The Big Move

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It’s been a few weeks since my last posting, and I fear I’ve already broken my resolution to have one posting a week. That said, I never realized that moving house would be such an adventure. Lee and I bought a place in south London and moved into it on Wednesday the 24th of February and have been settling in since. It’s a sweet house in Tooting, south London.

The type of home was our first priority. We knew we wanted a house and we wanted it to have three bedrooms. We preferred a Victorian place over a new build, and the property had to fit within a set budget. We poured over web sites and television programs about buying a house. I became addicted to findaproperty.com and rightmove.co.uk, and we spent many nights watching Location, Location, Location and sympathizing with the buyers. While shooting the Women in the City event back in November, I got to commiserate with Location’s presenter Kirsty Allsop on the plight of finding a home in London.

Once the house-style was set, we then went about finding the right area—and we cast a very wide net to be sure. London or elsewhere? Brighton was at the top of Lee’s list (Hove, actually). Bristol and Rye-East Sussex also entered into discussion. Utrecht in the Netherlands came up once or twice too. When Lee took a job in London, however, it became pretty clear that we would remain in London, at least for a while longer.

We then began whittling down which neighborhood we wanted to live in.  If you’re not familiar with  London, it’s a series of villages and towns that over the years have melded into seemingly endless Victorian suburban sprawl broken up by a common here or a  park there. The neighborhoods each have their own local flavor. There exists a north-south divide in London (separated by the Thames). Those that live in the north, rarely venture south and vice versa. I once spoke with a guy who lived in Islington and claimed to have only been south of the river twice in his life. There also exists an east-west divide, largely dictated by postcode. My friend Fiona spelled it out most clearly—she would never consider moving somewhere that didn’t have a “W” in the postcode, and preferrably only with a “SW.”

While Lee and I wouldn’t go that far,  our comfort zone is in the SW zones. In an odd sort of way, London reminds me a bit of Los Angeles. So many neighborhoods all blending into one major city. If you visit London or LA, chances are you only visit certain places and rarely venture beyond the usual tourist haunts. London, like LA, just just keeps on going and going. It has taken me a few years living here to see which neighborhoods I’d most like to live, and which of those are affordable to live in.

We looked in Clapham, in Balham, in Streatham, in Brixton. We checked out Gipsy Hill and Crystal Palace. We visited Sydenham and West Norwood, Herne Hill and Tulse Hill. We even ventured out of south London into Mile End and Stepney Green, but back to south London we went. Peckham, Dulwich, Walworth, and we were nearly sold on a place in Camberwell but we didn’t gel with the neighborhood. Though the house was fantastic, we wanted more in terms of amenities—pub within walking distance, better transportation links and a sense of community.

One evening after looking endlessly at a variety of places, we stopped for a pint at the Antelope Pub in Tooting, not far from our flat in Furzedown.   What was this? A lovely pub at our own front door? Just minutes from Tooting Broadway tube station? A couple nights later we we ventured into another place, the Tram Shed. Could this be true—two cool places to hang out in Tooting?

After a few of the pints at these fine establishments, we added Tooting to our list of possible neighborhoods and tossed out a number of others. Some were too far out, others too expensive. Some had great transportation links, while others were congested bus rides into town. Some were just dire and others just boring. Our aspirations paired with our budget landed us smack dab in Tooting—Broadway, not Bec. While moving from Furzedown to Tooting may not seem like such a big move, it actually had the potential to make life much easier based solely upon proximity to the Tube.

After establishing our neighborhood, we then narrowed our search even further, restricting our search to about seven roads in Tooting, close to the Tooting Broadway Tube station. Lee and I stumbled across a place one night while surfing the property web sites. It appeared to meet several of our criteria: walking distance to Tube—Check! Easy commute into city—Check! South London—Check! Neighborhood that we would want to go out in—Check! Easy access to a park—Check! Fixer-upper—Check! Three bedrooms and a loft—Check! Good-size garden—Um, well we had to give up something. Still, we do have a bit of outdoor space, so that seems to have been balanced out by the rest of it.

We arranged a viewing and instantly felt it was right. After some advice from our mortgage broker, we put in an offer. It was rejected. Back and forth we went. We were up against another couple, but they were  in “a chain,” meaning they had to sell their place before they could buy the new property. Because Lee and I were keeping our flat and renting it out, we were considered a better option for the sellers.

The sellers accepted our offer, thereby beginning the seemingly endless process known as exchanging and completing a sale. Though I have never bought a property before, I found the English system of buying/selling property a very  drawn out process. We had our offer accepted at the end of October/beginning of November, yet it still took until 24 February for us to move in.

