessary, sometimes without regard for the subject even if unconsciously and without malevolence.
The question of whether Susan Meiselas’s photos are social photojournalism or fine art is an easy one for me, as someone whose own photographic journey has been influenced by the art of the great Henri Cartier Bresson, the French photographer whose aesthetic was summed up by his trademark “decisive moment” style.  In accordance with the spirit of Bresson, and in her own words, Meiselas recites on her website, “the object in a sense is a fixed frame moment” (www.susanmeiselas.com).
I view each of these gut-wrenching conflict photos as a work of art, compositionally, stylistically, and imbued with an expert sense of lighting; sensational eye candy. There is no denying that the eyes and sensibilities of Meiselas and Mark are well trained and conscious of creating a striking image even if that choice occurs in a mere split second. The camera becomes second nature to the photographer who is deeply attuned to their environment that they have thoughtfully chosen or been thrust into by assignment. The photographer without compassion and curiosity is just a mechanic and not an artist. Meiselas might be in the right place at the right time to record history but her heart has to be attached to her lens which is attached to her camera to create iconic, profound, awe inspiring and worthwhile art.  Once again Meiselas expresses it best, “I love photography, it is my point of engagement” (www.susanmeiselas.com).

Citations:
“Home Page.” Susan Meisalas. 28 Oct. 2008 <http://www.susanmeiselas.com/>.
Lyman, David. “Welcome to Maine Photographic Workshops.” Maine, Rockport. July 1988.