The Cherry Blossom

Their life is as short as the fragrance that blankets a valley floor

He lies in a volcanic crater, weapon at hand as shell casings break the spring air

Not knowing neither season nor time of day the cherry blossom falls to earth

Casing pleated in pink magenta, the river runs red, the valley floor

Turns with quiet forgiving moans of loss and lust, of hopelessness, of tears

As shivering souls fail earths bounty, fraught in the fragrance of Cherry Blossom’s

Can you smell that?

Distant, before the sun bleaches the day

Rolling streams float a scent through foliage laced in rich black soil give way

To the tide of black coral sand, steam rising at dawn-warm as any woman’s breast the

Pleated surf lap’s as I drift from this hellish dream

Red flowers, blood red, can you smell that

They lie in open fields, bodies swollen beyond repair

They are your dreams of a better day, a future

Their lies my Father’s youth, laced in rich black soil

Draped and resting in the Cherry Blossom, can you smell that?  JPN

I just want to Write a Letter Home

I just want to Write a Letter Home

The paper is sheer, thin, and flimsy but that's what they give us before we write, there’s a class on what to write-strange but it takes up time

The Jarhead walks back and forth crisp as a cracker, I’m waiting for his ass to

Squeal like a lost sheep-but it doesn’t

I want to write a letter home to Mom, Pat and that pain in the ass Rose

But, there are rules

Lots of rules, I’m somewhere in the Pacific-but I can’t say that, I don’t know where we are going, but I can’t say that, I’m a Marine but I can’t say that, I’m on a ship, boat, raft or canoe but I can’t say that. I follow the rules, but I can’t say that.

I just want to write a letter home, to say hello to Pat.

Today I saw my first dead man, the Jap’s dived on the ship, it was so quick, his body flew down the steps without the legs-I didn’t even look at him-he wasn’t human

Keep moving-don’t look back that is another rule.

The paper is sheer, thin and flimsy but that's what they give us

It keeps getting warmer the air is still, I’m sweating on the paper but that will dry out

We can address the envelope, but don’t seal it-it has to be reviewed by secret people I have never seen-no one has

Right now there are 3 to 5,000 Marines on deck, too hot below.

I want to write a letter home, but what can I say; “How are you Mom”, or “How’s the Weather”, or “Is Pat and Rose still driving you crazy, they drove me crazy” or “ When I come home I want a slice of Apple Pie” and so for years it went on like that, the letter's always ended with; “ Well, I’m going to sign off now”. Jack.

In all those years, so many letters-my Father never once wrote to his Father

As his son I had to ask; “Why didn’t you ever write to your Father”, then came a silence that lives with me today. My Father replied; “Jack, my Dad used to beat me.

Oh God, the paper is sheer, thin and flimsy but that’s what they gave us.

The paper is sheer, thin and flimsy but that’s what they gave us

We’d take the trolley to Penn Station, 17, 18, or 19 year olds and somewhere in that mix was a 16-year old-he lied but we kept our mouth shut-soon I’d see them on the beaches, in the jungle or just floating in the surf with the tide-but I can’t write that

There are rules for these kids, dark twisted rules; I just want to write a letter home

Let my Mom know I passed another day, maybe talk about the “Pirates” or the arrival of

Spring, it’s always summer here, the jungle is overwhelming, the sweat, endless sweat from endless skin pours-sleep in mud-eat in mud and die in mud.

Hell, I can’t write that-the secret people would go crazy

I just want to write a letter home, see how things are in the Hollow, what type of cars people are driving now

In this life you dream of a girlfriend, a fresh shirt then it slowly turns dark-you don’t care

Your best friends lie in an island you can’t speak of-and they don’t speak.

I just want to write a letter home. JPN

WOMEN’S MARCH / Noise on the Street #2

Energy, pure Poetic Energy.

"NOPE"

Youth with Flag

The view from 57th Street south is an Avenue of People; all age groups, children, brothers & sisters, Mother’s and Fathers, Lovers, Newlyweds and Senior Citizens in wheel chairs, electric or not, walkers, canes. A form a dedication not always seen, but today on full display for the dignity of Women, regardless their age or physical ability. Never have I seen an incoming President met with such a clear Global message.

