Architect Cesar Pelli: His Design Center three whales: Red, Green, Blue: Los Angeles
The Portraits of Seeing and Listening
“Hello”, is how more than a few thousand days began: A few of those days became odysseys like the great imaginary kind…but different:
Every beginning has a moment. I would walk with- - Oscar Niemeyer, Zaha Hadid, Philip Johnson, Arata Isozaki, Jacques Herzog and more: They only, known to me- -would share a way of seeing their ideas their works: Those moments became Indelible words stamped atop my eyes like architectural footprints: Indelible stamps of approval; The evidence of time shared remains as a whistling collective of visions.
The “Hello” was and is the only word that mattered. It is a place where the light comes from- -once spoken not another word need be shared: In the back story to the above mentioned- -The feeling of a minute translates into innumerable dreams of fantasy’s appearing in real time.
The memories of those particular days have a lot to say about how my eyes see today: The paths drawn and suggestive journeys threw my mind into affective whiplashes: Flashes of joy and discoveries blended and formulated in each accelerated and decelerated dreamscape: Years of prying open destinations and wishing for ideas:- -My memories dance enjoined like - -jazz on steroids: Stirred and spurred by “Trane”, Miles, Dizzy and a bit of Gato.
New York: My camera seemed to sketch a few shadows amidst the elegance of the city
Today’s days seem almost sedate by comparison: The inanimate architecture that animates my days seems lavished with an unknown serum with provocative properties: My mind absorbs what little it can- -Ten-thousand words wave in the distance for me to join- -and engage my posturing architectural encounter. The moments ahead and behind are expressions stowed for safe keeping and to be counted on in another time:
Imagine the inherent value of ideas living in Dublin’s Trinity College Library; The Royal Portuguese Cabinet of Reading in Rio de Janeiro; My own Library of Congress and other archival treasures of mankind: Think- -my imaginary swapping of ideas and stories within the greatest known depositories: Then blink a few times: Peek at my humble card catalog, Rolodex or imaginary spindle churning, turning ephemeral spaces not on an atmospheric cloud but space’s computing cloud.
My world resides in the aftermath of ”Hello”. The supernatural becomes me- -became me, my platform: The magic of dreaming became my reality: “Hello” is not a word- -it is the path:
Imagine Homer’ Odysseus: He began his trek home with Hello: He espied his wife Penelope with the eyes tearing: Aghast- -he utters to himself, “hello”: Carrie in Horton Footes’ Trip to Bountiful, said goodbye to her past with the gleeful eye bellowing “Hello”. The Steinbeck Joad Family began their journey atop the overcrowded truck with a silent chorus in mind singing “Hello”. The journeys ahead and the journeys remembered equate with undeniable grit and hope:
I have ushered in the word hello my entire career: The directions are, as they were, indifferent to what may befall: Hello had to be urged and so I went: Simply an odyssey of sorts was near at hand.
Architects OMA in the Foreground and KPF standing just behind: New York elegant blue shades
Simply by dreaming I measured distances in my minds eyes. The dreams are what elongates my sextant made from one million army of toy Gumby’s: It is what illuminates my guided days between and from destinations A-Z. The alchemists who provided my first encounter>my first sight>were seer’s who carried architecture’s aforementioned words from my walks with voices: The embrace that ensued my days and decades in remembrance startles the heart.
The bellowing whispered gasp is heard as I cross cities for conquest: Nothing regal in mind, mere fulfilling the enjoyment of discovery: Hello is heard at every corner. New York, Tokyo, Copenhagen, Seville, Dhaka, London and … My eyes are stamped with what follows “Hello”- -the journey across cities just for a single snap.
In the garden that is photography, from city to city I have so little to accomplish: I only before I die want to make one Ansel Adams Moonrise, Hernandez and one Roger Fenton’ The Queens’ Target.
They are very simple requests from a photographer who merely wants to waken his world everyday with “Hello”.
If I could capture one image that might be lost forever before the light vanishes: If I could capture one image that might have been forgotten by history- - I might dance naked again atop the whale’s of our Seven Seas.
Seville, Spains: Shades and colors minutes before the sun sits