garrison beau scott

Punctuation courtesy, The Specials.

Over the last 3 days or so, I’ve been; nervous, pessimistic, jaded, hopeful, devout, energized, diagnosed with and treated for css (chronic smiling syndrome), proud, dutiful, pained, thrilled, awed, and inspired.

And I’m not even talking about the utter beat-down laid upon the Cowboys on Sunday. Or last January for that matter.

I’d gladly, 10 times out of 10 times gladly, have traded this year’s shot at the Super Bowl for the kind of victory I (we) experienced Election Night. Hallelujah, Amen, Om, and any other expressions equaling a resounding “yes!” The kind of “yes” that comes with high-fiving, tear-wiping, and jaw-dropping as standard equipment.

At one point during the coverage, one of the panelists recalled a time when politics was America’s past-time. No World Series existed, no Super Bowl. They had elections. The emotional investment, rooting interest, and all around vibe of watching the returns come in on Election Night was an exact match on all levels to the experience of watching your team play for the Super Bowl. The only difference was the stakes.

I think we can all agree that this is an amazing country. And should any hate-monger from the fundamentalist right question the patriotism of anyone who voted for Obama, I eagerly offer the replay of what erupted in Chicago, New York and various other spontaneous spots in this and other, other I point out, countries. What the replay shows is an undeniable majority of Americans, all kinds of Americans, intensely celebrate a return to the ideals of a country they fell in love with in 1776, 1941, and 1960. Not the sham of 2000 - 2008.

But enough of the negative (for now). It’s time to celebrate. And it’s time to go to work. Obama is already on the job. Some say that he has been planning the transition and his first 100 days since he got the nod for the ticket. Some say he’s been preparing his whole life. The last thing America needs is for another blatantly obvious, tongue and cheek presidency. If he’s anything, Obama is serious about this job, he has to be, the task is large.

For the last 8 years, a hole has been dug. Dug with the highest priced, most technically advanced shovels a National Treasury can buy. The effort has been relentless, carried out at a 24/7 clip, sometimes appearing as if the existence of the hole was the sole excuse for the existence of those digging it. And now that the orders have been mandated that the digging stop, those responsible for this blight on human history will pack up their machines and simply walk away. This isn’t the Clinton Administration supposedly removing all the “W” keys from all the computer keyboards prior to handing over the keys to the Whitehouse, this is much worse. Partly because the audience is large, the expectations are immense, and the stakes are higher.

We as Americans, and especially those of us that have railed against Bush, and demanded a change in how our government governs, need to help the guy we voted for, enact the change we want. To further the “hole in the ground,” analogy, we need to show up with spoons and shovels or our bare hands if necessary, and help our 44th President with his task.

The exciting thing is we have a chance to partake in the reconstruction of so many good things. It seems as if he is asking for our help. Time to get off our asses and pitch in. Otherwise, all that standing in line and debate and effort and passion and hope will be for naught.

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.

Everyone, this is September. Take note, she’s easily one of the coolest out there. She alone is the reason I made sure to stop for a spell in Kansas City, Mo. each time I went out on the Greyhound. The first visit took place in the summer of 1996 on my initial dog trip. We made a side trip to visit Sep’s mother in Clinton, Mo. where this particular shot was taken.

I have a ton of snaps with September in them, as you can tell she made a very able subject, but this is my favorite. I also have an entire series of her with the slide, some serious, some pure goof, but this is the frame that stands out. To me at least, because of innocence that pervades it.

I’ve said it here before, but it bears repeating, I love to walk. Especially in a new city. And in the summer of 1996, New York was a new town for me and my camera. So often I’d get caught up in how much was above me. The sheer size of this city that exists above our heads is overwhelming. But more often than not, what makes this place so incredibly amazing are the people who are walking along side you. Fortunately in my doe-eyed wonder at being in the Apple for the first time, and gazing skyward at all the scrapers, I never bumped into any of the city’s inhabitants.

However, I did manage to look down every so often at the right time to witness the beauty and diversity of the population, summed up here in the best way I could manage. Granted, in a 125th of a second it’s hard to get a definitive read on a person, let alone two, but I think there are enough visual clues to start putting together a list of what makes them as different as night and day.

Photography is equal parts faith and voodoo. Faith is knowing the picture will come, voodoo is turning around in time to see it.

Or something like that. I came up with that thought in 1996 after I made this photo. It was on my first trip to NYC and I had been shooting for a few days when I wandered past this wall with all of these square openings fronting the sidewalk. I thought it could be an interesting shot if I were to position myself on the dark side of the wall, wait for a person to walk past the opening on the sidewalk side of the wall, and frame their head in the opening.

During the wait, I began to wonder about the ideal subject. Who would make the most interesting image, who would be able to pull off the image? Maybe it was having just been to B & H Photo, but I almost immediately thought about a Hasidic man as being the most iconic of people and began to wait. There were a few close calls, but both times my would-be subject crossed the street literally right before the opening.

After about 45 minutes and a few frames of other subjects in front of the openings, I was about to call it quits when I heard someone walking behind me. It was this gentleman. Voodoo.