Monday, December 05, 2005
Little Venice
A few of my favorites from the days spent wandering around Little Venice in London....
Along for the Ride
Chris and Lois Willett have been cruising the waterways of Britain in their 60 foot canal boat Hillhouse and Co for the past three years. Although Lois never lived more than three miles from where she was born and had never been on a boat until meeting Chris at 19, the couple never stays in one place for more than a fortnight. "There is still so much of the canals to see and once I see them all, I'll want to go again to see how they've changed," says Lois.
Chris first stepped foot on a boat when he was 16 years old and he loved it. They used to hire boats on holidays and eventually had a share in one before buying their own after Chris retired.
This winter they are trying to take the boat up north before the weather sets in but in the face of faulty electrics and closed lochs, they were forced to take a break at the Willow Tree Marina in Yeading near Southall.
I met them there and we cruised down the Heddington arm of the Grand Union South to Hanwell Lochs. We had lunch and headed back up just in time to dock before dark and the rain set in.
While Chris drives the boat, Lois walks ahead to open and close the Loch gates. While it is possible for one person to maneuver a canal boat through the Lochs, two people make the job much easier and more efficient. The more helping hands you have the quicker it goes. In the wider lochs, like the Hanwell Lochs, two of the thin canal boats can fit through at one time. We happened to catch up with another boat going down through at the same time. The two couples worked together easily and everyone was happy to have another helping hand.
Chris hooks into the power provided at the Marina.
After the boat is docked, dinner eaten and the dog walked, Chris and Lois settle in for the evening to relax, read the paper and watch the news. Rosie fights with the newspaper for Chris' attention. The couple has had Rosie for 11 years and is a consummate boat dog.
Monday, November 28, 2005
SailCaribbean
I spent a month last summer cruising around the British Virgin Islands and lesser Antilles on a variety of sailing vessels filled to the brim with teenagers. These are my favorites.
Eric demonstrates to his crew of 13 to 17 year-olds how not to dive off of the Jump Rock at the Baths in Virgin Gorda, BVI. Eric is Captain of the Sail Caribbean teen summer program, Foxtrot, that teaches teenagers environmental conservation, sailing, and scuba diving.
A local artist carved out designs in old metal buoys and each month Trellis Bay celebrates the Full moon by lighting fires in the buoys on the beach and dancing to live music under the light of the moon in Tortola, British Virgin Islands.
A diver reaches out to touch a moon jelly during a dive in the British Virgin Islands in July 2005. The moon jellies are seasonal and float through the water close to the surface in large groups. The tentacles will sting you but the tops of the jellyfish are safe to touch.
The nalgenes of teenagers hang off the canvas roof that shelters the cockpit from the sun. Drinking water and staying out of the sun as much as possible arethe two most important rules when spending three weeks on a boat in the Caribbean.
A teenager girl wakeboards behind one of Sail Caribbean’s yellow rib power boats. She was one of nine students who lived on a 50-foot Benataeu with a captain and 1st mate for 17 days during a summer sailing program in the British Virgin Islands in July of 2005.
Two teenagers kayak across the bay where their boats are anchored at St Kitts in the lesser Antilles island chain at sunset. They are participants in the Delta summer sailing program, which focuses on sailing and leadership skills.
Eric demonstrates to his crew of 13 to 17 year-olds how not to dive off of the Jump Rock at the Baths in Virgin Gorda, BVI. Eric is Captain of the Sail Caribbean teen summer program, Foxtrot, that teaches teenagers environmental conservation, sailing, and scuba diving.
A local artist carved out designs in old metal buoys and each month Trellis Bay celebrates the Full moon by lighting fires in the buoys on the beach and dancing to live music under the light of the moon in Tortola, British Virgin Islands.
A diver reaches out to touch a moon jelly during a dive in the British Virgin Islands in July 2005. The moon jellies are seasonal and float through the water close to the surface in large groups. The tentacles will sting you but the tops of the jellyfish are safe to touch.
The nalgenes of teenagers hang off the canvas roof that shelters the cockpit from the sun. Drinking water and staying out of the sun as much as possible arethe two most important rules when spending three weeks on a boat in the Caribbean.
