Patterns

Lionel had three hidey hoes but his favorite was the crawl space beneath the abandoned duplex kitty corner from his parents apartment. On this freezing February night while perfecting his hibernating bear pose he heard his mother scream "Lionel!" followed by fifteen seconds of silence until "Lionel!" echoed the streets of Baltimore once again. This was a cycle of five and the screams were consistent in tenor. Hearing her voice warmed his heart yet nothing was sweeter than the fifth and final "Lionel!" which was followed by the sounds of a door slamming and a muffled: "Fucker."

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Red Bows and BBQ

I grew up smelling BBQ, mostly on the weekends, always with friends. The laughter was honest and the games were competitive. This was family life.

Weekends. I love them. The streets are quiet and empty. So I throw on my backpack and jump on a train. Just me and the camera and some sleepy—on the verge. This was a Saturday afternoon and I was headed to the Maryland Art Place (MAP) on West Saratoga Street in downtown Baltimore. The night before was the opening of a holiday inspired exhibition that I wrote about here. I had taken some casual photos of the merriment on Friday, but I wanted to capture the space when it was deserted and calm, which is my aesthetic-du-jour.

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Maryland Art Place | Baltimore, MD | 2022

Red bows indicate a sale. I had three photographs displayed on the wall behind the stage; two of them sold. I got me a bow, yo. When I first moved to Baltimore I visited an art gallery in Hampden. While walking around the space the owner inquired if I was looking for something in particular. I asked if they had any photography. No, photos don't sell, was the answer. I was like, dang. Most of the art exhibited at the MAP holiday sale was also—not photography. Out of the 70+ artists represented, I think there were two photographers. I was lucky to be included in the exhibition and super grateful that my work appealed to someone else. But who was that mysterious someone? I wish I knew who purchased my work. Where did they live? Was it for them, or was it a gift? Yes, I could have done a better job while I was at the party paying attention to the elves, who were the festive folks assigned to manage the sale between patron and artwork. I could have lurked behind a pillar and spied on any activity buzzing around my photos; but I didn't. I was looking at the other work and awkwardly speaking with artists and basically snooping around MAP since I hadn't been there before, especially in such a privileged capacity.

Living in retrospect.

After taking a few pictures of the gallery and silently reminiscing, I left MAP and headed uptown via Tyson Street, which is basically a back alley. My plan was to walk home and take a bunch of photos along the way (I ended up taking 160 pics over the course of 4 miles). But I needed to eat first. I was in the mood for a falafel, something I could hold in my hand and tear up. I was getting weak. Then I smelled it: BBQ.

Trevor was grilling chicken and ribs in the parking lot at the Downtown Cultural Arts Center. I told him I was a vegetarian and asked if he could make me something good. He said he could make me one of them Beyond Burgers. I said, ok, and started rubbing my hands together, excited as I watched him expertly tend to the meats, smoke all in my face, remembering the swimming pool on Kittridge Street in Canoga Park, CA where something was always sizzling on the grill. Trevor said he could put cheese on it: lettuce, tomato, onion. I said, yes sir.

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View From the Curb on Tyson Street | Baltimore, MD | 2022

So there I was, sitting on the curb, eating my cheeseburger. Trevor gave me a water on the house which I used to clean my hands after devouring the drippy deliciousness. I took a nice, long chug and looked up; nothing but blue skies and puffy clouds.

The perfect day for taking a picture.

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Holiday Exhibition at Maryland Art Place

I was invited to exhibit my photography at the 10th Annual Benefit Exhibition at Maryland Art Place (MAP) in Baltimore and I couldn't be happier. Let me break it down.

Back in April I became a member of MAP. My $30 fee was a modest way to show support for the arts. Basically, I had intentions to submit my work to MAP for open calls and such, so I thought it would be good karma to throw them some love up front. In July, my $30 membership gifted me a thank you letter from the Executive Director which said, "Later this year we will be celebrating our 10th annual benefit exhibition. We would love to see you there!" I thought that was so sweet. But did she mean as a patron or an artist? Either way, I had work to do. 