Our property lawyer was very persistent and helped move the process forward. We got to see the pithy emails flying between the lawyers from both sides and were amused and slightly concerned about how things were going. Still, we remained optimistic and finally gave an ultimatum—either we move on the 24th of February, or we explore other options. That got the ball rolling. Within a few hours, we got a call from our lawyer saying the date had been agreed and that we could move ahead with our planning.

The move itself was relatively painless. Lee’s sister Sue, her husband David, and Lee’s dad Lynn were instrumental in helping make it go so smoothly. Sue should really be canonized, as she’s a saint with an attitude (if you read this Sue, I mean it in all flattering terms). David is our own action man—give him a heavy box to lift, and he’s already out the door with it. Lynn was our voice of reason, keeping us grounded when it seemed overwhelming. Lee and I were really fortunate to have them provide their no-nonsense approach to the move.

The movers came bang on time. There was a team of about four guys who quickly set to work getting everything into the vans. Within an hour of their arrival, one van was already fully loaded, and they were onto the second. Our solicitor gave us a call around 11 am letting us know that we had completed, and we could get the keys from the agent.

Lee and his dad popped over and picked up the keys. We met at the house and it was ours! It’s now been a couple of weeks since we moved in, but even the first night it felt like home. The place has a really good feel to it. Yes, we have our work cut out for us. The décor definitely needs updating, and some of the rooms need to be reconfigured to make them more functional, but all in all, it’s a great first house for the two of us.

I Lied Today

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In early 2003 while visiting my friend Maurice in Amsterdam, I met his boyfriend Jim, an American soldier stationed in Europe, either in Cypress or Crete or Corsica–a Mediterranean island starting with a C. Lee had come with me; it was our first trip together! The four of us met up at The Ghetto, a quirky bar in a seedy neighborhood (also the home to my favorite cat in Amsterdam, a white Angora named Elvis), Jim gave Lee and me each a t-shirt with the word NAVY emblazoned across it. One was blue with yellow letters, the other was gray with black letters. They were great, albeit a bit butch for my day-to-day active-wear.

As the years passed, Maurice and Jim went their separate ways and the NAVY t-shirts found their way into the “Sleeping/Running Shirt” drawer. LiarWe all have that drawer, or something like it. T-shirts from tradeshows, marketing campaigns, misguided friends, silly purchases. Perfectly functional for certain purposes, but not something I could actually wear out of the house. Invariably the size is wrong too. For some reason, all t-shirts that I have from the US are mumus on me. They might say medium, but they ain’t no medium.

Making it into sleeping/running drawer is of course an obstacle in its own right. Shirts have to meet strict criteria: they must be 100% cotton, they must be soft to the touch, they need to be a comfortable weight and they above all need to be versatile enough to be worn either when sleeping or when running–hence the name of the drawer.

The Navy shirts now live in this drawer along with an assortment of others. A red one with a character from Southpark that some friend gave me years ago. It has holes under the armpits, and 0the character–whom I don’t know at all, is peeling off the front. It is bleach stained and tatty, but still is comfortable and consequently hasn’t been chucked out. There is the Bulk Tank Betters t-shirt from my brother Tom. It’s the perfect cross-training shirt. I sleep really well in it, and it’s the perfect weight for a six mile run. There are a couple of Manhunt t-shirts advertising a hookup site, an Ottertail Lake Beach Club shirt and the a couple of begrudgingly retired shirts–ones that I still really love, but they are too far gone to wear out in public. I could go on, but it’s probably familiar territory for each of us.

When lunch rolled round today, I decided to take a run. I grabbed the top t-shirt in the drawer, my gray Navy shirt. The thought of being mistaken for a navy man fleetingly crossed my mind. Short cropped

hair, generally fit, suppose I could be mistaken for a soldier. Of course if anyone stopped to ask me directions, they’d probably rule out the soldier bit and come to the logical conclusion I was just a guy with a Navy t-shirt. I stepped outside my door and was off.

I ran up Mitcham Lane, and at the pub, I turned left on Thrale Road. Up until a few weeks ago, the pub had been called the Samuel Johnson after the author of the first English dictionary. Apparently Dr. Johnson had spent a great deal of time at Streatham Park, the country estate which once graced the area. When looking at the endless Victorian sprawl, it’s hard to imagine it was once rolling fields of the English countryside.

Thrale Road marks a critical point in my run–it takes me from the developed streets onto Tooting Common, one of south London’s big open green spaces. When I reach the park, I’ve gone a full mile and have a good idea whether the day’s run is going to be smooth or not.

