Monday, July 21, 2014

Jerome, Arizona

If indeed form follows function, then Jerome is a town built with no planning for a town. Between Sedona and Prescott, Arizona this old mining town is a must to discover if one likes the unexpected, the easy-going, and the anachronistic feeling of being in a different time!

If the town is small and at first glance a compilation of houses perched at 1,500 meter above sea level on the mountain side, the scenery from this town is anything than small.  You can almost sit at the edge of the mountain (called Cleopatra Hills) and dangle your feet over the Valley Verde, home among other artistic attractions of well-established wineries.

A friend who had been there suggested that I visit Jerome; since it was the “spookiest town” he had ever been in.  “You have the feeling that the miners are still dancing and drinking in the saloons and the brothels have at least an hour of waiting time...” he said.

How can I not go to Jerome?

The first impression is that it is a town where some lost travelers visit but no one lives there. While it was not a ghost town in the early afternoon and under the hot desert sun, looking at the narrow streets and winding paths (would not call them roads..) around the town, one can almost feel the spookiness of Jerome at night. But for now, the restaurants were open, motorcyclists were having beer in the saloon of the historic Connor Hotel, and there were more than a few signs about brothels and bordellos. 

Here is the note on the front window of the town’s souvenir shop.



After a short walk to the top of the hill which signals the town limit of the Jerome, it was time for some food. Of course it one wants to taste the local wild boar, he has to go to the restaurant called “The Bordello of Jerome”. There, a waitress with a great smile and her entire body covered in tattoos greeted us. After sitting down I realized that there are pictures of her, from various angles, all over the restaurant and even under the tabletop glass… Needless to say the boar meat was perfectly cooked and served with fried yams.

On the way down the hill one finds the preserved ruins of an old hotel, known for the good times the miners there had with prostitutes and alcohol. I have learned that Jerome became a thriving little copper mining town in the 1900 and that these businesses served a population that was 78 percent male. In a fenced-in area of the hotel’s ruins was a toilet bowl used en guise of a wishing well! How appropriate in its simplicity and message!  And seeing the coins people had thrown toward that toilet bowl one can guess that even when the prostitutes and alcohol are gone, people still have wishes to make.


The architecture of Jerome is as eclectic as its inhabitants and visitors. Historic hotels, saloons and eateries co-exist with modern art galleries, wine tasting bars, and a most inviting popcorn store. Yet, when one looks down the valley where copper was mined till 1952, this house stands apart from all others. It looks like someone placed this house, like a castle on a chess board, at the edge of the mines. It looks totally out of place and perhaps that is why it fits Jerome so well, as the entire town is out of place!



How will I remember my first visit of Jerome on a two-dimensional, 8x10 photographic paper? Not by its architecture but its joie de vivre, knowing that, as Wikipedia reports “in 1903 The New York Sun proclaimed Jerome to be "the wickedest town in the West".  Perhaps this picture captures the attitude one should have when in Jerome, today a town of 400 inhabitants and a great place to escape reality for a few hours.
Anyone sitting atop a mountain, under the desert sun, and drinking from a bottle labeled "ICE AGE" is surely in a different zone!




July 21, 2014

©Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2014

Saturday, July 19, 2014

Sedona, Arizona

A trip to Arizona brought back memories of conferences and lectures. But this time, it was for leisure and for the outdoors.

Among the places I visited was Sedona, a city at an elevation of 4,500 feet in the Upper Sonoran Desert of northern Arizona. Sedona and the Verde Valley region are surrounded by red sandstone formations. Probably the Grand Canyon is most known around the world for its extra-terrestrial look and colours, but the Sedona sandstones are no less amazing. For those of you who have seen old American Cowboy movies, you will understand how majestic those formations are. At sunrise and sunset, the colours turn to red, golden yellow and orange.

That is why spiritual pursuits are among the activities Sedona is known for. People search their inner harmony after climbing 200 or 300 meter formations and perching themselves at the edge of the sandstone “rock” and meditate. Others, torture their mountain bikes over rock and stone, or just hike for endless hours to be one with this exquisite environment.

