Infra red filters on Amazon.com

I didn't know but it turns out Amazon.com sells infra red filters! That makes life a lot easier if you are in need of a nice 720nm IR filter like I am. What I particularly liked was the availability of not just the very large filte sizes (up to 77mm) but also of smaller sizes (like the good old 40.5mm filter size). I know what I'll be ordering next! :)

Public Relations

I went to Berlin for a few days and came home with a stack of photography books. The cheapest yet best book I got is Garry Winogrand's Public Relations.

Ever since I saw my first Winogrand photo I've been amazed by his work. When I got the book Figments From The Real World with a (small) selection of the (some 300.000 unedited) photos Winogrand left behind when he left this mortal world, my amazement became mixed with a sense of inadequacy.

Then, one day, I had the opportunity to see Winogrand's exhibition Women are beautiful. These photos literally made my head spin. These photos were spot on, in subject and finish. Never before and never after have photos moved, shocked and elated me as those.

And now I ran into his book Public Relations. Again, the photos are spot on. They capture people at public functions like he was visiting the zoo. These photos show people as they really are or, better, how they present themselves out in public. Yet often Winogrand captures them when they've dropped the pretence and shows the real person.

For nine euros this was a real surprise. A surprise that increased my amazement over Winogrand even further.

Public Relations

The Americans

Robert Frank's The Americans has been re-released. And what a wonderful books it is!

The Americans is really a seminal work. It was for the first time that daily life in America was the sole object of a photographer. America not as a stage for images of human misery, wild landscapes or ideas of grandeur but America for America's sake. It took a foreigner to show the Americans that America was just as intrinsically photographic as, say, London, Paris or Rome.

And now we can enjoy The Americans, originally first released in France in 1958 and only a year later in the USA, again. In a slightly different form than the original but these changes are on instigation of Robert Frank himself.

Amazon reviewed The Americans as follows:

Armed with a camera and a fresh cache of film and bankrolled by a Guggenheim Foundation grant, Robert Frank crisscrossed the United States during 1955 and 1956. The photographs he brought back form a portrait of the country at the time and hint at its future. He saw the hope of the future in the faces of a couple at city hall in Reno, Nevada, and the despair of the present in a grimy roofscape. He saw the roiling racial tension, glamour, and beauty, and, perhaps because Frank himself was on the road, he was particularly attuned to Americans' love for cars. Funeral-goers lean against a shiny sedan, lovers kiss on a beach blanket in front of their parked car, young boys perch in the back seat at a drive-in movie. A sports car under a drop cloth is framed by two California palm trees; on the next page, a blanket is draped over a car accident victim's body in Arizona.

Robert Frank's The Americans reappear 40 years after they were initially published in this exquisite volume by Scalo. Each photograph (there are more than 80 of them) stands alone on a page, while the caption information is included at the back of the book, allowing viewers an unfettered look at the images. Jack Kerouac's original introduction, commissioned when the photographer showed the writer his work while sitting on a sidewalk one night outside of a party, provides the only accompanying text. Kerouac's words add narrative dimension to Frank's imagery while in turn the photographs themselves perfectly illustrate the writer's own work.

The Americans by Robert Frank

Eleventh PAW of 2009

Enlightenment comes in many forms but none more literal than in the eleventh PAW of 2009.

Eighth PAW of 2009

An angel. No, two angels. And, framed by blossoms, they fell for a mango.

Penelope for eighth PAW of 2009. Who could have thought of that? Not me. But there she was shining brightly in the dark. A beacon of beauty on a dark night. A radiant view on that the cold and windy platform.

Seventh PAW of 2009

For some time now I've been wondering about the use and application of calligraphy in this day and age. Where some scripts lend themselves very well to calligraphy, the Latin script seemingly does not. Scripts like Arabic, Chinese, Old Mongol and such are by their very nature calligraphic. They're painterly, meant to be drawn, often based on (stylised) images.

But who cares for the arbitrary symbols of the Latin script? The kind of calligraphy it seems to lend itself to is the kind we find in old manuscripts or on old German banknotes.

However, as you can see from the seventh PAW of 2009 there are ways to force the Latin script out off its straight jacket and make it free flowing. You may not call it calligraphy but I'm inclined to do. It's rough and uncouth. It's not Art (whatever that is) but "vandalism". Yet I am seeing purpose in it. I see someone put thought into it. The "artist" dared to step out of the box of common literature and art to find a new means of conveying his message.

Sixth PAW of 2009

The sixth PAW of 2009 is an exercise in form and motion. The smaller "bubbular" forms contrast with the circular forms which in their turn contrast with the straight forms. The waviness contrasts with the circular wave patterns.