Today I was in THE zone. Great pace, perfect temperature and sunshine. I was just about to the Common when I came up behind two students ambling on the sidewalk enjoying the afternoon. As I moved to the right to pass them, they heard me approach, split down the middle to let me pass through. Their actions broke my concentration and jarred me a bit. I’m sort of like a beagle–can only do one thing at a time. As I ran between them, one of them asked, “Are you going? Are you going for it?” Thinking he meant was I really going for a great run in the park, I replied, “Yeah!” They cheered. I thought it was odd that two young guys would cheer a middle-aged runner, but then the second guy yelled, “Don’t kill any civilians!”

Wait. Don’t kill any civilians? Then it dawned on me: Navy t-shirt, running guy trying to stay in shape–logical conclusion: must be preparing to go to the Middle East. I was several paces ahead of them when I realized what they had actually said, and how misleading my initial response had been. The question at that moment was quite simple–how should I reply to “Don’t kill any civilians!”? Ignore the guys? They were friendly, so that wouldn’t do. Stop in my tracks, turn around and explain that actually I was opposed to the US-lead invasion of Iraq and was wearing a sleeping/ running t-shirt that the closeted ex-boyfriend of one of my friends had given me? That would just be too involved (and my heart rate would fall out of the fat-burning zone). Instead, I simply looked over my shoulder, smiled and gave them a thumbs up. They cheered and I continued on my path.

A lie. An omission of the truth, but a lie nontheless. OK, perhaps that is a bit harsh. It happened so quickly, they were two complete strangers asking me an unexpected question and I couldn’t be asked to really get to the truth of it all. Expedience was the key. When I got home and switched on the news, Lord Goldsmith was testifying at the Chilcot Iraq war inquiry. Goldsmith was the UK’s attorney general who is now famous for changing his mind on the legality of the Iraq invasion in the days leading up to the invasion.

Listening to Goldsmith’s testimony, I couldn’t help but wonder what his reaction would have been if two youths on the street had directed him not to kill any civilians. Would he have ignored them or would he have given them a thumbs up? The UK is undergoing tremendous effort to unveil the truth of the Iraq war. I fear, however, that the truth will never be known, outside a handful of people. The world’s only remaining superpower (at this point) and previous former sun-never-setting colonial power remain untouchable. Did the powers that be threaten Lord Goldsmith? Did they bribe him? We will never know. My Navy t-shirt ordeal is but a grain of sand.

My last Polaroid

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Fulbrook Oaks

This year over the Christmas holiday I turned forty. It’s an awkward time to have a birthday actually, not because of joint Christmas/birthday presents, but it’s the time of year that people are unavailable. Either friends or family are traveling for the holidays, or they are simply seeking refuge from Christmas pudding and saving up for New Year’s festivities. Whatever the reason, the 27th of December is generally a very quiet day.

Lee and I initially started with some grand plans for my fortieth, but when decided to buy a house, a trip to the Cook Islands became a trip to Fulbrook in the Cotswolds, where we celebrated with our friends Will & Sean. They have a house called the Rough House just outside Burford, in a village called Fulbrook. Lee and I spent Thanksgiving there with our friend Kwong, and the Rough House is a perfect country escape.

With vacation planning, I’m typically a big picture person. I know where I’ll be, have a general idea of what I’d like to do, but frequently defer the details of the trip to Lee. He is excellent at researching the details, setting an agenda and planning out an excursion. For my birthday trip, however, he wanted to ensure it was truly MY day and tasked me with the actual agenda. I kept it simple: a country walk, a pub lunch complete with a local pint, and ample free time to shoot with my large format camera.

I bought my Sinar large format camera when I started photography school. For those unfamiliar with cameras beyond the world of point and shoot digital cameras or the more coveted SLRs, a large format camera is engineered simplicity. It is constructed of four basic parts: the bellows—the large part in the center resembling an accordion, a metal plate at the front with the lens mounted on it, and a plate of ground glass at the rear of the camera. Holding  this all together is a long rod at the bottom that you use to adjust the front and rear plates to focus the camera.

While in photo school, I spent the greatest part of my first year shooting solely with this camera. My instructors’ rationale was simple—shooting with a 4×5 forces you to work slowly and deliberately to create an image. Nothing is automatic. First off, you put a dark cloth over your head to see what you are going to shoot. Looking into the ground glass, you see the image, but it is upside down. To ensure a crisp focus, you use a focusing loupe and adjust the focusing knobs on the side. If you want to achieve selective focus, you can swing or tilt both the front and back plates of the camera (hence the accordion flexibility) to achieve your desired results.

