It Was Too Soon

My sister and I just returned from a short visit to our hometown. The purpose of our trip was to attend a memorial service for a family friend who had passed away after a long and painful illness. She died too soon. I know we always think that, but she did. She was only fifty-nine. Although I didn't see her during her illness, her mother kept us informed throughout her struggle so we knew how hard she was fighting to live.

She was fortunate to have the comfort of lots of family and friends. At the service I met her two beautiful daughters...very strong...had their mother's gorgeous looks and her personality. It was a pleasant surprise to meet her granddaughter who looked just like she did when she was her age. Both Karla and her husband had many, many friends, some of whom were members of the theatre group at the local university where her husband is on the faculty. Our Karla was a wife, mother, grandmother, daughter, sister, aunt, niece, and a friend to many. I will always remember her smile and her infectious laughter. She was an inspiration to us all.

F.Y.I., Karla's the one in the highchair. That's me probably trying to sneak a piece of cake! This was just one of our many, many birthday parties...thanks to our very loving parents. I bet Karla's mother, Doris, made those fancy hats.

Here's The Real Reason I Went To New York

Almost two months ago on Friday, November 13th, Tom came home from work with a copy of USA Today. He showed me an article about a, no, THE photographer, Robert Frank. He thought that maybe I would want to see the exhibit, without him, of course because he's still working, not retired, like I.

The article was about an exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art that was honoring the fiftieth anniversary of Frank's book, The Americans. Various towns were mentioned in the article where Frank visited and shot the images. Towns such as, Charleston, Detroit, Memphis, Hoboken, San Francisco and Miami Beach to name a few. Since I love black and white photography and I've never had a history of photography class, I though it would be a great reason to visit my favorite city. Also going there at Christmas just made the trip more enticing.

So then I started thinking. Maybe I could fly up and back in the same day, but if I did there would be no way that I could make the lecture that would be taking place 11:00. It was too chancy. Soon one day turned into two. I talked to friends about going with me and one in particular seemed interested, and that was Karen. She often accompanies me on my local shoots and even went with me to a show in Myrtle Beach. Karen was apprenhensive in the beginning because she still teaches and didn't want to take the days. I finally had to have a "come to Jesus" meeting with her and it worked!

Three and one half weeks later we were on our way to New York. We left Wednesday afternoon so we could be at the museum bright and early on Thursday morning. We were able to hear two lectures that morning. The first one was way out there and was called, "Surface Tension: Contemporary Photographs from the Collection." Although it was way out of the box, the associate pointed out some interesting facts. Did you know that you can take a photograph of a painting hanging in a museum (with permission and no flash please) and incorporate it into your own composition? Yep, you can. That was all I needed to hear to motivate me to spend some time later that day snapping Van Gogh, Renoir, Monet and Manet. I've got them all in my computer just waiting to bust loose in some future masterpiece.

Oops, two got loose. The first on is Monet. You can see his signature in the lower right corner.

This one is obviously Van Gogh.

Back to Frank. The lecture on his work was led by the curator of photography, Jeff Rosenheim. There was a huge group of people and 83 photographs to view. The lecture lasted over an hour and was extremely interesting. After working for Vanity Fair magazine, Frank came up with the idea to spend a year traveling the United States and photographing it's people in their day to day activities. In order to do this, he had to find a way to finance the project because he had a family and it was going to be costly. He applied for a Guggenheim Grant and was accepted. The grant, both the rough draft and the final copy were on display. In the application was the question, "What do you plan to do with the grant?", and his answer was "take pictures." I can't remember who the proofreader was, but it was rephrased in the final copy kinda like the way my mother "rephrased" my term papers, only on a different level. At one point the curator was replying to a question and said, "Robert thought that...," then he paused and looked around the room and said that he wanted to give the correct answer because sometimes Robert joined the crowd and listened to the lecture. What a hoot! He lives in Manhattan.

This is the cover of the book with an image taken in New Orleans. If you look closely, you will see that this image epitomised the south in the fifties.

Yes, it was worth the trip and yes, I bought the book. Aaaannnnnndddddd, I need to put more people in my shots...at least some of the time.

