He said to himself: "It's hard sometimes to see the forest; even harder to see the trees. There's always the 'stuff' in the foreground to contend with and to be confused by. Nothing is what it seems to be anymore. Everything is something else. The sky is turning into a cap, trapping us down here. The ocean is becoming a toxic bath. The ground is moving beneath my feet. It's neither here nor there. It's one day at a time. It's the fly in the ointment; it's the mote in my eye."

Stumble It!

This is a fixture here almost as familiar as the mansion in the background.

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Happy Thanksgiving Day for those in the USA. Let us pray that the native peoples will someday forgive us for their genocide.

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This would be 1973 or 1974. I was working on a series I called "The Bed Pictures". They were photos I ask friends to let me take of them in their bedrooms, perhaps the most private of all spaces. Some came up with elaborage or very strange poses, others did not, perferring to display the "naked truth". This shot was taken after a dinner party at someone's house; I can't remember whose. This is basically everyone I knew in Washington, DC in 1973 or 1974. I'm still in touch with all of them but two; one I didn't know that well, the other left the planet.

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One toe up; one toe down, in the crossfire.

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Not a Hollywood set, but a fabricated remembrance of what it used to be here.

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A man, alone with his cell phone. This is what it must have been like to have been chucked out of the garden of Eden.

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She looks like she could sing the blues, and maybe sometimes she did, to herself maybe, during those times when she was alone. She was an artists and there were many things that she did well. She was a woman and therefore she had powers that were subtle yet strong. She lived between two worlds. She was a model to those who came after her and an inspiration to the ones she knew and embraced. Now she is a part of Washington's outdoor art and commerce. It is the curse of the talented and the dead.

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It's the "Slow" entrance

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The Museum of American Art is, in itself I think, very arty.

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The Mexican Cowboy has been missing here for several years as the Smithsonian Museum of American Art had its home rebuilt in the old Patient Office building. I missed him and am glad that he's back now, where he belongs. YeeeeHahhh!

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It's funny, but I have become, over a long period of time, a morning person. I was never that as a young person. In college I was a mid-afternoon/early evening person. When I played in a touring band, I was a late evening person. So, I guess I've swung around the clock and landed finally on early morning. I like the light, if not the temperature, of the early morning. I like watching the sun come up. I like the quiet of the other humans and the activity of birds and such. I like the overall stillness because it all becomes frothy soon enough.

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Almost an American Icon: Ford Fairlaine

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There are monsters among us. Just pick up your morning newpaper to see for yourself what evil co-exists among us. Some of the monsters in the U.S. will be fighting for their jobs this week. Some of the monsters will have to find new jobs, but many of the monsters will carry on as they always do. I guess we need to have monsters live among us in order for us to feel normal.

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Chesapeake Bay Fall clouds. The weather speaks for itself.

Stumble It!