"Nasty Woman"

"Make America"

Regardless of your political agenda, one has to respect a senior citizen with Polio, making this slow painful procession for miles or a 12-year-old girl in crutches after a recent operation, which is drive and has a sense of poetry to the step. There were legal aid consultants at each corner, should there be a need for it and there was a unity towards addressing the type of decadence Trump has displayed and met with global condemnation.

"The Flock"

At the end on 55th Street, time and again I would witness the Mother and Daughter embrace, the Lover embrace and even the Grandpa, Granma embrace all with the reality mostly saved for family events, not political. These times require more than normal, to watch carefully what the “God’s that be” are up to as we slumber in the night.

"Collusion"

"UGH"

As I left I saw one Veteran from Vietnam, also an era of protest that brought an end to a war and I could only say; “Thank you for service”, something I can also say to all of the women today. After leaving and reflecting on the size of this protest, I can only come to the opinion that this election is; “Far from over” and I’m sure I’ll have future post. JPN

NOISE ON THE STREET, Protest Day One.

Sometimes you really have to work for an image and sometimes it’s just there talking to you, which was the case of a Mother and Daughter on the first leg of their journey, first New York, Washington D.C. and yet another trip back to New York. For this pair, it’s both a bonding of Mother and Daughter but also a bonding of all things important to be a woman, no doubt as they age this memory and solidarity will not.

Mother & Daughter

New York Signs

Two Dollars for a little Love.

The moment you leave the subway you see people with signs on the platforms, walking up the stairs or on the sidewalk above, although I was an hour and a half early so was everyone else. Everyone seemed so polite, including the NYPD that I had to wonder if I was at a protest at all. This was not a protest like I had seen in the 60’s or even “Occupy Wall Street”. These were all the people that voted and their vote didn’t count.

Mr. Trump…...

America

I'll say a Prayer for you ...

Along the way I met a man with a top hat who had a heart condition; “…I shouldn’t be out in this cool weather, but I have to-I can’t afford my medicine”. He’s my age, that statement is a cold gripping reality-the knowledge that his very protest may give him more anxiety than his heart has the strength for. Fifteen feet from him was a woman in an electric wheelchair, I only thought who is going to come to her aid if a battery fails, the cart stops working-will someone get her a cab-will a cab even take her.

Amongst these questions, it was a great night for New York; the event sponsors Michael Moore, Alex Baldwin, Robert De Niro, Mark Ruffalo and many, many others. Many signs echoed one theme, this is not about Trump-it’s about morals and character, how we see our self and what will define us.

"NO"

If there is one thing I’ll sleep on tonight it’s; “…I shouldn’t be out in this cool weather, but I have to-I can’t afford my medicine”. JPN

Madonna and Mickey Mouse, Drums Pennsylvania

It was late in the day as the annual “Furry Parade” was wrapping up in Pittsburgh, there were all type of hairy little critters walking the streets as I was heading back to New York aboard “Big Blue” the mega of all Mega buses. One such passenger walked by me with a Women’s Black Velvet Hat and a Black Flower to the side, and holding a Mickey Mouse handbag of sorts, that woke me up. Pittsburgh has changed a lot, but this was quite curious and stylish.

Madonna and Mickey Mouse

I usually don’t talk to anyone on the bus, eight hours of quietness with a book or a game of solitaire-it’s all the same. But this I couldn’t pass up, the Velvet hat and Flower were right in front of me, so I slowly engaged the young man in front of me in conversation; “..Were you part of the Furry parade I asked” curious what animal he could be and he replied, “…No, I always dress like this”. Wonderful, I said to myself as we exchanged pleasantries and it turned out we were both photographers and he was on his way to Ecuador for an exhibit.

Rest stop, Drums Pennsylvania

In the last fifteen years or so it has become popular that there are teams of artist producing works of art, the first such team that I recall was Mike & Doug Starn-I don’t know if this collaboration makes the work stronger-but fashionable for sure. Sam Brown (Black Velvet Hat) and his counterpart, Maria Escudero have produced some bold and creative images for sure-attached is a link to their website (http://www.trans-meat.com) the work is quite theatrical and laced with both pop and drama. 

Ángel Rodriguez-Diaz & The Evolution of an Artist

Angel Rodriguez-Diaz

Ángel and I had met by chance thirty-five years ago in New York; I was an artist making that slow transition into becoming a photographer, and Ángel was a portrait painter. At that time we had mutual friends in the fashion industry, often referred to as the “Rag Industry”. When I saw one of Ángel’s paintings- a reclining nude mostly painted in the hue of blue with the background mute but decorative, I saw talent. Ángel is both a huge talent with a great sense of humor, capable of both serious and engaging conversation only to be accented with humor.

