Lines. Lines in the dress and lines in the buildings. The original background image has a woman with an umbrella walking away from the camera. I loved this alley so much I wanted to insert Nabila into this background.
Picnics and fireworks, happy 4th of July!
The background image was taken at the Morton Arboretum in Lisle, Illinois. Every year, running from November to January, the "Arb" puts on a light show around and near Meadow Lake. The light show is called Illuminations. The crowds can be unbelievable but I was fortunate enough the first year it opened to go with the Morton Arboretum Photographic Society and staff of the Arboretum. It was a cold night but the novelty of lights in the forest, music on loud speakers that was timed to the changing lights, kept all of us photographing for a couple of hours.
The model here is Nabila. She consented to posing at a business complex building where the organizer of the Meet Up group set up lights and a backdrop in the lobby. The top portion of the dress you see here was a black tunic she wore with pants. I wanted to change the color to brown in order to make the scene subtle in color, trying to keep within two prominent hues: brown and red. Using one of the shots from the photo shoot, I placed her into the scene using layers in Photoshop.
The dress was built directly on the image of the model using layers of fabric cutouts and shaping it into a dress form. Photoshop's transform tool works well for this. I roughly created 10-12 layers. Once the dress was complete, I moved on to the shawl that appears to be flying away from the model. Two pieces of fabric was stretched (warp, distort, etc.) into shape. ParticleShop has some wonderful plug-in brushes. All the white feathery embellishments you see on her dress was applied using one of the plug-in brushes.
To finish off the composition I simply added a second background and masked off parts of the dress and shawl to create some depth.
Model: Irena
I attended a photo shoot where I was able to photograph two models and then using Photoshop tools, created dresses and placed them in backgrounds.
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I packed up my cut-out Barbie, and flew her to warmer weather, breezy winds, roads lined with Palm trees, and the meditative sounds of the waves coming in from the Bay at Sandy Beach. Our time in Hawaii was too short and unfortunately I never pulled out Barbie from the notebook I'd placed her in. Of course I could now insert her into an image of a Hawaiian landscape I photographed. And, if my portfolio develops in that direction, maybe I will.
So here is Barbie, in her dressed up white mink wrap (mink because little girls need to know she had it all), pink satin dress, and white long sleeved gloves. Not in Hawaii, but in an attic room. I wonder what I am trying to say by not placing her in a beautiful landscape.
I visited the Japanese Garden behind the Museum of Science & Industry a couple of years ago in the fall and photographed the entrance. I remember watching a man practice tai chi and looking out toward the water. It made me think about the history of the place--about the Columbian Exposition of 1893 and who designed the "Wooded Isle" -- Frederick Olmsted. Although the landscaped has changed since 1893 (and the name), it was the idea of designing a sense of peace and calm to what may have been an overdone "white city" I thought was genius. It's worth seeing the reflection of the Science & Industry building on the water at sunset from the Garden.
My mannequin (dressed in a Cristobal Balenciaga dress) stands at the entrance to the Garden.
I remember coming home from Sunday school and telling my mother that we are all going to hell, that fire would be dropped from the skies because God is so displeased with the world. Hmmmm……
Collected Dreams
after Bill Berkson’s Selected Dreams
Abandoned building with a baby, rodents and roaches
Flying alone in Stephen King’s Langoliers
A sex devil in a Santa sleigh
My father sneaking into heaven
A stranger in my house, behind my door, in my closet
Black lacquer elevator
A toddler calling me mama
I think this week, it calls for something "dreamy" . . . or maybe something in the foggy morning.
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Photographing the city is mostly about waiting for the right moment to present itself—the right background with just the right body type walking into it, finding filtered light or night light from a street lamp falling on a subject, maybe it’s about scale, or interesting poses—so many ways to approach. I like taking one idea and concentrating on it for weeks until I feel comfortable.
This now reminds me when Lennon died and my sister and I took the train up to the north side to participate in a silent vigil. We were still on the train when the time came for a moment of silence. So we were silent on the train. By the time we reached the park, it was of course, all over. We've always been fans of the Beatles and of their individual work.