A teenager girl wakeboards behind one of Sail Caribbean’s yellow rib power boats. She was one of nine students who lived on a 50-foot Benataeu with a captain and 1st mate for 17 days during a summer sailing program in the British Virgin Islands in July of 2005.
Two teenagers kayak across the bay where their boats are anchored at St Kitts in the lesser Antilles island chain at sunset. They are participants in the Delta summer sailing program, which focuses on sailing and leadership skills.
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Derrick Knight
“I’m trying to do it without a dictionary,” says Derrick Knight as he works to set a crossword puzzle for the Times newspaper in the park at Little Venice. Knight’s uncle got him into solving crossword puzzles when he was 15 years old and as an adult he did them everyday on his daily commute from Newark to London until all the people who asked him for help on the train inspired him to write a book on crosswords in 1990. In addition to the Times, he now sets crosswords for the Sun Telegraph and the Independent.
“When between clients I sit in the park,” commented Derrick Knight as he sets crosswords in the park by Little Venice across the canal from his office where he works as a psychotherapist. “When it’s too cold to sit in the park. I go to the pub.”
“When between clients I sit in the park,” commented Derrick Knight as he sets crosswords in the park by Little Venice across the canal from his office where he works as a psychotherapist. “When it’s too cold to sit in the park. I go to the pub.”
Friday, November 18, 2005
Lord Mayor Show
Eddie Chu and Bo Sun, of China, members of the Shaolin dragon dancing team lead by Hoffen He, of China, dance by the Royal Court of Justice at the end of the morning half of the Lord Mayor’s Show parade on Saturday, Nov. 12. Crowds line up to watch the parade and wait to see this year's Lord Mayor, David Brewer, in his golden coach stop at the Royal Courts of Justice to pledge allegiance to the Crown. The Shaolin dragon dancing team was part of the Hong Kong Trade Development Council group, which also had a float, dancers and fish banners.
This years Lord Mayor Show parade was a huge affair with 133 floats, thousands of participants and specitators and followed the route and tradition that began in 1215 when King John granted London's citizents the right to elect their own Mayor under the condition that they swear fealty tot he Crown. The parade follows the route the newly elected Mayor had to travel from the City to Westminster inorder to pledge allegiance to the Crown. In the intervening 783 or so years the Lord Mayor has made this yearly journey despite war and natural disasters and the procession eventually became so ostentatious that it became known as the Lord Mayor's Show.
All information on the Lord Mayor's Show was taken from http://www.lordmayorsshow.org
Matthew Ahmet, 17, tries to keep his fish off the ground and out of the crowd at the Lord Mayor’s Show parade on Saturday, Nov. 12. Matthew was a participant with the Hong Kong Trade Development Council group, which also had a float, dancers and a Shao Lin dragon dancing team. Matthew became involved with the group through the study of Kung Fu.
Daniel Evans, 19, a trooper in the Household Calvary holds the horses after the first half the Lord mayor’s show parade. “I’ve got a rather difficult horse so it was fun and challenging at the same time,” Evans said of his experience in the parade.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Scotland
The biggest visual issue I have yet to encounter during my time in Europe is the pretty picture of two young lasses on a bus to Glasgow, Scotland, except one of the lasses is missing. The blond one.
So now we were down to one pretty lass but there were still two cameras and two backpacking bags. So I was sure she used to be in the frame. Somehow she snuck out while I was sleeping. Imagine my surprise upon waking that Erika could not be found. As I said to the bus driver, there are only so many places she could have been hiding.
So we started off our fall break with a curious adventure that bordered on serious mishap and I was left standing in Glasgow on a dark rainy night with all our gear and one question: whatÂ’s next?
Fortunately, I found a hostel, found Erika and the rest of the trip was less about mishaps and more about our quest to find good light, dry socks and the Loch Ness Monster.
Our days in Scotland were covered by a heavy layer of clouds. Yet as sunset approached the light always seemed to break through and in that 30 minute window we would race against time to capture the beauty of the landscape.
