Once upon a time I was planning a trip to Jordan. I packed my bags, and committed to shooting my entire upcoming documentary project on film. I took one backpack, filled one third with film, one third with cameras, and the rest with clothing and a toothbrush. Upon arrival, a series of events unfolded and I ended up living in a cave in Petra. On my third day of adventuring around, photographing everything, my Bronica ETRS broke. Leaving me with two gallon sized Zip-Lock bags of medium format film.. only three rolls shot. Unable to fix it, I retired the camera and took up my digital camera to complete (or at that point, start) the project I was going to work on... carrying now half my backpack full of unusable things. As sad as it was, as beautiful as the film would be been with that harsh Arabian sun, my photographs turned out just fine. If not, great. I developed those three rolls just recently, only to find this hidden gem. Omar, a donkey driver who gave me free rides on his donkeys while in the tourist sites. His donkeys were named: Shakira, Michael Jackson, and Ferrari.
There is nothing like the Texas Hill Country. Full of Bluebonnets, Oak Trees and little ponds full of creatures.
We have this thing called Pilsenites. Those of us who live in Pilsen, Chicago. During the end of summer, I was walking home from the great Pilsen neighborhood grocery store, La Casa Del Pueblo, and met Henry. A true Pilsenite. His family were some of the first in the originally Czech neighborhood of Pilsen. Now it is primarily a Mexican neighborhood, few Eastern Europeaners still live there. However, Henry remains true to his neighborhood having lived here his whole life.
A portrait made of a friend's father in his tent in the garden.
I made another documentary photograph of him later in my visit.. but this was my very first time meeting him early one morning after my drive into Petra.
I spend a good handful of time with kids in the village nearby. Where there are groceries to buy or water to get, I run off with the kids like the responsible adult I am. One day while the car was getting fixed I sat on top of this hill and hung out with these kids. I did a quick mini-series with them, taking turns photographing them individually together and then separately.
Possibly two years ago, I was given a tour of the factory for Blendtec Blenders, a company I photographed for while in Utah. I spent some time watching the whole process of each product being made and got to photograph the whole thing for World News Tonight and their Made in America series by Diane Sawyer, a program dedicated to products completely manufactured in America. Having only been in factories in the Dominican Republic before, it was interesting to see the inner workings of this factory and being allowed to see all the action and fun first hand.
That's my grandpa at the ripe age of 92, two years ago.
I found this photograph yesterday while looking for images for his funeral and forgot how much I love this photograph of him that I took at his friend's 50 yr wedding anniversary. I also came across this rough scan from a project I did a few years ago, reproducing old negatives. It is him with his step-mom and dad and my uncle dave as a baby.
Maybe I am jumping to conclusions on this one. For some reason I just decided that would be the most appropriate thing to do. I love to photograph butchers. For some reason I just can't get enough. So, what would be more appropriate than marrying a butcher? Maybe becoming a butcher? I did learn about butchering pigs the other day (pictures to eventually come of that too). If I marry a butcher, then I can become like that photographer who only photographed his wife in the last part of his wife. Except my husband would conveniently be a butcher. Best of both worlds. Enough said, now onto the brief ode/travelogue of butchers around the world, inspired by this first image taken in a mall yesterday.
Moscow, Russia (did I mention this is in a mall?):
Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic (aka future Christine):
London, England (one of the many eligible butchers who I might marry):
Well, enough of that weird burst of confession hour about my love for photographing butchers.