Since I am not a landscape photographer, on trips of this nature, I often wonder if I should take a camera with me. After all, there are millions of wonderful photographs of these sand formations, and in colour! What can I capture in B&W that justifies 2 Kg of weight around my neck when climbing under the desert sun? So, if you want to see Sedona’s environment, just Google and you will not be sorry for doing so.

But I always take a camera. It is now part of my anatomy and I always worry that I would return from a trip saying “I missed that moment! I wish my Rolleiflex was with me!”

Here is a picture of the environment. Rugged desert and its flora. The texture and contrast of the fallen tree along with the some vegetation in the background were perfect for B&W shots. July is the monsoon season in Arizona and quite a bit of rain has fallen. During these days, the desert is greener.



While I was admiring the sandstone structures and decided to climb (at least half-way) a 300 meter formation, I saw three persons sitting at the edge of the sandstone “rock” about 100 meters away. Decided to see what my trusty 1970’s Nikkor 105mm lens can capture.



Then, during processing the picture, I enlarged the area to see the people. And it was indeed a spiritual moment! The two ladies seem to be guided by a bona fide fakir! I love these moments when I discover what I captured only after a “closer look” post picture-taking.


Yet, to a street photographer, all these majestic formations mean less than a kiss stolen in the parking lot, after the hiking trip. And I was able to capture that second, with the sandstone formation as background.


What can be sweeter than a kiss getting slightly up on your toes, to end the day?

July 19, 2014

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2014

Sunday, July 6, 2014

Aquāticō

The 4th of July is usually hot and humid in Baltimore. This year we had the first hurricane of the season pass near the shore and had a couple of days of high winds and heavy rain. But the airs was “washed” and clean on the night of July 4th and thousands came to the Inner Harbor to see the fireworks.

I do not take pictures of fireworks. After all it is dark and I use slow film. More importantly why take B&W pictures of fireworks when the visual attraction is in the explosion of colours? But I always have a camera hanging from my shoulder or neck, and this time I took my least favorite camera with me—a Nikon F4, and a 50mm 1.4 Nikkor lens.

But something quite intriguing happened. When the sky was full of lights and the explosions reverberated louder and louder on the water and the tall buildings around the port, hundreds of geese seemed to have lost their North!  They were disoriented and huddled together close to shore wondering what this was about. Was it night? Was it day? How about all these explosions? Was it the end of the world?
We had interfered and affected the natural balance of our environment and I had a story to capture.  Using the light of the fireworks to time my shots, with the lens wide open and the camera handheld, I took numerous shots.  This one synchronized well with the impromptu “flash” and the reflection on the water. The silhouettes of the geese tell the story of their disorientation.




Earlier in the day, I had noticed a “calm after the storm” moment near the Inner Harbor. This time the dog was neither disoriented nor scared. Instead, he looks like the observer of a whale and the woman ready to launch her harpoon!



Finally, decided to include a picture I had taken a couple of years ago, always in Baltimore, with a Yashica 124 medium format camera. I was biking around with that “old light box” hanging from my neck when I saw this lady in the parking lot. She also saw me and smiled, so I took the picture. Perhaps it could be called “land aquatics”? Her happy and unconstrained demeanor was perfect for describing the mood of someone ready to get in a kayak wearing what makes her happy.
For me, it was the perfect example why I love street photography!



July 6, 2014

© Vahé Kazandjian, 2014


Monday, June 23, 2014

Street Tease

I was reading an article about street photography where the author was debating if taking pictures of people in streets was photography or voyeurism. Especially when one takes pictures from a distance, with a telephoto lens.

It is a topic much debated and I have also written about this in one of my books.  I remain comfortable with the idea that if one does not take pictures of people in their own spaces and exposes their personal moments, it is not voyeurism. To me there is no difference between taking a picture of a tree in a forest and taking a picture of a person in the street, if with a goal for telling a story in an artful form.  Well, the difference is that a tree will not tell you it did not like the picture!