To expose a shot using a large format camera, you use a light meter. This measures the light and is adjusted based upon the ISO of the film you are exposing. Once you have determined proper exposure, you then manually adjust the lens aperture and set the desired shutter speed. You then manually shut the lens, cock the shutter and are then ready to load the film. (Tired yet?)

Up until recently, when using film for a large format camera, you would shoot a test shot using a Polaroid to confirm exposure and composition before switching to the “final” shot using film. Both Polaroids and film require a special “container” that is put into the camera. Film goes into black plastic things called film holders, and a large format Polaroid is housed in a light protecting paper sleeve (of sorts) with a metal bar across one side. The Polaroid is put into a special device called a Polaroid Back which is then loaded into the back into the camera between the bellows and the ground glass.

Once the back is in place, you then confirm that the lens is shut, aperture and time settings are correct and then you pull up the paper sleeve. The Polaroid back holds the metal bar in place, which is attached to the Polaroid film. This is then left facing the lens waiting to be exposed. You press the shutter release cable, it triggers the shutter and light passes from the lens onto the Polaroid negative. The shutter closes and your films is exposed. You push the paper sleeve back into the Polaroid back, and once it is firmly back in place, you remove the entire back from the camera, flip the sturdy lever on the device from Load to Process and pull the entire Polaroid (sleeve and all) out of the back. It passes through a roller that starts the development process. After about a minute, you manually split the casement and there before your eyes is the developed Polaroid. You then pull out a tube of fixer aka “goop” and smear it all over the photo. The goop is rather pungent and it was our joke during photo school that it was a photographer’s drug of choice due to its powerful huffing properties. Without fixing the photo, it can fade or smear with time.

P55 was my Polaroid film of choice. A black and white film that included a delicate negative from which a full size print or scan could be made. Once the right exposure has been achieved, and you have gooped the resulting Polaroid image, you could neatly rip the negative away from the sleeve and put it in a Tupperware container of water to protect it. Once back at the lab, you then wash with salt water, rinse and then hang to dry.

Once the Polaroid steps have been completed and you’re happy with the results, you then switch to the film holders and expose the actual film. Need to follow pretty much the same steps as above, except you don’t have to pull the film out—you do that in a dark room to avoid ruining the film.

As I’m an early riser, I was up at dawn on the 27th and took my 4×5 out into the field next to the Rough House. It was a damp and chilly morning with a light rain spitting down, but I was prepared with my toasty boots, stocking hat and gloves. Hoisting the large camera and tripod onto my shoulder, I walked up the muddy lane to the small wooden ladder at the edge of the field. The Brits have fantastic public right of ways. Ancient paths have remained working paths to this day. If someone owns a swatch of land and there is a public right of way through it, then people have the right to use it. An interesting note is that the UK’s rural retreat for the Prime Minister is called Chequers, and it too has a public path running through it. Hard to imagine Camp David in the US allowing random walkers. paths are typically trails through the countryside.

While walking along the path, if you encounter a barrier or gate, there is invariably either little ladder to step over or my favorite, a kissing gate . At the rough house, there is a small ladder. I stepped carefully over it and into the field where there is a copse of ancient oak trees, surrounded by a smattering of lone oaks on the periphery.

The oak trees of Fulbrook area a fantastic subject to shoot, anytime of year. Back in November Lee and our friend Kwong visited here and I photographed them then too, still with leaves at that point. Now, however, in the heart of winter, they were perfect skeletons against the cloudy sky. The first shot here is of a cottage framed by the oaks. The picture is smeared because I waited until I was back in the house to goop the shot, and it didn’t set properly. That said, the benefit of the Polaroid 55 is that it has a negative included with it. I’ve saved that and am going to be processing that in the next few days. Stay tuned for the final product. That said, I really like the beaten look that this whole process has given me.

Lone Oak: Fulbrook

FulbrookAfter shooting through the cluster of trees, I decided to hop the fence and shoot one of my favorite trees. This tree is so slender and stark. the lower right branch follows the curve of the bush in the background. I shot using an extreme tile with this, ensuring that only a small portion of the tree is in focus, with the rest of the shot falling into a soft blur.

I set up my camera and the first shot. I pulled out my first Polaroid. On Boxing Day the night before, I had given a lesson in large format photography to Will’s nephew Archie and counted seven remaining Polaroid 55s. While digital photography has made it so easy for everyone to share photos seamlessly, it has been devastating for the Polaroid company. In 2008 they filed for bankruptcy and sold off their assets. They also discontinued the entire production of their films. The remaining Polaroids that I had in my case were probably out of date, but I figured they would still do the trick.

