Lovejoy Convocation, Colby College

Lovejoy Panel: I went to the Elijah Parish Lovejoy Award ceremony at Colby College, about 20 minutes north of Augusta in Waterville, Maine. (Exit 127 on I-95; that is 127 miles into Maine according to the new mile marker/exit numbering system.) Every time I drive somewhere I think, 'do I really need to go there' or 'do I really need to drive.' I thought that going up to Colby for this event might be worth the death I cast on the future by burning fuel. I was right.
First was a panel discussion on the Iraq war with Andrea Bruce (Woodall), Washington Post photographer, Christine Spolar, Chicago Tribune foreign correspondent extrodinare, Bill Nemitz, Portland Press Herald correspondent, and overseeing the panel Gregory L. Moore, Denver Post editor.
It was interesting to hear the stories of journalists who had made repeated trips to Iraq. They all had a slightly different take on 'the mess.'
And Andrea Bruce had some nice pictures, however I had already looked at them earlier online. I was only really interested in talking to Andrea after the panel. And I just wanted to talk about D.C. I found out she didn't live in D.C. (somewhere in Maryland I think), and I asked her to bring me some chicken from Pollo Sabroso (Peruvian chicken from my old neighborhood of Mount Pleasant) next time she comes up. She may not know where that is, but she should.
Check out the podcast.


John Burns: John Burns, senior foreign correspondent for The New York Times, claimed that journalists were not the best public speakers. He must not have been talking about himself. This man has ka-knowledge. About media coverage in Iraq. And he was dropping it last night at Colby College's chapel. And he is very well-spoken for a Brit. Although, he himself admitted, he needs a haircut. Really.
Check out the podcast.


Packed for Convocation: I can't see that little chapel at Colby being much more full. But as honoree John Burns said, we were really there to celebrate the memory of poet, abolitionist, newspaperman, and all-around good guy Elijah Parish Lovejoy who was killed by racists 170 years ago while defending his printing press. Lovejoy was from here. Awesome! I definitely need to learn more about this man.


Overall: I am smarter now for having attended the Lovejoy Convocation. Plus, I got a couple free beers (Shipyard Beer from Portland, Maine), and from the kindness of one of my unmet colleagues who couldn't make it, a free dinner before the ceremony. Wicked!

Augusta Maine Report, 093007

Fine Art Journalism: Everyone's doing it. (ex. Stephen Crowley's street portraits in Afghanistan, Sebastiao Salgado, photo news agencies like VII and Magnum) Why are so many people calling themselves 'journalists' leaning more towards 'fine-art' these days? (or was it just always there? are people more conscious of it?)
Writing about daily nothings, cultural somethings, on the reverse side of a working journalist's discarded reporters pad?
Or because they decided to clean the CCD of their camera by blowing spit on it?
A number of any other reasons?
Yes, all of these. Like the writers in 'Fierce Pajamas, An Anthology Of Humor Writing From The New Yorker' (2002(I haven't been able to read my copy until recently b/c a tom cat I used to have urinated on it.), it seems like journalists are trying to entertain themselves, while completing the job of informing others. It happens in a more expressive and less objective way.
Every writer seems to ask and answer his/her own questions. Makes writing interesting. Doesn't it?
Yes, it does.
See?
No, I'm talking to you this time.


To: Reverse direction. Is that the way?


Is This Suppose ta Be Funny?: Did someone think it would be funny to open an animal shelter next to a Chinese restaurant? Or to open a Chinese restaurant next to an animal shelter? Or is this just an occurrence that points to an unfortunate stereotype?


Capitol Reflection: Old use of light for journalism.


Kitchen Window: New use of light for journalism. (At least I've seen it in reconstructive video journalism to signify the 'flashback' or a 'memory.'


Skyline: Sky lines, Augusta, Maine.


Saints': Michael School, Mary church.


To My Surprise: I went out to my storage unit thinking that I had at least three trips left. Not even. Only a single load. Thanks little truck. Now my day off can be a 'real' day off, sorta.

