new -- color & b&w 'A Helping Hand'

A man with a powered wheelchair helps another who does not have such

luxury, in South Central Los Angeles. This is another example of the 'Parable

of the Blind Leading the Blind' but with a more happy circumstance, as depicted

in the painting of the same name by Dutch Master Pieter Breugel. Your ratings,

critiques and observations are invited and most welcome. If you rate harshly,

very critically, or wish to make a remark, please submit a helpful and

constructive comment; please share your photographic knowledge to help

improve my photography. Thanks! Enjoy! john

Hello John,

Needless to say that you have a special talent to capture stories, and many times non ordinary but unique stories full of humanism. This one is a remarkable example. We can look at it, let our immagination go and write a book or a script out of it. It's a fantastic image. Congrats for it.

ricardo

John.  I will echo Ricardo.  It is a unique story and you managed to be in the right place and time to capture it.  The pay phone lends a graphic element to the composition that I think is crucial to set the scene and without it I think it wouldn't be as interesting.  Really well seen and executed.  All the best.  Dana... 

My freshman year at Columbia College (the main undergraduate part of NYC's mostly graduate Columbia Univ.), after I had barely removed my obligatory freshman beanie which I mostly didn't wear out of cussedness and hating to obey rituals, even rated 'Ivy League' ones that were deemed 'precious' like that, I headed off for my one semester required curriculum (and therefore cultural broadening, it was an article of Administration faith) 'Art for Poets' course.

It was a survey course of art from ancient Egypt and Babylonia through more modern times, and frankly there were many in the class who had families who had foundations and/or collections in their familes (or just great works) or themselves were artists (or their parents or relatives were), and hence were greatly informed about 'art' themselves.

Then there was me; poor dumb me, from Eugene, Oregon.

My first job outside the home was working on a farm.  (don't let that fool you, though, my fist 'in-home job at age 12 was typing a Master's Dissertation -- I'm not gonna play too dumb).

I didn't know whether the covers of 'Saturday Evening Post' were good or bad art, but Norman Rockwell drew humorous (if entirely fictional and hopeful) American figures and they were welcome visitors every week.

I see in today's news one Saturday Evening Post cover illustration from him just sold at auction for several million dollars.

So the world turns, and 'there you go'.

Maybe I wasn't so stupid after all.

In any case, my only other exposure to 'art education' when I left Columbia was an 'Architecture for Poets' survey of architecture course I took my senior year.  It was what we students then called a 'gut' -- meaning an easily -graded course where an 'A' in a time of mostly C's for people with SATs in the 600s and 700s on entry, was entirely the norm.

So, pursuing a rare 'A', I went to this survey of architecture course, and the professor was . . .  fabulous!  He knew that easy grading would fill his lecture hall, but his lectures were full of great knowledge, history and incredibly good sense extremely well taught (not the norm at Columbia).   What he taught has lasted and formed the foundation of my understanding of architecture and to some extent, of 'art', to this day.

Later, that very same year, I bought a camera and without instruction took a photo on my fist roll of film that just as you write today 'tells a story' and frankly (among the crap on that first ambitious first roll) was so good I show it today with my best stuff -- it had to-die-for composition . . . . and immediately pointed me away from doing the 'nude women' photos that were the 'hidden but real reason' I bought a camera for.  

I was born it seems for 'street' work or (since 'street' hadn't been coined then) for work that now is called 'street'.

I went to Viet Nam, took photos there as a free lance.  I worked my way over with 16,000 tons of bombs on a vintage WWII ammo ship under contract to the US government.  We had three fires crossing the Pacific and even broke down in the middle of the Pacific with the 'fetch' (distant swells that were often 30-40 feet tall) from three (yes, three) distant, simultaneous typhoons (same as hurricanes but named differently in the Pacific then), rolling the ship and throwing us around for days until we got two, then three,, then four knots until the rudder would respond, and rolled our way sideways against those monster swells due south to Guam.

After a treacherous entry into their harbor (next to 50 foot waves on either side with a crippled ammo ship!!!), we tied up across from nuclear subs as big or bigger than our large ship, and I took out the only pretty girl on the island .

I met a guy whose mom took a one-year teaching sabbatical job on Guam from the states, and he and his sis were going crazy, so he says to me, you should meet my sister and maybe take her out, and she was smart, attractive, (even gorgeous) and had a great personality.

Unhappily, I was the male equivalent of none of those things, except then I had a good body.   Looking back now, to die for, I've been told by contemporary girls, now my age.

So, I took her to the Hawaii-beautiful beach, found it too dangerous with killer waves, so in desperation on a very dull island, I took her to a 'cock fight'  in which the cocks really did kill each other with sharpened spurs.  I thought it would be something rather than just walking around in incredibly hot, muggy weather under a broiling mid summer sun.

Taking a beauty to the Guamanian cock fights was not the brightest idea I ever had in my life.

It wasn't the least romantic, and I had just gottten off about a month of traversing the Pacific (half seasick half the time and mostly seasick the rest), on a crippled ammo ship that kept breaking out in fires.  