Finding my way around the camera again proved to be a bit trickier than I had hoped. It’s been about five years since I have consistently shot with it, so I was rusty to say the least. I’d left my light meter back in London, so using my small digital camera, I took a meter reading. Rather than calculating in my head the exposure I’d need for my Polaroid film, I turned to a cool iPhone application called Exposure Assistant. This app allows you to enter the meter reading from one source and it automatically translates it to the desired settings. Quite handy, actually. Once the exposure was determined, I placed the Polaroid back into the camera, made my adjustments and shot. Click, flip, pull and wait. The Polaroid sleeve indicates that a shot takes 30 seconds to develop in 70 degree temperatures. It was significantly colder than that. I slipped the sleeve into my jacket to warm it, all the while enjoying the sounds of the field. Only a gentle breeze and the occasional hum of distant traffic broke the silence.

I split the sleeve and found my first shot was over-exposed. Shot two. Same process. Remetered, recalculated, put second Polaroid in, checked all settings and click. I removed the back from the camera, pulled the sleeve and immediately realized I hadn’t flipped the lever. The film was exposed and another Polaroid wasted. Must be the cold going to my head. Third time a charm–successfully exposed and framed result. Switched to film for a few backups.

By the time I’d finished this second shot, my fingers were numb and I decided it was a good time to call it a day. Lee came out to meet me and helped me schlep the gear back into the house. We warmed up with a cup of coffee by the fire and then made our way to the Swan in Swinbrook for lunch. Mmmmmm…nothing like a pint and some scrummy food for my birthday.

Gibbet Tree in Fulbrook

On the morning of the 28th, I took the camera out once more. I had one Polaroid left and had saved it for the Gibbet Tree.

The Gibbet Tree is a legendary tree in England, for it was here that the infamous Tom and Harry Dunsdon were hanged in 1784 for robbery. Their brother Dick died during the actual heist because legend has it he got his hand caught  in a door shutter and his brothers cut off his arm help free him. Dick bled to death. Yes, they are the original Tom, Dick & Harry. The Gibbet tree bears their initial carved in its ancient bark.

Upon finishing my shot, I return to the Rough House and washed my negatives. They are beautiful pieces of art in their own right. In February 2008 Polaroid announced they were discontinuing their film. It’s such a shame. I looked online and a box of 20 can be bought, but it’s $300! Apparently an Austrian photographer and Ilford have teamed up to relaunch Polaroid film for enthusiasts. I never considered myself an enthusiast, but if that’s the case, I’ll become enthused when they sell for a reasonable price.


Social Enterprise with Lord Mawson

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Social Entrepreneur Lord MawsonIn the dark hours of December, I made my way to the Houses of Parliament for an unusual evening shoot. Typically when shooting for Regeneration I meet my subjects any time between 9 and 3, but due to scheduling conflicts, Lord Mawson was only available in the evening.

When I asked for directions to the Peer entrance, the security guard sucked his teeth with a, “It looks like they’re closed, sir. All the lights are out.” He directed me to the entrance nonetheless and there was Regen’s editor, Adam Branson waiting in the cold. Within moments, up the path came a smiling man ushering us into the lobby. “It’s horribly cold out here, come in, come in,” said Lord Mawson.

We made our way through the security and then into the great rooms within. I’ve been in the Houses of Parliament before, but this was the first time in the House of Lords. It was spectacular. Really such an amazing place. The walls were shiny and gold with intricate glasswork and paintings making the fabric of the walls. The floor was an elegant red carpeting. OK…now here is my commentary about the Brits. What is it with carpeting EVERYWHERE? Yes, the room, for as majestic as it is, does have a very cozy feeling about it. I suppose that is intrinsically British. I really believe that carpeting in public places is a unique British thing. I’m not talking rugs here, you know wood floor with a large oriental on it, I’m talking wall-to-wall. For years now I’ve been convinced that Britain is the land of carpeting and coving, and seeing wall-to-wall in the House of Lords has only underscored my belief. I digress…

We made our way through the labyrinth into a small reception room off, just off where the Lords hang their coats (apparently). There was an automatic coffee machine (20 pence a cup). I spotted Adam for his and offered to buy Lord Mawson his, but he refunded me 15p. No expense scandal here! Typically I shoot the profile first and then duck out leaving the reporter to do his work. As we were seemingly alone in the House of Lords with no one to see me out, I stayed through the interview and listened and shot. It was really fantastic.

