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Word to your mother

Archive for the ‘Photography’ Category

Jeremy Resnick


October 15th, 2009
by Jeremy Resnick


My mother has a photography addiction. She just has to take pictures of her family, or, if we’re unavailable, other people’s families. It’s been going on all our lives. She says she takes so many pictures of us because she loves us so much that she just has to capture any moment in which we’re all together, and she takes pictures of other people’s families because they’re always happy when they get them from her afterward. But I think it’s more of a compulsion. Whenever her mind is allowed to rest, whenever she doesn’t have something pressing to do, she thinks, I must take a picture! I must capture this, whatever it is!


Adam Cushman

A Thousand Words: Grandmotherland

September 15th, 2009
by Adam Cushman


Vaselina operates five port-a-potties next to Kazanskaya Cathedral off Nevsky Prospect in St. Petersburg. In Russian, she’s a Babushka, which means grandmother. Whether Vaselina really has grandchildren makes no difference. She’s one of an army of old post-Soviet women who pour down streets and sidewalks with pocketbooks clutched in one hand, plastic bags of raw meat in the other, linebackers who will, without question, run you the fuck down if you step in their path, especially if you’re inostranetz (foreigner).


Megan Power

A Thousand Words: Possible Selves

September 13th, 2009
by Megan Power


What photos have on words is speed.

Photos can be evocative, epiphanic and emblematic instantly, faster than the printed word.

They suck us in at the speed of sight. The speed of emotion.


Kip Tobin

Mil Palabras: Guadalajaran Trees

August 30th, 2009
by Kip Tobin

August 30, 2029


In those days, I was finishing up a degree in the Spanish language in Guadalajara, Mexico, riding the wave of what was left of my mid-life postponement, wedged between two countries, two languages, girlfriends, professions, et al. I remember I turned 36 there, straddling the fence between youth and middle-age, having just moved from Madrid where I had lived for almost six years, and the six weeks in Mexico was an understated adjustment, preceded by the initial shock that Mexico was not even second but third world.


Rachel Pollon

A Thousand Words: I Like This Photo Because My Hair Looks Really Good

August 28th, 2009
by Rachel Pollon


It was the night of my dear friend Clara’s birthday party. I can’t quite remember if it was a momentous year - a round number, the beginning of a new decade - but I do recall having party nerves and that I’d be going solo. I wasn’t seeing anyone at the time or, if I was, it wasn’t serious. Or maybe I was seeing Mark but he was out of town. None of these details matter, really. This essay is about me and how good I looked at Clara’s party.


D.R. Haney

I Was a Child Porn Model

July 29th, 2009
by D.R. Haney


When I was ten, my parents sent me to summer camp for two weeks. They made the arrangements secretly, knowing a fit was inevitable the minute they broke the news. I was an explosive kid, coming as I did from a histrionic family, and my parents wanted me gone for a while so they could rage at each other without me around to upstage them.

Ben Loory

A Thousand Words: The Problem with a Photograph

July 25th, 2009
by Ben Loory


This is a photograph of being in love.

It’s a picture of a feeling in a moment.

It’s a record of a time when the whole world came alive.

I took it from inside a girl’s convertible. (more…)

Jonathan Evison

A Thousand Words: And You Wonder Where I Learned How to Party?

July 23rd, 2009
by Jonathan Evison


These are my grandparents, Grandma Sweetie and Papa Owen, standing on their porch in Inglewood, not eight blocks from the Forum, where they lived for thirty-odd years. Allegedly, a white picket fence once stood in front of the house. But as far back as I can remember, the white picket fence just sort of laid there. And it wasn’t white. For the last ten years or so, their house had no front door. Don’t ask me why. Just a screen. No lock. This is Inglewood we’re talking about! But nobody ever gave Sweetie and Owen trouble, and I’m pretty sure that had nothing to do with the fact that Papa Owen looked like a juice man for Santa’s mafia.


Stefan Kiesbye

A Thousand Words: Happy New Year

July 22nd, 2009
by Stefan Kiesbye


“The best models are those you’ve slept with,” was a line from one of her teachers that Ulli liked to repeat. ‘Happy New Year’ is what she called the picture, and you could buy it as a postcard in souvenir shops and book stores around West Berlin. This was 1988, when the city was still surrounded by Communism. The Wall was still intact. So were my dreams of becoming an actor. I was 22.


Lance Reynald

Recapping a Tour, or The Mirror Conspiracy Comes Full Circle

July 19th, 2009
by Lance Reynald


There have been names thrown out over the years: Arrogant. Enigmatic. Freak. Media Whore. Self-indulgent. Vain. Narcissistic.

All names that suggest I’ve been spotted, seen and made note of. Words that the people closest to me find laughable and would say are totally off base. There is no owners manual for living with these words. I suppose it’s presumed that when these words come into play that you are immune to the effects of them. No self help books to give you perspective, no wisdom or advice for you.


Don Mitchell

A Thousand Words: Posing

July 8th, 2009
by Don Mitchell


I’ve had the nude picture of me hanging in my back hall for years. It’s smaller than the one Willow had in the show, and it isn’t decorated. Even though it’s not obviously me, I never brought it into the living room, or even to my workroom. I wanted it up because I thought it was a great image, I was close to Willow, the photographer, and I didn’t want to insult her by not having any of her work up in my house. But I thought if I started talking about it I’d end up revealing that it was me. And then Willow, whose image it really was, would be pushed out of the frame and the whole thing would degenerate into my telling stories about what it was like being her model. And because that picture was more of a collaboration than any of our others, I didn’t want that to happen.