I took this beautiful, attractive, even glamourous, young woman to the 'Guamanian cock fights' and we watched roosters figtht each other and kill each other with sharpened knife-like spurs affixed to their legs/foot area.

I could have used a real transfusion of COMMON SENSE!

I ddin't even think to bring along my camera, either, to photograph her (she was stunning -- her brother done me a solid) for which I never even thanked him) or the cock fights from the top rung of the smoky cock fighting ring which would have made for fabulous photos.

Until I got smarter in Viet Nam, on first arrival and until we unloaded, we were sent each night from Da Nang harbor to circle in the South China sea so 'frog men' from the Viet Cong could not attach mines to our hulll and blow all of Da Nang harbor to hell (as happened in WWII when an almost identical ship with same sorts of bombs blew in India in one (formerly) famous Indian harbor.

So, when we got to Viet Nam, didn't I take any photos from the ship at night, as it circled off shore in the South China Sea.  

We deck crew not working smoked 'funny cigarettes' and (some of us anyway) watched the parachutes drift down, burning hot, white phosphorus, trailing long reflective grey/white trails of smoke drifting seemingly forever in the fetid summer, night, air, as they illuminated the sky to make killing easier, or to help our troops spot the 'enemy' so they could keep safe.   They were 'killing flares' or ''keeping me from getting killed' flares depending on whose side you were on, or even what you were doing and where you were.

All that, coupled with machine gun tracer bullets, tens or more a minute interspersed among thousands of rounds (bullets -- for illumination at night)  firing from one hilltop or mountaintop position to another or the jungle, in the not so far distance to the north of the huge Da Nang Harbor.

What a sight, with those tracers, the lights of Da Nang, the helicopter lights, and the phosphorescence of the parachuting flares to help people kill or keep them from being killed (your choice).

And for some, those 'funny cigarettes' (I have asthma and am wildly allergic to those cigarettes), they say it was all seen as pretty psychedelic, and it certainly would have made GREAT photos, had I thought to take any, even with ASA (now ISO) 400 film.

I had, both black and white, and also color.

I remembered my lesson from losing a possible Pulitzer.

I brought film this time BEFORE my journey.

I just forgot to take photos.

I stayed on and shot the war free lance, jumping ship with permission, but got medically evacuated to the US before I got a shot at a Pulitzer, having had "NO FILM" at my first shot at a Pulitzer (read the story elsewhere in these comments, compare my skill, and I dare you to judge that in the events I recount, I might not have been in the finals for a Pulitzer IF I HAD FILM that Spring. -- see events around my being shot in Trenton, N.J. aboard the Penn Central after the MLK assassination.  I won't recount it again now.)

In any case, since I was around great events, and from the first roll knew how to take a photo, why not see if I could still take photos when in the mid 2000s,I picked up cameras again, and lo and behold got millions of Internet views (now in the hundreds of millions

I took this some time ago.

Review of the captures shows that I picked these two up prior, followed them with a few shots, me in my car across a street shooting out the window, as they went down a block, crossed a street, and seeing them pass the phone booth, took one of three or four shots, this one for composition.  The others just weren't as good or as demonstrative.

I just found this one a few days ago; passed over for a very long time; I had posted something else from that download, and just never looked at the download again (stupid me).

I've been injured a few times photographing, but never by a subject . . . and almost lost my life a few times, but again, never from a subject or potential subject . . . . you can protect against that which you can see -- my injuries were always from the unseen and unanticipated and generally (not always but mostly) unanticipatable  -- those with generally 'dark hearts' who set out to do some harm.  

After my (almost) record length comment above, I'll give it a rest, but not before thanking you profusely.

Also, I note I did choose the composition -- e.g., I timed the shutter squeeze to create this composition after two other,  prior attempts at making a good or great photo of this pair were OK but greatness (or even more than 'so-so') until this moment had eluded me.

Your comment's critique was therefore right on. 

Thank you so much.

john

John (Crosley)

Artnet.com (news.artnet.com) of today carries the following news (excerpted) from the Whitney sale.

the sale's leading Norman Rockwell, The Bookworm (Man with Nose in Book) (1926), which made $3834,000, well over its $1.5 to $2.5 million estimate.'

So, is Norman Rockwell, who generations of 'true artists' snubbed their noses at, now a 'true artist' or just a piece of 'found art' like a tossed out but now found Coke Bottle from the '30s or maybe a Yoo Hoo bottle from the '40s, that has value because of sentimentality and having found a place in America's hearts (and the pocketbooks of its billionaire collectors), and commands value not just because of scarcity, but because of personal and cultural meaning, rather than intrinsic 'artistic' value?

Or is it asking too  much even to ask that question?

There'll be a final at the end.

That question will be one of four essays, each one to take one hour and your grade will depend 90% on your essay answer and 10% on the merit of your photographs.

So, please be prepared.

And also be prepared for this question.

