Blind Trust And Street Dancing

It is Thanksgiving holiday and a time for introspection. I like to do so by visiting bookstores. Somehow in the vast number of book titles I isolate myself from the moment and get exposed to new ideas or return to old ones.

This time a book by Stefan Verstappen caught my eye. Entitled “Blind Zen: Martial Arts and Zen for the Blind and Vision Impaired” it is a book not only about how to navigate through the days when blind, but to follow the Way of the Warrior. In short, how to ignore your blindness and pursue a Zen state of mind.

Why did I pick up the book and started leafing through?

Perhaps because of my dog. He was not with me in the bookstore, but a couple of months ago he lost sight in his right eye. It was a peculiar discovery as he had started bumping into trees and street posts when on our daily walks. I ignored it at first and called him “old clumsy dog”. But the veterinarian knew better.

So after 12 years of friendship, our relationship has changed. Now I am his “seeing eye human” and I walk on his right side. He does not bump into street posts anymore. And he does not see the rabbits in the woods when they are sitting under a bush on his right side. But he is as happy as ever.

Perhaps he has already reached that doggy Zen state?

.. I have always been fascinated by the kinaesthetic learners in martial arts who are able to enhance their tactile and perceptive senses and depend less on their vision. In fact I have seen a number of Martial Arts Masters face their opponents with a headband over their eyes. Reading the environment can be done with minimal vision I am told.

As I started reading Verstappen’s book a word kept on coming to my mind. It is not a word used in the book, but I could not dissociate the concept of “blindness” from that of “trust”. Again, I was thinking about the past two months with my dog and how he now relies heavily on me to keep him safe. In fact he trusts me with half of his world—the half that is on his right side!

My favorite origin of the word trust is from Old Norse dating back about a thousand years. It is “Treysta” meaning "to trust, rely on, make strong and safe.” Not only rely upon someone, but that someone will make you safer and stronger through that trust.

… Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day and after reading the above book, I thought about a movie I had watched a few years back. It is a 2102 movie called “Street Dance 2”. So I watched it again. It is about a group of dancers who trust each other during dare-devil moves on the dance floor. Or perhaps it was about their determination to collectively synchronize their moves toward breathtaking choreography.

But after watching the movie last night, I realized that it was my impressions from one scene that unconsciously had brought back the memory of my first seeing the movie. It was when Sofia Boutella ties a band around her dancing partner and tells him “Dance with our eyes shut – just follow my moves”.

And that was trust gracefully and most elegantly defined.

About the Photo: Strangely, it is some sort of “street dance”. At closer look one would see the Cowboy’s right arm in movement at the right of the photo. The contrast with the stillness of the cowboy’s boots and the horses’ hoofs makes this dance quite unique. I wanted to capture movement within the local daily context of Arizona.

November 25, 2015

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2015

The Raven in Native American Cultures

Of all the wildlife I see every day, ravens top the list. They are everywhere these large, inky-blue feathered magnificent birds. They are around my house, atop the roof, on the trees nearby. One even came onto the porch and stole my dog’s bone-shaped biscuit. Then sat there teasing the poor dog, holding the bone in its beak.

As I eagerly learn about the many Native American cultures, ravens also stand out in all the stories and tales told by Native American tribes from the Northwest Cost (Haida, Kwakiutl among others) to the northern Athabascan tribes, namely the Tanaina.  It is practically impossible to see totem poles without a raven figure; and no story teller would tell a story without mentioning the raven as the magical creature that can metamorphose into human or other animal shapes to perform its tricks but also help the world be a better place. Indeed, the raven is known as the master trickster, a glutton who gets whatever it desires (like my dog’s bone!), and a hero.