Whoever called London a rainy city has yet to spend any time in Scotland. Luckily the weather was mild so the rain hardly fazed us. We spent the first day exploring Glasgow. It was a wet, windblown and leaf strewn city. The graffiti along the riverbank is painted over itself in so many layers as to become an abstract design of twisting colors.
Fall is approaching and the color of the leaves is vibrant. They add color to a city, which would otherwise be grey. We meandered down the river until we found the park. It was empty, symmetrical and green. I couldn't wait to head north to the highlands. It is partly in search of space that we decided on our destination. I miss the expanse of the ocean and sky back home. After London, Glasgow is odd in its emptiness, the people, however, are friendly. We met Lachlen who took us to see his art exhibit. 50 or so paintings he did while serving 12 years and 4 months in a Chinese prison for possession of cannabis. The pictures he chose to show tell their own story of his life and emotions during that time. You can also see his progression from painting as a prison pastime and emotional release to talented artist. The first couple of paintings are statements about social injustice, false imprisonment. The next are very stylized paintings, which use symbolism and sharp lines to show his state of mind when first put in prison: confused, scared, "freaked out". Then later images replace those emotions with desires. He makes statements about life in prison and his attempts to break away from their "brainwashing" prisoner resocialization programs. He documents the many beatings he received. 'Stuck in a Corner' shows himself being beaten surrounded by police and prison guards with his desires standing just outside his reach. "Imagination is a powerful tool," says Lachlan.
The next day we rented a car and headed North.
Erika and I spent much our time driving around the Scottish Highlands waiting for the rain to stop and the light to break through the clouds and trying to find people who were outdoors and not hiding inside, in front of the fire with their feet up. Whenever we saw something interesting I would find a place to stop on the narrow curving roads and we would bound out, happy to be free of the confines of the car. We'd jump the fence or the ditch and make our way carefully through the boggy ground until my shoes were wet and muddy enough that it no longer mattered. In this photograph I stood on a small hill near the the loch that was nevertheless slippery with mud and moss and tried to capture the wind. It was so strong that I thought it would blow me over and the sound it made through the brush was a soft roar.
I met Alex Corquodale on our second day driving around the highlands. We had given up on finding people outside and had begun knocking on doors. I was nervous at first but the people were friendly if a little bemused by our interest. Alex, who has been living alone since his wife died answered the door with a cheery "Hellooo!" pleasantly surprising Erika and I. He cheerfully pulled on his jacket and showed us around his old farm.
Alex Corquodale, 76, has been living on his farm in Port Appin, Scotland since 1958. Alex is a widower and retired. He no longer runs the farm, however, he rents out the land during the winter to sheep farmers and he collects old farm tools. Alex has over 40 horse plough harnesses scattered over the property that he buys and restores and four huge old tractors stored away in the barn.
Sun started to set as we drove towards Glasgow. I stopped when we saw a woman in her garden on a lonely stretch of A85 near Crianlarch. We met Joyce Valentine, a 79 year old woman, lonely with a dry wit. Her husband had been a navy officer. They used to live in England and Wales, but they moved here because he wanted to. He died of Cancer shortly after buying the bungalow and never saw it with the furniture inside of it. Joyce has lived here for 20 years by herself, lonely yet amused by the strange happenings on her remote stretch of highland highway. People in car accidents, killing sheep on the road and coming to her for help. One man who insisted the sheep was alive, but the head had been loosened from the body and nearly came off in her hands when she attempted to move it off the road. Two boys who crashed their mopeds and bled all over her bathroom. Her dog Dinky, who's name they had to change at her father's insistence after one incident when he ran down to the road, blocking traffic and her father had to go after him. You can't just yell "Dinky! Dinky! Dinky!" with all those cars and the people staring at you she said. "If this is a joke, I'll kill you," she kept saying to Erika and I. She didn't want any pictures but we're going to send her some anyway.
While Erika was photographing Joyce I went and spoke with her new neighbor, Nick Butler. Nick was friendly but not overly so. He had more of the reserve that I've noticed in people from London. He seemed comfortable in front of the camera but never let his guard down.