My priorities were thus: 1) Wake up and drink very fresh, dark roast coffee, 2) Honor my friendship with Dee, 3) Take pictures of Baltimore.

Pretty simple plan. I also wanted to be on the lookout for any emails from MAP in regards to what they were up to and announcements for open calls. I noticed MAP was marketing their public art program, IMPACT, at the Hotel Indigo, which at the time was a solo show for a local painter. I put it on my to-do list—take a field trip to the Indigo. I eventually visited the hotel, which is conveniently located in the heart of Mount Vernon, and was jazzed by the venue, which was originally a YMCA back in 1907. The high ceilings were impressive, the retro furniture was chill and the cozy fireplace was a nice touch. I studied the paintings on display, but I also imagined having a photography show in the space, which would require larger prints than I was currently producing, and it would take approximately 12 frames to fill the room. I calculated the production cost at $3,400, which means I'd have to sell every photo, priced at $500, just to break even, which assumes a 50/50 split with MAP. I took one more look around the lounge and laughed out loud. Every photo. Hilarious. I’d be lucky if I sold one. But I wasn’t bumming, in fact, I felt motivated as I leaped down the Hotel Indigo stairs and headed uptown. 

Weeks passed without seeing an open call I could sink my teeth into, but I noticed MAP was hosting an MFA exhibition, which sounded like a perfect opportunity to check out their gallery, which I did. The space was classic, with the wood floors and that Soho loft feel; I loved it and felt my work would play nicely with their smooth white walls. At this point I was convinced my $30 membership was starting to pay off, but I would continue to scroll the MAP newsletters for future opportunities.

In September, while savoring my morning Sumatra and posting the daily gram, I read that MAP was seeking submissions for their inaugural exhibition at Zeke’s Coffee, which was a new addition to there public art program, IMPACT. I was interested; and ended up submitting my work. I wrote about it here. While at the opening reception at Zeke’s, I met the Executive Director of MAP and told her I appreciated the letter she sent me in response to my new membership. We got to talking a bit and I learned that the Zeke’s show had a three tiered vetting process which included herself, the program manager and a 12 person advisory committee. Well alright. The Zeke’s show runs through January 11th.

On October, 20th, I received an email from MAP that said their Program Advisory Committee had invited me to submit my work for their 10th Annual Benefit Exhibition. This was uplifting news. I was honored to submit the following three photos: My Chariot Awaits (2022), I Used to Be Super Lonely (2019) and The Trending Appeal of Corrugated Steel (2022).

***

The benefit exhibition runs for two days only: December 9th (Fri) & 10th (Sat). It’s a unique holiday event where each piece of art can be purchased, taken off the wall, and wrapped while you chill; which means, it’s more like a craft show than a typical exhibition where you can’t take your art home until the exhibition ends. 

On Friday the entry fee is $25 and includes an open bar, a DJ, drag queens as your hosts, and a cookies and ice cream sandwich truck. Naturally, you are encouraged to wear your most festive holiday sweater. Friday runs from 6pm-10pm. There is free parking in the Arrow garage across the street. 

Saturday the admission is free (because a portion of the art is sold by then and the drag queens and cookies are long gone) and runs from 12pm-4pm.

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Ok, for sure, my $30 membership has definitely paid off. And I’d still be lucky if one of my photos sold; but I’m not bumming, because I will be attending the show as a grateful patron and a humbled artist. 

The best of both worlds.

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Mash-Up: The Dance of Two

I typically present one photo at a time, but lately I've been feeling goofball so I decided to create a romantic mash-up of two unsuspecting images. This might even turn into a thing I do every now and again. It was just so delightfully random. I like taking pictures and non sequiturs are fun!—which reminds me about the time I met the sweetest couple in a smoky West Village lounge in NYC. They had been dancing together for over two decades, always on Tuesday, twice a month. They were Crystal and Darshan and they put on a show that made me blush. It went a little something like this.

Crystal whispered into Darshan's ear, "It takes two to tango, ain't that right my deer?" their antlers locked on the parquet floor.

"Ahhh, my dirty goat,” Darshan teased, “Don't forget about the two second rule." With a flourish he disengaged, whipping his ebony mane backwards and sideways, fully embracing his inner stallion.