Here's A Tip

As Karen and I were having lunch at the Metropolitan Museum, we started discussing what we would do that night (Thursday). We both agreed that a play would be nice, but neither one of us had done any research on the availability of seats. So I pulled out my trusty cell phone and called my sister in California. Lucky for me she was sitting at her computer and was able to pull up the current listing of plays in New York. She read the description of several ones; a woman who sat next to me on the plane was going to Burn The Floor, but I wanted something with a plot. We finally agreed on Memphis. ...Since we would have to buy them at the theatre, we planned to leave at six and walk the fourteen blocks in the 27 degree freezing temperature. In addition to the freezing cold and wind, I was carrying my camera with the new wide angle lens. Love it.

We walked down Sixth Avenue bundled up looking like we were ready for a blizzard. We walked from Fifty-seventh Street down Seventh Avenue through Times Square, where I affectionately refer to as HELL, and then took a right on Forty-fourth Street. We walked one more block and there it was, The Shubert Theatre. When we walked in the lobby (about 12 feet by 6 feet) I approached the ticket agent by the name of Craig. After learning that there were tickets available the negotiations began. Be patient, the TIP is coming.

After the pleasantries, I told Craig that we didn't want zillion dollar seats. Furthermore,we didn't care if we were in the last row of the balcony...it just didn't matter to us. That seemed to go in one ear and out the other because he showed me a floor plan and pointed to seats smack dab in the center section, ten rows back. I knew they were expensive because Janie, my sister, told me during our conversation that they started at $121.50. After Craig told me the price, I told him AGAIN, that we wanted the cheap seats. Then he showed me something a little less expensive and again I declined. Here's where it happened. Read slowly.

.

I laughed and told him that I knew he wanted to reach through the window and strangle me because I sold tickets for the Braves wayyyy back and I wanted to kill people who behaved like I was behaving, i.e. "Are they in the shade ?", "Are they on the right side or the left side of the section because I don't want to be distracted by people walking up and down the aisles ?", and "Are they under the overhang because we want to be in the shade ?", and on and on. Then I heard a voice behind the window asking if I sold tickets during the time that the Yankees beat the Braves. I told him it was before (as if I knew) and this started an amicable conversation. After Craig and the mysterious voice had a short conversation that I couldn't hear, although my ear was almost going through the window, Craig showed me the same seats that he offered at $121.50. Then he peered behind me to see who was standing behind me and saw that a line was forming. So instead of telling me the new price, he wrote it on a scrap of paper and showed me- $69.50. I accepted the new price and thanked him profusely. The mysterious man said something about extending the discount because I had been in "the business". Little did I know twenty some years ago that working for the Braves in those teensy, claustrophobic ticket booths after teaching all day would years later get me a $52.00 discount on a Broadway ticket! So that's the tip. Be nice, smile, try to joke with them, and when all else fails, tell them you used to sell tickets for the Braves. It's just me, but I would try the first three and only use the last one if you really did sell tickets for the Braves. You never know.

By the way, the play was wonderful and was worth the long walk to and from Broadway. Here are some of the shots I took with my new lens.

Thank you Craig and thank you Braves!

IF YOU HAVEN'T HEARD OF HER, YOU WILL

Last Friday, as we were waiting for my sister, Ann, to arrive from Connecticut, Karen (my friend who traveled with me to New York) and I decided to walk over to Columbus Circle and walk around the Time Warner Center. Besides, I knew there was a cute little restaurant on the third floor where we could have a coke and look out the HUGE window to watch millions of people play dodge ball with the cabs.

The decorations were drop-dead gorgeous. The stars that were hanging from the rafters changed colors in rhythm to the music. (More on this is a later post.) As we took the escalator to the second floor on the way to the restaurant, I tried to free my camera from the depths of my bag so I could take two or three thousand pictures. Digital is a miracle. As we were climbing on the escalator and after I got my hands on the camera, I spotted Borders Bookstore. I knew it was there and I was using their snack bar as a back up just in case the wait at the restaurant was too long. But before we continued our trek to the third floor I spotted a huge sign in the window of Borders. There were pictures of about six people who would be signing books soon with their schedules. I couldn't believe what I was reading. Lo and behold, the Pioneer Woman (http://www.thepioneerwoman.com/) was going to be there that evening to sign her cookbook. She was in Atlanta the Monday before I left for New York, but I couldn't go and I was just sick about it. Those of you who do not know who she is, you will.