Nick Butler, Fashion designer from London decided to move to Scotland with his partner after visiting on holiday. They sold their home in Sussex last November and bought this cottage the following day. "We were lucky," Butler said. "Otherwise we'd have been homeless. Rich homeless people. But still homeless." Butler and his partner have plans to redo the roof and much of the house while still maintaining the traditional architectural style. Butler hopes toeventuallyy be able to build a workshop for himself and continue to design clothing which he'll sell on the Internet. He used to sell his designs in Camden and Portobello Market.
The first time we stopped at the St James Episcopal Church and wandered through the graves with their old Celtic headstones and crosses it was dark, the rain had started to fall in large heavy drops and a family had just arrived bringing the remains of a loved one. We returned the next day and photographed again. The church stands alone on the edge of the highland highway and the loch, with mountains rising up behind it and all around. The headstones themselves stood tall, smoothed by wind and time, and dark as the approaching night.
So now we were down to one pretty lass but there were still two cameras and two backpacking bags. So I was sure she used to be in the frame. Somehow she snuck out while I was sleeping. Imagine my surprise upon waking that Erika could not be found. As I said to the bus driver, there are only so many places she could have been hiding.
So we started off our fall break with a curious adventure that bordered on serious mishap and I was left standing in Glasgow on a dark rainy night with all our gear and one question: whatÂ’s next?
Fortunately, I found a hostel, found Erika and the rest of the trip was less about mishaps and more about our quest to find good light, dry socks and the Loch Ness Monster.
Our days in Scotland were covered by a heavy layer of clouds. Yet as sunset approached the light always seemed to break through and in that 30 minute window we would race against time to capture the beauty of the landscape.
Whoever called London a rainy city has yet to spend any time in Scotland. Luckily the weather was mild so the rain hardly fazed us. We spent the first day exploring Glasgow. It was a wet, windblown and leaf strewn city. The graffiti along the riverbank is painted over itself in so many layers as to become an abstract design of twisting colors.
Fall is approaching and the color of the leaves is vibrant. They add color to a city, which would otherwise be grey. We meandered down the river until we found the park. It was empty, symmetrical and green. I couldn't wait to head north to the highlands. It is partly in search of space that we decided on our destination. I miss the expanse of the ocean and sky back home. After London, Glasgow is odd in its emptiness, the people, however, are friendly. We met Lachlen who took us to see his art exhibit. 50 or so paintings he did while serving 12 years and 4 months in a Chinese prison for possession of cannabis. The pictures he chose to show tell their own story of his life and emotions during that time. You can also see his progression from painting as a prison pastime and emotional release to talented artist. The first couple of paintings are statements about social injustice, false imprisonment. The next are very stylized paintings, which use symbolism and sharp lines to show his state of mind when first put in prison: confused, scared, "freaked out". Then later images replace those emotions with desires. He makes statements about life in prison and his attempts to break away from their "brainwashing" prisoner resocialization programs. He documents the many beatings he received. 'Stuck in a Corner' shows himself being beaten surrounded by police and prison guards with his desires standing just outside his reach. "Imagination is a powerful tool," says Lachlan.
The next day we rented a car and headed North.
Erika and I spent much our time driving around the Scottish Highlands waiting for the rain to stop and the light to break through the clouds and trying to find people who were outdoors and not hiding inside, in front of the fire with their feet up. Whenever we saw something interesting I would find a place to stop on the narrow curving roads and we would bound out, happy to be free of the confines of the car. We'd jump the fence or the ditch and make our way carefully through the boggy ground until my shoes were wet and muddy enough that it no longer mattered. In this photograph I stood on a small hill near the the loch that was nevertheless slippery with mud and moss and tried to capture the wind. It was so strong that I thought it would blow me over and the sound it made through the brush was a soft roar.
I met Alex Corquodale on our second day driving around the highlands. We had given up on finding people outside and had begun knocking on doors. I was nervous at first but the people were friendly if a little bemused by our interest. Alex, who has been living alone since his wife died answered the door with a cheery "Hellooo!" pleasantly surprising Erika and I. He cheerfully pulled on his jacket and showed us around his old farm.