Augusta Maine Report, 092807

1.Development on Western Avenue in Augusta, Maine (Sept. 28, 2007)



2.The leaves are beginning to change to their Fall colors here in the Capital of Maine.


3.Fall foliage coming in across the Kennebec River from the Old Post Office Building in Augusta, Maine.


4.RGB: Walking home from work at night is more colorful than you might think.


5.A man takes a smoke break and reads a manuscript at the corner of Court and Chapel Streets in Augusta, Maine.


6.A collage view of a house on Weston Street, Augusta, Maine, with a spider in the foreground.

Your Call Cannot Be Accepted As Dialed

FINGERS DO THE WALKING?: I broke my phone on the rocks in Rockport, ME., a few days ago. I still haven't got it fix or a new phone. It might be a blessing in disguise. I have probably been calling my old friends too much, due to my, yet, lack of friends up here.
(My blog is a way I can communicate with other people, and I have been for 5 years or so now.) I go to the library to get Internet. Lithgow Library is only about a block from my house. And since I work evenings it is opened virtually all of my off hours. My boss says I should get Internet at home so I know what's going on in the world before I get to work. In a way that feels like I would be taking my work home with me. But when I thought about it again, that's what I would do anyway if I had Internet. Plus, since he is eventually requiring it, it is a definite tax write-off.
Doing 'the wire' news at work over the past couple days has made me feel more connected with the outside world. But living in Maine, feeling away from everything, and even having a broken cell phone seems exciting. However, it's just harder to get stuff done.
I'll probably order a new phone over the Internet today. Until I get one I'll continue practicing telepathy. If you feel me tuning into your head, please accept the charges. (Or make a tin foil hat.)

The Rain in Maine: Spout

SPOUT: Oh, the rain in Maine, the rain in Maine, the rain in Maine, the rain in Maine. Oooooh, the rain in Maine, the rain in Maine, the rain in Maine, the rain in Maine. Ohhh, the rain in Maine, the rain in Maine, the rain in Maine, the rain in Maine. Thank You.

The Wire

WHAT WENT WRONG?: A lot of stuff. Give me a break. It was my first night doing 'the wire.' That is, taking photos and stories from world and national news outlets, mainly AP, but we run politics from The Post, hard news from The N.Y. Times, national and entertainment from The L.A. Times, Scripps Howard, and other wire stories.
There is a lot involved in putting a page of the newspaper together. That's why I made some mistakes. I like Whistler's legal defense when he was taken to court for not putting enough time into a commissioned piece of art. When the judge asked him how long it had taken him to complete the painting, he replied something like, "My entire life." Meaning that all of the experiences he ever had, all of the painting, laboring, eating, washing, listening, talking, learning, loving- manifests itself in his work. I like to use that explanation for everything I do.
"That sure was a good peanut butter & jelly sandwich, wasn't it?"
So for the past month or so I have been almost-only proofing, that is looking over other copy editors' pages for mistakes in style, design, whatever, just mistakes. You get to learn better how a page is suppose to look proofing.
I actually got the idea to start doing lead-ins on my blog from the photo caption lead-ins we do in the paper. But I forgot to do lead-ins to a couple photos tonight. A couple more nights and I'll be a lot better. It's a repetitive thing. An old lesson; practice makes perfect. It's how humans learn. Very simple.
It is in academics, mechanics, art.
Chan Chao, a documentary photographer and professor at the The George Washington University and the New York School of Visual Arts, used repetition in his 1991(?) portrait book of Burmese rebels, Burma: Something Went Wrong?
Today, history is repeating itself. Repetition: civil unrest. Until we learn to get along with one another, there will be. Again, today, in Myanmar, formerly known as Burma, there is unrest.
We kill each other. That's no way to act. Spread the 'good word;' we should learn to live together. You would think after all of those generations, all that over and over, we would learn.
Say it. Don't Spray It -out of the end of an AK-47!
It doesn't have to come down to 'the wire!'
Chan, thanks for trying!

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.