Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Friday, May 21, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Humble Arts Foundation
photography by: Lyndsy Welgos
Photography by Louise Menzies
Humble Arts Foundation is a wonderful organization that features fine art photography, that is both contemporary, but not pretentious, new, and not contrived like some of the work that is considered ”emerging" in the Chelsea circuit. It seems to reach back to the roots of when you first discovered your love of photography, as a personal and internal awaking, reminiscent of adolescent feeling that you were no longer a child but an individual with your own conscious and sexual awareness. This of course, is purely my own feelings, interpretations and psyche based on my gut reaction to the work produced here.
I fell in love with photography as a medium about 15 years ago, and it was a revelation. Since then I had graduated far from documentary, black and white, self-portraits, to color architectural self portraits, as I felt my surroundings and my psych was heavily empowered and influenced by my surroundings. In any case, this work is a refreshing break from the work without soul that clings to the cold, stark, white, pristine walls of a Chelsea gallery. It is more work for one's self and peers, and less for the preconceived prejudices viewers can sometimes hold when they're told how to perceive art from a recent art review.
Humble Arts Foundation is a not-for profit organization based in New York. They offer 2 $1,000.00 grants per year, and you can apply to showcase and sell your work on their website. And their blog is visual and direct, without words or frills.
Humble Arts Foundation
photography by: Lyndsy Welgos
Photography by Louise Menzies
Humble Arts Foundation is a wonderful organization that features fine art photography, that is both contemporary, but not pretentious, new, and not contrived like some of the work that is considered ”emerging" in the Chelsea circuit. It seems to reach back to the roots of when you first discovered your love of photography, as a personal and internal awaking, reminiscent of adolescent feeling that you were no longer a child but an individual with your own conscious and sexual awareness. This of course, is purely my own feelings, interpretations and psyche based on my gut reaction to the work produced here.
I fell in love with photography as a medium about 15 years ago, and it was a revelation. Since then I had graduated far from documentary, black and white, self-portraits, to color architectural self portraits, as I felt my surroundings and my psych was heavily empowered and influenced by my surroundings. In any case, this work is a refreshing break from the work without soul that clings to the cold, stark, white, pristine walls of a Chelsea gallery. It is more work for one's self and peers, and less for the preconceived prejudices viewers can sometimes hold when they're told how to perceive art from a recent art review.
Humble Arts Foundation is a not-for profit organization based in New York. They offer 2 $1,000.00 grants per year, and you can apply to showcase and sell your work on their website. And their blog is visual and direct, without words or frills.
Monday, January 18, 2010
POEMS :: Observations (train)
train
Ladies and gentlemen
I’m hungry
A dollar
A nickel, a penny, anything would help
Maybe a piece of fruit
And if you are feeling up to a hug
Heads shift up out of habit
But then retire back to their book
Anywhere to avert their eyes
Same ol' song and dance
For some, this F train
has been their performance space, platform , and sounding board
for years
No woman, no cry no woman no cry
I remember whenna we used to it…
In between, fade outs of public speeches and entertainment
we sit unfazed or at least sport a mask of sub-emotion
fade back in, and become the clinking, the clattering of the train amid a fog of conversations
“Delancy, East Broadway next stop”
train escorts us along
paranoia sets in, of my fellow, intimately situated stranger
reading my most private of thoughts
I look up to determine that he is quite submerged in his own reading
My narcissism, such self-importance to assume this stranger is just aching to share in even just a glimpse of my material
My profanity on paper
Any concern for privacy
Material for my own consumption
look around and take in all of the people in my wide-angle view, my telephoto
outcry of averting eyes
towards public ads: CUNY
Legal assistance, en espanol
Glasses, sans glasses, headphones, black, white, ipods, iphones, blackberries, songs seeping tinny through cheap phones, muffled crap music through others
A palette of fluorescent light and mundane hues, not too foreign from the office I just escaped
We ride in this familiar interior for 20 minutes and more a day strangers to one another we are the pole holders, or the lucky few who are the seat dwellers
We are strangers we are each other, we are new Yorkers.