Alex Corquodale, 76, has been living on his farm in Port Appin, Scotland since 1958. Alex is a widower and retired. He no longer runs the farm, however, he rents out the land during the winter to sheep farmers and he collects old farm tools. Alex has over 40 horse plough harnesses scattered over the property that he buys and restores and four huge old tractors stored away in the barn.
Sun started to set as we drove towards Glasgow. I stopped when we saw a woman in her garden on a lonely stretch of A85 near Crianlarch. We met Joyce Valentine, a 79 year old woman, lonely with a dry wit. Her husband had been a navy officer. They used to live in England and Wales, but they moved here because he wanted to. He died of Cancer shortly after buying the bungalow and never saw it with the furniture inside of it. Joyce has lived here for 20 years by herself, lonely yet amused by the strange happenings on her remote stretch of highland highway. People in car accidents, killing sheep on the road and coming to her for help. One man who insisted the sheep was alive, but the head had been loosened from the body and nearly came off in her hands when she attempted to move it off the road. Two boys who crashed their mopeds and bled all over her bathroom. Her dog Dinky, who's name they had to change at her father's insistence after one incident when he ran down to the road, blocking traffic and her father had to go after him. You can't just yell "Dinky! Dinky! Dinky!" with all those cars and the people staring at you she said. "If this is a joke, I'll kill you," she kept saying to Erika and I. She didn't want any pictures but we're going to send her some anyway.
While Erika was photographing Joyce I went and spoke with her new neighbor, Nick Butler. Nick was friendly but not overly so. He had more of the reserve that I've noticed in people from London. He seemed comfortable in front of the camera but never let his guard down.
Nick Butler, Fashion designer from London decided to move to Scotland with his partner after visiting on holiday. They sold their home in Sussex last November and bought this cottage the following day. "We were lucky," Butler said. "Otherwise we'd have been homeless. Rich homeless people. But still homeless." Butler and his partner have plans to redo the roof and much of the house while still maintaining the traditional architectural style. Butler hopes toeventuallyy be able to build a workshop for himself and continue to design clothing which he'll sell on the Internet. He used to sell his designs in Camden and Portobello Market.
The first time we stopped at the St James Episcopal Church and wandered through the graves with their old Celtic headstones and crosses it was dark, the rain had started to fall in large heavy drops and a family had just arrived bringing the remains of a loved one. We returned the next day and photographed again. The church stands alone on the edge of the highland highway and the loch, with mountains rising up behind it and all around. The headstones themselves stood tall, smoothed by wind and time, and dark as the approaching night.
Monday, November 07, 2005
Palermo, Sicily
Italy was amazing! Or should I say Sicily, because from what I've seen they are two distinct places. The people were surprisingly friendly and open to being photographed, especially coming from London. Our photography class met up on Thursday, traveled to Palermo, met the guide, and had an amazing Italian dinner. Went to bed around 2, up the next morning at 6 to photograph. I walked around with Jim and Erika, but the light didn't start getting nice until 7:30 and we had to meet everyone at 8. Breakfast, guided tour thing and then cut lose for a little to go shoot on our own. Jim was a little hesitant to really cut us loose...seeing as it was Sicily and the Mafia and we don't speak Italian...Etc. But everything went smoothly. The food was absolutely incredible and I'm spoiled for London...not to mention life. Not speaking the language wasn't really a handicap. I didn't get as many ID's but no one had a problem getting their picture taken, almost. We visited the Catacombs there. Really, really, really (did I mention really?) disturbing. All of these bodies, in varying degrees of preservation lined the walls, hanging in niches, lying in niches. Families, naked babies lying in cribs, small girls dressed up in their best dresses women with crowns and old men.
The city of Palermo had a very distinct feel to it. The streets were narrow and slippery stone. The buildings were old and falling apart, many parts of the city showed visible evidence of the bombings from WW11. Yet the city was vibrant and alive. I'm left with impressions of smiling faces with crinkling corners and dancing eyes. The laughter of the people I met which replaced words. The markets teeming with people, the roar of motorbikes, the smell of fish and the colors red and blue.
