I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the pillow, the smiley face, the sunset creeping along the wall of the lonely alley, and wondered who it was that left that pillow for some tired soul to rest their head on. Did the smile help them sleep better?
I haven't had a chance to mention Mark's website lately, but if you really want to see how someone is using the internet to raise awareness and do good things, please check him out. (And of course, I'm always wanting more people to link to HAMO and St. Anthony's.)
Wishing you all a wonderful day, and I'll be back with more news soon.
I think I forgot to share this photo with you before I put it on flickr.
Three little girls looking out over Polk Street from their Tenderloin apartment window. Someone paid me a huge compliment and said this had some Robert Frank magic to it, which I do take as a huge compliment.
I love their unique and individual reactions to what they're seeing on the streets below. I guess they didn't notice me.
There's a recent article on Frank in Vanity Fair (thanks Plug1, for making me aware of it). I still wonder why it was that he gave up photography. At this time in my life, I can't imagine that someday I won't want to capture images. Perhaps one can get tired of seeing. Or trying. I hope I don't.
***
Listen, I've kinda hinted around about the article in the San Francisco Chronicle (!!) on me and the i live here:SF project. I know some of you goodhearted souls are as anxious as I am to know when the article is coming out, and I still don't know. It will be sometime after Sunday, that's all I know now.
So if you want to start buying newspapers, you can but I swear, the very minute I hear any news, you'll be the next to know. Promise.
I hope J.D. Salinger would approve. Photo taken in the Tenderloin with Plug1 as my accomplice in sneaking around.
***
It's a week of happenings. I know you know that. Looks like K and the kids move on Friday and I promise to keep you in the loop so you know what I know.
It's been the longest week in the world already, and it's only Wednesday. But I have the feeling that wonderful things are being built. They're just not ready to share yet.
I'm going back to last Free Friday, to a group of photos I took. A late afternoon, in the Tenderloin, downtown.
It's both easy and hard at the end of the day -- easy in that I just lose myself in my photos and it's like I never went to the office (I just forget everything, even what time it is), and hard, in that I'm tired because it's been a long day -- but I have to go through the images, and even if it's just to find a few that make me happy. And then I can stop and go to bed.
***
I realized the photos I like best tell stories. So here are three.
Part I: The violinist
It's quite common to hear a variety of music being performed in the metro stations. Ordinarily, I don't stop to listen because I've yet to hear music that's worth stopping for. In my humble opinion, that is.
I understand (and you do, too, I'm sure) what it's like to enjoy something so much that you have to close your eyes to experience it. I did not have my eyes closed, but the slight, long-haired man, dressed all in black and playing the violin... his eyes were closed.
He played that violin like nothing else in the world existed except for him, and the violin, and the music.
When the musician stopped playing, we talked for a few minutes. The piece I was playing he had improvised (that amazed me just in itself, what a concept) and that he was visiting from Atlanta, before going on to LA. I was already sad to know that he wasn't a local and I wouldn't see him in the metro station again.
We talked about his violins and his CDs, and a little bit about Venice. I remembered the violin museum I had gone to in San Marco, a place he would have loved more than any normal person. He's never been to Venice. I hope he gets there someday, for that city and violins are good friends.
***
Part II: The man on the street
Coming up to the street, I saw the Truth Building again. I know it's a repeat from a previous post, but it's a photo I really love.
The sun was hanging lower in the sky, drifting into late afternoon.
The man gently helping the little boy on his bike, with training wheels, made me smile. Against the hard backdrop of this gritty part of town, you realize that kids still need to learn to ride their bikes.
Near the Hibernia Bank, at the corner of Jones and McAllister, the clouds were filling the sky with an end-of-day fullness.
Even the neon lights had something to say.
***
he says: hey lady, take my picture.
then he starts goofing off, wiggling around and striking crazy poses. which of course makes for a terrible photo.
i say: stand still and just act normal. otherwise i can't take your picture!
he says: act normal? i haven't done that in my whole life!
he laughs. and stands still.
and then i take his picture.
i tell him he has nice eyes. he does.
and then he can't help it... boys will be boys.
***
These old buildings must have so many stories to tell. I guess I'm not too sure how many of them I'd really want to know without them weighing down on my heart. But even in their present state, I find these places quite beautiful in their way.
The light is starting to fade to night. And my lens isn't wide enough to take it all in.
Contrasts appeal to me. I love finding unique juxtapositions ... and seem to notice more of them when I'm toting a camera around. Next to this men's club (and what Obama has to do with the club, I have no idea) is a rescue mission. Both the gentleman's club and the rescue mission were locked tight. No escape and no solace to be found in either place.
I wonder what this mural is really trying to tell the people that see it. I'd like to think that it's something like: there are more good people than bad people, and not this, which is seems pretty vague and not very inspiring. People living in this neighborhood need a little bit more than ambiguity.
***
Part III: The artist
Here I am, sitting and waiting for a new friend who, when I meet her, feels like an old soul. The air in the restaurant is thick with rich, delicious smoke from the tandoori oven, and I feel like I'm at an Indian barbeque. I've come in off the street to wait for her, since standing outside the restaurant was starting to get me admirers I didn't want.
I wish I could be in this neighborhood, invisible, to observe and take photos, but I can't. Standing outside waiting, a man who looked very much like the one I took photos of earlier, lurches towards me, an open beer can barely concealed inside a brown paper bag.
He smiles at me and says, you're so pretty. You're like an angel. Before I know it, he's reached out to push some hair away from my face. I wish I was braver. All I could say was thank you and then turn inside to the safety of the restaurant.
Indoors, away from the dark and the street, my new friend and I talk and plan. We talk about Cairo, where she was born, and the Mission, where she lives now. We talk about veils and makeup and photography and paintings and dance.
Three meetings. One afternoon.
***
While I was working on these images, I was listening to Paul's music, so I made a slideshow to share with you. The track is from his album, Ghosts, and the piece is called "Under The Direction Of St. Teresa VI."