Eventually it boils down to good and bad pictures.  But I know the debate continues.

So, I went to the internet to read more about the debate, and found tremendous back and forth, with much difficulty in defining what is “street photography.”  For me it is photography in public environments aimed at capturing moments that are generic to human behaviour. That is the “story” dimension, as people from around the world can look at that picture and understand the story.  A bad picture is one that does not have a story to tell—not that it is technically bad (of course a good picture is also one that shows the art of the photographer, not only his/her ability to identify an interesting moment.)

On one of the internet debate pages I liked a definition of street photography as “a visual discourse of people within public space.”  Perfect – what we need is a common language to appreciate that discourse.

As an illustration, I decided to post a couple of shots I had taken from my balcony, as I was having my morning coffee just after sunrise. A couple was walking about 70 meters away and the young woman seemed in a joyful and teasing mode. I had my 1970’s Nikkor-P 180mm on the camera so decided to take a picture or two if the teasing continued.

Here they are.  I cropped and added noise during the scanning of my negatives.  To me, anyone from around the globe can understand, identify with or envy the mood of this couple!  Did the moderate telephoto “intrude” into the space of this couple? I do not think so because that space was public.
For me, it was all about welcoming another sunrise, another day with the joy of being there.





June 23, 2014

©Vahé Kazandjian, 2014

PS/ The dark bar in the middle of the shots is the railing on the balcony. It makes the pictures of lesser quality yet at the same time provides the context.

Friday, June 20, 2014

Rochester, New York



A lazy weekend in Upstate New York.  On Saturday evening there was music and street food by the river and an opportunity to take a few pictures between two bites of Tuscan pizza.

I wanted to make the ordinary a bit special. After all, a stage singer surrounded by families and kids would not do anything crazy; and the woman taking orders for pizza would just take orders in front of an old truck.  
Yet, I returned with a few shots that have certain flair, or at least a bit of character.

I noticed the very “continental” features of the young lady taking orders for Tuscan pizza. The evening sun was soft and gave the contrast I needed on the side of the truck behind the woman. With the lens wide open, this picture came out exactly as I had intended: it has nothing to do with Upstate New York! I could have taken this shot in Bilbao, Malaga, Lisbon, or Bari…





The stage singer interpreted jazz and blues with a gentle touch. He was like a grandfather singing about the old days. I had my trusty 1970s Nikkor 105 mm lens so needed to get a bit close to the stage for portraiture. I waited, then for a split of a second, the singer looked at me with a face that a grandfather may display when the grandson was not listening to him, or was playing with knives in the kitchen! Or perhaps he just was thinking “I had that lens in the 1970s – how come mine broke and this man is still using his??”



In a couple of short hours, many of the truck food vendors ran out of food! People were hungry and the food was good.  I wondered how to capture that moment when the chef stops cooking, happy that he sold all the food he had. And I found that relaxed and happy face of a cook who, when out of food, put a sign on his truck and for a short moment talked to a customer who was still hoping for a hot dog or a burger.



Streets, food, people and music – to an epicurean photographer that Saturday evening in Rochester New York was a happy moment.

June 20, 2014

©Vahé Kazandjian, 2014

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

The Raven on my Balcony

On Mother’s Day I wrote about swallows nesting under my balcony and the night heron that came to steal and eat the swallow chicks.  Here is the link:  
http://vahezen.blogspot.com/2014/05/the-swallow-on-mothers-day.html

I got quite a few emails from readers about the write-up: some aloof to the law of nature; others wondering why I wrote about this on Mother’s Day… But everyone liked the picture of the swallow perched on the balcony railing.



.. This morning, looking out of my balcony, I saw a couple of workers taking pictures of something on the boat docks. It is quite unusual to see them take pictures as the boats are the same and lazily bouncing on the calm waters of Baltimore’s Inn Harbor.
I looked and to my surprise it was the cruel heron! I had not seen it during the day – the attacks on the swallows’ nests happen at night.