It seems only appropriate to include a side view of a dress designed by Stella McCartney here.
Did you know there were four different versions of Tammy? I think I had the pos'n Tammy doll (the 1964 version) but I could be wrong. Tammy was made by the Ideal Toy Company and seen as competition for Mattel's Barbie. Tammy's appeal was that it was more wholesome looking. I didn't know this but apparently Tammy had an entire family--mom, dad, little sister (I did know this), little sister's friends Dodi, Patti, Salty, a little brother, a big brother, and a boyfriend ("Bud" of all names). Interesting.
I made clothes for Tammy growing up, but overall, I still preferred my paper dolls. Here's a Tammy doll and the outfit I once owned.
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I like this dress—designed by Roberto Capucci. I added the cut-out tabs. The dress is a happy "dance with me" dress, full of fun, definitely content with life, and the fanned rainbow of color reminds me of what a perfect angel would wear. This is for you, Elizabeth.
The Visit
for Elizabeth
We sat on your sun porch to see across the park, your breathing labored. After I combed your soft, thin blond hair, I closed the curtains. You didn’t want the neighbors next door looking in. Later, we walked back to your garden to sit in the warm sun and I held your small tank of oxygen on my lap. Bob and Brady stopped by and you said, why did they come, I don’t want to see anyone. You reached for my hand. I didn’t mean you dear; I always want to see you. Before I left, I kissed you for the first/last time. When the call comes, almost two weeks later, Tom rushes to be with you. It’s that early morning, as I lay in bed, the radio switches on and I listen to hear that Venus, after 122 years, begins her eclipse of the Sun.
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Wednesday, November 7, 2007
It’s about 2pm and I’m on the platform waiting for the train. I’ve started out late because I found myself glued to the television watching “The Peoples Court” with Judge Milan.
One of the cases reminded me of my accident in 2006. I rode my bike early one morning (around 7 am) to my sister’s home—she could go off to work and I would then get my nephew ready for school. I rode on the sidewalk until I reached a corner near Austin Avenue. I crossed and a jeep surprised me by turning left quickly as I came into the intersection. Attempting to maneuver out of his way by turning my bike north, the driver, instead of immediately breaking, drove into me. I flew off my bike and landed in the middle of the street. I remembered thinking and repeating as I tried to swerve away from the car, “he's not going to stop, he's not going to stop." It was a slow motion picture when he hit my rear wheel and I flew several feet into the air but that’s where the film ends.
It’s interesting how that moment of impact your brain protects you from what comes next. I don’t remember the landing just the immediate awareness once on the ground—the intense pounding of my heart—my chest on the verge of bursting. I bent my legs and turned my head toward the jeep. My right shoulder was in pain. But, I thought I was okay. The man who drove the jeep was already out and now looking down at me asking if I was okay, that I looked okay and why don’t I get up. He even suggested dragging me to the sidewalk so that he could drive on. I asked him if he would call for an ambulance. He told me he didn’t have a phone.
A car passed around us, pulled down the window and asked in Spanish if I was okay. The man who hit me answered quickly that I was, everything was okay. The car drove on. A second car passed and parked, got out and asked me if I was okay. I told him that I wasn’t and if he had a phone to call for an ambulance. He didn’t have one but asked the man who hit me if he had one. The man who hit me pulled out his cell and handed it over to him. Really? Was I simply collateral damage to this guy who hit me? I was like a fly hitting his windshield and he wanted the mess removed.
The man who had stopped was about to call for an ambulance but the man in the jeep seemed to talk him out of it and he hesitated because he felt compassion for the man in the jeep who had told him that he was driving without a license and that he would get in trouble. He (the man that stopped) handed me the phone to call my sister, which I quickly did and told her to call the police because the guy that hit me wants to leave the scene.
I felt my past come up lying there—the latin girl, whose father was less than a good man, who made sure that I knew that the most important thing in life was his life, who was the center, and who could take advantage of any of his daughters because we were meaningless in his world. To me, this man was a reincarnate--worse still—he was latin with the physique of my dead father.
