5/31

I had the chance to see Gene Smith's 'Jazz Loft Project' show a few weeks back and I must say I keep returning to it in my mind. It's the kind of photography that was dismissed out of hand in graduate school (it's black and white, old and thoroughly NOT postmodern), but the kind of work that has inspired me since I picked up a camera.

It's an incredible, if somewhat obsessive (as only Gene Smith can be), document of the loft building in NYC where Smith lived in from 1957-1965. He not only photographed the life within the building, (where musicians came to jam after gigs and parties lasted all night) but what he saw on the street as he looked out his windows. And from the enormous output, Smith photographed EVERYTHING.

1,447 rolls of film and about 40,000 pictures comprise this document, but perhaps the most interesting part of it had nothing to do with actual photographs. Smith also managed to wire the building for sound and record (via 1,740 reel to reel tapes) everything that took place within it. Included in this incredible collection is Thelonious Monk rehearsing for his legendary appearances at Lincoln Center and other various jam sessions, but also lots of things he taped off of the radio (plays, news programs, a World Series baseball game).

The exhibit displays the photographs and recordings in equal measure, which allows the viewer to completely immerse themselves in Smith's world. You get the chance to look at photographs and then listen to numerous recordings. The Monk rehearsals are breathtaking. There are also films of Smith discussing his work and various musicians talking about their experiences in the loft building during this time. It's an incredible document of a time and place that no longer exists; one that would have been lost if not for Smith's obsessive recording of everything around him.

Overall, it's one of the best shows I've seen in years and once again confirms Gene Smith's place as one of the most important documentarians in the history of photography.

4/29

It was a year ago today that I lost my dear sweet dog, Lucille. She was riddled with cancer and I had to make the awful decision to put her down. I said my goodbyes to her and then held her in my arms weeping as she drifted off to permanent sleep. It was one of the saddest and most painful days of my life. A year later my heart still aches when I think of her lovely face and all the joy she brought me.

Lucille was originally my wife, Caroline's, dog and when Caroline was diagnosed with cancer and died suddenly six weeks later (at the heartbreakingly young age of 42) she became my dog. In the days, weeks, months and eventually years that followed, Lucille was my saving grace. She gave me a reason to move forward, made me laugh every day and was the best companion I could have ever asked for. I don't know how I would have survived without Lucille. When I felt like I was drowning in sorrow and grief, she kept me afloat. We spent almost every minute of every day together and I found that my ability to love her had no bounds. It grew with each day.

I think only people who own dogs can truly understand what they bring to our lives. Their good cheer and endless enthusiasm for our daily rituals coupled with unyielding and constant love is something that is hard to match and is impossible to replace. I miss her every day.

Like all the other experiences in my life, I've been forced to incorporate this into my life. You don't get over it, you just learn to live with the loss. It becomes part of who we become. It helps to define us.

When I think of Lucille now, my only wish is that she has been reunited with Caroline and they are both healthy, walking in the woods on a cool summer day.