Side Bar: Ree Drummond, aka The Pioneer Woman, has a blog. It is absolutely the best blog that I have ever read. It's divided into sections: confessions, photography, cooking, and home and garden. Of course my favorite part of her blog is photography. She puts the process into every day lingo that is easily understood. You really should take the time and check it out, but it will take hours if you try to read it all at one sitting.

After seeing the notice in the window, I had to go in the store and get the low down. Poor Karen, she followed me into the store as I was mumbling, drooling, and running all over the store trying to find the book. Finally I got control of myself and found a really nice man who took me to the front counter and asked one of the folks to show me THE BOOK. That is when I met Amanda H. She is an angel. She not only showed me the book, but looked up my Borders club number so I could get a discount on the purchase price AND, get this, gave me THREE wrist bands so we could get seats at the discussion and the signing. "Good grief", I thought, "this is New York, people aren't supposed to be this nice and certainly not this helpful." But she was and it didn't end there.

I told Amanda all about The Pioneer Woman. Bless her heart, she really hadn't heard of her until recently. As she was showing us where the discussion and book signing was going to take place, she mentioned that the Atlanta signing had over 800 people. When I saw that they only had sixty chairs, I worried. But I didn't need to.

When my sister arrived at the hotel, Karen and I met her, exchanged pleasantries, and then I began educating her about the PW. She was willing to go with us, but I couldn't see any enthusiasm. She didn't "get" the whole PW thing, but I had confidence that she would. We had to leave the hotel around five to get there in plenty of time. We also knew that we had to leave Borders at seven to get to Lincoln Center to see the Nutcracker. Sadly, I had given up hope of having her sign my book. When we arrived we found Amanda H. and my sister asked her if there were any books left because she wanted to buy one. Amanda being the angel she is, took Ann's credit card and even gave her my discount! Amazing. Get this...she knew that we had to leave early (she also has a great memory) so she took our books in the back of the store where PW was waiting and asked her to sign them for us! She should be Employee of the Year. Maybe I'll write a letter.

At around six, out came PW. She was dressed in black, and had a sweet smile. She answered about fifteen questions from the two or three hundred in attendance. As soon as she started signing books we made a quick exit.

What surprised me was that PW seemed timid. I imagined her to be really outgoing and she probably is when she isn't in front of a huge NYC crowd and her publisher. She writes in some of her posts that she's always nervous, but she doesn't need to be...everyone there loved her!

We met a nice young man while we waited, named James. James was from Oklahoma, where PW lives, but was working in NYC at Bank of America. He knew almost everything about her. He's her friend on FB and Twitter. In fact, he got a tweet from her as we were talking. What a hoot! James also likes to cook, thus the cookbook. (Sorry for the blurred shot, James. I only brought my wide angle lens.) I don't cook, but I did buy the book just in case the mood strikes. Truth be told, if she wrote a book on dirt, I'd probably buy it. I'm a fan, what can I say?

He Missed A Few

What you see here is a few berries holding on to a very tired dogwood tree. There has been a race for the past few weeks among the squirrels to see who could grab and eat the most berries. Now these gluttonous squirrels are too heavy to reach the ends of the branches and that makes it impossible to reach the tips. I'm sure they are just itching to get to them, but they don't want to take the plunge. Get it?

Watching the squirrels (rats with furry tails) reminds me of that song that goes, "he glides through the air with the greatest of ease, the daring young man in the flying trapeze." I have no idea when or where I heard it, but it has stayed with me for a million years. It's amazing how we can retrieve the smallest phrases, but can't remember what we did last week. Early stages?

Side bar: Over lunch the other day, I was discussing this post with Maria, a friend who I taught two hundred years ago. Being the smartest kid on the block, she went back to work (Georgia Tech) after lunch and looked it up. So here are the first few verses of that song.

THE MAN ON THE FLYING TRAPEZE (George Leybourne) Walter O'Keefe - 1934 Don Redman & His Orch. - 1936 Also recorded by: Eddie Cantor; Burl Ives; Cliff "Ukelele Ike" Edwards; Spike Jones; Ian Whitcomb; Les Paul & Mary Ford.

