George Capsis’ monthly newspaper, Westview, is the paper of record for many a West Village resident.
Although long since displaced from the corner store on Christopher Street and Bleecker, and much longer still since being expelled from Afghanistan, Mr. Nusraty is the quintessential salesman. With an eye for value and a natural ability to state his price for his wares with dignity, he continues to draw customers from all walks of life.
Tonight I’m watching Temple Grandin, starring Claire Danes, and there was a one liner that jumped out: “Different but not less.” It’s meant to be a description of Temple Grandin, a woman who suffers from some form of social disorder, but I think it’s true for each of us. For all the visual thinkers out there the film is worth a look. Click here to view the trailer.
A kid with a cigarette in his mouth alongside one big chicken. Photographic genius if you ask me.
So. I decided to take a digital portrait class at SVA. Assignment #1 is to show 3-5 images which I find inspiring, and assignment #2 is to share 3-5 of my images. I am going to make this blog post a two-fer. Not sure why wordpress is spreading out the images so much, but I will figure that out another night.
Immaculately styled; an honest, dead on composition with some chiarascuro action going on; and a pastoral theme make this image a winner in my book. I’m not just saying that because it’s by Irving Penn.
So many great August Sander photos to choose from…so little time. One has to marvel at how Sander was able to get the dog, baby, and bicycle to cooperate. Don’t want to know what the other shots looked like. It looks like a farm child so a few falls will just build character.
Proof that Steve McCurry was not a one hit wonder with his National Geographic cover, Afghan Girl. This photo was taken in Tibet. Can’t say I am a big fan of the Chinese occupation, but composition-wise, McCurry let’s the jet tell the broader story of a people subjected and a culture destroyed. At least that’s how I’m reading it.
And now for a few of my own…
Over 1.6 million people live in Manhattan, and only 23,000 in its “West Village.” A neighborhood character (I nicknamed him the Sentinel as he always seems to stand guard) told me that “West Village” is an artificial construct, and that there’s really just “Greenwich Village.” Although he’s slept on its concrete sidewalks, fought with his bare fists whom he saw as trespassers to his Village domain (I watched once as he clocked one man in broad daylight on West Fourth Street), and has scrapped by for decades longer than I’ve been here, I still disagree. Just take a walk the length of 10th Street from West to East or vice versa. You can feel the change happen at the midpoint. The above photo was taken on the corner of West 10th Street and Waverly. The great joy of walking the West Village is the incongruity of the street layouts, the general lack of monstrously tall buildings, and the diversity of storefronts. Don’t forget the people either. In this case I photographed the display of the Three Lives Bookstore, across the street from Julius, the working man’s gay bar, or so it appears to me, and the tenement buildings lining the street. Last night I was called in to work at BookBook, another bookstore which is located on Bleecker Street between 6th and 7th Avenue. It is a small store, but don’t let its size convince you that it doesn’t contain all sorts of treasures. I bought St. Augustine’s “Confessions” for a friend last night, and a week or so prior I purchased C.S. Lewis’ “The Four Loves,” St. Thomas More’s “Utopia,” as well as Flannery O’Connor’s “The Complete Stories.”
Here’s a passage from Flannery O’Connor’s “A Temple of the Holy Ghost:”
As they were leaving the convent door, the big nun swooped down on her mischievously and nearly smothered her in the black habit, mashing the side of her face into the crucifix hitched onto her belt and then holding her off and looking at her with little periwinkle eyes.