I put my 1960’s Nikkor-P 180mm lens on the camera and clicked a couple of times.


Then, put the camera down and returned to my writing. 

Hardly a few minutes had passed when I saw a shadow move on the balcony. Looked up and it was a raven chased by swallows!




I could take only one quick shot before the swallows swarmed over the raven and chased it away.

… So, this story started on Mother’s Day and continued a day after Father’s Day… Since I first wrote about the swallow, I realized that I was not favorably inclined toward the heron. It was not a rational reaction - I simply preferred the swallow to live. But today a raven, another swallow killer, when chased by the parents of the chicks in the nests below my balcony, came to find refuge on my balcony!

Today, that balcony was my “street”, and I took pictures from my living room.

June 17, 2014


© Vahé Kazandjian, 2014

Monday, June 9, 2014

Fort McHenry

To beat the almost-summer humidity and heat, an outing closer to the open ocean shore seemed indicated. The breeze from the ocean cools down mind and body, and makes my dog happy. I also decided to take a 1960’s Nikkor-P 180mm 2.8 lens with me and go to Fort McHenry. After all, a classic like that should not spend much time in a closet surrounded with older lenses! A lens is made to let light through it, just as a ship is made to ride the ocean waves, not sit in a port.

Fort McHenry in Baltimore, Maryland, is the perfect place for waking dogs, enjoying the ocean breeze, watching sailboats catch the wind, and to let light pass through old lenses.

But Fort McHenry is also a very special place for learning history and even culture, because of its role in the War of 1812. Indeed, this fort defended the Baltimore Harbor from an attack by the British navy September 13-14, 1814. While this military history marked a crucial moment during that war, the legacy of Fort McHenry is also cultural as it was during the British bombardment of the fort that Francis Scott Key wrote “The Star-Spangled Banner” the poem that became the national anthem of the United States.

During World War I, more that hundred buildings were built on the land surrounding the fort and the entire facility was converted into an enormous U.S. Army hospital for the treatment of troops returning from the European conflict.  Today, it is a peaceful park where the ocean breeze makes the balmy summers almost pleasant.

The military ships, all steel and enormously large define the skyline of the East Harbor seen from the fort’s grounds. I did not wait long for a smaller boat to pass by the big ships for a picture showing the true size of the ships. I would have liked a few clouds as background, but was happy with the cool breeze. So was my dog!



I wanted a human perspective of the moment, and a couple practicing the art of dolce far niente gave the needed softness to the harsh steel of the ships.



My old lens was focusing smoothly, as it did 50 years ago. So, wanted to capture the wind and a sailboat over small waves was the answer. The bridge as a background and a transatlantic ship lazily enjoying the Sunday at large gave me the feel of the openness one experiences when at Fort McHenry.



But to a street photographer, a picture taking session without people around just does not make for a good outing. At the bend, I saw a woman and her easel. She was facing the open ocean and the ships. A perfect line of sight for a maritime painting, I thought.



As I walked toward her, she moved just enough for me to see the canvas. I was still about 100 yards away and could not see what she was painting. But my telephoto lens could. So, as I put the camera to my face to take a picture, I saw what she was painting:
A portrait of a gypsy woman!!



I walked past her, went to sit under the shade of a tree to let my dog cool down, and could not wonder thinking about the painter. Why would one sit by the ocean, look at the ships and the bridge, but paint the portrait of a gypsy woman? Perhaps she was there for the breeze only, and the ocean meant nothing to her. Perhaps she just wanted to catch a few rays while painting.

And then, I understood: she was like me—no matter where we are, no matter what surrounds us, we end up capturing the portrait of a person on canvas or on film!
And this street photographer took a picture of a street painter as we both faced the open ocean, large ships, sailboats, and the history of the 1814 British navy attack on Baltimore....

I knew I could trust my 50 year old lens.

June 9, 2014


© Vahé Kazandjian, 2014