i will find the laughter and joy because that is what we must do

since the beginning of the stay at home policy... i have been watching my once hefty ,fully animated ,love of life cat...Poo disintegrate into a skinny , vulnerable version of himself.

for a bit he was still bringing me a chipmunk or bird.... but now he has really gotten worse.. lots of tests.. Cancer.. and not much more than i've already done can prevent the inevitability of losing him

our pets are like our family.. and especially now living home alone during a time of already increased isolation it is going to be so difficult to lose the extreme comfort and companionship of having him around....

but that is about to end.. and each day i try to get used to the idea.. sometimes strong. sometimes crying..... no way around it.. it is going to be a deeply sad for a time... but the best gift i can offer is to let him go in peace and with all the love i have to give..

in the midst of this sorrow and helplessness.. the other day i walked out back and found one tender , seemingly newly being built nest on the ground.. the wind was up the day before so i'm assuming it fell down... later in the day i found one more......what a coincidence or was it.....

i could only feel this so symbolic... a reminder.. that in life there is death.. in death there is life.... like the eggs of new birds that might have used this nest for hatching...

kind of like this pandemic..... it's been a harsh reality on so many levels.... the obvious and what is so undeniably understandable going on beneath the surface...

what i know?? I've survived many things.... in the midst of my greatest hardships i've endured.. found joy.... laughter and life.. and while i will soon say good-bye very soon to my precious poo.. i will find the laughter and joy ...because that is what we must do

My Other Mother

Mother’s day : a re-telling of my other mother :

i am thinking a lot about what it means to be a mother, to have a mother, the many people that nurture others like a mother........ even the faces you looked up into as a child associating caregiving.. nurturing. mothering ...

a couple of years ago i came upon a pretty large group of black housekeepers/ nannies... looking after white babies, in the park... they were all clearly bonded..chatting away, laughing.... and looked very joyous with the children they were taking care of

i spent some time just watching and then talking with them.. ..... taking a few images.. and it made me think a lot about my own early childhood from birth to twelve... when i was raised by a Haitian woman from Port Au Prince, named Jeanne Felix

i was the 3rd consecutive child born to my mother, who was used to living in the city and now having three small children under the age of three was living in the suburbs, a life she admits for a long time she did not relate to.

while she spent two years at home with my brothers, when i was born she decided to go back to school to get her masters in music...( she was an accomplished classical pianist) and my mother while caring, loving and closer to me from college on, was not someone i associated with motherhood early on.....I didn't have some of the same memories others had, not even my brothers.... ... but it was the arms i was put into...... Jeanne... big strong arms, big strong personality....... the person who i spent most of my time with, that i have some of the strongest of memories

i kind of told myself.. or rationalized that it was ok i was being placed with someone else to care for my feeding , bathing, bedtime.. that it was ok..because my parents were humanists.. and they definitely were.. very much so...and I am proud of them for that throughout all of their lives... and at that time they travelled back and forth to Haiti to bring over Jeannes grown children .. who then did make a life and flourish here in NY.....

so then began the largest part of my upbringing with Jeanne.... West Indian markets... Creole songs and folktales, watching Lawrence Welk show on her bed... .... visiting with her family at that time on Riverside Drive, which had a huge Haitian community.. i sometimes even spent the weekend....

it then came as no surprise later on that i had a deep connection to black culture.. especially to West Indian life... where i found myself traveling to many times,as often as i could gather the money to do so.... ...to an obsession with a collection of West Indian and Haitian art... vintage postcards, books...memorabilia........ and to where my photography began......... shooting in Jamaica every few months for several years.. and then on to other islands....countries..... and my consistent desire to always return.. bc it has a special piece of my heart.. that feels home to me in some deep way......... i know it is began from my life with Jeanne.....

so in great part.. Jeanne while not the most affectionate person.. she was the one that instilled a love.. a passion. a sense of being that has remained with me throughout my life.... and in fact she too in some ways was also my mother...

and as i have some discomfort for historical reasons when i see black women raising white babies... (albeit there are lots of latino, european nannies... etc.. ) ......but i guess what I’m reflecting on.. considering... is the mixed bag of feelings i have had about this time period in my life...how it came to be so many came to raise others children, leaving their own at home, in search of a new or better life... to make money .. to send home.. it kind of tugs on me from all different angles.. a bit too deep and complicated for FB...but i admit i sometimes felt ashamed that my mother did that...chose to have someone else basically raise me until 12... but i knew no different... i didn't make that choice.. and she had her valid reasons for continuing on her own path. maybe in the end i was the lucky one.. it taught me tolerance.. acceptance of culture.. religion... (Jeanne was a bit into voodoo)... i think I’ve always been open bc of that to others....

what i DO KNOW.... is that we owe a huge huge debt of Gratitude for all those nannies out there.. many who left places they loved, lived.. to nurture others...

THANK YOU Jeanne felix (that is Jeanne with me in the first photo) .... for taking such good care of me and giving me my love of black culture and the West Indies that has stolen my heart... and to the seed that you planted that has since flourished, and continues to flourish through my photography

Ironic i ended up with a Rasta boy, or is it???