Crystal kicked her leg high to disco heaven. "Step two-three, slide five-six; and again two-three, sliiide,” her spirit transformed into a metronome on a stiff macchiato, relentlessly dominating the beat.

"Two peas in a mutha-fuckin’ pod," Darshan growled and pulled Crystal effortlessly into his engorged sacral chakra: black, shiny, spandex.

Crystal roared, "Closer than two coats of paint. Do it again, do it again, you beast!" With hardly an effort she tossed a well prepared Darshan halfway across the dance floor, like a rag doll, an absolute display of muscle. With arms crossing his chest, Darshan's torso rotated gracefully in perfect circles, floating in the air, seemingly forever. The onlookers felt the wispy breeze from a confident double lutz and were delighted to hear the exclamation, "Touche my darling!" just as Darshan floated back to earth, his landing—perfect.

"A bird in the hand is worth two in a bush. Magnificent, my dove!" Darshan took a bow as Crystal cooed and performed her crowd pleasing pigeon strut complete with happy flapping wings and a barrage of bonafide twerks.

Darshan, panting in awe, was hypnotized by the butt. 

The house erupted with catcalls and whistles, palms raw from sweaty, enthusiastic claps. A few retreated to the bar, some were jealous, others repulsed, but everyone was secretly hoping for an encore.

But what was I saying? Oh right, follow the yellow brick road; it might take you to a community of animals where the odds are, give or take, 50/50 that you will find someone who loves to tango—just, as much, as you.

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Don't Think

Yes, and: the basic philosophy of the Upright Citizens Brigade (UCB).

UCB is an improv and sketch comedy group that eventually morphed into a theatre and training center. I learned about UCB when I lived in NYC and went to a bunch of their shows in Chelsea and the East Village. I was bummed when they shuttered their NY presence in 2020 but happy to know they still have a home in Los Angeles. Although I moved to NYC in 1995 I didn't learn about UCB until 2013 which is when I met Elle who was taking a series of classes at UCB and subsequently became a member of an NYC improv troupe called, "Ski Legend." I went to all of their gigs and started to delight in the art of improv. 

Yes, and. An improv scene usually starts with someone in the group making a statement about something to another person in the group. The other person agrees with what they heard (yes) and then adds another detail (and). 

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The front of Elle’s t-shirt which she purchased at the UCB in Chelsea, NYC

When Elle and I took a trip to London in 2015 we treated ourselves to an improv show called "Austentatious" which is an improvised Jane Austen novel. London is brilliant. We spent five days based out of the Ace Hotel in Shoreditch and packed in as much as we could: the London Eye, a spot of tea, the Tate Modern, the National Portrait Gallery, fish and chips, the Soho Theatre. We walked everywhere and thought London would be wicked if we knew somebody that lived there, an artist perhaps, someone that showed us London on the cheap, nothing too fancy, maybe a trip beyond the perimeter, a tad more intimate.

These are the dreams of adventure.

In the meantime, Baltimore is as good as anywhere to embrace intimacy, which is basically what improv is all about. Yes, and—positively support your partner, keep the scene moving forward, and don’t think too much, just go with the flow. Trust. Improv partners are everywhere; we just have to recognize when a scene begins.

I received a message from a friend the other day inviting me to submit one of my photos for a collective photography exhibition called “I Don’t Know What You See” hosted by the artist IMPREINT and featuring 28 artists from around the world. This was the beginning of the scene. I said yes, and sent them Diesel. 

The exhibition will be on Saturday, 15 October from 15:00-23:00 BST at the IMPREINT Space—in London. 

It’s smashing to be back. 

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The back of Elle’s t-shirt which she purchased at the UCB in Chelsea, NYC (sequined heart added by Elle)

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Partially Based on a True Story

Fact:

Two photos from my series of minimalist Baltimore exteriors will be making their public debut at the inaugural group art exhibition hosted by Maryland Art Place entitled, IMPACT: Baltimore Showcase @ Zeke's. The show opens on Thursday, September 29th and runs through January 11, 2023.  