Angel's "Spirtual Center"

I had the chance to meet up once again with him at his studio in San Antonio, Texas and view both his personnel work, and commissioned portraits-new to his body of work are large installations throughout San Antonio as well as a series of murals for a new hospital, one measuring 30 X 100 feet. This is where the evolution comes in, and is a great addition to any artist resume. An artist studio is as telling as their work; the random objects they collect often appear and reappear in their work whether it’s a primitive mask or a religious icon.

Foyer to Studio

Evolution generally occurs when there is a need, be it for survival or just the simple need to change ones style. In the case of Rodriguez-Diaz, the portraits and commissioned works had flattened-so he turned to the public and private sector to bid on jobs designed for the City of San Antonio as well as private bids for new buildings throughout the City of San Antonio, this is one city that is big on art. It’s everywhere, and it’s a pleasure to take a walking tour. I was there for eight days and there was always an opening or a public meeting, which does one way or another, involve the Mexican community, as this was once their land. It’s also hard to escape that fact when viewing Rodriguez-Diaz’s work, it’s filled with both historical and political tones.

DNA Mural in Hospital

Evolution also occurs as Rodriguez-Diaz is from Puerto Rico and now has become a “TexaRican”, also a slow process laced with humor. His work can be found at San Antonio Museum of Art, National Portrait Gallery-Smithsonian Institution, El Museo del Barrio, ArtSpace, Intar Gallery, New York; Oller/Campeche Gallery, New York; Ollantay Center for the Arts, Queens New York; Mendelson Gallery, Pittsburgh, PA; and the Museum of Fine Arts, San Juan, Puerto Rico, Blue Star, San Antonio-Texas.

SELFIE

Historians are in disagreement as to when or where this plague/virus first broke out, although some prefer to call it a culture phenomenon-historians prefer to call it a virus. Each passing hour eats away at our digital memory-chunk by chunk. The majority of these learned men and women point to America (always the villain) but not necessarily by an American-someone just visiting-just passing through. It seems there is a giant need of the self or “Selfie”, first we photographed our food, cars, kittens, dogs and where we went on vacation-but all of the above are pale in comparison to the self portrait or “Selfie”. Americans now take over ninety million Selfies a day, by comparison the painter Rembrandt did about sixty self portraits in his lifetime, actors do more than that before they get out of bed and the photographer Cindy Sherman has photographed herself for the past thirty years or more-curious behavior indeed-but it’s art, all in the name of art.

Lolla

Before you go to any social event, don’t worry about your Tux, car keys, keys to the house, take your medicine-no, make sure your iPhone is charged and your Selfie Stick is hung correctly, it looks a little cheesy when you try to pass it off as an erection, although that too makes for a great Selfie and men have been known to do it and send it to there co-workers. That is the new uniform; this bug has bitten everyone-from Heads of State to the Pope, children and dogs. Yes, we humans pass on our knowledge to dogs instead of “Fetch it Rex” it’s now; “…press here Rex”. The videos and Selfies of Miley Cyrus and her dog Emu taking a bath are silly at best, but they take the craft of photography to yet another level. Not to be left out of the picture is an eleven year old girl does some nudes of herself and sends them to her classmates or the sixteen year old boy poses with a man he just killed-guess how the Police cracked this case? A Selfie. CNN the news network (?) now has an online editorial titled no other than; “..Selfie of the Week”, where do we go from here?

Lolla at home.

When Ellen DeGeneres took that Selfie at the Oscars, no one-not even Ellen thought it would spin out of control or currently be worth one million dollars-that's way more than most photographers ever make in a lifetime-and they have talent. So this celebrity driven image, soaked in oil is worth a cool million-not a good future for the shutterbugs. As for Hiroshi Ueda who first designed the Selfie stick in 1983, although he thought he had a hit-it was a dud. Years later when cellphones put “Point n’ Shoot” cameras out of business would the Selfie stick return in Pink, Aqua Blue, Silver, Green, Orange, Yellow and Black retailing for as little as $40.00 and less, people are snapping them up like hot donuts. Pink and Aqua Blue are the hot colors this season, Silver for those on a more modest family budget. New York first banned the Selfie stick in Museums for several reasons that act was followed by both a national and international ban, followed by The Cannes Film Festival and Disney World-but you can’t hold down a good movement. Recently while returning to New York from San Antonio I watched a young man watch the luggage carousel and at the moment his luggage came up, he took a Selfie. A self-portrait of himself and suitcase, now that's a lot to digest. JPN