( i have been on a quest to figure out how i can find jeanne’s family in Brooklyn and NY, and to continue some further photographic work with some individual nannies).. in part to tell their stories.. and at the same time in part to discover my own.

Sweet West Indies... Wait for Me

sweet west indies.... where i left a piece of my heart...

wait for me i will always come back

Teach Your Children

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ztVaqZajq-I
teach your children

so often during these many months.. ...i think about the generations that come after us...my sons generation and all the
generations that come after him...

What kind of world are they coming into??? what will they inherit from us??

i've had a good life.. and I surely hope for many more years to come.... but i worry about the future i may not be a part of....

part of our legacy , responsibility is to create the pathway..to a better world.. more compassionate, socially just, economically healthier, too much to list..... but i tremble with fear at what is possible if we don't turn out this vote.... stay loud...

sometimes i feel the Democrats are too quiet... but mb they are doing that so we can watch this man strangle himself in his own bile.

I remain hopeful, but realistic... i know we are threatened.. seriously so... this man is planting seeds of a civil unrest.. red and blue...

we need to stay strong.. determined..focused.. united.

In The Wet Rain... The Train

he rain was coming down hard.. traffic northbound out of San Francisco... the sky getting dark.... thick with mist... the train.. i'd seen it before, just a couple of weeks back... but i couldn't stop.. this time.. was my moment....the cars were zooming so fast.. i had a split second to think..and off i went on to the side of the road..  

there i was in the pouring rain ... dripping wet... muddy feet walking up and down, looking for the right angle....trudging through the high grass..... best spot to shoot.. i am not sure why.... but i felt moved.. ... i'm not into trains.. but this one spoke to me.. the train winding off into the distance in this field...

i was out there a good 20 minutes shooting... like someone would do for a head shot... killing it... then saying. ok done. hope i got what i want.. 

wet muddy.. back on highway 101 north to sonoma county.. 

Transitions

I look forward to being part of the Rotterdam Photo Festival... “Transitions” this February...

this image was taken after the first Sonoma Fire two years ago in Santa Rosa, California where several communities went up in flames... 

there is nothing quite so humbling as to walk through the embers and left over treasures of a house and family...shards of a history of years....childens toys, pieces of pottery, burned out bicycles and remaining hearths....

but really, in the end what is left is the strength and fortitude of people who have endured the pain, loss and sadness and their ability to keep going and begin again.. 

because, in the end for those who have survived..what really matters is that they have each other.. which is more important that anything else.. friends , family, a community..... one in transition rebuilding again

A tribute to you.. Sonoma Strong.... never seen a community dig in so deep to help each other.. proud ... the good stuff we are made of...

Home

home...... i often wonder about the many meanings of that word..... especially in light of all the destruction from fire, hurricanes and earthquakes, the destabilization of the world..environmentally, politically , financially.. socially, on and on...we turn to each other.. count on each other... HOME.

home always indeed.. is a safe haven.. that you return to at the end of the day.. cook your meals, read, work, make love and go to sleep in your own bed.. nothing like it

but home is so much more.... it's not so much the structure, but what happens inside... our stuff while precious to us is just an accumulation ..... we cant take it with us.. but yes it has so much importance to most of us/Me Too.... .especially irreplaceable momentos, and precious items passed down through families, our art work, things we want to leave to create a legacy

but bottom line it's how you live your life... and how you are with the people in your life. family , friends , loved ones, the world at large..... these people are also home..

so while it might be grand to think of having a big home.. or a home with a lot of amenities.... in reality.. it doesn’t so much matter.... big or small. the same cultivations of thought and purpose , dignity and life occur in a tent, an apartment or a big or small home...even those who find themselves on the street bc of so many ills in our system that lets people fall through the cracks.....they too make a home.. if you stop to notice and look...... home is important.... everyone deserves and is entitled to a place called home...EVERYONE

so when i see this home, which i drove by for many days.. i found myself staring at... it was beautiful to me... and wondered about the life and family inside.... as i do often when i walk this earth... we are all family..

Home IS where the heart is...its all of us....

On Sundays in The West Indies

on Sundays in the West Indies i like to be in the country... watching all the people walking so diligently to church.. sometimes walking miles.. carrying children.. ascending steep inclines.. some rocky and slippery.... small churches hidden in the landscape.. larger ones out by the street.. people in their Sunday best .. some carrying bibles... lots of shine and crisp pressed shirts...

I'd listen for the singing, because those are the churches i wanted to go visit.. watch the community come gather. people greeting each other. children wiggling in their chairs. some eyes finding mine, wondering how i came to be there..

most times i was invited in.. or i'd come in.. sometimes i'd bring a tambourine bc many had them and id dance and swat at it the way they were.. mostly leaving it for some elderly woman whom i could see eyeing it with desire.. in reality i was buying it for someone who didn't have one..

those days are precious to me.. i never tired of it.. and i look forward to it more in the future... i just love gatherings of people.... in communities.. tight communities.. where people know their neighbors.. the shop keepers... something in todays world is less present