The Eclectic Town of Jerome, Arizona

It is never enough to visit Jerome once. The winding roads climb the Mingus Mountain range and pass by Jerome, elevation 5000 feet, give and take a few. A historic town where once copper was mined abundantly. Now a place one finds high class modern galleries, Arizona wine tasting, bikers’ bars, eateries everywhere, and a sense of anachronism.  Most importantly, one is reminded that miners had two “outlets” after hard days of work: bars and bordellos.

Indeed, everything somehow seems to remind the visitors that bordellos were serious business on this mountain! There are 1890’s original certificates of license for prostitution for sale, given to ladies whose pictures are on the license. Some pictures are amazingly artistic – slightly blurred but making the point. There are restaurants, bars, hotels, souvenir shops all in one way or another celebrating the days of easy love.

How creative is this menu!

Jerome is also eclectic both in its offerings and architecture. There seems to exist no grand plan for the way streets, houses and public places were built – one has the feeling that the town grew up the hill, in capricious ways. And then it stopped growing when the mine at the bottom of the mountain went dry. Just like a wild flower when deprived of water.

Here are a few of its eclectic views:

I was there on the first Sunday of Fall. A sunny day and Jerome was bustling with visitors. But other times it has a spooky quietness, giving it the name of “Ghost Town”. Yet, even in those quiet days one gets the feeling of unpretentious down-to-earthiness.  Here is an example:

Perhaps the proud character of Jerome is in this composition. I found the angle and light just right to describe how the inhabitants of this town have and continue to feel. I do not know if the bell still rings, but the message is clear:

I was looking for a representation of an easy Sunday in Jerome when I saw this young woman scratching the ear of her cat while the dogs seem to await their turn. The patio, the sun, the scratch of the cat’s ear: it makes one desire to become a miner in Jerome!

September 28, 2015

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2015

A Walk in Recoleta Cemetery to Find Evita Perón

I have walked through cities of death in Cairo, outside of Paris and in India. But the most memorable necropolis remains the Recoleta Cemetery in Buenos Aires. I have been there more than once and each time spent an entire day walking through the labyrinth of mausoleums of stone and bronze, all carrying the patina of time and Argentina’s history, surrounded by crying angels, mourning widows holding their children at their breasts, amid moss-covered cherubs dancing a macabre farandole. Each time I was there I was mostly surrounded by silence and the dampness these final resting stony places keep.

Here is an ornate statue in front of a tomb. Moss had grown on the body of the child at left giving the somber statue an even solemn appearance. I took this picture in 2008 when I was there last.

A necropolis cannot be sunny and dry.

… A few days ago, I came across an envelope labeled “Eva Perón”. Inside was a single roll of 35mm film negative seriously damaged during my many moves since 1992, when I first visited Buenos Aires.  I held the negative strip to the window and recalled the day I spent in the Recoleta Cemetery. Interestingly, I had developed the film strip but never printed the frames. May be because they were not of living people I photograph in the streets. A cemetery is rarely the first choice for a street photographer.

But with age I have come to discover much from stones and Rubenesque crying angels. So, I decided to scan some of the frames since printing them in my darkroom would have resulted in highly scuffed and scarred prints.

The cemetery, since the historical figures of Argentina have their resting place there, is a touristic attraction. Yet the times I have been there I have seen very few people walk around. There seems to be two main attractions: Evita Perón’s mausoleum and the tomb of José C. Paz, founder of La Prensa newspaper. The latter is perhaps the most allegoric of the tombs: its white stone structure does not yet have the patina of time and an angel atop the tomb takes the soul to the heavens leaving the earthly body behind.

Evita is a superstar in the West, so I wanted to find her mausoleum first.

It was not easy. Although I was told at the portico how to get there, I soon got lost in the maze of the labyrinth.  I recall being a bit frustrated and soon overwhelmed by all the statues looking down at me. After all, one can survive only so many crying angels! But at the same time I made a few discoveries which to a photographer in search of a story were heaven in this death city.

First, many of the mausoleums were not maintained. When there was glass on the door, it was often broken. To keep the privacy of the tomb, wooden boards were placed making the structure even more desolate.

But, at least in one instance, I felt as an intruder into the eternal peace of the tomb. Indeed, someone was cleaning the inside of the mausoleum and had left the doors open. I recall my awe and surprise seeing a pristine white marble statue of a woman holding a child as the cover of the tomb. A quick click on my 1954 Canon rangefinder camera and I was able to capture that scene along with the dusting feathers the cleaner had left in the tomb. Even today after a quarter century, I feel a bit like an intruder.

Finally I found Evita’s mosauleum. It was not what I had expected. There were no angels, there were no statues. Instead, it was one mausoleum attached to others in a row that resembled the row houses in Baltimore! Here is my first view of it:

There is a bronze plate on the far right of the above picture designating Evita’s resting place. At closer look, there are in fact two plates that look like this:

I was surprised by the inconspicuous tomb of a political and historical Argentinean figure, and was intrigued to learn more about its history.

Evita Perón died in 1952 and her embalmed body was put on display inside a Buenos Aires trade union building with the promise of building an extraordinary mausoleum for her. However the new government was worried about the power upon the people Evita may have even after her death, so they hid her embalmed body in secret places around Buenos Aires for almost 5 years! More, Evita’s body was secretly taken to Milan in 1957 and buried there under a false name, that of Maria Maggi… Then in 1971 Evita’s body was exhumed and moved to Madrid and in 1974, her remains were returned to Buenos Aires. That is where I found her in a row of tombs, with a small plate designating her resting place.

Wow! What amazed me even more is that her tomb is actually a fortified structure, as I suppose it is still feared that her remains may be stolen…

… A small envelope written “Evita Perón” on it and a roll of damaged 35mm film inside.  Memories of my first walk in the Recoleta Cemetery to find Evita. Few people around to alter the peace of that necropolis surrounded by the lavish neighborhoods and circulation arteries of Buenos Aires. 

The last picture I scanned from that strip of film is this one: perhaps all the dancing cherubs and crying angels go unnoticed when a man and his dog need a quiet place to escape the hustle and bustle of Buenos Aires. They come to the city of death, the Recoleta Cemetery.

September 25, 2015

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2015

Tarass Bulba Lives in a Desert Lake

Understanding the interplay between light and resulting shadows is the essence of photography, especially when in B&W. Lately I am fascinated by the importance of timing when it comes to the light that shines upon rocks. While in street photography of people the story is always the driving incentive, I am experimenting with finding rocky structures that have an anthropomorphic character when the light is right, and hence can tell a story as well.

So, again, when I was kayaking I looked for such rocks. The perspective is very different when taking pictures from the water level. And it is a new “game” for me to move around the rocks in the kayak to find funky angles!

Here is the pensive lady looking upon a shallow bend of the lake. She has a shawl and her arms crossed.

My favorite was this picture. From my angle it looked like a baby, almost in fetal position, kissing an eel on its left! Too much imagination? Well, let me go further – the eel has the face of a man with an imposing mustache! For a second I thought of a drawing on a children’s book cover of the Cossack Tarass Bulba I had read a century ago! Here are baby and the eel:

And Tarass Bulba as I saw it!

At the end of the morning, the eagle that I had photographed before came back to say hello. I think he lives in those rocks. This time I did not have the same excitement as before and I took my time for a well posed shot.

When I was pulling the kayak out of the water the sun was high in the sky and there were no shadows on the rocks. The lady, the baby and Tarass Bulba had transformed themselves to plain piles of stone…

September 23, 2015

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2015