CONTEMPORARY EXPLORER

  Small buildings dot and define America’s landscape. Usually built for a single purpose, apartments, grocery store, retail, bar, or restaurant. They all start with the glitter, excitement and bright signs of the original owner. Overtime those signs fade, owners retire or pass away. The building struggle to be repurposed, but seldom are. They languish for years, people remember the life once there, reluctant to tear them down. They look different in various parts of the country.  In the desert, they take on a bleached look. Separated by distance between them, the speak of loneliness. Urban small building often occupy crowded corners or are tucked away between larger properties. Almost afraid to show themselves for fear of being torn down. Small town ones form the closest bindings to the community, part of the landscape. These tend to last the longest, the small towns working to make them live again. Keeping them in the future as a fabric of the community. When a community dies, like a

  There are long walks in medicine through the sterile walls of clinics and hospitals. Thoughts of diagnosis and treatments bounce in your head, dealt out by doctors and nurses you only see for a short time. A physician once confided that in medical school, you are taught to treat the patient. To always cure the ills you see. For the patient though, the cost of the cure may be greater than the benefit, not just the money, but the depths of the side effects, length of time spent.  There are dragons that live in the depths of hospitals. There to help, but breathing fire. There are times when the medical matrix confuses. What are the next best moves. Sometimes it feels like no one is there to answer the questions. You look for promised miracles. In high end stylish clinics with all the decor and appearance of warmth, you can become a ward of the cure. The care you are given craved and repeated until you find yourself there more than away at the life you knew. I like many have greatly bene

  I admit to liking oak paneled decor and warm lighting. So upon entering the new AC Hotel and finding no wood paneling, I had to tack to relate to the place, moving my thoughts back and forth. It was a gray taupe upon gray, even the sparse decor items, a vase, a book, a few plants were such a dark green as to evoke no variety. I’ve always found you can learn most about a hotel from the lobby level one, the vibe of the place. Level one of this place did not disappoint, perhaps the still closed kiosk shop outside the entry should have prepared me. OK, the floor to ceiling LCD display with alternating colorful artwork impressed. So much that I looked around for a cup of coffee. I just wanted to sit in front of the display to avoid my being blended into the gray decor, lost forever.  At the small circle semi bar, lobby snack and coffee spot my mood began to change. Three affable patrons sat across from me, getting a last cup before heading to the plane. They were engaging, exchanging

  In quiet moments, questions of purpose can corner you. Have I done enough to help others? This is especially true when you hear of grand things others have done for the betterment of all. You wonder if your work is really helping others. Even in retirement the question of greater purpose gnaws at you. Purpose can always be viewed grandly, but perhaps it can be found simply. The touchstone of the documentary “Road Runner” on Anthony Bourdain says a lot. That all the travel, food, found philosophy, and experiences Bourdain had were second to “Tony learning to be a better person.” Maybe this is the first step toward finding the purpose we seek. Being a better person helps us be more sensitive to others and in touch with the shared importance of dignity. Most of all, it helps us get beyond ourselves to be more observant of the world and its needs.  Needs that may be as simple as opening a door for someone, a kind word, listening, participating in a community meeting, rolling in the trash

  They always cause me to pause. Marks on walls, pavement, and transit, all have something to say. I try to imagine art from them. How they were left there, could I use the renderings to paint. My camera comes out and there you have it. Another mark to pull at your wandering mind, to imagine, maybe create.  Perhaps it’s the randomness of them, how they break the perfectness of what is strived for in modernism and cities. All the while knowing they are the marks of our lives coming and going. Some are painted over, only to be marked again. Some aspire to a street art of their own, where intentions overcome the wildness.  I take the photographs home, play with them, get frustrated at times by what I thought I saw and didn’t. Still trying to pull the art from the mark. Sorting them out till one or two speak above the rest. Staying in my mind until art becomes…. Art Note: William Klein, the great street and fashion photographer who recently died was the first to paint film contact shee

  You find them in the corners of life, often left behind and alone. They can be people or just objects where you sense something happened. Like people they have stories to tell, testimony to make, but can’t except for the thoughts and images you give them. People always make the best witnesses. Still some are reluctant to share their experiences. Others shout them out and some think there are angles they can play. Some bottle them up, hiding in corners, unaware someone is watching, waiting to hear. Events cry out for witnesses. All want to give testimony. For some though there’s no one to listen…