Lucky for me a Cicero town official came by soon after calling my sister, got out of the car and came directly up to me to ask what happened and if I was okay. I explained that the man in the jeep hit me and that he is refusing to call for an ambulance. He was extremely compassionate, and told me not to worry because he wasn’t going to leave me until the ambulance arrived. He got on his walkie/talkie and called it in as an emergency. Someone not on the street had already called it in and within seconds, the local ambulance from the nearest fire station arrived, the Cicero police soon thereafter.
The man in the jeep was charged and I eventually went to court to testify against him. Three continuances later and a judge who knew the defendant’s attorney personally, got him off with a fine. I filed my own suit against him.
Waiting for a trial date, I received a letter from the producers of the Judge Judy show. The letter asked if I would like to fly to California and have my case heard by Judge Judy. After researching, my husband and I found that even if I were in the “right” that it would be Judy’s decision and I would not be able to dispute it. So, if I lost, I would not get my costs but the defendant would get $1500 for winning (my worst case scenario). Strange but that’s television. I decided to go through the “real” legal system. Before my case came up, the defendant contacted my husband and agreed to pay my costs.
The cases today on “The Peoples Court” weren’t all that interesting but it gave me a chance to have lunch at home before I left. I’m off today and plan to go down to the loop to buy some gym shoes, t-shirts, blouse and then head on home.
I saw this mannequin one day while I was photographing the street, and the way she was positioned—arm extended as if giving direction. I waited for the human element to tell a story.
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Imagined a nightly stroll at the Planetarium and to come around the corner to face the city lights just after a rain.
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Back in the early 80s my then boyfriend and I took a train up to Boston to stay with some old college friends of his. We rented a car and one day drove to Salem. While walking the cobbled streets we saw about ten feet ahead, a little boy stomping on something. As we came closer, I could see that it was a Barbie doll, naked with a severed head--the head just inches from the rest of the body. The little boy looked so rabid and my imagination just saw him frothing at the mouth--I'm sure he wasn't but to this day I imagine him that way--so angry that it frightened me.
In one of the neighborhoods I lived in, while walking down an alley, I saw a doll’s head just lying on the wet pavement. It was all ratty and it made me think about what it was like when it was new. I thought about the little girl that might have owned it and how she outgrew it or was it her brother, a mean-spirited boy who tore it apart and threw it out the window. Salem still haunted me I guess.
The next time I visited Salem was a couple of years ago with my sister. We walked the streets, in and out of shops trying to find something specific but can't now remember what. While we headed back to the car I caught sight of a headless doll and started laughing. I told my sister the story as we continued to walk only to find the head several feet further. I couldn't believe it and just had to photograph it. Instead of a dress this week, I just had to present the Salem doll here. South Loop Review published these two images in which I titled "Exhibit A" and "Exhibit B." The poem that follows (written in 2004) is called "Abandoned Doll."
Abandoned Doll
Autumn at dusk
a doll’s head
kisses
the wet street
a muddied face
ratty red hair
far from her origin
in limbs and torso
once perfect
homogeny
now a severed family
wet faces, purple marks
eyes scratched out
left surrounded in broken glass
a place of rival gangs
shooting down alleys
if she could talk
what would she say—
these unimaginable
earthly rips kept secret
I remember summer rain. After a rain shower and the sun broke through, the air would smell of prairie, mint infused and refreshing. There was a field of weeds we called prairie filled with an assortment of wildflowers at the end of our block, at the alley entrance. One very dry day my younger brother was playing with matches with a couple of buddies and accidentally set fire to the prairie. They were too young to understand how quickly something so dry catches and spreads. The fire trucks arrived and the police released the boys to their parents. My brother found it difficult to sit down for a few days.
Imagine a warm night at Buckingham Fountain.
I couldn’t resist creating an orange dress with a funky little jacket.
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A poem for Steven:
Home Safe
I sat in a green striped chair looking up Pat Mann—she wanted me to friend her on Facebook. And earlier at Trader Joes I bought white and peach/yellow tulips to photograph. Steven emailed me yesterday to ask about the conditions at the Garden. Happy by the report I received from Anne, he would be heading up on Monday. I would’ve surprised him had the call not come in.
