Tuesday, April 28, 2009


I have been reading some poems lately. Friend of mine gave me a Walt Whitman's classic Leaves of Grass. I read it when I first moved to the US, I was just getting used to English, so I could not really fully understand it, now I read it again, simply amazed of its depth and beauty (although still not fully understanded). I am now reading Jim Moore's Lightning at Dinner, which was given by Troy Williams on my exhibition opening night, it is contemporary and light, best to be read in a perfect sunny afternoon in the park.

Yesterday, I happily received 2 more poems from Marc Nieson who had written a couple of poems on photographs from Almost Naked. He had a reading in Pittsburgh recently and presented along with my photographs. Here is the most recent writings He did for Jody and Alex&Fumi.

Fumi and Alex, 2004.

Almost Naked

daily we sit across tables
clothed in ritual
it's what we grasp for
the teapot, the spout
the windowsill, the salt
pass the windows
pass the salt,
please me, please
pretty please
but don't you see
the glass is stained
the view obscured
cover your privates
pot your plants
carnations of the nation
dieffenbachia, fig
private eyes
private enterprise
private practice
practicing privacy
it's what we grasp
the edge of frame
the ledge of falling
but don't you see
the tablecloth's transparent
the flowering of light
the body always says more
the articulation of joints
it's what we grasp for
every day we shed ourselves
every day we can
the mosaic is still somewhere

Jody, 2003.

Everything You've Ever

Sometimes it's all moonlight and movie magazines. All hemlines and heartbeats. Chandeliers. The backseats of Buicks or Saturns. 1939, 1999. All windshields and waiting.

Or say Sinatra at the Paramount in 1944. The cue curling clear round a full city block. Bleach-white bobby socks and saddle shoes, glossies from the radio station clutched to your chest. A parade of inches, of hours, until finally that marquee blinks into view, his cutout towering three stories overhead. Bigger than life.

That torn ticket stub between your fingers, the stone stairwell spinning all the way up to the 2nd balcony. Up among the gold leaf and tinkling crystal, the painted angels, you swear, humming hymns. Almost heaven. Still, down down below stands that single microphone, dead-center stage and spotlit, the moment all chrome and breathless and him, him, him just offstage. In the wings, as they say.

And when finally he steps out, the din is overwhelming and all you can see are plaid skirts jumping up onto the seats before you until finally, finally . . . there

There he is, if only big as a finger. As his bowtie, really.

But it doesn't matter, he's live and floating up to the microphone now, glowing with everything that, that inhale of . . . that first, forever . . .

Sunday, April 19, 2009

The People across the Street.

I have a mixed feeling about the views of my apartments.  Since I moved to New York, I have always ended up in an apartment with a slightly interesting view.  My first apartment in New York was a new skyscraper one block from Time Square.  I can see New Jersey from my apartment, beautiful sunset, along with a couple of hooker's corners and the sex shops on 8th Ave.  Then I "upgraded" to the Upper East Side, everyday I saw nothing but a row of empty balconies at the back of those fancy prewar townhouses.  Occasionally, there was this nanny sat in the gray colored backyard, file her nails while the babies were taking a nap.      

Now I live in downtown Manhattan.  I mean down-downtown, Financial District that is.  This is rather a unique area.  During the daytime, this place is flooded with yuppies, tourists (normally attached with at least one Century 21 shopping bag), news anchors, protesters, deliver trucks, college students, etc.  It is completely crazy.  But at night time, it becomes very peaceful, not quite a ghost town, but a small town with giant buildings.  Once I walked my dog along Wall Street in the evening, right at that corner of Nassau and Wall, you can see the building of Stock Exchange, the Creek Roman styled Federal Hall National Memorial with the Statue of George Washington, a silhouette of a Church nearly, and a policeman on the horse.  I thought, this must be how New York in 1932 looks like, it was stunning, romantic and mysterious.  

The next morning, I looked outside of my window, what is a massive office building with endless windows, everyone is doing their things.  There is this woman getting interviewed while a man working on his charts next door.  I see them everyday, indeed.  I think they know me every well.  They have seen me naked walking out of my shower, they waved at my dog sometimes, possibly admire my tastefully arranged apartment when no one is here.  

But I know nothing about them (except where they work).    

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Pictures from Peru.

© Andres Marroquin Winkelmann

Check out my friend Andres Marroquin Winkelmann's new project Zapallal/Yurinaki. I especially love some of those very stunning still life pictures.

Tuesday, April 07, 2009

Viewfinders Interview on Zoom In Online

Zoom In Online has released their new video series Viewfinders on Portrait Photographers, it is a series of video interviews of photographers talk about their work. I am very happy to be part of this project. You can also see more video interviews here. The videos are produced by Magnet Media.

Thursday, April 02, 2009

Almost Naked Opening @ RSG

Tonight is the opening night of my Almost Naked solo exhibition at Randall Scott Gallery. The opening was very successful, special thanks to Randall and the gallery staffs for the hard work. I am happy to see many old and new friends. It was a wonderful opening. The show will run through May 2nd, come to see the work in person and experience the surprisingly vibrant DUMBO art scene.