Where ever the Picture Man exists, they call to him.
It’s a job, but only landscapes leave you whole and completely uncomprimised, by not having to deal with people. It’s the only entity i want, and will heed to, instead of going to dirty old cities endlessly, and, perhaps for nor reason at all.
That’s why coming up here, or any other of the forgotten spots i know, can be so peaceful, it’s on a different plane. If documentary is a starting point, if you’ve seen violence and mayhem and been in it a long time, than some distant or empty lands might reduce stress, as a result of my role as an urban Pharoah, of sorts, or, as it is said in New York’s junkyards…
Not to mention, transactional bull shit is too much for any entity deemed authentic, to deal with. But simply the health benefits is enough, where the “Crazies” are a place, a mountain range, and not a profession.
Fresh air, large empty spaces, peace and quiet is as close to the conditions of rebirth as it could get.
Back to this fellow, who, i don’t know, if it’s really up to me to say how he feels, because when you need money, you do whatever it takes, I did plenty of humiliating things for money, on this level, in another role or job, trying to make ends meet.
I’m not sure how many can say that, but i don’t particularly like saying it. It’s stupid. It’s stupid to lose so much blood over nothing.
People make all sorts of books, videos and documentaries on the working people of America, but i never met one who did one day’s labor, let alone on a day in to day out level.
Gene at his neighborhood garden and park, at his annual summer party. Gene is from a generation that grew up in the deep south – Alabama – when an even more deadly and serious racism existed. These guys had such an edge to them, on that level, it wasn’t funny.
Gene passed away, but he lived a long time on the east side, had his shop on 105th, and home in East Cleveland, tough places where everyone carries a weapon, and, when relaxing, in their own private city park, ain’t too shy about it. Who is, in this town, where they ask, take my picture?