Andrew Mawson is Founder and President of the renowned Bromley by Bow Centre in east London and Co-founder and President of Community Action Network (CAN), a national charity supporting 850 social entrepreneurs across the UK. The topic they focused on during the interview was Mawson’s project of regenerating ONE street in east London. His principle behind it was quite simple: how can you regenerate a neighborhood if you cannot regenerate a street. Regeneration begins by working with the people of the street, bringing them together as a community to share the responsibility to regenerate the street. Government can impose infrastructure in hope of regenerating (build it they will come), but as people are already there, it’s critical they are part of the regeneration process.

What I enjoyed so much about the interview was how engaging Lord Mawson was. He has a vision and a strong idea of how change needs to happen. I’ve since found a quote from him, “Change is not about top down, and neither is it about bottom up. Actually it’s about inside out, about getting inside and finding out what’s going on under the trees.” Really a great shoot to finish off 2009.

Land Rover in Cambridge

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Land Rover / Biosphere Vehicle HandoverShooting people for PR work is a cool part of my work. About six months ago I photographed a guy who was the PR account manager Land Rover. The shoot with him went really well and I’m delighted that he opted to use me for his client.

This was my third shoot for Land Rover. Typically the shoots entail photographing a cool cause getting the keys to a new vehicle. The woman in the photo is Kathy Wilden of Biosphere Expeditions. Biosphere is an organization that runs excursions where the participants take part in conservation activities. They were having their year-end conference at Cambridge University and as part of it, got a vehicle in the process. Pretty cool.

Lee and I got up early on Saturday and made our way into Cambridge. The journey took a little over two hours and the roads were clear. We made it through east London in no time and after about an hour of in-town driving, were on the freeway heading north.

Though the fog was low as we drove through the countryside, when we hit Cambridge, the fog lifted and we were surrounded by a beautiful city.

I’d been to Cambridge a couple of times before, but just in and out of the train station. I was amazed at how picturesque the center is. After the main shot was done, Lee took off to search out our post-photography activity, that being Christmas shopping. It was fantastic mooching around the town. Only sad thing was while shopping was genuinely plentiful, it all seemed like it was the same slew of shops we have in London. There were a few local places that we stopped in. I found some American-style carmels (note: not caramels) and we pretty much finished off the pre-holiday madness in one full swoop.

After our exhausting adventure supporting the local economy through this terrible recession, we slinked back into the hall where the Biosphere people were continuing their session. (Our car was out back and it was the only way through). Armed with bags from an array of shops, we winked goodbye and were off. Oh yeah, Cambridge was really pretty and historical…

Shooting Mayo

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Ed MayoOne of the most challenging aspects of being a freelance photographer is finding the right environment to photograph an important subject. I shoot pretty regularly for a magazine called Regeneration. It is an amazing publication that focuses on public and privately lead initiatives to revitalize the UK, and frequently features a number of Britain’s key movers and shakers.

While it is a very cool opportunity to meet men and women who are doing interesting things to enrich the lives of the general public, as they are moving and shaking, they rarely have time to sit beyond four frames. Creating an interesting shot in a few mere minutes is my task.

For the portrait of Ed Mayo, Chief-Executive of the Co-Operatives UK and one of the UK’s leading thinkers for economics, community and consumer issues, I decided that the simple blue staircase with plain white wall outside the office was an ideal place. It was close to where he was, allowed me to get his undivided attention, and eliminated all of the clutter typically found in a British office building. (It’s been some time since I worked in the US, so I could be completely deluded as to how uncluttered an American office might be.)

After about this fourth frame, you can see that the subject has checked out. Crazy as it may seem, but once those frames are done, it’s got to be in the bag.

Swan for Thanksgiving

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cotswolds-thanksgiving-66Our friend Willy has a lovely place in the Cotswolds that on occasion we visit. Set amidst the fields of “rural England”, it is a great escape from the city. This year, Lee and I decided it would be a great place to go for Thanksgiving.

It’s funny, when I first moved to the UK, I always knew that Thanksgiving was distinctly American, but I had no idea how little Brits knew about the ways of my people. Without fail, if I ventured into a cab or a cafe on Thanksgiving day and the waiter or the cabbie picked up on my accent, they would immediatley launch into a series of questions. “It’s Thanksgiving, eh? Why aren’t you home?” to the more deeper question, “What’s it all about?”

cotswolds-thanksgiving-14That answer to that question (for me) itself is the heart of why Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. It’s about giving thanks for what we have and spending it with the people that we are closest with. Pretty straight to the point. Thanksgiving IS my favorite holiday for a number of reasons. I love turkey and stuffing. I enjoy polishing off a nice bottle of wine. I’m not too keen on NFL, but that’s beside the point. Most importantly–no one has REALLY been able to successfully cash in on Thanksgiving. For all the commercialism that America is about, Thanksgiving remains a relatively untapped resource, and frankly I LOVE IT!

