CONTEMPORARY EXPLORER

  Todays complex and connected world takes problems you encounter to a new depth. The inevitable of death and taxes now has a new partner. Unending time spent with technicians to unravel those problems. This is giving rise to a resurgence of workarounds. Fixes you find yourself that do not solve the problem but keep things working. All be it on a temporary basis. Who has the time to spend half a day with technicians trying to completely solve a problem. Even Captain Kirk had to call on the workaround talent of Scotty to figure out quick fixes to save the Enterprise. Scotty in most cases today is a Google search. It’s not surprising that the term workarounds originated in the early 1960’s with the growth of technology. Since then, we have more and more devices, more compressed chips and continual upgrades. Recently, my HomePod went on the fritz. It couldn’t pull up Apple Music. Impertinent messages from the device simply said, “Theres a problem accessing Apple Music.” Two and a half...

 

    They walk alongside us. There but never fully understood. Random images that spring from our being. Silent rendering of the world. We know not how they shape us. Some urge us to great things, some just remind us of what could be. Alongside they are acted out in a world held back by reality, but wanting to be.

Paul Theroux went on epic journies through South, Mexico and places by Train. For brief times, he would travel with his daughter. She once ask him what she should take back as souveniors. Theroux said, “Just take one thing back from each place. It will teach you to observe and learn more.” I have not traveled to all the exotic places Theroux had. However, my journeys  with my camera take me to places unusual. I follow his advice and just take one thing from those places back with me.  Usually, It is a piece of found art. A surveyors stake with engineering marks on it. A discarded peice of metal along in a rail yard. Memoriories all, to savor and remind. I love each one. David Young ( Coupling  Rail Ring Photo, Chester SC)  

  Hundreds of cars passed by it everyday. The building had nothing to say. The dreamers imagined a coffee shop behind the roll up door, putting a new jive name in the worn sign holder. Not sure how they would every use the back wing, but no matter The Developers saw the building gone, a bare lot to build on. Permits, plans and profit danced in their minds. The homeless man slept in the back wing hoping the traffic would die down. Fate always patient just waited for time…

  The building had been there forever on Amen Street. Few people could remember the small dress shop in front. Or the reverend who preached in the back room to poor railroad workers. The sounds of the trains not far away on the tracks they laid. Only accountants and lawyers occupied the top floor now. Paying homage to different gods along Amen Street.

  The Custom House Clock Tower crowned Boston’s financial district. Its bar a beacon every evening for young financial titans. The bars wood paneling reflected clubbiness and intimacy. Here they could exchange tales of the day and their success. There were few chairs, except for stools at the bar. Most just stood with drink in hand. Joey’s group were regulars, all Harvard graduates, never shy about mentioning the fact. They could have met at the Harvard Club down the street, but their fathers were there. The Custom House allowed them more freedom to be and brag. Joey always seemed to lead the conversations and had the most swagger, his swept back hair and narrow eyes all spoke of blue blood . Paul the bartender presided over the bar. A slight built balding man who always seemed in motion, scurrying from one end of the bar to the other to fill orders. If the Harvard crowd were the swells , Paul was the labor. He wore the working class heritage on his bland face. He stuck to his work...

  I always kept a camera in the car, just for these moments. Across the empty parking lot a man sat leaning against the side wall of a box store. The parking lot iconic in foreground with concrete yellow car stops.  I initially took him for a pan handler, but the site made no sense. No car would stop in front of him, they just passed him by. Besides, I kept to a personal rule of never photographing the down and out just looking for a few dollars. I hesitated taking the photo. I attached my long lens to get a better look. He sat praying, a small sign in front read “Jesus Saves.” There was no asking for money. A small red umbrella shielding him from the sun, adding to the scene. My mind clicked back to seeing these “Jesus Saves” signs all over town placed high on telephone posts at busy intersections. They hung beyond human reach echoing their message and casting mystery of how they got there. Curious, I had even searched the net about their origins. No answers found.  I lo...

  Perhaps the only good thing about the pandemic is the time afforded us to be alone and explore the complexity of ourselves. And realize how important others are in our life....