garrison beau scott

Every author, however modest, keeps a most outrageous vanity chained like a madman in the padded cell of his breast. ~Logan Pearsall Smith

Most people dislike vanity in others, whatever share they have of it themselves; but I give it fair quarter, wherever I meet with it, being persuaded that it is often productive of good to the possessor, and to others who are within his sphere of action: and therefore, in many cases, it would not be altogether absurd if a man were to thank God for his vanity among the other comforts of life. ~Benjamin Franklin

Vanity dies hard; in some obstinate cases it outlives the man. ~Robert Louis Stevenson

When it came time for me to graduate Brooks, and hang the grad show, we were asked to include a portrait of ourselves. Through various assignments and other projects, I had taken a bunch of self-portraits, and could have easily done so again, but I wanted something different. I wanted something that had nothing to do with my pre-concieved ideas of self-representation.

Obviously, there was no shortage of amazing photographers that I’d be able to enlist to aid me in the task of committing my mug to film, but as soon as I began to make a list, I stopped with the first name that came to me.

Jason Madara.

There’s a great bit of story that goes with the shot, but that’ll have to be told another time. Suffice to say, my expression was at the center of it, and masterfully conjured up by Jason as a part of his process. I told him I didn’t even want to see a proof sheet, just pick out the one he liked best, and this is what he chose.

The expression also became a running joke of sorts among my friends, with a variety of Polaroids and other shots being created as an homage to this. I’ll post those one of these days.

To this day, Jason’s portrait of me remains one of my favorites. And like I said, there would have been plenty who could have done a great job of it, but where Jason made a difference that I think no one could have equaled, is it’s more than a shot of me, it’s a defining moment of my life.

Virtue would not go to such lengths if vanity did not keep her company. ~François de la Rochefoucauld

Man…I remember it as if it were yesterday, even though it was over 11 years ago. Damn.

But I suppose if you had every nerve ending hooked up to a lightning bolt and decided to stand in a puddle of water, you’d remember that feeling a hundred years later.

As a photographer making my first trip to the city, that’s kind of what it felt like. It’s very cool for me to look at the proof sheets from that glorious week I spent there, and re-live the stories and the sequence of events that led from one picture to another.

I had just resurfaced after a ride on the subway and was getting my bearings when I felt a rush of urgency push past me. It was one of those things where you look, too late, behind you, as that’s where the push had come from, but the energy was moving too fast to see it, so you had to look around to find what it was that lit your senses up. When I turned around, I found this guy.

Forget about getting my bearings, this guy was my bearings, my compass, my path for as long as it took. I caught up to him after a half block or so and tried to match his pace without being noticed. It was hard not to get distracted by how cool he was, by how his attitude poured out of his creepers, shot out of his cigarette, creating a wake that washed over the litter of New York’s streets. He owned the fuckin’ place. At least he acted like he did, and I was a believer.

The thing about shooting people when they’re walking, and don’t know you’re trying to get a picture, is to capture them just as their legs have hit the longest part of the stride, anything else looks like they’re dancing, standing on one leg, or about to tip over. That’s what makes this shot work, other than the coolness quotient being blown to Mars courtesy of the subject. I just got lucky there was a complimentary shadow provided by a parked car to balance things out. Not to mention the Bud sign in the upper right corner. You think this guy drinks wine coolers?

After I got the shot, I sped up and walked past him, just wanting to see who he was. And as I was passing him, I looked down into his left hand and saw that he had a copy of the Village Voice in his hand.

I wonder if he got the gig.

Yes, they’re back, shots from a parking lot. Digital. I know, it’s just, well, I kind of like these. And they’re already scanned as they’re, well, digital.

I feel like Frank the Tank in “Old School” having promised his wife no beer, and then someone offers him a beer bong and next thing you know…naked.

You can bet I’m not getting naked, but it still feels dirty some how…digital.

Once it hits the lips…

By the way, this is the one image that sparked this whole series to begin with, so blame it on these pixels, okay?

I have a younger half-brother, who I believe is going on seven. His name is Cole. I call him Cannonball. Cole’s class is currently reading the story of a boy, who, after becoming flattened via a bulletin board, decides to mail himself to far away places.

And that is how I made the acquaintance of Flat Stanley. He mailed himself to me, with the hope of seeing some of the historical places Boston has to offer. Like Fenway Park. You see, Cole is a huge baseball fan, and I guess he shared that passion with his flat friend.

So yesterday I took ol’ Stanley out for a trip around New England starting at 4 Yawkey Way. We also headed up North to a cool spot where we found a lobster fleet as well as an amazing view of the Atlantic. Until then, Stanley had only seen the Pacific, as Cole lives in California. There will be more adventures for the 2 dimensional kid as I get to keep him for a bit before he has to make it back to class and share with Cole and all his friends the adventures he had in New England.

I bring this up if only to mention, had it not been for Flat Stanley, and the wonderful soul who directed me to this spot, I’d never had seen this building, or taken a few rolls of it’s rotting skeleton. Most of it was done with the Holga and B/W, but as you can see, there were a few things that demanded color. So, another digital.

A few weeks back, I was on a day trip to Northern Massachusetts, on a road I’ve traveled quite a bit. There’s an antique store that I had passed at least a dozen times, but had never stopped at. From the front, the only discerning feature that sets this particular store apart from the rest, is the sign advertising that they also have a cafe and sell ice cream.

And why hadn’t I stopped here before?

So, on that day, a few weeks back, not particularly burdened with having to get somewhere, I stopped. And though ice cream was on my mind, that idea quickly melted away (you like how I threw that in, ice cream…melting away? Get it?) Anyway, once I saw the glorious stack of anonymous photographs, any thought of anything else became secondary.

Stores like this are treasure troves for the history of a place. Most of the time, when I find a collection of old photographs, they detail the past of the area where the store is located. And in this case, it’s Orange, Massachusetts. And today’s entry comes to us courtesy of G. H. Thompson, Photographer, 6 South Main Street.

So I guess it’s not really anonymous now, is it? Well semantics aside, according to the notations on the back, this image of Ms. Jennison was taken in 1886.

1886! It also says she was 67 years of age at the time, which puts her birth at 1819. I haven’t been able to find anything else with regard to either the photographer or his subject. All I have, is this moment captured 121 years ago. A moment that shows us a woman who more than likely didn’t take no jive. God bless you Mr. Jennison, wherever you may be, and rest assured Mr. Thompson, I’ll treasure your work.