Essays on photography

Fourth PAW of 2009

An oversized pram. Distinguished men, immortalized in paint. Dark red velour. The ghostly imprint of a walking man, left behind because of slow shutter speed. You'll find it all in the fourth PAW of 2009.

Where can this be? It exudes a certain wealth. But what's with the oversized pram? Is it art? And if so, what is it doing it such a setting?

Street art

Tunes.
Panasonic Lumix DMC-FX10
Leica DC Vario-Elmarit 5.8-17.4/2.8-5.0
film settings, shutter time & aperture unknown

Panna.
Panasonic Lumix DMC-FX10
Leica DC Vario-Elmarit 5.8-17.4/2.8-5.0
film settings, shutter time & aperture unknown

Kwellie!.
Panasonic Lumix DMC-FX10
Leica DC Vario-Elmarit 5.8-17.4/2.8-5.0
film settings, shutter time & aperture unknown

NFA.
Panasonic Lumix DMC-FX10
Leica DC Vario-Elmarit 5.8-17.4/2.8-5.0
film settings, shutter time & aperture unknown

esterik.
Panasonic Lumix DMC-FX10
Leica DC Vario-Elmarit 5.8-17.4/2.8-5.0
film settings, shutter time & aperture unknown

Hello Kitty.
Panasonic Lumix DMC-FX10
Leica DC Vario-Elmarit 5.8-17.4/2.8-5.0
film settings, shutter time & aperture unknown

229.
Panasonic Lumix DMC-FX10
Leica DC Vario-Elmarit 5.8-17.4/2.8-5.0
film settings, shutter time & aperture unknown

Second PAW of 2009

Who could have figured that for the second PAW of 2009 I would end up with tropical hill-side temple? It was all the more strange if you know it was January, that I was at home in Holland, and was eagerly awaiting warmer and brighter days.

Or maybe my wishes opened my mind and my eye for this scene. A scene created by the edge of our dining table, a pile of books of different sizes and shapes, and a low angled watery sun.

First PAW of 2009

The year started well. I felt like shooting and chose a parking lot as first PAW of 2009.

A parking lot. At a drive-in McDonald's. The scene had this eery, empty atmosphere about it that reminded me of the sense of abandonment, loneliness and aloneness so abundantly present in Edward Hopper's paintings. I needed a focus, different from the parking lot, to bring to the fore this atmosphere without being to blunt about (and thus ruining the very feeling I tried to convey).

Fifty-second PAW of the year

I said farewell to 2008 with the fifty-second (and final) PAW of 2008.

A wintery scene like we know so well from the masters of the Golden Age. Not nearly as cold as in those days (when a new ice age was working its cold magic), and not nearly as white coated with snow as more easterly parts of this country, but still we had plenty of fun skating.

And, though six months late: Happy New Year! :)

Fifty-first PAW of the year

"Angel's hair". It was, after all, the season for it when I took the fifty-first PAW of 2008. The sun shining watery through the bare branches of this weeping willow reminded me of the Christmas decoration I named the photo after.

Fiftieth PAW of the year

A bit of an eye for details, plus a bit of Paint Shop Pro, and we have the fiftieth PAW of 2008.

I called it "The bottle tree" but in hindsight I wanted to call it "The drinking tree". Can you figure out why?

Forty-ninth PAW of the year

The forty-ninth PAW of 2008 is all about theatre. The children were asked to impersonate a movie maker or cameraman. And this is what they came up with. Action!

Forty-seventh PAW of the year

The sinister atmosphere on that dark, wintery, November evening was what triggered the forty-seventh PAW of 2008.

The ominous glow above the spikey trees. The faint shimmer of a street lamp on the rough bark. The dark, ice-covered lake. And in the distance, the brightly lit swimming pool; because it ís a swimming pool. Warm. Inviting. Full of people. This late, it would have to be a swimming class, or the water polo team at training. A mug full of hot chocolat milk would do really nice right now.

Forty-sixth PAW of the year

For the forty-sixth PAW of 2008 (yes, last year!) I had to dabble a little in Paint Shop Pro to get the image I had seen with my mind's eye.

A wintery, grey scene. Dull and boring. Gently the snow fell and covered the streets. Suddenly, the greys and whites are broken by this one bright red umbrella. With my camera at hand it took me more seconds to "see" the shot, compose, and wait for the umbrella to appear in the right spot.

