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When I met Michelle Zauner, lead singer of Japanese Breakfast, and autobiographical Crying in H Mart for this portrait, she was funny and sweet and I didn't know even a tenth of the multitudes she contains at that time. I'd recommend both her music and her autobiography, which gets into her relationship with her mom and her Korean identity and it also lays bare the process of grieving she goes through as her mom dies from Cancer. Zauner is honest and strong and an amazing human. I feel so honored I was able to take this portrait photo of her!
Her new album Jubilee was released June 4th!
michellezauner.bandcamp.com/releases
www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/crying-in-h-mart
**All photos are copyrighted**
Old Dhaka, Bangladesh, 2013
Street is a stage of real life drama
Street is a story of emotion and reality
You, me we all are the silent participants.
We have come to stay for a while and then we are gone for forever.
But the streets will remain forever, conserving all the memories of those forgotten footprints.
Fuji X-Pro1. You may have noticed that the title has been influenced by Mr Gandhi's autobiography (who said he was experimenting with "truth"). I just wouldn't go that far.
Old Dhaka, Bangladesh, 2013
Street is a stage of real life drama
Street is a story of emotion and reality
You, me we all are the silent participants.
We have come to stay for a while and then we are gone for forever
But streets remain forever, conserving all the memories of those forgotten footprints.
Find me at Getty Images and 500px
Meanwhile music pounded / across hearts opening every valve to the desperate drama of being / a self in a song.
Anne Carson
THIS IS ME...
FOR FUTURE GENERATIONS...
My late Dad penning his autobiography. In his 90s, two of his favorite activities after breakfast was working on his autobiography and solving the puzzles from the daily newspaper, from Kryptoquote to Sudoku!
GROUP: SMILE ON SATURDAY
THEME: FULL OF MEMORIES
SUBJECT: MY DEAR DAD
Old Dhaka, Bangladesh, 2013
Street is a stage of real life drama
Street is a story of emotion and reality
You, me we all are the silent participants.
We have come to stay for a while and then we are gone for forever
But streets remain forever, conserving all the memories of those forgotten footprints.
Find me at Getty Images and 500px
Chandpur, Bangladesh, 2015
Street is a stage of real life drama
Street is a story of emotion and reality
You, me we all are the silent participants.
We have come to stay for a while and then we are gone for forever
But streets remain forever, conserving all the memories of those forgotten footprints.
This is an image of a puddle in the middle of a forest clearing. It was grey rainy day and the water reflects exactly that atmosphere. Small insects can be seen floating over the water if looked closely.
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3rd place winner in LCC's 2011 self portrait competition
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Breathtaking Last Sunset Of September 2020 On Tampa Bay Florida - IMRAN™
This is what tonight's sunset - the last sunset of September 2020 - unfolded looking like. I knew I had to take some photos as I juggled two steaks on the grill, two German Shepherds playing hard drenched from being in the swimming pool, and two cameras to take photos with. What can I tell you... I am a Gemini. Two of everything. LOL.
2020 has been a surreal year for us. For all of us. Globally, as a species under attack from a pandemic. Nationally, America literally facing an existential crisis brought on by a constitutional crisis being foisted upon us by the agents of an enemy state. And even personally, by the many shocking blows I was hit with this year.
But, at the end of it all, the day, the month, the quarter, soon the year, the decade, and one day my earthly time itself, I cannot deny all the unbelievable blessings I shall forever be grateful for. That is why almost everything I am writing this year makes me refer to things with the particular year 2020 mentioned.
I hope that we all survive this year all the horrendous things that threaten us, our health, our democracy, and our nation. I pray that we grow stronger, smarter, happier, more loved, and more successful in the years to come. I dream of the times we can look back at the writings from these moments in time and be grateful to have made it into those dates in the future. I hope you will be with me then too. Amen.
© 2020 IMRAN™
Oklahoma, USA, 2016
Nothing can give you happiness and you will always have something to complain unless you do what you love to do.
Only those who have heard a gang-gang cockatoo in full voice will appreciate why she was called Ratchet. Her aviary was not far from the house, and at times, it was like living next to a saw-mill. Ratchet was one amongst a host of parrots and cockatoos passing through our aviaries in the 1980s: king parrots red and green as sliced watermelons, eastern and crimson rosellas like airborne expressionist mannequins, sulphur-crested cockatoos with bills that pierced the skin like pliers, and galahs with bellies the pink of musk lollies – all jostled for space whilst their broken bones knitted back together. Sometimes, nestfuls of younger ones would arrive in boxes, and have to be fed on infant cereal, squirted direct into their crops by means of a piece of plastic tubing attached to a syringe. Their peepings competed with the persistent chelpings of baby magpies waiting to have their gullets stuffed with minced meat rolled in bran, and of baby blackbirds demanding mealworms.