Lee and Kwong in the fieldIt’s difficult to get excited about pictures of turkeys or swatches of brown, cream, orange and mustard. It’s nearly impossible to catapult pilgrims and Native Americans into the league of St. Nick and of course there is always Christmas right around the corner. Still, all of these come together as the reason Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.

This year our friend Kwong was visiting from Seattle. We thought it would be a great time to nip away from the city and enjoy some fresh air. I’d been in Oxford shooting some executives and was just a few miles from Will’s place. Lee and Kwong met up with me later in the evening and we settled into country life.

kwong in said phone boxWill’s place is located just outside Burford in an area that was once owned by Lord Redesdale, probably most famous now not for himself, but for his daughters–The Mitford Girls, six “IT-girls” of the 20’s and 30’s. Our friend Jo Baxendale once lent me their biography and it was fantastic. Pure toilet reading with a bit of history thrown in. Upper-class Brits with Nazis, Communists, Guinness and Churchill all in one family.

Lee and I have been to Will’s place a number of times, and whenever possible, I enjoy taking a walk through the woods, deeper into the countryside and into a little village called Swinbrook, a perfect English village. It’s got the church. It’s got the manor house. There’s a red phone box and a little brook. Most importantly, however, is the pub–The Swan. Apparently when Lord Redesdale died, he handed the keys of the pub over to the landlord, making him the freehold owner outright. Whatever the story is, this little pub is delightful. It’s verging on twee (see Brit dictionary for that word–think white geese with blue bonnets on), but it is truly a lovely place. Good food and good beer.

We had a couple of pintsone of those pints, some nice nosh and then walked our way back to the house. It was a fantastic Thanksgiving day.

the swan

Bleeding Canker

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Filed under Life

conker-21


The first time I saw a horse chestnut tree was when I moved to Seattle in July 1992. I had been beating the pavement tirelessly looking for an apartment on Capitol Hill and decided to cut down a street I hadn’t tried. It was one of those rare Seattle summers where it was actually hot. At the bottom of the slope, on the northeast corner of the street was a little park with a giant tree. It was quite apparent that the tree was the reason for the park, as though there were smaller trees around the perimeter of the park, at the very center was this majestic, perfect tree. It’s leaves were broad and deep green and it reminded me of the Family Tree House toy that I had as a child (complete with pop-up canopy, exposing the various room).

I sat under the tree and was in awe of the beauty of it all. Capitol Hill was this incredibly built up part of the city with tall apartment buildings lining the streets, and smack dab in the middle of it was this tiny oasis, a well placed reminder of the city’s greener past. There was a beautiful building across from the park, so after a quiet sit, I popped by to check it out. No for rent sign and no sign of a building manager. I moved on.

About two years after that, my boyfriend at the time (James) and I were looking for an apartment together. It was all so very grown up. You know, first love–first apartment together–it really was quite sweet. We came across the same park and the same building. This time, there was a for rent sign out front. We found the apartment and moved in.

It was the end of October when I picked up the keys from the manager. The late afternoon sun was blasting on the rust colored leaves. When you rent an apartment in Seattle, one of the key things property managers boast is whether the place has “a view.” This typically means a view of the Puget Sound and the Space Needle. We couldn’t see either from our apartment, but we had the best view of all, the tree. From the dining room, we saw the tree. From our kitchen, we looked out onto the tree. From both bedrooms, we saw the tree and from the fire escape out front, we could nearly smell the tree. It welcomed us each day we cam home and provided a constant change of scenery.

conker-6I lived in that apartment for nearly ten years, during which time countless days were spent hanging out underneath the tree. Thomas Street Park was a place where locals met. It wasn’t a destination park, just a neighborhood hangout. James moved out and a string of roommates moved in. John, Doug, Kevin, Mark, Michael, Bill, and Jordan all shared the space, and each of us found comfort in the shade it provided. Once for Alex Moreno’s birthday, we hung a piñata on its lowest branch and used a broomstick to whack it. Mid-whack (I believe it was Andy Common’s at the stick), the broom handle broke into two pieces. Gay Gilmore was next up and with a bit of swagger, took the two stick ends and wielded them like two samurai swords. Whack! Whack! On the third hit, the handle came down onto her leg. The broomstick was metal and the sharp edge cut deeply into her leg. Eric Rockey took her off to the emergency room and that pretty much ended our time with the piñata. Gay returned a fallen hero. The doctors had given her something like twenty-seven stitches. We poured her another drink and the party carried on.