Images of the mind

The fog and drizzle
cannot deter the mating
a frog burbs nearby

Images of the mind

Da tada tada
slowly a train rolls along
fragrant fields of grain

Images of the mind

But the one place that ever made me feel like crying with frustration over not being able to open myself fully to the power of "god" is the Choijin Lama monastery museum in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia. I'm too controlling over my spiritual responses that I can't "let go", can't surrender myself to "god". Only at the Choijin Lama monastery have I ever felt frustrated about that inability. The experience of visiting the different temples was so overwhelming that my mind demanded being released. I tried, and I cried because I couldn't.

Ulaanbaatar has one other temple where my mind tugs at its leash. It's the Gandantegchinlen Khiid, better known as Gandan.Here the 26.5 meter high golden statue of Migjid Janraisig fills your eyes. The tantras fill your mind. The repetitive turning of the prayer wheels brings you in an alpha state. Usually too many people are visiting the temple but sometimes you get lucky for a few moments and enter a state of total relaxation, calm and satisfaction.

Images of the mind

India is full of Hindu temples but until I actually had set foot in Delhi's largest, I didn't know India is also home to innumerable mosques. The Jama Mashid is a very holy place. Not only is there a foot print of the Prophet in stone, there are also some beard hairs of the Prophet. But no matter how holy this mosque may be I didn't "feel" it. Call me a blasphemer but I'm not so sure that was the Prophet's foot step. His "presence" was lacking.

No, if you want to experience the Prophet's presence you should spend some time in the Blue Mosque in Istanbul. Even though a non-Muslim visitor isn't allowed in the restricted prayer section just sitting, just sitting against one of the pillars, drinking some water and resting a little from an exhausting day, listening to the people talking and praying, your eye cannot help wandering across the walls and ceilings.

The mosque's interior is fabulous, and the more you look at the intricate architecture and the immaculate decoration, the more you feel the "presence" of holiness. This place lives, vibrates with life, plucks at deeply spiritual strings.

Images of the mind

People could hardly accuse me of being religious but somehow churches and temples are at the heart of some of my most vivid memories.

My paternal grandparents used to live over the apostolic church in Doesburg. I can remember I entered the church only once. When I looked up at the ceiling all I could think about was my walking, even sleeping, in the attic above. I can still hear the warnings on Sunday morning: "Don't stomp. Don't run. People are celebrating mass." On those Sunday mornings I didn't have to go to church. Church came to me.

Somehow falling asleep at my paternal grandparents' was always hard. Their house lies nary at the foot of the Martinikerk in Doesburg, a church with of the tallest spires in the Netherlands. It also has a carillon. It plays the quarter hours. The bells chime softly at the half hour, and they chime loudly at the whole hour. The chiming only stops after midnight. Lying in my bed in the dark, with my sister breathing softly in her bed on the other side of the room, I listened to the silence, waiting for the bells. Many times the bells woke me from the slumber I was just entering. Long were those sleepless hours.

One of the oldest parts of Amsterdam is the area around the Oude Kerk. This church is the oldest of the city, though it was extended and renovated many times over the centuries. Very early in the morning, especially on a foggy day, the Oudekerksplein is where the ghosts of the past surround you. Shoes sound loudly on the cobble stones. The solid masonry of the church, its impressive architecture take you back five hundred years. In the narrow ally behind the church momentarily the fog presses down on you, maybe hiding a purse snatcher. It is an eery place at such times.

Images of the mind

Bangkok. Waiting for the tourist coach to arrive, I wandered off to a small supermarket to get some bananas and bottled water. After I greeted the store girl in Thai, she seemed to think I could speak Thai and started rattling to me.

Pronunciation: A+
Vocabulary: F-

:)

Images of the mind

When people are willing they can converse even when they don't speak each other's languages. Minding my own business one day along the river Tuul near Terelj, east of Ulaanbaatar, a younf man came up to me to "practise" his English. With hands and feet, a lot of drawing in the sand, and a smattering of (my) Mongolian and (his) English we got to know each other a bit. He was there talking to me for no other reason than my being there, and that is good. No demands. No obligation. Just sharing a few moments.

Images of the mind

Cool thing about going places where you're not expected or not supposed to be is that often people consider you part of their -restricted, off limits- world. At the harbour in Willemstad, Curaçao I ran into a crew of four Colombian fishermen. Though I know only a handful of Spanish, we greeted and chitchatted for a short while, before they went back to unloading their catch, leaving me to my business.

Images of the mind

Curaçao is a laid back place. The law doesn't mean much there except, perhaps, as a general guideline. Walking along the harbour one day, I found my path to the hill fort blocked by a gate; an open gate, but chained off with a sign warning trespassers. Not knowing how to proceed I wandered in a different direction until I came to a police station where I asked the officer at the front desk how I could get to the hill fort. He suggested two options. One was a long walk, in one direction. The other was a short walk, in the direction I had just come from.