On a simpler level, I also didn’t want to be talked about as that guy who puts up pictures of himself naked.

D.R. Haney

A Thousand Words: Have You Seen My Head?

July 7th, 2009
by D.R. Haney


After one of the first Die Princess Die shows I attended, Pete, the guitarist and co-frontman, asked what I thought. I allowed that the show was pretty good, except I wished the band would break more stuff.

He considered that a lame reaction—or “stupid” is the adjective I believe he used. I was surprised, since we’d initially bonded over our shared enthusiasm for …And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead, a band notorious at the time for breaking stuff.

Over the next couple of years, however, Die Princess Die evolved into perhaps the most destructive, if not out-and-out violent, band in Southern California. They scared people, and I think that partly accounts for the large following they deserved but never acquired, despite having not just one but two frontmen with movie-star looks.

D.R. Haney

The Uninvited

June 22nd, 2009
by D.R. Haney


One night maybe five years ago, as I was revising, yet again, Banned for Life, I heard a sound: a slight thump, as if a matchbox had fallen to the floor. I stopped typing and, now hearing nothing, decided it must have been my imagination.

Then, the following night, I heard another sound, this one louder. It seemed to come from my bathroom, and when I investigated and found nothing there, I wondered for a moment if my apartment was haunted.


Lance Reynald

Left to Consider How Very Frustrated Marcel Proust Might Be and How Far Into the Woods Walden Has Become

June 17th, 2009
by Lance Reynald


Seriously, that’s my title and I’m sticking to it.

Welcome to the contemporary novelist in the age of the new media. Your booktour is quickwork of a few major markets and your audience is considered global with access to all just a mouseclick away.

The landscape of writing has been changing vastly in the digital era. It is a multi-media endeavor and another experience in branding. This is the reality of it now, and the pace is getting quicker.

If you don’t think you have the stomach for that reality I’d suggest that you look away and not even bother with clicking further. (more…)

D.R. Haney

And a New Chapter Begins

June 16th, 2009
by D.R. Haney


I spent nine years writing Banned for Life, my recently published novel. I consider that a long time to work on a book; James Joyce, whose name I’m unfit to mention by way of comparison, worked on Ulysses for eight years, and that book is longer than mine by over three hundred pages. (I post this on Bloomsday.)

Was it worth it? I don’t really know, yet. It will depend, I suppose, on how it’s received. At the moment, a number of friends are reading Banned, or maybe some of them have finished reading, only they haven’t told me, either because they haven’t had time to write me or call, or they didn’t like it and they’re afraid to tell me, or they did like it and they aren’t quite sure how to express it. I’m an Author now. It’s not a big deal at all to me, the title of Author, but maybe it strikes some of my friends as a big deal, because so many people have vague plans to write a book someday but they deep down suspect they’ll never get around to it. I’ve had two friends announce their jealousy, or as one of them, a comely Scot, put it: “I’d like to slap your face!”

Kip Tobin

El Camino de Santiago: The Essence of Pilgrim

May 26th, 2009
by Kip Tobin


I awake at 7 am, mostly from unwieldy nervousness. Before I have time to pause and consider what is to come, I strap on my 20 pound backpack, leave the pilgrim’s shelter in Sarría and ascend a firm incline for about 45 minutes into a Tolkien dream sequence.

Once inside, the misty mountain top has no visible exit; white pulpy air hangs still upon all scenery within a 100-foot diameter.

The path levels out, my head soaking in frosty sweat; I feel like am in the heart of a chilly other world, alone.


Autumn Kindelspire

Girl in the Picture

May 23rd, 2009
by Autumn Kindelspire


The Best Picture of Me Ever Taken: I am sixteen, which means I’m not a redhead yet or sporting a pixie cut. Instead, my hair is shining blond and falls to the middle of my back. My face is smooth, unblemished by the plague of acne most of my friends endure. I’m seated on a little mound of Australian pine needles and sand. Whoever took the picture is standing over me. My arms are crossed in front, I’m wearing jeans and a black Nine Inch Nails shirt, and I have the perfect “get that thing the fuck away from me” expression on my face.


Irene Zion

Life in Zimbabwe Today

May 1st, 2009
by Irene Zion


We just got back from a trip to Zimbabwe.  When the country was called Rhodesia, it was referred to as the breadbasket of all of southern Africa.  Think about it.  They were so prosperous that they not only could feed everyone in their own country, but all the countries in Southern Africa.  Obviously, Rhodesia had enormous social problems, but everyone could eat.


Mary McMyne

I Just Got Back from a Cross-Country Trip on a Rectangular Vehicle Named After a Dog

April 21st, 2009
by Mary McMyne


It is very hard to take pictures through the window of a careening rectangle. Especially with a not-quite-but-almost-expired five-year-old digital camera. But I tried.


Brad Listi

Never Say Neverland: A Michael Jackson Photo Tour

April 19th, 2009
by Brad Listi


Yesterday in L.A. was hot and bright. My wife and I had brunch with a friend first thing, and then afterward the three of us drove over to Beverly Hills to see Michael Jackson’s personal effects.

It’s all on display at the old Robinsons-May building. Julien’s Auctions has converted an entire floor of the empty department store into a de facto Michael Jackson museum—an eerie, unsettling assemblage that grabs the imagination and spooks the soul. More than 1,400 items, artifacts extracted from Neverland Valley Ranch, Mr. Jackson’s sprawling country estate in Santa Barbara County.