Fiction: (partially based on a true story)

I am fastidious when it comes to daily living, which also applies to art making and more recently, picture framing. I trust Metropolitan Picture Framing in Minneapolis when it comes to crafting the frames for my photography. Their work is exact, consistent and high quality. But the job doesn't stop there. Once I receive Metro's frame I put everything together, which basically relies on two very specific things: 1) Ensuring that the glazing (museum glass) is spotless, which for anyone who has worked with museum glass knows—is not easy, considering both sides of the glass have an anti-reflective coating and one side is also coated with UV protection; the glass is gorgeous, but it's high maintenance; cotton, lint free gloves are a must, and 2) Making sure there are no foreign particles (boogers, hair, flakes of skin, dust) under the glass or on the photograph; a soft, anti-static brush is perfect for this task.

Once I've ensured the above two things, I am ready to screw in the strainers, attach the strap hangers and seal the frame, which I've done before and then turned the frame over only to see some debris under the glass. Fuuuuuck. I hate it when that happens; which is why I am so careful. 

When I delivered the two frames to Maryland Art Place I had a silent moment to myself, invoking both Grace and Hope Walk Into a Bar and The Ghosts of Detention with a safe and happy journey to Zeke's, which is a coffee shop located in the neighborhood of Lauraville in northeast Baltimore. I thought about the photographs being hung. Would anybody be wearing white cotton gloves? Oh goodness, my heart started to tremble. I felt like I was sending my kids off to first grade. Nerves. I took a deep breath and whispered my last goodbye, “See y’all on opening night, daddy loves you.”

Dee and I have nightly dance parties.

So far our new neighbors haven't complained. But we are civil, keeping those phat bass lines to a reasonable bump. Our sets last around 10 songs so even if we were a bit ecstatic, it's just a temporary nuisance. Ain't nobody getting hurt. When we are feeling it (you know, butts out, the usual) we often have intimate conversations about our day. On this particular DP we got to talking about the opening reception at Zeke's. How wonderful everything turned out and how lucky we were to have our first Baltimore show go off without a hitch. The show was fabulously curated, full of diversity, and oh how happy we were with the placement of our photos, in an area with nice light, but perhaps a tad bit close to the bathroom. But hey, it's a coffee shop, the vibe is youthful, artsy, caffeinated and intellectual; our kind of people.

After the dance we made a delicious celebratory dinner and then crawled into bed for a quickie crossword puzzle, relaxing in the glow of it all; no worries, it is written, our kids survived their first day of class. My phone rang. I picked it up because it said Maryland Art Place. "Hey, what's up?" 

"Hi Michael, sorry to bother you."

I recognized the voice; it was the curator from MAP. "No worries," I said. "Is everything ok?"

"Um, well, yes, everything is fine."

I glanced over at Dee while the curator took a breath. Dee looked back at me with grave concern. I continued listening.

"You see, after the reception was over, the party kind of continued at Zeke's. Everyone was super amped. Really great show. But, you know, um, a couple was making out near the bathroom and it got a bit heavy, in a good way, I mean, kids just having fun and one thing led to another and—boom—The Ghosts of Detention flew off the wall and crashed onto the floor, glass everywhere."

"Oh no,” I said and looked directly into Dee's wide eyes.

"So I just wanted to say I sincerely apologize for this accident and if you'd like to replace The Ghosts with another photo we would love to make that happen—ASAP."

I looked at Dee and didn't take my eyes off her as I deliberately spoke into the phone, "So the photo fell off the wall (pausing to look at Dee), and crashed onto the floor (pausing once again), and it's in pieces?" I held my eyes on Dee.

"That's correct."

I kept looking at Dee. I wasn't smiling. I was expressionless. Like a Sergio Leone western, Dee looked at me, then I looked at her—and then—Dee spontaneously burst into laughter! I started laughing too. It was so joyful. Tears filled our eyes. "I'm sorry, we're just enjoying this moment. What a blessing.”

The curator patiently waited out our catharsis.

I steadied myself while looking directly into Dee's eyes and spoke softly into the phone, "You know, no need to replace that photo, everything is just the way it's supposed to be. This is a city on the verge—after all."

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