A street somewhere in the maze of central Palermo on a Saturday morning. The presence of satellite dishes and motorbikes is the only evidence of a modern Palermo.
Marino Francesco, 73, fixes nets on his boat Saturday morning. Marino has been a "pescator" all his life. His son (left) came down to help and see what the photographer was doing. Marino joined the Marines at 18 and traveled to different points in Italy, a fact he proudly points out.
Did I mention the food was amazing? I'm having withdrawals. We'd go out in a group for lunch and dinner and they'd serve us bread, brushette, seafood aps and more before we even got to our meals. Not to mention wine. The guide is also a high school English lit teacher so she introduced us to some of her former students. We all went out to dinner together Friday night and went to a party with them on Saturday night. Since there were nine of us, we split up into three or four different cars. The guys I went with got completely lost. Instead of it taking 20 minutes it took us an hour and a half to get there! None of them spoke much English and they were all about 17 or 18 but still acting the role of Italian "men" and trying to get with all us girls. One of them completely latched onto me and followed me around all night. I tried to dance but he would chase me all over the floor, it was exhausting! And he couldn't understand me when I tried to explain to him that I needed space! So I finally had to find the one kid who spoke English to explain to him that I had a boyfriend and he needed to relax! It was kind of a sketchy scene and we were trying to keep track of everyone. A bunch of us decided at 1:30 that we wanted to leave (I wanted to shoot the next morning and it wasn't that great of a party) So then there were issues because two of the girls didn't want to leave and got mad at Erika and I for ruining their good time. We're only in Sicily once! They said. But I was thinking the exact same thing, only it was to get up and take photos...not spend my evening running away from 18 year old boys.
On Saturday we went up the mountain to a small town called Monreale. I hung out on this little side street with a group of neighbors, photographing and attempting to speak Italian. I was much better at communicating than I thought I would be. Italian is similar enough to Spanish that I could understand a little of what was said to me. I tried speaking a strange part Italian, part Spanish and part English but sign language was the most successful. Each little street makes up a small community. The buildings stretch up on either side with balconies balancing precariously inward and lines of laundry creating bridges and giving the impression that the alley is even narrower than it is. Cobblestone streets angle up the side of the mountain and the side streets are stepped so the cars can't go there and children run freely. It becomes difficult to tell which women the various children belong to. They all run in and out of each others houses, playing, fighting and looking after each other. Women stand in their doorways looking on and chatting with the neighbors who lean over their balconies.
I spoke mainly with Giovanni, the oldest son of Badocgliocca Spalvotore (pictured above). He was the most successful at interpreting my broken Italian. Mainly I just smiled at everyone and photographed. Eventually they stopped paying quite as much attention to me and I was able to get some more candid shots, but mostly I photographed what they placed in front of me. I even got photographed when Francesca, the oldest daughter of Maria, one of Badocgliocca's many neighbors, brought out the video camera.
On Sunday we went to the beach at Mondelo but it was a rainy, cold, windy day so no one went swimming. We were a little bit slacking on the photos as well. I was exhausted by the end because I woke up so early each morning to photograph and then we'd be out late or at least up late each night. I always enjoy working by the water. It was one of my favorite parts of this trip and is reflected in my photography. Once I discovered the harbor I went each morning, scrambling over boats and hopping happily from rock to rock.
Antonio catches a small Sarago at La Cala in Palermo, Sicily while fishing on Sunday morning with Angelo, a friend and fellow pescator. The Sarago they were catching seemed too small to eat but that is what they were for all the same. Antonio kept cocking his head at me quizzically, I could almost hear him wondering what this girl was doing perched on the edge of a rock, practically falling into the water. It was one of those moments when I realized how valuable not speaking actually was. If we'd spoken the same language I would have felt obligated to explain to him what I was doing and why, but in place of that I just smiled and kept photographing. As a result, I got a better picture.
I was basically useless when we got back on Monday. Recovering.
So now it's back into the London scene and time to edit all of our photographs.
Did I mention the food was great?
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