And the corollary question (or subquestion)--'Is the photographer an 'artist' or 'technician.  Keep in mind that Cartier-Bresson said that all the photographer had to do was learn how to push a button.  'See', he said illustrating with his index finger, 'you just press the button and voila 'instant drawing' -- a sketch from a little machine [paraphrased from video].  If you miss the moment, 'poof' it's gone forever.  Anybody can do it.'

I try for those moments, however evanescent.

;~)

john

John (Crosley)

You have definitely an eye for street-photo. I thought earlier looking at other of your images that this guy reminds me of Robert Capa. Thanks for being an inspiration source here on PN.

However, I was not at Normandy Beach swimming with Eisenhower's Gi's on D-Day; merely at Maidan and in Ukraine's East enough to get a little roughed up; nothing more, (and shot in my youth, but 'alas, no film, or I really know I stood a chance at a Pulitzer, given what I saw and experience over three/four days, sadly to say, if I had film AND those photos had been published in America, which really would have been a given.

But Capa, nor Cornell, but Robert?

Cartier-Bresson practically worshipped Robert Capa -- really; he spoke in late life in record of no one photograher more highly.

Regrettably, I'm just a blip ona screen in which everyone with a hundred (used) or two hundred dollars can buy a worthy camera and $50 for a really sharp lens,

These days everyone's a photographer; and their photos are publication worthy, at least technically.

Still, even a comparison to R. Capa, even if a little puckish (or a lot puskish) is going to motivate me even more.

When I joined Photo.net, I spoke to no one or wrote to no one about my goals.

But they now are being realized; no need to write or predict, just to get egg on my face, perhaps.

And it's FUN . . . .

Even if the hey day of the news magazine was waning with Cartier-Bresson warned me off making being a photographer for a living.  Reason, even he with his astounding reputation couldn't get assignments any more, and then he was younger than I now, and so he quit.

I'm in it for the long haul; it's fun, and I have so much more to do . . . . .

Thanks for enlivening my day,week, year.

john

John (Crosley)

Sometimes I think people believe I have a dystopian view of life, because I don't always photograph those with smiles, more affluent, and 'put a happy face on everything' -- just like so many do in their lives.  Such people don't allow anything to 'intrude' or 'be spoken of' unless it's in their eyes a 'positive' feeling and somehow they feel that even to speak of something less than 'middle to high class' or 'optimistic' may demean them.

These are very fearful people, in my mind, maybe afraid of being 'infected' with the 'blight' they 'see', if they acknowledge it, so they turn a 'blind eye'.

But I think this image above, about two less than physically fortunate men, is a wonderful parable, just as I pointed out in the request for critique, as Pieter Bruegel, the Elder, pointed out in his painting 'The Blind Leading the Blind' but perhaps that painting stood for some other quality than this photo does, despite the similarity in form.

In my mind, that painting stood for the quality of the blind and ignorant following those who literally know no better, but being blind to the leader's ignorance, they follow, happily enough that someone apparently knows the way, judging the leader knows the way, when in actuality he's ignorant and blind to the path  --      perhaps it's the 'True path' and that is a 'Chriatian' and 'religious' parable

This photo, however, is one of optimism.  Despite their physical limitations, in fact they do have wheelchairs, which you won't find common to the disabled in all parts of the world.  Moreover, for those who might have wheelchairs in other parts of the world, there might not be roads, much less sidewalks, unrutted enough (or even roads at all) on which they might navigate.

By contrast, however unfortunate these two men, the front man has power and a power control, and the rear man has a very functional wheelchair PLUS the grace of a friend who will give him a boost.  This is to me the opposite of dystopian and perhaps it too is a 'Christian' (or other) religious parable.

E.G., do unto others.

I do and can take a dystopian photo, and I think can excel at that, but this is not that. I fear those viewers who may not see the difference, especially American or European viewers, who see 'black' and 'disabled' and say 'oh, what a pity' - 'how horrible' instead of getting the true message here, which is brotherhood and 'a generous, helping hand', perhaps not even from a friend, maybe even a generous passerby.

I value highly your comment, and note from your bio page your strict criteria in rating, and thus value your approval even more.

john

John (Crosley)

Just look at the comments above, and maybe compare them (and what they imply)  to the comments received by others.

And the same for comments under my other photos.

I am blessed by the discerning, not because those who seem to like my photos and comment are 'discerning' but it seems likely that by staying at Photo.net for 7 to 10 years like 3/4 of my commenters above, one develops (if one didn't already have) discrimination.

And that isn't confined to the long-term viewers; as the first commenter shows.

'Atta boy' never was much of a comment, but specific comments, positive or negative, or hopefully helpful,  seem to come in abundance to my photos -- not just 'good job' or 'nice photo'.  Those are helpful and welcome, but tell me little about how a particular photo is received by a critical eye and how (if at all) it might be improved. I've had a ton of helpful comments in the past that guide me every day I shoot, as I remember and internalize my thoughts on those helpful comments I solicited.

Thanks all who comment here in good faith.

I'm so grateful.

Literally overflowing with thanks.

john

John (Crosley)