NOTES
St. Augustine, Florida -- Five Hundred Years
Five hundred years of shadows in St. Augustine, Florida.
Five hundred years of shadows, leaving imprints on the cobble stone and the white plastered walls. Ancient graffiti scrawled on the walls of the old fort are communiques from soldiers now long gone. St. Augustine, Florida -- the oldest city in America.
Welcome to 2018
A new photography book, The Saffron Scourge and a film are part of this list of updates for 2018 that include you.
From "The Ghost Who Loved Mardi Gras"
I have to first thank all of you for reading these posts, getting some books or prints and engaging in interesting conversations with me. It was a year that proved that one might actually be able eke out a living making art and finding the homes for these pieces that I often spend hours on.
So what’s next?
There are a few ideas of how to create an online presence that will make YOU feel a part of these photo shoots and the creative process. The final photographs, after all, are going into your collections or at the very least, populating your newsfeed.
A photo from the Vagabond Collection, which will soon be featured in the shop.
Here’s what’s coming in 2018:
+ A PHOTOGRAPHY SHOP will be available on my site and will include links to galleries featuring “The Vagabond Collection” as well as limited reproductions from The Saffron Scourge project, which is a ghostly body of work that tells the story of yellow fever victims from the mid-1800s to the early 1900s. I've gotten a lot of requests for this. I thank you for your patience. This should be completed within the next few weeks.
+ A NEW BOOK is in the works, which will be released in 2018. I’m doing everything in my power to keep the costs low but the quality high. If you purchased a copy of Ghosts of New Amsterdam then you’ll be treated to some benefits as a result of your early support.
+ I and a production crew are on track to finish my FILM DIRECTORIAL DEBUT of a short film called The Red Canvas, which is based on a story of the same title by xxx ZombieBoy xxx (a constant collaborator and a dear, dear friend).
+ There will be more opportunities for you to directly affect the collections of photographs that I, and a production staff of talented people, will be releasing in the next twelve months.
Without you or your support, there would be nothing to share so THANK YOU a million times over for helping a boy and a dream get by in this crazy world of art. I’m very excited and I hope that you are too.
I wish you all a fruitful year and I send you a sincere wish that you achieve your dreams and goals in 2018.
From "The Ghost Who Loved Mardi Gras"
Let's Be Bored at the Airport Together
Get that camera out if you're stuck at the airport.
We got stuck at MSY (Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport) for the day last Wednesday. I'm thinking of those stuck today at airports throughout the Northeast due to the wintry storms battering the area. If you've got a camera, go explore the airports. It's a lot more interesting than I previously thought before last week.
Email: info@carlosdetres.com
Considering the Dallas Shootings in a Bar with Strange Faces
In an ordinary bar in downtown Los Angeles with strangers. Photos from Santa Monica, Hollywood, Santa Clarita and the Los Angeles transit system.
Hollywood
It was the day after the Dallas shootings when eleven police officers were shot, five killed. I walked into a downtown dive bar in Los Angeles, sat on one of the barstools next to the gaming machine. I ordered a Blue Moon topped with a slice of orange and watched Maury Povich on the TV mouth revelations to astonished guests.
The room grew from a couple folks to a dozen or so, all apparently from different backgrounds. A Latin American woman juggled drink orders and come-ons from mens who were old enough to be her father. In the smattering of dialog that I picked up in that room, there was concern of the crisis in Dallas (the latest spear into the heart of America) as an old bearded man in a Hawaiian shirt ratted off his sexual conquests between here and Pasadena.
It was a hot day and I was drenched in sweat, trying to discern the streets of L.A., separating the cavernous, film reel decorated train stations between West Hollywood and the busy intersections of downtown. I was lost in a heap of thought, staring into the memory of gargantuan trees and the windless maze of train tunnels and streets that were not familiar to me.
We were all below, beneath the Mount Olympus of celebrities, recalling our misinformation of facts that too place during that dreadful week in America. Alton Sterling, Philandro Castile and those officers are closer to us in our struggle to adjust to the real facts of a crumbling society, and perched above it all, the faces of two presidential candidates with the audacity to lead a seemingly torn nation. But around me were flapping lips from different colored faces existing in harmony, drinking booze during a hot lunch hour. I knew that we were on the precipice of drastic action, a revolution on its way but when my chicken fingers and french fries arrived on a plate, nothing else mattered aside from the present moment.