Ladies and gentlemen
I’m hungry
A dollar
A nickel, a penny, anything would help
Maybe a piece of fruit
And if you are feeling up to a hug
Heads shift up out of habit
But then retire back to their book
Anywhere to avert their eyes
Same ol' song and dance
For some, this F train
has been their performance space, platform , and sounding board
for years
No woman, no cry no woman no cry
I remember whenna we used to it…
In between, fade outs of public speeches and entertainment
we sit unfazed or at least sport a mask of sub-emotion
fade back in, and become the clinking, the clattering of the train amid a fog of conversations
“Delancy, East Broadway next stop”
train escorts us along
paranoia sets in, of my fellow, intimately situated stranger
reading my most private of thoughts
I look up to determine that he is quite submerged in his own reading
My narcissism, such self-importance to assume this stranger is just aching to share in even just a glimpse of my material
My profanity on paper
Any concern for privacy
Material for my own consumption
look around and take in all of the people in my wide-angle view, my telephoto
outcry of averting eyes
towards public ads: CUNY
Legal assistance, en espanol
Glasses, sans glasses, headphones, black, white, ipods, iphones, blackberries, songs seeping tinny through cheap phones, muffled crap music through others
A palette of fluorescent light and mundane hues, not too foreign from the office I just escaped
We ride in this familiar interior for 20 minutes and more a day strangers to one another we are the pole holders, or the lucky few who are the seat dwellers
We are strangers we are each other, we are new Yorkers.
POEtry
train
Ladies and gentlemen
I’m hungry
A dollar
A nickel, a penny, anything would help
Maybe a piece of fruit
And if you are feeling up to a hug
Heads shift up out of habit
But then retire back to their book
Anywhere to avert their eyes
Same ol' song and dance
For some, this F train
has been their performance space, platform , and sounding board
for years
No woman, no cry no woman no cry
I remember whenna we used to it…
In between, fade outs of public speeches and entertainment
we sit unfazed or at least sport a mask of sub-emotion
fade back in, and become the clinking, the clattering of the train amid a fog of conversations
“Delancy, East Broadway next stop”
train escorts us along
paranoia sets in, of my fellow, intimately situated stranger
reading my most private of thoughts
I look up to determine that he is quite submerged in his own reading
My narcissism, such self-importance to assume this stranger is just aching to share in even just a glimpse of my material
My profanity on paper
Any concern for privacy
Material for my own consumption
look around and take in all of the people in my wide-angle view, my telephoto
outcry of averting eyes
towards public ads: CUNY
Legal assistance, en espanol
Glasses, sans glasses, headphones, black, white, ipods, iphones, blackberries, songs seeping tinny through cheap phones, muffled crap music through others
A palette of fluorescent light and mundane hues, not too foreign from the office I just escaped
We ride in this familiar interior for 20 minutes and more a day strangers to one another we are the pole holders, or the lucky few who are the seat dwellers
We are strangers we are each other, we are new Yorkers.
transport me, transfer me
Transport me, transfer me
Serrendipously, lovingly
In this vessel, this silver submarine
Sleepy and serene
With out an exterior scene
We are forced to look with in
With those we share this 60 feet tin
A temporary place with our urban kin
United we stand
United we claim our place in this 20 minute space
Us lucky ones sit
Unyielding
Colors in dream
redeem
a seat or
a lean
Conversations in Yiddish, Russian ,Spanish
Brooklynish
We ride along in a daze, day dreaming to be someone else, somewhere else
love
A grab from around the waist
As she does the dishes
A stern, ‘not now Joe’
To follow
‘to my beautiful wife’
‘to my loving husband’
this is how they address one another
on paper during holidays
she wears the pants
he provides them
she dictates
he educates
she reads circulars
he cuts the grass
she leans into the dishwasher
he smacks her ass
they argue, they fight
they bitch and they yell
they dwell
in safety and support
in love
a communion only they can know
kids they come and go
they come and go
pets they live and die
they live and die
a couple , they grow and grow
fore ever they grow
he calls her Bell
she calls him Joe,
Saturday, January 16, 2010
The Moth at the Bitter End 11/30/2009
Here is my first story at The Moth at The Bitter End in New York, NY on November 30th, 2009. The theme of the evening was "Nerve" in which I told a story about my tryst with a New York fireman. (Because the video is 104 megs I cant link directly to You Tube, so please copy, cut, paste)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wWCZECLJQcs
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wWCZECLJQcs
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Holiday Bribes: Photography 'gifts'
©Character Arts, LLC, The Rudolph Company, L.P. Bribe is a verb and some slang words for it are: fiddle, corrupt, buy-off, influence, bait, gift, goody, payola, hush money, ice, oil palm, soap and gravy.