NudePoems

At the time in a child’s mind, this was a game, a game to find words that would rhyme with each other-time, dime and climb. My Mother taught my sister Margaret and I in the kitchen, I found it very amusing until the second part of the game was to make a sentence that ends in that word. She made it seem so easy but that’s what any good teacher does. They trick you slowly and then without knowing you love the game, you become the game, it’s another way to find your voice-now you are able to express how you feel or see. But, it started out as a game and that was my introduction to poetry. I was ten years old.

In Pittsburgh you don’t talk about writing poetry, it’s a sports city and that's fine. Save your poetry for those few and special people. Things have not changed, it’s a misunderstood craft too abstract and concrete for the masses-which also is just fine. I finished my first collection of poetry when I was sixteen, at the end of English class I gave it to my teacher and asked her to read it, “let me know what you think”. The following week she did, she was surprised I wrote a small book and surprised with its content and asked, “is life really that bad”? In my eyes it was, every night at 6:30pm we watched the Vietnam war, assassinations, riots and my Mother and Father were not of the same faith-this was my background, my text to write on.

This body of work combines poetry and photography, it’s a slow moving project, sometimes I photograph more than I write or vice versa-it’s a quiet and conceptual work. The series is titled “NudePoems” and quite simply involves the writing/photographing of models with hand painted text or symbols. I ask the models to read the text, and try to portray the general image of the poem-sometimes they laugh, or don’t understand it-at that point I take over and tell them what to do. At the moment I have more poems than images, here are just a few. JPN

THE HOSTAGE

I was once like you

then woke in a chamber

of corridors

doors, walls both sight

and sound

changed, arranged as

time was redefined

in both sight and sound

I, was once like you

in fragrance and light of foot

moving easily in the path

placed before me

then I woke

Doors, walls both sight and sound

now alone in a series of confinements

time was redefined before me,

I sleep not well for fear of

sleeping

I was once like you

in the early hours of a spring rain

as putrid soil gave birth to fragrance

I was once like you

then I woke, changed, arranged

and redefined

I was once like you.

AS THE PAINTING ON THE WALL

As the painting on the wall

bleak and still

there I stand

my mind, loose and free

from islands of confinement

walks briskly in search

of birds that haven’t sung

As the painting on the wall

all is finished

all is over

oil, once fresh in thought

bleeding it’s canvas

as dried parched skin

over brittle bones

there I stand,

As the painting on the wall.

NORTH

Somewhere north, locked into a blue horizon

beyond the reach of the arctic rain forest

south of the arctic sea,

lies a field of poets

there in this field, tongue’s do converse

in past, present and future tense

of noble, romantic, fearful warnings blessed upon blades of grass

as any scribe would chart

it can be seen from here, a slight mound

a blemish fraught with thought

there, embraced in a boiling exchange

of verb’s, noun’s and adjective’s

back again to action verb’s and all their tenses

in all their tongues

of present times, of ancient times

Old, to Middle English

Latin to Roman to Roma

Celtic to Scythian

here lies a field of poets

below it’s sensuous vocabulary

past the method of pronunciation

deep in it’s soil of expression

lies a soul, in a field with poets.

Newtown

We had just decorated our first tree

Ornaments hung gently from the pine branch

Some were my favorite, others my brothers

He liked cars and action figures, still they hung

ever so gently in a flickering light

my parents began to sneak presents into the house,

but I knew, I couldn’t wait for Santa.

Dad would pound nails to hang little lights, I was

His helper-hand a bulb-hold the flashlight

Ever so gently, it looked pretty just like you see on TV

Somehow, Santa would land here-reindeer over there

Stockings on the mantle, each one with a name, filled with surprise

I just wonder what it will be, all those little stockings row

after row.

Ever so gently, row after row

Nameless little souls in flickering light

Ornaments hung on heavy hearts

It was our first tree

Santa would land here, reindeer over there

Ever so gently

In the flickering light.

This project began with film and will end with film, shot with a Mamiya 7 or Mamiya C330F, 65mm, 80mm and a 150mm lens.