Morning Impulse Trip: Rockport, Maine

Up and At'em: Today I woke up just before sunrise & headed for the coast. It took me almost 45 minutes. The trip made me realize how nice it is to live on the Kennebec River and in Augusta, 45 minutes from the mountains; 45 minutes to the sea.
I took the two-lane highway, 17. When I got to Rockport, I was racing the sun, yet not breaking the speed limit (by much). I saw the harbor. The boats. I wanted the coast. The rocks.
Ahhh, I spotted it! I stopped my truck with a stall. Quickly grabbed my camera, lenses, cell phone, i-pod, toaster oven ... gotcha. Anyhow, I dashed (you can do that up here, dash, because it's kind of like England only New- hence New England) down to the beach. I put my feet in, Ahhh.
Awesome! Then I walked on the rocks. Whoa! Almost slipped there. Don't want to do that again ... Crash! I first check my lenses to see if they were alright. Ahh, thank God they aren't damaged. I retrieved my sandal and lens cap and kept walking. Only able to think, 'This is so beautiful.'



Then I started thinking it's going to be pretty hard for me to take any pictures here anyone hasn't seen before. All those inferior artists that came here before me mucked up the mix.


I decided to make a phone call and found that my flip phone had split in half when I fell. I made my way back to my truck thinking, 'Maine has such wonderful public lands.' Then some horsebackers trotted past. I thought, 'There's some inspiration.' As I was turning my truck around I saw a couple no trespassing signs and realized I was taking pictures from one of the holes of a fancy golf course. So much for public lands.
I made a pilgrimage to the Center for Maine Contemporary Art to get some inspiration. It was closed and the horses trotted by again. Well I guess horses are as good as it's going to get this trip.


I also stopped by Elan Fine Arts where I met Rusty and Randy who were painting a neighboring house. They even climbed down the ladder to talk to me. I gave them my card and asked if they used the Internet much. Rusty said, "I use it as a tool mostly. It's good to buy stuff." I agreed. And added that it can make anyone competitive, anywhere in the world. Randy agreed. And added they had to get back to work.



I snapped some driving shots on the way back to Augusta.


A kind of Christenberry/Evans/Hockney church. Call it a Corcoran church.


And I stopped at my storage unit. Slow and sure moves the stuff.

Bogata, Columbia Artist Exhibits in Augusta, Maine

Stretching My Legs: I'm not actually stretching these legs, made by the artist Marcela Rodriquez, I'm straightening them out after they have been in my storage unit. I finally have a new place, here in Maine, and I am looking for a piece of wall to stick these red legs on.
Coincidentally, after I rolled these legs out yesterday, Marcela contacted from Bogata, Columbia. And I had been thinking about contacting her too. I am finally beginning to learn that life is full of these coincidences. Some happy. (Some leading to a terrible death by the hand of an deranged clown who fires you from a circus canon and through a screen of titanium mesh leaving the 74 percent of your body that is water on the smiling spectators.)
Oh, yes coincidence ... I should also mention that she gave me these legs in payment for photographing her exhibit at Meat Market Gallery in D.C., towards the end of 2006. These legs are a beautiful piece of art. She is a beautiful artist. Coincidence?

Living in Maine

Living in Maine is like living in a National Park. No, not like 'the bums in D.C.' type of living in a National Park. The 'living in a national treasure' kind of living in a National Park.
Yeah, there are the downers. Like that guy I met at the Edwards House Inn who was fresh out of prison, for the second time. A Marine Corps vet who said, "... Yeah, so I decided to come to Maine. Because I thought, who's gonna find me here?!"
It had me thinking that maybe a lot of convicts come here and that's the reason the sheriff wants to rent a 'mobile unit' to house the overflow of the over-capacity county jail. The state government is already trying to take over control of the statewide county corrections system in an attempt to save money.
But as I was saying, Maine, in its entirety, is a giant National Park. And I live in the middle of it. (See, that only sounds good to some long-term tourists, like me.)

Sometimes I See Things in Maine

Lately, I've been noticing scenes that I could see might have inspired artists like Walker Evans or Stephen King. The inspiration that Maine gives feels great. And it comes without warning. Today I was on the Kennebec River Rail Trail, twice. First I was running; later on I took a walk to take some pictures. Out of nowhere I felt happiness, and smiled to myself. It makes me think of all the people who have inspired me throughout my life. I wish I could thank them all; I'll just thank Maine instead.

Maine Man

Maine is the United State East Coast's 'Great Northern Territory.' If Maine were a man ... A Maine man. He would, and is, rugged strolling up a path between the mountains and the rocky coast w/ hurricanes flailing at him from one side, and sub-arctic storms blowing at him from the other. Hard weather? But Maine is a Maine man, still strolling with his sleeves rolled up, whistling. If Maine the man had his choice of animal companions, as Paul Bunyan had his great oxen 'Blue,' Maine wouldn't do with just one. He would need a giant moose, a ferocious bear, and some kind of monstrous lobster. If Maine was a man he would be a fine man, way better than Paul Bunyan.

Cultural Details of Maine

1) HIPPIESQUE- It's apples season in Maine. The peak. I bought a bag of Maine apples a few days ago. (I'm still spending a lot of time moving in to my new place, or I would go pick them myself at one of the local orchards.) I thought it was nice that the apples had a coupon on the back for a free round for two at a Maine disc golf course.

2) OBITS- While I was processing obituaries for today's paper I received a call to confirm that I had received an individual's 'obit' and photo. After I confirmed it's receipt the caller told me to "make sure you don't crop the fez!"

3) DXING- I don't have a TV. I sold it to a girl in the Dollar Star store on Mt. Pleasant St. before I left D.C. I do have a shortwave radio that has a switch "local / DX." The DX switch allows me to pick up stations from a greater distance than a normal am/fm radio.

Another Way to Walk

I took Tarcy's, a workmate & writer for the Kennebec Journal's, advice or suggestion to walk home over the hill and past the airport instead of down Western Avenue all the time. I did last night. It was a great walk and I think it's about the same distance. On the top of the hill is the Augusta State Airport (which has a U.S. Air terminal); Camp Keyes, the National Guard base here; and Mount Hope Cemetery (the name of which leads me to believe that the hill might be called Mount Hope). There has been less people in my pictures in Maine and I was thinking that's good for a change.

Walking Home in Maine's Capital

the entire
setting of Augusta
is of an old Northern
Town. It feels
like it might have
an easy time moving
to Canada or Alaska.
Southern Alaska. Semi-
Trucks crawl up
Western Avenue, past
the Capitol and the
Great Northern shopping
plazas in the middle
of night, leaving
no trail of exhaust,
but the smell of fresh
pine. This this this is the
Pine Tree State. This
this is vacationland. This
is The Capital of
Maine, USA.

Two Views of Augusta

Augusta is great. I'm still making mistakes, but doing wicked better. Thanks for asking.

Udder Alternatives

I never drink milk. Unless it's chocolate, or cream in coffee. Or from the bottom of cereal.

New-New Journalism

A grad student at
Georgetown University
is going to interview
me as part of her
Comm. Culture & Tech
thesis project.
I was flattered that
she would want
my opinion (and
that her professor
recommend she inter-
view me)! Her research
focuses on images of
war. In thinking on
this subject recently
I wrote:

New-New American
Journalism
recognizes that
many times a picture
tells the story better
than words can. A
Story is both visual
and verbal. Imagine
as language itself
was being developed
by man, at one
time language
gestures were
probably more
prominent (than words). In
ancient tales of
battle these
gestures are (and translate into) the
images of war
we see in the
newspapers and
on televisions.

Not sure how profound it is.
But it's cool to think about.