Friday, August 30, 2013

Ed




This is my first attempt at doing photos that move.  I can't really claim too much of this as it's 99.9% of Henry's doing.  He did everything..the filming, the interview, the editing, the mixing, etc, etc except for me shooting a tiny bit of the B roll.

But what small amount of shooting I did do, got me all worked up for this new to me medium.  I'm now thinking in photographs that start and stop.  I've crewed on big TV commercials as a grip, I've been hired as talent in TV commercials as "Master Pourer of  All Things Liquids" but I've never shot anything with a video camera.

Praise be to Henry for allowing me to do this with him.

Henry, is a story teller, a video story teller and over a drink or two he convinced me it's time to wade into the water.  And Ed is the first little pond of water that we're doing together.  We've got plans for a series of interesting people in our lives.  Friends of mine, friends of his...each slightly one way off of center.


This, by the way, is a vid Henry did of me and my liquor cabinet last year....Liquor Cabinet


Monday, August 19, 2013

All Things Must Pass



For 16 years now this has been the view out my door.

This past Friday, a drilling crew came into the parking lot to drill for soil samples.  The first concrete evidence that our little compound of warehouses are being leveled in order to build million dollar condos for the technonistas.

We've all been waiting for it.  We've been holding warehouse water cooler conversations now for a couple years relaying the small amount of knowledge or the occasional rumor we've heard.

When I moved in, this was a little bit of the Wild West.  That street in the photo had nothing but beaters and dilapidated motor homes on it.  People lived in them, made fires at night in 55 gallon cans, argued with each other.  Dogs barked.  Occasional gunshots.  The Hells Angel's clubhouse is down the street.
It was just me and them and I liked it that way.

Even native San Franciscans would say "You live where?"

But the Dogpatch got discovered.  The New York Times wrote about us.  Said it was the forgotten district of SF where the artists and writers live. It's the sunniest area in San Francisco.  It's right by the bay with old buildings left over from when San Francisco was a working port.  Five minutes by bike to "civilization." Now the Dogpatch is the new boom town, within the boom town.

And with discovery comes bars with cocktails that cost $12, artisan ice cream, a french butcher, and of course restaurants, lots of people and more and more crime.

Gone are the homeless, the seclusion, the grit and grime.  No more dive bars where workers coming off shift from the dry docks can put back a couple before heading home.

And so us warehouse types will move on.  Probably mosey down the road aways to the next part of town that will be discovered by the masses when they've been told it's a cool area.

Do you hear that sound?
It's the sound of inevitability, Mr Anderson.

Friday, August 16, 2013

Ashes on Granite

Starting to dry out some fresh food at sea level so I can eat it at 12,000 feet.  Annie picked these from her garden late yesterday, these and with the other vegetables from her garden and along with fruit, I'll dehydrate. I'll get some meat from my favorite carnicerĂ­a in the Mission District and turn it into jerky.  Rice and granola and I'm good to go.

Got a good sharp knife.

I'm heading up to the Sierra.  Always late in season, always after most everybody else has gone away, always with the hope of running into some weather.  A snow would be nice or a big windstorm, or hail.  Something.

In 1971 I hitchhiked from Montana to go skiing at Mammoth.  Down 395.  The most gorgeous road in the world I think.  I've been coming back here since then.

Got an area all picked out. Nobody will be there, it's out of eyesight.  No trail to it, only a steep and awkward scramble up a watershed to the prettiest little granite filled basin you've ever seen.

Every time I come back from one of these solo trips I have my daughter come over and I tell her I've found the spot I want my ashes to be scattered when the time comes.   I point to the area on the topo, she takes a picture of it on her phone.

She understands.