About changes.

A little Friday art.

Pure art. The picture is as I saw it. Very little post production on this one. It’s meant to be soft and gentle. It’s meant to be a break from real life. A little peace. A little quiet.

I could stop right here and wish you happy Friday.

You know me. Lately, that hasn’t been my way. Lately, I have the need to talk, er, write.

This is about joy. Joy from anywhere. I started thinking about this after watching and Amazon show called, “The Grand Tour.” It was created after the original Top Gear team left the BBC. It stars Jeremy Clarkson, James May and Richard Hammond. Last nights show was the final episode, not of the series, but of the entire thing.

History. Clarkson got fired from the BBC for punching a crew member. Over a sandwich, I think. The other two realized that two without one didn’t add up to much, so they asked to be released from their BBC contracts. Clarkson went through some behavior modification counseling and the three of them joined Amazon. The new name reflects what tours of the world used to be in the 1800s. They were called a grand tour and used to last for months.

The original version was Clarkson’s brainchild. Prior to the arrival of Top Gear, car shows were boring. I like cars, but I never watched them. Once I saw Top Gear during its first year I was hooked. Comedy reigned supreme. Things crashed. Things blew up. Things burned. Richard Hammond almost got killed (for real). Only his short height saved him from losing his head.

Last night they said goodbye. Clarkson, who can be a giant knob as Richard May would say, fought back tears during their entire announcement. They played some highlights, some of which were borrowed from the BBC, to the tune of the original ending of Eric Clapton’s “Layla.” For me, that has always been a leaving song, especially the end  piece with Eric Clapton and the late Duane Allman playing intertwined guitars over a piano.

I was in tears.

They’ve done this for 17 years. I’ve seen every episode. Think about that. I’m 65 now. I started with them when I was 48 years old. They’ve made me laugh and laugh some more, even during the dark days immediately following Hurricane Katrina. When I say laugh, I mean laughing out loud, rolling on the floor.

The audience was crying. They talked about their favorite shows.

Then.

Finally, the three of them made another announcement. The talk show, the in studio work and their local race track scenes were ending. The show as we knew it was ending.

But, they love Amazon and Amazon loves them. So, Clarkson claims. Instead of thirteen weeks every year, we were going to see what they do best. Long treks in some foreign country with either junkmobiles or the best of the high-end Lamborghini, Maserati and Porsche cars. Those are the episodes that to me, and I’m pretty sure, most of us liked best. We won’t have to wait a year to see new work. It’ll be released as Amazon continuing series.

My heart jumped. I immediately felt better.

One more thing for you to know.

Anyway.

I borrowed that from them. Since they really drive the cars, catch on fire and get in crashes, they decided how to move on if one of them was killed. They would briefly tell the studio audience what happened and would immediately move on with…

Anyway.


Purple day.

Ah yes. Purple. Purple Furble.

I don’t know why that old joke came back to me. Back in the old folkie days, when songs were heard in a haze, a friend with whom I grew up heard the wrong words to a song and said, “Oh wow. Purple Furple.”

This may be due to “learning.” As I wrote in any earlier post, the koan has opened me up to a lot of things. Including bits of memories of things still to come.

This is all very interesting. We’ll see what becomes of it.

So.

The picture. I made this picture a few weeks ago. I let it sit because it was too similar to others I had just posted. While it sat, I played. I made some extreme experiments. More extreme than this image. When I got all the way out there. I reversed course and headed back. This image is the result.

If you were to ask me what steps I took, you’d have me a disadvantage because I let the picture lead me. I don’t write down what the picture and I did. I save each step. I suppose I could post a whole lot of little pictures if someone insisted. I’d rather not. After all, had you lived back in the 1880s you wouldn’t ask Van Gogh each step to his paintings.

Wait. I’m not comparing myself to Van Gogh. That would be a big stretch on my part. Besides, I have two ears. Still.

That’s it.

Parade season — the real one — not all those downtown walking parades, starts tonight. This continues, with a few breaks, for the next ten or so days when we all end up on the streets for Mardi Gras Day. Wish me luck. Right now, I feel pretty good. My back and hip seem fine, or as fine as they can be.