It is as impossible to convey the beauty of native Australian parrots in words, as it is to describe the unspeakable agony when a parrot decides that it is time to rip a bit out of you with its inbuilt facial wire-cutters. Polly Pirate (pictured below in the comments) specialised in looking angelic as you scratched her head, but if you lost eye contact for an instant, she would draw blood without mercy, and then laugh at you with her cherry-pink eyes. Other parrots specialised in the well-timed screech, just as you had finished feeding them and had begun to turn your back. There are few creatures with voices designed to inflict physical pain, but a cockatoo in full voice at close quarters can be a daunting prospect.
There was compensation for such discomforts. Parrots have well-developed individual personalities, and only now are we beginning to understand their intelligence. There is something very mammalian – or perhaps human - about some of their antics: the way they respond so lovingly to a good scratch behind the ear, the way they hold their food upraised in one cocked foot and hold little conversations with each other as they eat, their equal capacity for affection and for malice. When it comes to the expression of individuality, only crows can compete with them.
If you grow up surrounded by parrots, it changes your perceptions. You start to realise that our ways of appreciating intelligence and beauty in other animals are not yet very advanced. Your perception of colour and of pattern is hypersensitized. You get in the habit of carrying sticking-plasters and bandages in your pockets as a matter of course. And when cockatoos like Ratchet start turning up in boxes on your doorstep, you start to consider carrying a set of ear-plugs around with you too.
Spend an hour with an aviary full of parrots, and the next time you see a human being, you have to resist the temptation to turn up the colour-contrast and the volume. Human beings suddenly seem so desaturated.
That’s me in the orange Y-fronts and the entirely superfluous pom-pom hat, squirming about on my father’s knee. The hat was unnecessary because it was Christmas, 1972 in Canberra, and undoubtedly a very hot day. I had probably received the hat for a present, and the little knitted teddy-bear was certainly a gift from my maternal grandmother. The bear’s name was ‘Lily’, and she was destined for all sorts of adventures.
In the background is my father’s armchair. I used to sit on it with him for stories and nursery rhymes. My favourite was ‘The Ballad of the Fox’, because he used to bounce me up and down on his knee as though I was on horseback:
Old Mother Slipper-Slopper jumped out of bed
And out of the window she popped her head,
“John! John! The grey goose has gone
And the fox is off to his den-o.
I particularly liked the bit where the fox and his wife had their supper (not too good for the goose, I fear), because “they did very well without fork or knife”, which seemed to me to be eminently sensible.
At times, I was quite afraid of the carpet. I had taken it into my head that it was made of child-eating seaweed: a sort of carnivorous Sargasso, and I would always challenge myself to get onto the settee without touching it. But perhaps that particular phobia came a little later than this picture.
I remember some of the other gifts. There was a Rupert book (there was always one of those), some dried figs, and a cake of Pear’s Soap which I wanted to smell and never use. I suspect that there were bigger and more costly presents than these, but those are the ones I remember.
My mother is behind the camera. She is wearing a very short yellow dress with an orange pattern, and she is telling my dad to stop trying to instruct her on how to use the camera.
She did quite well, don’t you think?
Fuji X-Pro1. You may have noticed that the title has been influenced by Mr Gandhi's autobiography (who said he was experimenting with "truth"). I just wouldn't go that far.
chic ago
Historical compilation of Alfred Harth's collaborations with David Murray, Fred Hopkins, Dougie Bowne, Kent Kessler, Hamid Drake, Vladimir Tarasov, Simon Nabatov, Mark Dresser, Heinz Sauer, Günter Müller, Andres Bosshard, Sonny Sharrock, Phil Minton, Charlie Mariano, Karl Berger, Peter Kowald, Trilok Gurtu and Barry Altshul – recorded 1984-1997
I had done so many processed studio works in addition to numerous analogue live recordings with great musicians in the time frame 1984-1997, I compiled them here:
• Trios with Hamid Drake and Kent Kessler at the "Empty Bottle" in Chicago from 1997.
• I was invited to play and compose at the Frankfurt Jazzfestival. I wished to work on old Korean traditional court music in combination with bluesy players Murray, Hopkins, and Bowne because I think traditional Korean music and jazz have many things in common. Frankfurt radio made this recording as well as a TV recording in 1995, but unfortunately there is no CD. We wanted to continue this project but unfortunately Bowne had a bad accident and Hopkins died.
• The last performance from "QuasarQuartet" (Vladimir Tarasov, Simon Nabatov, Mark Dresser, myself) at the Jazzfestival Saalfelden in 1993. Actually this formation is the only group on this compilation which had put out another CD (POPendingEYE with a different bass player, Vitold Rek).
• 1990-92 German sax player Heinz Sauer and I worked as "Parcours Bleu A Deux" with pedal-activated electronics and words from the Bible (Apocalypse), spoken by Isabel Franke. We performed live in San Francisco and Vancouver.