Now, still sitting in this green striped chair, the breeze comes into this room and reaches me. The curtains flutter quickly and wave. I stare into nothingness. I don’t want to answer another call. The music is silent. The Velvet Hour was the last CD I burned for him. The clock is too loud.
The bed is a soft place, I walk over and sit with pen and paper. This pen is too black, this paper too white. Ink spreads beyond the words I write and smears from wet drops. What moments do I remember? The long walk at the Botanic about our private lives was one. The prairie was in a yellow glow of wildflowers that day, swaying to a rhythm of waves. The meet-up at the Starbucks on LaGrange Road was another. Outside on a bench Steven just back from meeting Sydney and dropping off a book—the two of us talking photography while strangers passed and said hello.
Looking out my window, the sky is filled with cumulus clouds in varying shades of grey. It’s the kind of day that might work well for macro but not so well for the intimate landscape. It makes me think of Steven’s images. That intense black and white image of tree roots with a couple of fall amber leaves was something only Steven could have seen. I remember our email whether to keep that corner leaf in or not and deciding to leave it in was best. It was best.
I’ve spoken to Diana and we are saddened together. She understands loss—a freshness that pricks her heart at moments especially like this. Monday without Steven we’ll celebrate the chef, the artist, the friend of many. I will drive home and before I get into my car I will hear his words to me: take care and home safe. And to you too Steven, now home safe. I miss you my friend.
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Every Sunday my father drove us to a Methodist, Presbyterian, or Baptist church until we selected a religion we wanted to practice.
Maria and I flew to Amherst to hear Jori Graham read at the First Presbyterian Church—the smell of polished old wood, damp air, organ pipes, and the pews lined up with narrow openings brought back memories of hard lines, unyielding structure and scrutinizing eyes.
My paper doll is dressed in a full-length floral dress. She stands outside of a church waiting for her ride. She thinks about the candy store around the corner and the quarter she should have offered to the church.
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Paper Dolls
I never had to think about brushing their long golden, auburn, or black hair, or squeezing shoes into those tiny feet--from flats to pumps, not even slipping on a pair of Laura Petrie look-alike black capris on long thin legs. The paper outfits--for all occasions, replaceable with other dolls with more outfits, changing, exchanging and sometimes adding props to make them more life-like was my substitute for my Barbie wannabe”Tammy” who had only one outfit.
My dolls flew on imaginary planes to Europe, to Paris for a fashion show, site-seeing to castles in Spain or to dances in large ballrooms with crystal chandeliers—terraces overlooking moonlit lakes. They were princesses and love came in shiny armour.
Like Cinderella, nights came to an end—losing a shoe, running home before the bell struck midnight or before the little girl holding her, dressing and undressing her, was discovered playing under the covers past her bedtime.
Gown by Roberto Capucci.
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Lying in Bed and Ruminating Over Rising
Rain falling in a stream through the eaves next door, splashes on cement sidewalk, and the swift sweep of cars, seizes me. Resting still within my space on the bed listening, my cats converse in staccato caterwaul. Fading are papered stripes on the wall, thin blue bars spaced between white. Unknowingly, time has passed. My pillow has lost its comfort, it no longer rains, and my body remains in half fetal waiting to forfeit the layers of desire.
A Roberto Capucci gown, in green silk, taffeta? I'm not sure. It reminds me of a prom dress I could have worn back in the 70s.
]]>after Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks
On a desolate black and white street, one halogen spotlights this place. It’s cool in here. Too warm in my apartment and I’m here to nurse a vanilla milkshake. A guy in a suit leans into the counter (afraid of going home to his wife); another looks over at the soda fountain clerk who craves attention; and me, I stare at my nails—looks like I just broke another. I ditched my date—a Wall Street type needing too much doll. And when I leave, daylight rises, awakens the tilting skyscrapers.