Train Stations
Hollywood
Santa Clarita
Santa Monica and Venice
The Redwood Forest and Crescent City, California
The literally dizzying splendor of the Redwood Forest is real.
“The planet has been through a lot worse than us. Been through earthquakes, volcanoes, plate tectonics, continental drift, solar flares, sun spots, magnetic storms, the magnetic reversal of the poles … hundreds of thousands of years of bombardment by comets and asteroids and meteors, worldwide floods, tidal waves, worldwide fires, erosion, cosmic rays, recurring ice ages … And we think some plastic bags and some aluminum cans are going to make a difference? The planet isn’t going anywhere. WE are!”
Aryn and I were driving a stretch of road from Portland into the cool Northern region of California. Coordinating between the GPS and manual instructions from the proprietors of an Airstream, our heads bobbed up and down and dragged left to right through the winding roads, descending deeper into the dark forest, beneath a verdant canopy of trees.
Do you know that moment when you see something for the first time and it's so foreign that your stomach turns? Or maybe it was the spatial difference and massive size of the first Redwood tree, which suddenly came upon us. This barked giant was in front of our Kia Soul and then as we turned the corner, it was on the right. We both gasped. I had never seen a tree so large in my life.
Let's go further: I'd never seen such an alien landscape in my life. Jurassic Park came to mind.
Off some mile marker, in the forest, was a clearing that we turned into. There was a bungalow to the left, a parked RV in the back and across from that was the Airstream we had booked using AirBnb but surrounding all of this was dense vegetation, tree stumps, as large as our car, with saplings growing from the ancient, ringed rims. The first breath of air I took after exiting from our parked vehicle was as crisp as ice and it flowed through my lungs so easily.
The Redwood Forest was only going a brief overnight stop before driving further south to Sonoma. We gathered what we needed and drove a short distance west to see the Pacific Ocean. It was just before sunset and the temperature had dropped, while people in shorts walked on the sand, making me wonder "how can you tolerate this cold"? Sand blew all around us, skirting the beach as strong waves crashed against the rocky shore. We walked to the end of a long, long pier to stare straight into a domed faced rock that bulged out of the ocean. I looked down, imagined how cold the water must feel but looking back up was only the slimy leaves of kelp bobbing along the dark water.
After exploring the beach, we walked up a hill to a lighthouse that sat on the rocky turf like an ominous beacon, calling to the night. Like so much in California, the structure and adjoined home fit snuggly into the landscape. The sun set while a sea breeze misted our dry faces. At twilight, we returned to our car and drove back into the forest to enjoy wine we had brought from the Willamette Valley in Oregon.
We awoke early the next morning, had breakfast, gathered our stuff to hit up the Redwoods National Park, followed by a drive through the Pacific Coast Highway down to Sonoma. The road meandered between the ocean and the forest, providing un-friggin-believable views of un-friggin-believable natural world. It was like driving down the gullet of a beautiful monster that could eat you at any moment if it so desired. As long as we stuck to the road, we'd be safe. But we didn't.
Driving slowly, I saw a clearing to the left of me where below was a river bed that was nearly run dry. We parked the car, walked down onto the smooth stones, polished by thousands of years of running water. We were alone and I felt so close to some kind of spiritual message but I couldn't discern its meaning. I just knew it felt good. The trees and the water and the sun and the stones all felt good. There is something godly and human and flawless about being alone in a natural setting. This was a theme that often repeated throughout our trip. Nothing will ever be the same.
Send questions over to info@carlosdetres.com
The Oak Alley Plantation Road Trip
Just one of many must-see locations outside of New Orleans. Get a car or read this post.
Aryn and I gathered some friends and went on a road trip to Oak Alley Plantation, about an hour outside of New Orleans. The site was beautiful, with old, looming oak trees and the Mississippi River just on the other side of the street. I love going to these sites but it always feels like I'm stepping onto the scene of an old and terrible crime. There are old reminders everywhere, from the slaves' quarters to the big white house.
We parked ourselves on the other side of a field, sat for a picnic. After eating my lunch, I laid on the roots of a large tree, staring up into its branches, watching the swaying motion of leaves.