• I had been working with Sonny Sharrock and Peter Brötzmann in a trio around 1987. There followed this request for Günter Müller and me together (we had been working together at that time too) to create a group for the Willisau festival, "Aleister and Alice" (Günter Müller, Andres Bosshard, Sonny Sharrock, Phil Minton, myself) . In addition to Günter, I brought in Phil Minton and Sonny.
• Last is a composition of mine from the World Music Meeting at the SWF-Radio organized by Joachim Ernst Berendt in 1984 – there exists an LP from this meeting with many different combinations of players on the defunct label "riskant" – but the following information is not on the LP: Just before this recording, a performance took place at my gallery in Frankfurt where players around the world met via telephoned "conference call". With loudspeakers connected to their phones, all the participating groups contributed poems and songs. Simultaneously, I played a tenor solo that went around the world. At that time, the idea of simultaneous global communication was pioneering, and very thrilling to all the participants. Our performance was called "Marry the world by conference call". The SWF radio meeting happened shortly after that in 1984 so I named that composition "Honeymoon After First World Marriage" (Charlie Mariano, Karl Berger, Peter Kowald, Trilok Gurtu, Barry Altshul, myself) .
Alfred 23 Harth
The website MORE A23H CDRs:
a23h-cdrs.blogspot.com/2007/12/chic-ago.html
only for PR – not for sale!
Here we are, my mother wearing an Australian army hat at the height of bushland chic, on the top of Mount Jerrabomberra, closer to Canberra. In my hand is a butterfly net, machined by my mother to my father’s exacting specification, its gusset carefully stitched, the net deep enough that it can be folded over the frame, so that the trapped butterfly can be examined without any battering of the wings. Perhaps there were swallowtails, their wings mottled with gum-leaf green. I do not remember.
… In my opinion!
The book that I’m currently reading is Bob Mortimer’s autobiography.
I particularly liked the series ‘Mortimer and Whitehouse - Gone fishing’ which is and isn’t about fishing. I’m not into fishing one iota, but this TV series was brilliant.
Humorous and emotional at times.
It’s available on catch up on BBC if you’ve not seen any of the series’.
I like Paul Whitehouse as much as I do Bob Mortimer.
I binged watched each series (4 of them) when they came out.
The book is often funny… he also gives so much credit to others. A very humble bloke.
Old Dhaka, Bangladesh, 2013
Street is a stage of real life drama
Street is a story of emotion and reality
You, me we all are the silent participants.
We have come to stay for a while and then we are gone for forever
But streets remain forever, conserving all the memories of those forgotten footprints.
Find me at Getty Images and 500px
Autobiography of Abderrahman Ait Khamouch, Spanish Paralympian who I had the pleasure and honour to know at the Beijing Paralympics in 2008, whilst I was working as an interpreter within the support team of the Spanish Paralympic Team. Of all the amazing sporting achievements I have seen in my life, his rates among the best, not just because of what he did, but because of his approach, and also because he was a good friend during those few amazing sporting weeks at the end of the 2008 summer.
PS-23-AG-001
"Ghost Town" { Long roadtrip black coffee edition / "Black as midnight on a moonless night." } - The Autobiography of F.B.I. Special Agent Dale Cooper:
• 4k • ReShade 4.2.1 • [ +New ] Custom shaders • My own LUT's [ based upon filmic-tonemapping, Reinhard tonemapping curves ]
"This is a book of scar tissue, the scars I can live with and the scars that I hide."
-Eric Roberts
Best way to support me is through my paid blog. It helps support this Flickr page and frees me from working extra hours at work and more time on the streets. 15% is donated to my local animal rescue shelter to help them find permanent homes.
www.thegirlwholeftthefridgeopen.com/blog
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© All rights reserved. Please do not use this image on websites, blogs or any other media without my explicit written permission.
This is the third photo of the N'Oublie Pas series in which I try to redeem a photographer's life after I found a box of discarded photos left to be forgotten at a flea market in Paris. There is something wrong with a whole life of memories forgotten and discarded. Do not forget rectifies this. It says life is worthwhile. We will not forget about eachother.
Erin is a lovely friend of mine. She is someone i always enjoy seeing. She had this to say about the photograph she chose:
"It's a photograph of a group of women with their faces mostly hidden. I could speculate on who they are or why they've come together in front of a camera in their similar hats, but that would be slighting them. They had their own reality and I have mine. And I am, happily, often in groups of women. I find power in our togetherness, in the dreams and fears we share.
There's a line in a poem from Autobiography of Red by Anne Carson that often runs through my head: "It is a photograph he never took, no one here took it." What are all the photographs no one ever took of these women? Or of me and the women I know? Maybe they're memories, or secrets. Different kinds of powerful."
Thanks, Erin.
**All photos are copyrigthed. Please don't use without permission**
(If you live in Chicago and are interested in participating in this project, send me an email.)