~motcon

prague....

yah, yah, yah; so my suit has a wee bit of a dull shine. it's not like it's reflective. no, i haven't before today heard anyone say that it looks like shark skin; how clever! (i wonder if he is on to me...). yeah, the foil uniforms that astronauts wore in the television shows way back when; yah, i'm familiar with them. (nope, he's not on to me..).

i sprang out of bed early that morning without much forethought into the events of the day. i didn't have a clue as to what i was going to do and for some reason that added a bit of a spring to my step. i threw on a pair of worn, comfortable boxers and a t-shirt, then made my way down for a first cup of coffee.

'good morning'
'good morning, sir'
'i'm doing very well, thank you. you?'
'actually, i have nothing planned for the day and looking very forward to it'

back up to my room with my coffee. as i did every other day, i looked out the window for some indication as to the temperature. as every other day, i saw only a pleasing undulation of roof tops composed of a pleasantly randomized pattern of new and oxidized copper. i wondered about the stories they could tell. i thought of Franz Kafka, Chopin, Mozart, and Josef Suk, then realized that the stories have been told, for that is why i was there.

the shower felt as if i had thousands of beads of warm honey dripping down my back, each in a seemingly endless track for, just as one would roll off of my skin, there would be another following the same path. i even managed to shave without incident. this was going to be a good day. i dressed, warmly but comfortably, and made my way to old town. in prague it is somewhat of a tradition (requirement?) that you have at least a flask size bottle of bekerovka
on you at all times. being an herbal liqueur it warms up the tummy quite immediately, so wanting to keep warm and be a part of the culture, i filled my now empty back pocket with a fresh purchase. off to old town i trotted. i found myself in a section of town chock full of retail establishments. this i found quite odd as full retail stores in prague, albeit europe, tend to be somewhat rare and if they were to be found, most times there'd be a sign on the door, 'closed for inventory.' this i thought meant that they were doing inventory until about the 6th day when the same store, which seemingly could have been inventoried in an afternoon, remained closed with the sign on the door. i soon learned that being 'closed for inventory' meant that they
had no inventory to sell. i chuckled. whether it was lost in the translation or a deliberate attempt to cover up the truth, i found it humorous. so here were shops. open. full. bustling. it was no surprise to me when my brain realized that i wanted an espresso. as with most things, the cafe facade was very misleading as i was even somewhat predetermined to not be seated, but
to take my espresso to the sidewalk. i couldn't have been more wrong. the atmosphere was absolutely dripping. the lighting was very low and randomized throughout. this was not a space shaped like a box; it had many curved walls and oblique spaces. various forms of art covered the walls. of course, leaving the cafe with my espresso, let alone anytime soon after the consumption of it, wasn't an option. i also felt that i wanted a glass of wine. this cafe happened to serve only beer and coffee drinks. the beer was made locally in bohemia and i was permitted to draw it myself. well heck, i gave it a shot. i can't recall now, nor could i then, how many i had. i did not by any standards have 'a lot'; i'm quite sure that i had two. i had forgotten about the alcohol percentage difference in europe. suppose not having lunch didn't help. the effects of which became very clear to me when i hit the light of
day outside the cafe. wooo! time to shop.

i happen to like shopping for clothes, but doing so can quickly become habit in europe. rationalizing a weak moment, i found myself in a clothing store. not typical sales folk, they didn't want me to buy just anything. the dressing room door stayed open as person after person brought me clothing to try
and i changed into it. it felt as if i were looking down the length of a moving conveyor in a dry cleaning establishment; the clothing just kept coming at me.

'noh. de sholderz dohn work. yorz are too wide.'
'too many pleatz, yez? (tugging at the pant leg, scrunching up her face). yez.'
'i tink try tuh-ree peez soot'

the whirlwind continued. i rather enjoyed it. we (yah, they wouldn't permit me to make my own decision) decided on an elegantly cut 3 piece that wasn't stuffy in the least. before i had any time to react, the tailors had pinned everything and had stripped me of the clothes to go about their duty. well if that wasn't something...

after walking some more, i decided to go back to the hotel for a bit; i needed to unload the bags and get something to eat. i opened my hotel room door, tossed the bags on the bed, washed my face, then made my way downstairs. at the front desk i made some general inquiries about any performances that evening. the older woman behind the desk hands me a piece of paper which turns out to be admission to an invitation only recital...that starts in an hour. i ate as quickly as possible and reasoned that, not having much time to press anything, i would wear my new suit. and wear it i did. the outer jacket and trousers are a charcoal gray. the vest is of, oh, say zone 7 gray/silver. it does have a glimmer of sorts; more of a subtle luminance about it.

i fit right in. the one button design of the jacket, the cut, the luminance; i fit in. back in the states after my stay in prague, i was invited to a get together of local artists. i chose to wear the suit that
i bought in prague with an understated shirt to support it. at the function i get into a conversation with this guy and he likens my suit to aquatic creatures and kitchen methods of food preservation....

passive blinking
the sic passim of life
wounds to scars to platinum
slivers of existence
to win, place, or show
in a spiraling chromosomal fashion
contribute to the evolution of passively blinking
prisms that separate the fragility
in the monochrome
-WFC

prevailing are the motives
that have yet no words
fall is
a fall no
matter what season

(my dear

all yesterdays are high
noon and all
tomorrows are perfect
-ly)

intent

pollination just
depends
on the season

-me

The artistic success of an image is not dependent on the level of natural, or "raw", talent an artist possesses, nor can one claim artistic success because one's parent was an artist. To be an artist, one needs to combine the lessons of art history with the lessons of life; the passions of emotions along with a passion for an artistic medium. One must be predisposed to artistic organization and expression, in addition to employing the full depth of one's intellect.

