Thursday, December 31, 2009

locked out

Saturday, December 26, 2009

all my friends

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

requiem for the clermont

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

coat rack

Monday, November 30, 2009

helicopter

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

tire push

Thursday, November 12, 2009

receiving line

Sunday, November 8, 2009

another corporate corner

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

norwood election party

Sunday, November 1, 2009

pride parade

Saturday, October 31, 2009

secret identity

Sunday, October 25, 2009

look guilty

Friday, October 16, 2009

roller derby revisted

Atlanta Roller Derby from Too Busy To Hate on Vimeo.



Several years ago I abandoned motion for stills and never looked back. Most people would consider that a regression. I didn't have anything against moving images, but the lure of small-scale production and nearly instant gratification (as opposed to days/weeks in an editing room) was a far more alluring prospect.

I started this blog as a simple alternative to the thousand-armed networking goliath of poorly reported updates, unnecessary information and banshee wails of narcissism. I wanted to post monochrome pictures from my neighborhood. I guess now is as good a time as ever to admit I was wrong. Mea culpa.

Video is a good tool and one I can't deny. That said, 98% of it out there is unwatchable. Hopefully I can produce things people can stomach before checking to see who has friended them.

I did a multimedia piece on the Atlanta Rollergirls last year during their games at the Yaarab Shrine. I went back to get video this year and tweak the project. It's not much, but I guess more than anything, it's an announcement that I'm going to try to embrace video, that bastard son I discarded so many years ago. Don't worry analog, I still love you.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

on the list

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

jogging

Friday, October 2, 2009

mayoral debates

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

rock star

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

light rain

Thursday, September 17, 2009

rendezvous

Sunday, September 13, 2009

eagle rally

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

gospel dance

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

joe

Thursday, August 27, 2009

scarecrow

Sunday, August 23, 2009

smoke break

Monday, August 17, 2009

sunday morning

Monday, August 10, 2009

untitled

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

burger

Thursday, July 30, 2009

urban tourist

Thursday, July 23, 2009

multiples

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

larry and the mighty mo

Sunday, July 12, 2009

dean

Thursday, July 9, 2009

clermont

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

drums

Sunday, July 5, 2009

fourth

Thursday, July 2, 2009

adam shapiro

Saturday, June 27, 2009

untitled

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

trash day

Saturday, June 13, 2009

parking lot mechanic

Thursday, June 4, 2009

sorting chips

Sunday, May 31, 2009

critical mass

Friday, May 29, 2009

choices

Monday, May 25, 2009

broken fence

Monday, May 18, 2009

high of 74

Monday, May 11, 2009

one down, nineteen to go

I've been gone for weeks. I didn't know what to expect but I needed to walk the streets again and taste the sticky southern air. I go to the store and ask for the cheapest cigarettes they have. The clerk smiles and hands me a box of Pall Malls. She's sweet, smiling contently and gracefully handles the register like this is her dream job on the best day of her life. Her voice is gospel harmony unfiltered and tinged by saintly ruby lips.

My inspiration still hasn't returned and I'm more content to observe rather than take pictures. Children decked in paper hats and peppered in donut glaze frolic in the window of Krispy Kreme. New graffiti blazes a trail across the old apartments behind Marcos'. Scattered buffalo wing bones blanket parts of the sidewalk. The final resting place for chickens is the asphalt graveyards of Atlanta.

The shifties are surprisingly reserved. They eye me but say nothing. One passes me and gives me a nod. His left eye is dark and swollen shut. I don't recognize anyone.

A woman asks a man thirty feet away for money but doesn't acknowledge me as I walk by. Most of her belongings are bundled together in lumpy mounds on the bench while other occupy the nearby trash bin. A battered and open umbrella dangles upsidedown like a bat from her forearm.

When I left it was mild and cool. The sun breaks and I'm sweating before I reach the second hill. The streets are active but nothing looks good enough for a photo. The abandoned bank is beginning to succumb to nature. Its derelict lawn festers with thistles and foxtails. A set of pillows forms a mattress in the old drive through lane.

For the first time I realize there are no whores out and before I think about that, one walks out and asks me for a dollar. I tell her what I tell everyone and she fidgets with her capri pants. Her upper front teeth are missing and she takes a screwdriver from her leg pocket and readjusts it before looking at my face. I offer her a cigarette and she accepts, carefully eyeing a cop who drives by in first gear. She thanks me, calling me sweetie before craning her neck and bobbing up the street.

The car wash is slow and most of the employees cram together on a bench near the barrier wall, smoking and talking. I take a look behind me and the whore is out of sight. I should stop using that term. Women and men on this street don't make ends meet with just one job. You do what you can to survive.

A few hundred yards later, the sun disappears and clouds fill the sky. Before it does, some young people dash down the street, bags in hand. I watch them rush from store front to store front, laughing and yelling. Some sort of scavenger hunt. I consider following them but before I can, they dash past in a fury of smiles and energy. I watch them go and eye the darkness that now chokes the skyline. It's not hot enough to be humid and for the first time since I returned, the air becomes cool. I stop and let it welcome me home.