The dog food is almost cooked for most of those ten days. The dogs are nagging me for a walk. So…


Door graffiti.
Door graffiti.

On the way to someplace else. That’s me.

I actually made this picture while I was standing around. During Mardi Gras. I suppose it’s a Mardi Gras picture. Or not. Even though my job is to make pictures, I only do that about 20% of the time. I spend the other 80% doing stuff. Or, doing nothing. And, just waiting. That’s what I was doing when I saw all this graffiti. Nothing.

Or, everything. Seeing. Well, you know. That’s the most important thing. Right?

As I was reviewing my selects I got an idea. That’s always dangerous. I’m going to experiment with it a little before I show you. I’d like it to be somewhat fully formed before I turn it loose on the world. Even then, it will twist and turn as circumstances arise.

The picture. When I saw the scene I liked the volume of the tagging. There is so much of it in a small space. I also liked the light as it fell on the glass doors. There is a nice juxtaposition lurking there too. A rusty old padlock. Extreme protection, indeed. Making the picture was the easy part. Editing was a little time-consuming since I wanted the picture to look like what I attracted me to it in the first place.


Trumpet reflections.
Trumpet reflections.

Some how. Some way. This post, originally scheduled  for noon my time, was posted into a sub category under the heading of “New Orleans, but where do I go?” That was going to be a more touristy sub site of Storyteller. I’ve never actually developed it. I did nothing different from my usual routine.

If you click on one of the title next to my name, you can read what I originally wrote. I’m not going to do it twice and WordPress won’t let me copy and paste.

Sorry about that.

Light through the bass drum.
Light through the bass drum.

 

 


Mardi Gras Red.

Mardi Gras.

Things are taking shape. The city is getting ready. Decorations are popping up everywhere. 

Normally they are green, gold and purple. 

I have no idea why these are red. Or, why the skulls are featured. But, the whole thing caught my attention. Hopefully it will catch yours.

The picture. Oh, you know.


Another building I saw along the way.
Another building I saw along the way.

I saw the light. I saw the color. Sometimes shadows are bluish. Especially to digital sensors. They like shadows. They like cooler colors. They don’t always like warm colors. Especially yellow. I play to that when I’m just looking around. Sometimes, people think I add to color when I don’t. I just look for it when I’m out and about.

That’s it. I talked about the picture. Already. I don’t really know any story about this building. Except, there is reserved parking. And, the building is made of metal.


Bure Details
Blue Details

Apparently I’m having a problem spelling blue. When I wrote the caption it took three tries. Bure. Bule. Buel.

What can I say?

It’s all in the details. Just like this picture. Of course, the color caught my attention. But, the details are what held it. Look at all that stuff going on in there. Tagging, Names. Stickers. Writing. Electric meters. A bit of a left over beer. What more could you want in a picture like this?


Pink, Pink, Pink
Pink, Pink, Pink

I was going to write something like, “Pretty in Pink.” But, that’s way too obvious. And, this second line, while on the small side, is important. After all, the Krewe of Zulu were walking in honor of a passed member. No, they weren’t dressed in Mardi Gras clothes. No Tramps suits. No masking. Mostly just good Sunday clothes. Yes. The men’s suits, hats and shirts matched. That’s part of the tradition.

Along came this float. All pink. Hats. Flowers. Lipstick. Beads.

How could I not photograph them and their bright pink… well, pretty much everything? Then, there are those sunglasses.


Blue
Blue.

Once again. I was sort of stuck. In the middle. But, that put me a pretty good position to continue my graphic explorations.

So.

I made a blue picture. I made a silhouette. The young man’s glasses helped. So, did the hat. A lot. It gives you a sense of shape.

So what about blue?

Joni Mitchell wrote a song about it. She wrote it in 1970. It’s not really about the color. It’s more like a poem than a song. But, much of her work is like that. This picture really isn’t about the color either. It’s about a parade. Or, about a feeling. Sort of like the song. An emotion more than a document.

But, blue. It’s complex. It means a lot of things to a lot of different cultures. Peace. Royalty. Optimism. Loyalty. Faith. Health. Spiritualism.

It goes on.

We live on the blue planet.

I have blue eyes.