The world of commercial photography is a tricky and highly humble one. As a photographer or in my case, a photography representative, we are competing with some of the best out there. We’re in a time where the industry is inundated with photographers, where every photographer is unique, and there are over 100,000 unique photographers all wanting the same chance. In addition, veteran photographers are recycled over and over again, giving little chance to newbies, and could-be’s. It is your job to get your book to the right person: the Art Buyer of an ad agency or the Photo Editor of a magazine. These folks are the gatekeepers to your potential job.
Art Buyers are housed in piles of black canvas bags containing black leather-bound portfolios with work ranging from still life, fashion/beauty, portrait, and the list goes on. Buyers have major hand in this relationship therefore photographers have to be creative, stand out and be remembered. So before working with one of these hot shots, you may need to leave your egos at the door, lay your pride on the side and bring out the cookies.
As a former Photo rep, a lot of us are guilty of having lubricated our clients by enticing them with food, hopping them up on Starbucks, and medicating them with wine. So I pulled out the big guns, and delve right in and asked some of my favorite Art Buyers and Photo Editors what ‘perks’ they have received and in turn, asked photographers and reps what they have sent their clients to ‘sweeten the pot’, ‘oil the palm’ with.
An Art Buyer at Ogilvy & Mather offered “cool gifting definitely keeps these people in the minds of art directors and art buyers by positive association.” Adding joyously that outside of t-shirts and other logo laden items, her favorite gifts received were a fish lens’ camera and Gustbuster umbrella.
I really like what artist rep, Norman Maslov had to offer when I asked him what he has given to buyers. He said when he was in the record business they used to call it payola, but ‘gifts’ has a better ring to it. The term payola is defined as payment given in exchange for promoting a commercial product, or the system of making such payments, especially to disc jockeys. One year after 9/11 he gave out the GANDHI book.
Outside of the unanimous; chocolate, wine, photo frames, and calendars, there were some true gems received and distributed. Michael Norseng, Director of Photography at Esquire magazine once received a 4 foot long sausage, in which I’ll leave to the imagination, another time he received a Hall and Oats DVD. The gifter went on creativity and clearly not a fan of the practical, he ‘can’t go for that, no can do”
One Photo Editor received Orange &Cream and Berry Lemonade flavored bottles of Jones Soda which is Midwestern soda company that has a contest that allows you to have your photos printed on their labels. You catch more jobs with sugar, than with promo cards.
For the holidays, photographer, Sarina Finkelstein gave out 2 foot tall candy canes and kidrobot© toys. David Leventi, another photographer, a garden gnome. Photo Rep, Tricia Scott with Merge Left Reps, gave her clients memberships to Museums in their area. Wow, talk about thoughtful. Another rep, Angela Dieringer has given iTunes gift cards, stating, “our clients LOVED them! All of them own an ipod and this made sense.” As for myself, I have given anything from condoms, that read, ‘Play it Safe, use TTS REPS’ along with candy cigarettes, to viewfinder key chains in assorted colors picturing my artists’ photos. That year, I decided to forego the alcohol, devling into their sexual activity, sweet tooth and love of visuals, these gifts seemed appropriate; non-traditional and loose. So folks, keep the real gift that keeps on giving, and that is your art, your originality, but the occasional Riunite on *ice is always nice
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Jimmies are sweet, not racist
© Getty images
Jimmies aren't racist
The dictionary definition for JIMMIES used to be "decorative things." They have also been called toppettes, shots, fancies, trimettes and sprinkles. Jimmies were first developed by Just Born Candy Company. Born briefly pondered that question before deciding to accredit the name to the producer, Jimmy Bartholomew. The new product was named JIMMIES. In Boston, JIMMIES are to ice cream like mustard & relish are to a hot dog.