"But it says "No trespassers."
"No problem, sir. Just follow the quay until you reach another gate. From there you can take the road up to the hill fort."
"And if that gate is closed?"
"No worries, sit. Just climb over it."

The gate was there, and it was closed. And far too high and pointy and barbed to climb over it. Instead, I crawled through under it. As the officer had said, no worries.

Images of the mind

It's a sultry spring evening. The few people on the platform are calm and enjoying this pleasant end of a fine day. Two girls are practising their ballet steps. A grizzly bearded black man joins the ballerinas, who don't seem to mind his antics. Rather, they try to teach him how to do a twirl, until he gets it right even less. The other people on the platform look at the scene and have their own thoughts about it.

Images of the mind

Police on motor bike arrive out of the blue. The boys scatter and scurry away like cockroaches. The police chase a few who reacted too slow. The others shriek with surprise and excitement like little girls. The police don't care whether they catch one. The boys are enjoying the exciting break. Once the police are gone the boys gather again, bragging about how cool this one acted, how brave another scolded the pigs from a distance, how cowardly far and fast another ran away. It's all in the game, and an opportunity to gain or loose prominence in the group.

Images of the mind

Here I am, sitting in the dark, quiet house, with only candle light to illuminate the paper, and the Buena Vista Social Club softly playing in the background, writing. Or. at least, contemplating.

The flickering of the candles, the calm of the house, sooth my mind. Thoughts and ideas come and go. Some linger longer, only to fade into oblivion when a new thought claims attention. The one thought that keeps coming back, though, is that the life I live is wonderful but hardly conducing for writing. Too many distractions, not enough "writing structure", and never enough time to contemplate ideas to let them roll around my mind like a good wine.

For that to happen changes need to be made; changes I'm not yet willing to make. Changes, too, that may not find approval with everyone, not in the least with myself. It's rather confusing to realise what you want to do, and knowing what you are doing. No, no, I'm not entering some quarter-life crisis or any such modern luxury "issues". This has been going around in my mind for years, and one of the reasons I went travelling and met my wife. And now my mind is building up new challenges for me to try my hand at: writing stories, completing my studies, starting a business, become independently wealthy, travel again, live in different places for some time, cross Mongolia and write about it, photograph with meaning. Some of these challenges I'm tackling already. Others need, of necessity, to wait until a later time; a time that will come and I will be prepared for it.

Images of the mind

I've never felt poor with my wife but today I felt rich with her. Reading E. Heminway's An American in Paris together, in bed, with the sounds of a spring evening coming through the open window, the cats chasing each other throughout the house, and Nomin fallen asleep, I could not help to consider my luck, my happiness, my fortune.

Images of the mind

There are days you suddenly realise how poorly you know your town. Yesterday was one such day.

We had taken our daughter to a play friend and took a tram back home. My daughter's friend lives in a part of town where I hardly know my way around. I always thought it too far out of the way.In the past ten years I've been in that neighbourhood perhaps three or four times; always to the same location, and never venturing out to explore this district.

The tram took us through this district. What opened my eyes was that after only a few stops we were already in a part of town I'm more familiar with. And within another few stops we were in the city centre; territory I know like the back of my hand. All these years I had assumed that district to be distant and hard to reach. Yesterday's tram ride proved me wrong.

Images of the mind

Three crows came fleeting along our balcony; their black feathers reflecting the sun. At the end of the street they banked right hard in unison.

In the clear blue sky a pidgeon hacked its way high up in the air, like a roller coaster hacks its way to the top. And like the roller coaster the pidgeon threw itself over the top to go in a long, smooth, wonderfully elegant glide back to earth.

Images of the mind

The talk in the tram early in the morning is... great.

Someone woke up on Sunday morning somewhere in the Kinkerstraat. Another spent her evening at the bar, but next week she'll be at the stadium again. Yet another was at the fair too early; it was still closed. His talking partner, on the other hand, was there an hour later and at that time it was open.

Like I said, the talk this early is great. :)

Images of the mind

Last night I dreamt of black, white and black and white balloon dogs. The kind clowns make from these long, thin balloons for the children at the fair or a party. In my dream I saw them everywhere: amongst the trees, on a branch, with its head sticking out of a bin, in a shop window... everywhere.

And everywhere I went, they went as well: around the block, in the park, at the station, downtown. Odd at first, their presence became infuriating, until a resignation settled over me. Then I woke up.