Once I was happy, but now I'm forlorn

Like an old coat that is tattered and torn;

Left on this world to fret and to mourn,

Betrayed by a maid in her teens.

.

The girl that I loved she was handsome;

I tried all I knew her to please

But I could not please her one quarter so well

As the man upon the trapeze.

He'd fly through the air with the greatest of ease,

That daring young man on the flying trapeze.

His movements were graceful,

all girls he could please

And my love he purloined away.

And if you want to hear Bruce Springsteen sing it, here it is: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=voXHqkN2k9Q

Thanks for the help, Maria.

Back to business: So anyway, I went outside hoping to get a shot of one of the millions who think our backyard is the big top. I found one, but he was sneaky.

Then he changed positions. I wish I had a shotgun in my hand instead of a camera.

Here he is ready to fly. Does he make it?

He made it. Darn.


While I'm at it, I might as well confess that I'm taking yet another photography class. I'll be out and about shooting images as assigned. I took the next three images in the backyard while I was practicing with my telephoto lens.



The next image was one I took to class. Our teacher says that every picture tells a story. He's trying to make us think when we shoot, as if trying to figure out aperture, shutter speed, white balance and composition isn't enough. Anyway, to make a long story short, he gave us a list of words to describe our images and we chose two. The word I attached to this one was color. He agreed but said I should have lightened the berries. He said his eye went to the sun spot and it was competing with the berries. My eye goes to the berries. I didn't tell him that.

By now you're starting to notice that the background is blurred. It's called bokeh.

There you have it. Until next time.

He said, "cute don't sell."

That's a direct quote from my next door neighbor at The Chastain Park Arts Festival this past weekend. He was referring to my posters that were hanging in my tent just waiting for someone to take them home. Darryl, a master photographer (http://www.lanefineartphotography.com/), was partly correct. I sold one poster of Midtown Atlanta a few weeks ago at Garden Hills, and at Chastain I sold two. I don't know if the two I sold at Chastain would be considered posters because I removed the names from the bottom of the images. So, I wonder what makes a poster, a poster? If a poster has to have the name of the image on it, then I suppose I actually didn't sell two posters at Chastain, I sold two framed images. But, I have to admit, they were cute.

Here's one of the "posters" that I sold.
Here's the cute version.

Every time I do an arts festival, I learn something. This was my 10th show, but I think you need to have 20 or 30 under your belt before you can be considered serious. This is a business for most of the artists participating; they don't play. For example, it was a miserable day on Saturday. It was cold, cloudy, and windy. I was wait-listed (long story) and that meant that I had to show up early Saturday morning to see if anyone had dropped out, thus creating a vacant space. I really, really wanted to renege, but since we packed the car Friday night, and the promoter was kind enough to include me as one of the TWO who were wait-listed, I had to proceed. So when I uttered a teensy complaint about my discomfort, Darryl just laughed and shook his head. Again, this is his business. These people do shows almost every weekend. It's not a hobby to them...it's their bread and butter.

I can't begin to express how fortunate I was to have a master photographer "next door." He gave me tips on bags, framing, sizing, displaying, selling and future shows. We had several debates, one of which involved pricing. There should be a class on the psychology of pricing. Maybe there already is, I would love to take it. Another debate involved morning shoots. He loves to get up at 4:30 and watch the sun rise where he's shooting. I, on the other hand, hate to get up before the sun. There's something just not natural about that. I'd rather get the shots during the day and at sunset. The final issue we disagreed on was information about the image. He thinks it's okay to provide the shopper with the location, the camera settings, etc. I think that info should remain with the photographer. Most photographers whom I have spoken with are really quite vague with the details. Although I try my best not to tell everything, sometimes it just slips out. Fortunately most of the time I really can't remember the details. Let's see, was that shot at Pawley's Island or Cherry Grove? Sometimes all of the beaches look alike.

So Darryl's leaving in a few weeks for a two month trip to Thailand, Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam. I can't wait to see what images he returns with. If you have time, go to his website and look at the images. He hand tints most of his work. Amazing.