It seems primarily a Boston/Philly thing, but some European terms for these controversial, decorative candies are called: "Hundreds and Thousands" and "mice"
see here
Who could believe such an innocent little speckle of candy could cause such controversy? If you have any links, stories or photos that you'd like to share, please do!!!! I will include them in my blog and credit you, of course! Come on you Bostonians and Philadelphians alike! Oh and as noted in past articles, jimmies are chocolate, the colorful ones are sprinkles.
When I was 4 years old, my Mom and Dad would drive me and my little brother to Dairy Queen off of Rising Sun Ave. in eyesore Northeast, Philadelphia. I would order vanilla ice cream with chocolate jimmies, and my brother, chocolate with rainbow jimmies. Once in the car, I thought it would be funny to raise my ice cream cone up into interior roof of the car, splattering flecks of jimmies so they would adhere there, and telling my brother, "Look! ants, ants on the ceiling." Yep, I was a weird kid.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Wildwood 2009, still nothing has changed
I have spent 5 hours today reorganizing and uploading images to my flickr account that has dormant for a long while now. So as I am desperately aiming to create a posting today I suggest (or wish) that you view my recently added images of Wildwood. at my flickr account and you get get to my older post of Wildwood here on my bog which takes you to an amazing video of the social culture in Wildwood that takes place in the 90's.
I was fortunate enough to take a mini vacation there this Labor day. The hotels have everything you need in one: pool, miniature golf, bbq pits, shuffle board, balconies and a theme. I still love it like I did when I was 6.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
I heart New York
A collaboration of observations and thoughts that passed last night.
Last night I went out for a run after work to the Brooklyn Promenade to work the bugs out, raise my spirits, and have my endorphins lift upward like baby moths to light.
Once along the promenade I fell deep into 'there is no place on earth like New York' syndrome. It was dusk and the pink-peach sun had spread and stretched out below and behind Wall Street reaching Lady Liberty. There was a good amount of people out admiring it while taking in these last nights of summer.
I feel chills when I see my fellow human race share the same sights of splendor as I do. It's like telepathy. I never have to experience any observation alone, as there is always someone to share it with my without words.
I ran up and down one lap and circled around again till the sun had completely set, arm length visions of small cell phones LCD screens looked like fire flies blinking and floating around. Why do I always long for summer when I know it is leaving. Hmmm that could say a lot about my dating pattern, huh? Speaking of which… as my reoccurring love affair with this city seduced me, my head began to make noise….. beautiful city, non-committal men, grandiose city, finicky men, superior and all encompassing city, insatiable men. God, I love you city, ugh forget men. You’ll always be my one true love New York, and the men can continue to set and rise like peach-pink sunsets over your big, protective all-giving hunky soul.
I heart New York
A collaboration of observations and thoughts that passed last night.
Last night I went out for a run after work to the Brooklyn Promenade to work the bugs out, raise my spirits, and have my endorphins lift upward like baby moths to light.
Once along the promenade I fell deep into 'there is no place on earth like New York' syndrome. It was dusk and the pink-peach sun had spread and stretched out below and behind Wall Street reaching Lady Liberty. There was a good amount of people out admiring it while taking in these last nights of summer.
I feel chills when I see my fellow human race share the same sights of splendor as I do. It's like telepathy. I never have to experience any observation alone, as there is always someone to share it with my without words.
I ran up and down one lap and circled around again till the sun had completely set, arm length visions of small cell phones LCD screens looked like fire flies blinking and floating around. Why do I always long for summer when I know it is leaving. Hmmm that could say a lot about my dating pattern, huh? Speaking of which… as my reoccurring love affair with this city seduced me, my head began to make noise….. beautiful city, non-committal men, grandiose city, finicky men, superior and all encompassing city, insatiable men. God, I love you city, ugh forget men. You’ll always be my one true love New York, and the men can continue to set and rise like peach-pink sunsets over your big, protective all-giving hunky soul.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
TGI Friday! dare to bare your flare!