--Elements of Art; Richard Pumphrey

in the great majority, the intellect is a clumsy, gloomy, creaking machine that is difficult to start. they call it, 'taking the matter seriously,' when they work with this machine and want to think well: how onerous they must find thinking well! the lovely beast, man, seems to lose its good spirits every time it thinks well: it becomes 'serious.' and 'where laughter and gaiety are found, the quality of thought is poor' - that is the prejudice....

-Nietzsche

in the context of photography, as that is my chosen medium, i often wonder why, when photographers want to 'get better' they don't take advantage of the resources that avail themselves.

take the procritique group, for example [link] very few submissions in relation to the population of da and the number of pieces submitted per da photographer.

take also the photocritique group [link] again, the same; very few submissions in relation to the population of da and the number of pieces submitted per da photographer.

is it:

lack of time?

lack of effort?

faux interest in expanding as a photographer?

a lack of an 'engaging' venue?

inability to balance creativity and 'thinking?'

the desire to grown in isolation?

i've found it to be any, or any combination, of all of the above.

the absolute strength and growth that can arise from a mere handful of dedicated artists is unmeasurable. the history of the Bauhaus movement is gripping and full of simple truths. the origin of Bauhaus rests in the vision of a small group of people. this is the current site for Bauhaus [link]

i'm fortunate to be a part of a group that is focused. we have scheduled sessions that utilize voice comms and irc and is engaged to the point where everyone is accountable to each other; ie - if someone can't make it to the next meeting, the group is notified in advance. that isn't to say that we haven't had our struggles, hence; the reason for this entry.

as a photographer, be a bit introspective. understand your availability, willingness and, most of all, your desire.

be considerate of others. keep an open mind. speak your mind.

most importantly, grow and have fun.

absent a gallery opening to attend this evening, new year's eve, i shan't be doing anything that doesn't involve art. of the time i spent in europe, the 1999/2000 transition that i spent in prague is one that i will carry with me until the day i die, in prague....even if i fly back just for my dying day. so much depth. so much soul. such radiant, brilliant smiles and loving hearts. there are, of course, much and many of the same here in the states. last year i met someone on the internet that happened to be going through some difficulties. having not met her, and i still have yet to do so, it made no matter; her depth is appreciable at this distance as if she were in the same room. in her trying times, her simple request was for me to write to her about my time in europe. and so i did. the writing was for her. i want to share just a short piece from the 1999/2000 new year in prague. the photo that i've uploaded, 'water wheel', is the very same that is mentioned in this short piece.

where ever you are pC, i still smile when i think of you. and you, LH. and you, MP. and....where ever you are, anyone, i smile when i think of you.

---------------------------------------- --------

he had the most spectacular of eyes; an ultramarine blue with an ebb and flow of passion and perseverance. he was wildy infatuated with John Wayne movies and purchased a vcr for the sole purpose of watching him act. the first time that Shakespeare dripped from his lips and saturated the room, i was in shock. a complex man under it all, yet he knew the people here were only in want of the simple, therefore; what the world saw was a loving, virile man. i wonder if he, my grandfather, was ever curious about his would-have-been home in lithuania.

those hats! you know those hats that we see europeans wearing? the furry ones that are shown being worn by folks in europe during periods of revolt, extreme cold, and sheer survival? heck, they wear them nearly everyday; they're warm.

at the time i was wearing only one implement of european warmth; a scarf that would've kept me warm skinny dipping with a polar bear. on my head, most days, i wore only a black beret. i liked it. i felt good in it. i'll suffer. i'd suffer, duck into a restaurant that would remind me of my grandmother's kitchen, then scuttle back out to the cold. i'd suffer some more outside, grab a milled wine...or two. i managed. i managed to feel as absolutely wonderful as i should have in prague. feeling as such requires, in the very least, knowing what touches one's very being and an environment that freely does so.

introspection is only valid insofar as it is tested. i happened across a water wheel in what is considered in prague as off-the-beaten-path. i looked at my surroundings and realized that i had walked over a mile outside of old town center. i looked at the building that towered over the wheel, listened to the water splash and whisper, and breathed in the crisp air, then realized that the off-the-beaten-path in prague is 'put it in my front yard NOW' in the petty states. i could've sat there all day if biological necessities did not impede. or the hats. after about 15 minutes of me experiencing this, my own little world, out of the peripheral of my left eye i caught the hats. peripheral or in my lap, nothing can shake me from divine moments that touch my core. but the hats begged attention. i saw thousands of those hats everyday, these were no different. but they silently gestured. i gently turned my head to give due attention to what moved me. under these furry hats were two elderly women. i met their eyes with mine. they walked toward me. at the time i was sitting on the curtain wall next to the wheel; feet dangling toward the blue water below. the two elderly women could've been anyone; teenagers, middle aged males, beggars. i thought nothing of my precarious situation. nothing. my heart was warmed by the glimpse of the hats. as they walked toward me, i slowly stood. i, subconsciously and instinctively, removed the camera from my neck. they approached me and i approached them, eyes still searching eyes. not a word being said, we hugged. i don't know how long each hug lasted; i'm sure no longer than ten seconds, but an eternity, past and future, could be felt. not taking even a half of a pace backward, each said something to me in czech and i responded in english, 'there are bounds, but never on the human condition.'

i looked into my grandfather's eyes often in his last days. every second reminded me of the human condition. each split second reminded me that if i know who i am, i can be who i want to be. one day he casually pulled took me to the side and said, 'Willy, someday you will be a great man.' hell, i dunno....every day i see something great it reminds me that i need to ditch the beret for a furry hat.

---------------------------------------- --------