By the way, I will gladly send anyone (in the USA) a mini poster (4X6 framed), at no charge, if you just leave a comment on my blog. I'll place lots more posters to choose from in the right hand column. I think I'm going out of the poster business and stick with framed images. Maybe I'll put them on Etsy or maybe I'll take them to a show at the beach. Bet they'll sell there...or not. Stay tuned.

We'll Miss You, Nancy Faye Tribble

December 11, 1954 - July 23, 2009

It just happened. You know when someone who you love has just died and you think of something to tell her/him and you get smacked in the head with reality? You can't tell her anything, ANYMORE? There was an ad on television about Paul McCartney coming to Atlanta for a concert next week. I started thinking about who I know who would possibly want to go, and I thought of Nancy Tribble. Well, guess what, she can't go; we lost her last week.

About three hours ago, I returned home from attending her service and the celebration afterwards. Being a teacher and a friend to so many, there were well over 150 in attendance. It was one of the most beautiful and meaningful services I have ever attended. Two of her good friends sang and her brother, Randy, and friend, Mary, spoke. They both told stories about her life and how it affected those who were her family and friends. Randy told us about the family and the times he spent with Nancy as a child. He also explained her illness and her constant struggle to survive. In Mary's eulogy, she asked several questions that related to our experiences with Nancy. For example, "Have you ever gone grocery shopping with Nancy?" That caused a laugh from many of us who had that excruciating experience. Mine was a little over a year ago.

Nancy had just had another surgery and after a lengthy stay in the hospital she was being released from Emory. I volunteered to take her home and get her settled. I can't remember which surgery this was, but she was able to walk and take care of herself. After she got in the car at the hospital, she asked me if I could make a quick stop at Publix so she could get some groceries. Thinking that she really did mean "quick," and I knew she wouldn't have much energy, I agreed. I had no idea what I was in for. This was my first and last trip to the grocery store with her. After you went grocery shopping with her once, you never went again. She fancied herself of somewhat a gourmet cook, so every piece of fruit and every vegetable had to be examined. You would think she was the chef at the Ritz. To make a long story short, I was ready to explode. I think she was used to getting this reaction from others, because she totally ignored my expressions and body language and continued on her merry way up and down the aisles. After an hour or maybe a little less, we were on the way to her condo. I was fuming and she was happy.

Then about two weeks ago, she asked if she could spend the weekend with me because her friends who were taking care of her, Mary and Doreen, were having company and she wanted to give them her room. So I drove to Macon with my friend Penny, picked her up and brought her to Atlanta. As we were nearing my house, I began to discuss my plan regarding her meals, etc. I told her that I would get her in the house and settled and then go to the store and buy what she wanted. She expressed in her weakened state that maybe WE could stop at Publix and shop together. She was trying it again. Penny was sitting in the back seat and was somewhat surprised by my reaction to Tribble when I replied, "NO, HELL NO!" Tribble had given it the old college try, as they say. To calm Penny down, I told her about my fateful trip to the store a year ago.

I know lots of folks hate going to funeral services, but they're a part of life. It gives us a chance to listen to stories about our friend or family member and honor them. It's okay to laugh and to cry. We did both. Because Tribble was so funny, I think we did more laughing than crying. I really believe that she would have been proud of what was said about her. Proud that Jolly and Leslie sang, proud of Randy and Mary's eulogies, and proud that so many of her friends, especially the Tift women, came to honor and remember her. The song that the Tift girls sang was truly beautiful. She was honored and that would have made her happy.

Below I have included pictures that were in her program.

After the service, everyone was invited to continue the celebration at her brother, Robb and his wife, Pam's home.

Pictured below are her three brothers: Randy, Steven, and Robb.

"Old, old friends" (HA!), Doreen, Debra, and Mary.

Her two ex-roommates, Leslie (who sang at the service) and Sherry.

Marie, her friend from Fernandino Beach and Nancy Faye (in the urn).

School friends from way back, Nettie, Yolanda and Pat.

And finally, the Tiftettes!

I'll post more pictures on my Facebook page later. It was a celebration to remember. What a wonderful group of friends she had!

As you can tell, Nancy Tribble was a friend to many. She will live forever in our hearts and never, never, be forgotten.