So after a friend initiated an uproar on FB by posting plans for a TGI Fridays setting a home in Union square, I like many others, felt depressed and cheated once more. I feel that New York has officially become the Midwest.
A city that once prided itself as the anti-sprawl, has become a strip mall. Gone are the days of social revolution, confrontational art, liberal and off-putting honesty and beliefs.
Artists, writers, and musicians once compromised the safety and security of their hometowns to live among the junkies, and urban abandonment, the crime and grim to thrive off their peers; the believers, doers, thinkers and drinkers.
Welcome to the mainstream. There used to be validation to paying high rents, living in the size of our teenage bedrooms. I am no longer validated by living in an ‘epicenter’ when there are more baby strollers than bars, more gyms than clubs, and more chain restaurants than rats, I’m out.
The architecture may remain archaic,but nothing else.
There is no edge. Young people no longer come here with a purpose, they come here to shop at Abercrombie and Hollister.
The suburban, mind-numbing twits that come in from LI, NJ bring nothing to this city. A few years ago we escaped to Brooklyn to find refuge, now there are more baby boutiques than there are $12.00 packs of bodega cigarettes! Because being a Mother today means that you are the Madonna, which entitles her to snip other’s heels with her 2 coffee cup holder, and cell phone charger equipped mega stroller while they breeze off to “Whole Foods” where you spend your “Whole” pay check, while the rest us chumps shop out of our own age bracket at Trader Joes. And who can even be bothered with that West coast crap when we really only eat out any way.
Anyway, in my tangent, what I am trying to relay is that I’m bored, and now trying to figure out why it is I continue to compromise as much as I do for what I left behind me in the first place!
TGI Friday! dare to bare your flare!
So after a friend initiated an uproar on FB by posting plans for a TGI Fridays setting a home in Union square, I like many others, felt depressed and cheated once more. I feel that New York has officially become the Midwest.
A city that once prided itself as the anti-sprawl, has become a strip mall. Gone are the days of social revolution, confrontational art, liberal and off-putting honesty and beliefs.
Artists, writers, and musicians once compromised the safety and security of their hometowns to live among the junkies, and urban abandonment, the crime and grim to thrive off their peers; the believers, doers, thinkers and drinkers.
Welcome to the mainstream. There used to be validation to paying high rents, living in the size of our teenage bedrooms. I am no longer validated by living in an ‘epicenter’ when there are more baby strollers than bars, more gyms than clubs, and more chain restaurants than rats, I’m out.
The architecture may remain archaic,but nothing else.
There is no edge. Young people no longer come here with a purpose, they come here to shop at Abercrombie and Hollister.
The suburban, mind-numbing twits that come in from LI, NJ bring nothing to this city. A few years ago we escaped to Brooklyn to find refuge, now there are more baby boutiques than there are $12.00 packs of bodega cigarettes! Because being a Mother today means that you are the Madonna, which entitles her to snip other’s heels with her 2 coffee cup holder, and cell phone charger equipped mega stroller while they breeze off to “Whole Foods” where you spend your “Whole” pay check, while the rest us chumps shop out of our own age bracket at Trader Joes. And who can even be bothered with that West coast crap when we really only eat out any way.
Anyway, in my tangent, what I am trying to relay is that I’m bored, and now trying to figure out why it is I continue to compromise as much as I do for what I left behind me in the first place!
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Friday, August 7, 2009
After the pinnacle passing of my generation with Michael Jackson's recent death, I , a sever product of the eighties, am feeling a harder hit with the passing of John Hughes.
As a pre-teen and now as an adult , I can still recite the entirety of "16 Candles". My first true love was a twosome. A cross between "Jake and Farmer Ted. Jake symbolizing man-godliness, and Ted, the attainable, he'll-grow-into-his-own crush. They were the id and ego of my female desires. Now Claire, was my girl, she was me until the false end when her lust and grief is fulfilled. I mean don't we all dream of the hot senior leaving his HOT, but selfish and boring girlfriend for a mediocre looking gal.