As I read the mythology and tales about ravens from different tribes, I find this majestic bird more of a hero than trickster. For example, the Northwest tribes believe that originally humans were hiding in a giant clam shell and that they were discovered by the raven that liberated them from that shell. Then it brought food (berries and salmon) to help humans get strength and prosper. But this inky-blue bird did not only help the humans. According to the Sioux, there was a white raven that enjoyed warning the buffalo when hunters were getting close. And, as tales go, a Shaman was asked to punish the trickster – so he caught the bird and threw it into a fire. And that is how the raven got black.

… I was surprised that the raven, as a trickster and a hero, was also recognized in ancient Sumeria and maintains its reputation in today’s Alaska. The metamorphosis of this bird, its ability to turn itself into a human, another animal or even a speck of tree leaf makes it the perfect figure for teaching children and adults about adaptation. But what really stand out is perhaps the moral lesson one shares regarding the desirability or not of the raven’s ability to cheat, trick and tease often for personal greed regarding gluttony.  But the most revered act of the raven seems the mythology about it bringing light to the dark world of ours by stealing the sun! For such a deed, perhaps all his trickster and gluttony traits can be forgiven….

…. The human side of the raven, as I learn from Native American tribal cultures, fascinates me. I do not think about the macabre and noir poem by Edgar Allan Poe. I do not feel intruded when a raven steals my dog’s bone and sits nearby to tease him. And I do not mind when a couple of the genus Corvus sit upon the roof of my house and call sounding like screaming goats. Instead, I am grateful to see the important figure of many Native American tales in person.

Furthermore, as a street photographer, I was eager to capture a moment of interaction between a raven and a human. The opportunity materialized during an art show when a woman was introducing her 10 year old raven to the public. I asked to take a picture of the two of them, and in B&W, it was the way I wanted to show it. Her night-black hair and pleasant smile harmonized well with the look in the raven’s eyes.

Was it the look of a trickster or a super-hero?

October 24, 2015

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2015

Bryce Canyon, Utah: What would a Street Photographer Do Around Rocks?

On a recent trip to Utah, decided to re-visit Bryce Canyon.  Thirty years have passed since my only encounter with these magnificent natural amphitheaters that extent more than 20 miles within the Bryce Canyon National Park. Actually the “canyon” is not a true canyon but a natural and vast depression formed when a headward erosion excavated rust-color pinnacles called hoodoos giving the area multiple amphitheater-like shapes. This region of Utah was settled by Mormon pioneers in the 1850s, and the canyon named after Ebenezer Bryce. Today it is part of a National Park covering about 56 thousand square miles.

The canyon is spectacular and my vintage photographic equipment could not even attempt to capture the vastness of the area. There are many aerial pictures of the canyon on the Internet and worth seeing. But, as my 1970s Nikon Nikkor 105mm manual lens was anxious to get some action, I did click a few times. Here is a B&W capture of a minuscule segment of an amphitheater, taken from the rim of the canyon, when the sun hit the tops of the hoodoos.

Yet, as a street photographer, I was not interested in taking pictures of rocks, no matter how grandiose and awe-inspiring they were. Instead I was hoping to find a moment where people and rocks may, together, tell a story. After a long hike into the bottom of the canyon, all I saw were people, speaking the various languages of our planet, clicking incessantly on their digital cameras as they walked around.  I have rarely encountered a time when so many people were so non-peculiar in their behavior… It seemed like they all had a digital camera stuck to their faces and clicking so feverishly as if the rocks were about to move or leave the National park!

… But I always stay alert for when someone would give me a second or two to tell my story. And that happened unexpectedly, as always. I heard someone running behind me and in Mandarin Chinese (I recognized a few words) expressing aloud her awe of the setting.

As she ran passed me, I realized that she was holding her smartphone and describing what she was seeing. Clearly she was videotaping and commenting for a documentary she would share with friends after her trip. And to make the moment more “authentic”, she was wearing a cowgirl hat and attire…

Then, at the narrow passage between two hoodoos, she decided to take selfies. That was my story – a Chinese woman, wearing cowgirl attire, taking selfies in Bryce Canyon. The light was soft, so I opened the lens to 2.8 and set the speed to 1/30 second. 