I could have been a real actress—a great femme fatale. John Huston could have discovered me and put me far right of vertical in a rain slicked street to frame my face: Irish red hair that hangs below my shoulders, Channel Ruby Slipper lipstick that smiles against my oval shape, almost translucent skin. It could have been me who colors this city. It could have been my portrayal of the deceptive dame that seduces my laconic private eye, which gets me out of this circling cigarette city—two-bit parts at two-bit places, drinking old milkshakes.
My paper doll wear a dreamy strapless gown designed by Roberto Capucci. She is in New York driving down Times Square where her name will be in lights some day.
Some Saturdays we occasionally watched a parade come down State. It made it impossible for my father to easily pick us up and we had to walk to a designated corner.
Later in the Summer my parents enrolled me in Sewing classes held at Davis Square Park. The Clubhouse had a stage area on the 2nd floor and a Sewing room with machines and tables to cut fabric. I was the youngest student in the class.
One day two older girls pulled me from my workstation eager to show me something. It was another room with a window overlooking the outside pool. A large mahagony desk with a leather chair was positioned in front of the window. I didn't think much of it until one of the girls opened the drawer and pulled out a small 4x5 book of nude women posed in a number of suggestive positions. We were quickly caught by the sewing instructor who made it clear that that particularly room was off limits.
I made a polka-dotted sundress (pink, blue, and yellow dots) on a white background. When the class ended, Davis Square Park held a fashion show where I modeled my sundress. My mom kept the clipping of the write-up from the Back of Yards neighborhood paper.
My paper doll is dressed in a red layered dress designed by Roberto Capucci. It's Valentine's Day and she attends a party hosted at a Garden, not in Chicago of course, the weather is simply too cold, and snowy, and icy.
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My paper doll is dressed in a black tuxedo waiting for his bride to arrive from Chicago. She’ll be dressed in delicate layers of white lace. Soon they will fly to Venice where the gondoliers will sing of love long into the night throughout the warm lit canals.
I remember watching an older girl walking across the street, wearing a red scarf--I laughed aloud to myself how funny she looked--easing the tension of aloneness. I was distracted when I crossed the street, or simply wasn't paying much attention until it was too late. I remember turning to see the car and lifting my right leg up to stop it but the impact only threw me backward and I fell unconscious for some minutes?
When I came to, the driver was hovering over me. Now truly frightened, I got up quickly and started to walk the rest of the street to get away from the stranger. I was limping and it hurt as I pressed my foot down but I just kept walking. An ambulance came quickly down the street, followed by a police car. I started to cry--this was it--I thought how do I keep what happened a secret? A policeman (not sure how he appeared next to me) started walking next to me asking me questions. In between my sobs, I told him I lived "over there" and my mother was home. He asked if he could pick me up and I immediately said yes--my foot hurt. The time in his arms was a short one but I remember feeling a sense of safety (likely because I understood what a policeman was) but honestly, the way he talked to me so quietly, assuring me that I would be okay--that was something I wasn't use to. I continued to sob uncontrollably.
When we arrived at my home, the policeman explained what happened to my mother and said that I was saying something over and over and he couldn't quite understand me. I turned to my mother and started to cry and say "daddy's going to hit me, daddy's going to hit me." My mother, obviously embarrassed just laughed and told me that I would be okay.
Tonight my paper doll wants to dance like a ballerina, under the stars and the bright white moon. She poses for a photographer under the warm lights at the Adler Planetarium.
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My paper doll is dressed in a yellow suit. The jacket is outlined in a braided trim. Today she will get her nails done, visit the salon for a new hairdo, and shop for a new outfit.
My paper doll is dressed in a bellbottom outfit with a leaf pattern and a silver belt with a black buckle at the waist. It's late summer in the city and she feels the need to get away for the day. She calls a few friends together and they plan an early morning ride to the Morton Arboretum for a long walk among the trees.
My paper doll is dressed in polka dots--a pretty pink dress with pearl buttons and a bow with sash. She's looking forward to going on stage and performing. It's a cold January night and she will have to walk across Davis Square Park and stop to pick up her girlfriend who's also in the show. Before they reach the auditorium they can see ahead, a row of lights leading the way.
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