On a trip to Vancouver one year, I came across a street vendor selling roasted chestnuts. Smoky and nutty, I loved them. They’d been roasted over coals and the cup they were in even warmed my eternally frozen fingers. I was certain that I could recreate them in Seattle, as the nuts from “my tree” looked just the same. (“Look the same” and “are the same” are two distinctly different animals).

After collecting a good quantity of nuts, I popped them into the oven and roasted away. Once they split, I eagerly picked one off the cooking tray, peeled it, and took a bite. It was horribly bitter. It was then I learned that this beautiful tree across the way was not a chestnut tree, but a horse chestnut tree. Horse chestnuts (buckeyes to some, conkers to others) look like chestnuts, but are toxic. They are used by some people to treat varicose veins, hemorrhoids, and enlarged prostate, but they are not eaten for pure enjoyment. I disappointedly emptied the tray into the garbage.

In the summer of 2000, my friend Broc Dobervich moved to Seattle for an intership. He and I were hanging in the apartment out one Sunday afternoon when there was an enormous crack followed by a crash.  “OH MY GOD! The tree fell down,” was all he yelled. Sure enough, the tree had split down the middle and half of it now covered the park. We darted out the building. A crowd began to form. Police came. Yellow tape went up. “Can’t believe no one got hurt,” on person exclaimed. “It just fell,” said another. “Is it really dead?” someone asked. That night, Broc and I sat on the fire escape, looking with sadness upon our fallen friend.

Over the course of the next few days the cleanup took place. First the fallen part was cut up and taken away; then amidst protest, the rest of the tree was chopped down. It was then that I knew my time in that apartment, and in Seattle needed to come to a close. I needed a new path and a new direction. That’s when I moved to Europe.

Lee and I live in south London in a neighborhood called Furzedown. It’s a small suburban area between Tooting and Streatham. Most Londoners have never heard of it. Close to our house is Tooting Common. (For the Americans there, a “common” is sort of like a park. It was once the common land for the people to bring their cattle to graze and all that. South London has three large commons: Clapham, Tooting & Wandsworth Commons. As Tooting Common is our closest common, it’s my running route of choice. From our place, around the common and back is 4.8 miles. Perfect distance for a lunchtime run. One of the best parts of the run is that Tooting Common is full of horse chestnut trees. The Brits call them “conker” trees, because the fruit is used to conk people on the heads. There are several conker-lined paths in the park and it is a great place to run.

A couple of summers back now (July 2007), I was out for a run and I noticed that several of the trees were turning color. I thought it was odd that fall was already descending on us. As the weeks passed, I began noticing that it was only the conker trees that were affected and upon closer inspection found that they had signs of disease. The leaves had blotches of infection and the bark was oozing a reddish sap.

conker-68Two years on, I’ve learned a great deal more. The conker trees in Britain (and through much of the EU) are under threat of disease and pests. Bleeding Canker is killing them from within, and the horse chestnut leaf miner is attacking the leaves. http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/2008/apr/02/conservation.wildlife and http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-438490/Tiny-conker-tree-moth-biggest-garden-pest.html sum up the problems facing the trees.

One morning in July this year I counted 110 affect trees on the common and then in August I took out my camera and captured them. It’s so sad.


Eurovisionary

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Filed under Shoots

jko-81-final-gsHow fitting that on the morning the EU wakes to its new president Herman van Rompuy, I get the chance to photograph another Eurovisionary, that being John Kennedy O’Connor–author and historian of the Eurovision Song Contest. I got to use my favorite lens on this shot, a 50mm Canon lens and shot at f1.8. We tried a variety of locations and lighting options, but the window with a reflector was all that was required for this shot.

LGBT History Month

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Filed under Shoots

Tonight market the launch party for the UK’s LGBT History month. It was a wonderful event organized by Sue Sanders and shows how much steam LGBT History Month has gained in recent years. The British Mueum hosted the event and it was fantastic to see so many people gathered together to promote the month. February is LGBT History month.

Visit the whole gallery of photos »

Big gay bus at the British MuseumUK Culture Secretary Ben Bradshaw speaking at the event

One of the MC's for the evening, David leads the Day in Hand campaign

One of the MC's for the evening, David leads the Day in Hand campaign

EU Parlimentarian Michael CashmanThe amazing Sue Sanders