As a pre-teen and now as an adult , I can still recite the entirety of "16 Candles". My first true love was a twosome. A cross between "Jake and Farmer Ted. Jake symbolizing man-godliness, and Ted, the attainable, he'll-grow-into-his-own crush. They were the id and ego of my female desires. Now Claire, was my girl, she was me until the false end when her lust and grief is fulfilled. I mean don't we all dream of the hot senior leaving his HOT, but selfish and boring girlfriend for a mediocre looking gal.
God Bless John Hughes. RIP and Thank You
"Jake, you’re not going to believe this, but I had this bizarre dream, and you were in it."
"Come on Ma, I got my head gear on"
"I cant believe I just got felt up by my Grandmother"
"just one thing, Can I borrow your underpants for just 10 minutes?"
After the pinnacle and symbolic passing of my generation with Michael Jackson's recent death, and my being a severe product of the eighties, I'm feeling a harder hit with the passing of John Hughes. As a pre-teen/teen and now as an adult, I can still recite the entirety of "16 Candles". My first true love was a twosome. A cross between "Jake" and "Farmer Ted". Jake symbolized man-godliness, and Ted, the attainable, he'll-grow-into-his-own crush. They were the id and ego of my female desires. Now Claire, was my girl, she was me until the false end when her lust and grief was fulfilled. I mean don't we all dream of the hot senior leaving his HOT, but selfish and boring girlfriend for a mediocre looking gal? Well not in my high school, and not in yours, but John Hughes allowed us that glory in our psyche "high school."
TBC... I will be blogging on: Pretty in Pink" (great soundtrack), "Uncle Buck", and "Somekind of Wonderful", and possibly "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" (as I was NOT a follower of this one) let the angry comments flow. Nor will I be blogging about "Home Alone". John needs to include kids because he had kids in this point in time. See blog regarding Hughe’s inner feeling towards Hollywood, his children and his best friend, John Candy. This is seriously an amazingly warm picture of John Hughes and his letters to a local teenage girl.
http://wellknowwhenwegetthere.blogspot.com/2009/08/sincerely-john-hughes.html
Also to come: The Brat pack: Where are they now. Well, we know where John Cryer is, we just don’t know WHY he is “there”.
As for Michael Schoeffling, aka. Jake Ryan, he lives with his wife Valerie Robinson, and their two teenaged children in Newfoundland, Pennsylvania, producing handcrafted furniture as the owner of a woodworking shop.Um is it me or is that hot? He is a plain ol wood workin man.
"Come on Ma, I got my head gear on"
"I cant believe I just got felt up by my Grandmother"
"just one thing, Can I borrow your underpants for just 10 minutes?"
After the pinnacle and symbolic passing of my generation with Michael Jackson's recent death, and my being a severe product of the eighties, I'm feeling a harder hit with the passing of John Hughes. As a pre-teen/teen and now as an adult, I can still recite the entirety of "16 Candles". My first true love was a twosome. A cross between "Jake" and "Farmer Ted". Jake symbolized man-godliness, and Ted, the attainable, he'll-grow-into-his-own crush. They were the id and ego of my female desires. Now Claire, was my girl, she was me until the false end when her lust and grief was fulfilled. I mean don't we all dream of the hot senior leaving his HOT, but selfish and boring girlfriend for a mediocre looking gal? Well not in my high school, and not in yours, but John Hughes allowed us that glory in our psyche "high school."
TBC... I will be blogging on: Pretty in Pink" (great soundtrack), "Uncle Buck", and "Somekind of Wonderful", and possibly "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" (as I was NOT a follower of this one) let the angry comments flow. Nor will I be blogging about "Home Alone". John needs to include kids because he had kids in this point in time. See blog regarding Hughe’s inner feeling towards Hollywood, his children and his best friend, John Candy. This is seriously an amazingly warm picture of John Hughes and his letters to a local teenage girl.
http://wellknowwhenwegetthere.blogspot.com/2009/08/sincerely-john-hughes.html
Also to come: The Brat pack: Where are they now. Well, we know where John Cryer is, we just don’t know WHY he is “there”.
As for Michael Schoeffling, aka. Jake Ryan, he lives with his wife Valerie Robinson, and their two teenaged children in Newfoundland, Pennsylvania, producing handcrafted furniture as the owner of a woodworking shop.Um is it me or is that hot? He is a plain ol wood workin man.
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