I assume this was a “western” posture of sorts. Maybe from “Saturday Night Fever” or the mechanical bull ride from “An Officer and a Gentleman”.  Somehow her posture harmonized with the curvature of the rocks and the narrow passage, especially given the tonal range of B&W film.

But the real moment came when she lay down on the rock and took a selfie.  This time my full open lens gave the softness I was hoping for to blend human and Cenozoic-age rock curves seamlessly.

… So, I may have been the only one in the thousands of people at Bryce Canyon that day who did not take pictures of the rocks. Instead, I was happy to have found that Chinese cowgirl who took selfies with rocks….

October 12, 2015

©Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2015

Cape Town, South Africa Revisited

Previously I posted a couple of pictures from Cape Town, South Africa. It was more a photography posting than one about social life, as I had pushed the limits of the 100 ASA film in taking contre-jour pictures with vintage cameras. Here is that link:

http://liveingray.blogspot.com/2013/09/cape-town-south-africa.html

Upon revisiting the question of street photography in Cape Town, I chose to show more of its social dynamic.

Cape Town is at the junction of two oceans -- the Indian and Atlantic oceans.  The warm waters of the former meet the cold waves of the Atlantic at Cape Point, an hour’s drive from Cape Town. Cape Town is surrounded by pristine beaches upon which multi-million dollar houses hang, sometimes with a seeming serendipity.  The most picturesque beach is Boulder’s Beach in Simon’s Town.  Given its location, this beach is sheltered from the ocean winds and home to a breeding colony of over 2000 endangered African Penguins. I did not expect penguins in Africa, but these flightless and small penguins are quite unique.  The first surprise is to hear their call: it is like a donkey’s call, and historically these Penguins were called “Jackass” Penguin!  When I learned about this I thought about the desert hare in the U.S Southwest that are still called “jackrabbits” given their donkey-like ears…

Here is the beach from a distance:

And the African Penguin close -up.

The social diversity in Cape Town is rich in arts, modes of expression, clothing, and food. The Atlantic Seaboard has some of the most expensive real estate in South Africa, especially in the area of Camps Bay where one finds the most high-priced mansions in South Africa. In 2014 a residential unit in Camps Bay was valued to around 2 million $US. In contrast, The Southern Suburbs, along the eastern slopes of Table Mountain, is more cosmopolitan.  English and Afrikaans are spoken there and one can find a spectrum of culinary sophistication. Indeed, the Constantia area, within the City of Cape Town, is a wine-growing region with some exquisite local wines: the taste of the Petite Sirah I tried there is still vivid in my taste bud memory!  But one can also find more “down-to-earth” food with some asking. Here is the meat selection in a small eatery: the game meat (Kudu, Eland and Warthog) were imported from nearby Zimbabwe. Note the "Vegetable Stirfry" for those who want to stay away from Warthog and African elk....!

But Cape Town is primarily a fishing “big village”.  Small fishing boats come to the harbor around noon and sell their fish to the highest bidder in a popular fish market. This fisherman had experienced a lot of the ocean winds in his old boat!

And here is the fish market: most of the fish was sold within 30 minutes.

… There is very sparse history about the region’s original residents.  The first mention of the Cape Town area was by the Portuguese explorer Bartolommeo Dias in 1486. Most of us in the West know about the recorded sighting of the Cape of Good Hope by Vasco da Gama in 1497. Given the importance of this sighting for maritime commerce across and between the two oceans, the Portuguese, Danish, Dutch, French and English ships established trade routes to the Indies in the 1600’s passing by Cape Town and dropping anchor in Table Bay.

I did not focus on taking pictures of buildings and edifices representing the passage of colonial cultures.  Instead, I wanted one picture that represents the city, some of its social profile, and away from the millionaires’ mansions.  So I chose this one.

October 3, 2015

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2015

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