the human picture

Walking around in the neighborhood, you see other walkers. Sometimes there are joggers, and some people run. The joggers and the runners are obviously exercising. The walkers may be exercising, but sometimes they are just taking a break, thinking things out, or having a private conversation with a friend. It's a common simple pleasure for young couples too.

children out for a walk

For some years now… maybe more than 20 years, I have gotten used to seeing people walk around with earphones on, connected to their stereo players, or the radio news. In the last few years, more and more people are seen talking; carrying on a conversation. When I was young, a sight such as this would have been evidence of insanity. A person talking to himself?! But now it only means that he or she is having a telephone conversation. It took some getting used to. This is all part of the technical evolution of human kind. I suppose that for the hard working business man, or a lover shopping for his beloved, there is a great advantage in the ability to call from anywhere to anywhere at any time, and make the connection. But there are disadvantages too, that claim their space right along with the advantages. How wonderful it is to take a walk and find quiet, whether it be in nature, or in the middle of the bustling city. You can let your thoughts go free, and connect with one another on automatic. Stream of consciousness. I have often found solutions to problems that have vexed or frustrated me, while walking, or while showering, and letting my thoughts run wild. And though it is nice that we can organize our own play list and listen to a continuous flow of songs that we like best… or turn on the radio in the middle of the shopping center and hear the type of news that most interests us… the fact that we are constantly exposed to the media, allows us less privacy. We have less and less time for our own private thoughts.

our very unusual synagogue

As I was walking through the neighborhood, I was thinking that every hour of the day has its own character and its own activity. I hadn't started out very early. I had had some things to take care of at the start of the day. The serious work force had already left for their jobs at the very beginning of the day. I try to avoid that time, because it is too intense. I don't want to find myself in the middle of a traffic jam. That has happened to me any number of times. When I used to have a lecture scheduled for the start of the day, at the college; 8:00 o'clock in the morning, I would leave my house at 6:30 just to avoid the traffic jam. I would arrive at ten to seven and then read a book till eight o'clock, and found this vastly better than the slow crawl on the freeway, as I and thousands of others made their way to work.

As I took my walk, I saw a group of students, dressed well, in suits and white shirts, waiting for the bus, but willing to hitch a ride if such an opportunity presented itself. There were grandmothers taking babies for a walk in a baby carriage; some businessmen hammering away at a business deal, and a few people opening the shops for the days commerce. This is the neighborhood that I have lived in for the last 35 years. It has changed a little, but not that much. I think that I have changed more than the neighborhood. There are certain oddities that I love. Like the wooden house that was built on top of a large stone apartment building, pictured at the start of this post. I enjoy watching little uncharacteristic additions sprout among the houses of this neighborhood; houses that were once very uniform.

Drizzling rain, and getting dark as the day finishes early and the atmosphere here in Jerusalem is reflective, moving from fall to winter. I am thinking of a gray cat on a gray day, and of hints in the fog… and how much I disliked fog when I first got to know Noga, many years ago, and that she turned me on to the subtlety of it. We get so used to the routine, that sometimes it's only a big bang or a shouting roadside advertisement that'll wake us up. But just as thrilling it is, to be able to pick up on the subtle hints and go with them… to see suggestions in the fog.

Bashan cows

It's strange. There's the smell of dust in the air; the dust that the rain is collecting and washing out of the air. One by one, I can see windows turn bright yellow, as people in the houses across the valley turn on the lights in rooms scattered across the neighborhood. Nechama, my lady cat watches paws on the sidewalk downstairs, peeking from behind bushes that line the sidewalk. My eyes are past them, fixed on the very depth of the picture as seen from our living room window.

cows in the fog

the sun is going down unseen. Just by the fading light do I know it. Hunters; they got a bad name in our generation, killing for sport… and when they were killing for furs it was even worse. But they had to develop patience and an ability to blend into nature; an understanding of the animal they were hunting, its habits and mentality. They had to hit the target the first time, because the prey knew he was there after the first shot. Those photographers who go off to Africa to shoot pictures of the same animals now, are not so different. But as for me, I prefer to study my immediate environment. It is always changing. As long as one stays truly awake, there is always something new to learn and observe.

cow on a glass bottle

this cow was embossed on a transparent glass bottle. Most of the time you could barely see it, but with the right light on it, or coming behind it, you could enjoy it. I don't know what the bottle held when it was first sold. Nowadays it contains water from the faucet, and sits in the refrigerator till it's brought to the table. On the table, cold from the refrigerator, drops of water have condensed from the humidity in the room, and are now part of the picture.

Sometimes, these problems just seem to sneak up on you. Like the beginning of a fall rain, a drop here, and then another drop… and then another. But that is usually expected. When the hints are unexpected, one sometimes prefers not to think about them. Or not to think of what they're leading to. In the case of the problem I'm dealing with now, I became aware of the fact that there was a problem, but believed that I would be able to deal with it in the process of working with the photographs in Photoshop. But it turned out not to be so easy, And the more I worked with it, the more difficult it was.

I like to shoot inside without the use of flash. And I've gotten used to the fact that this type of photography usually us accompanied by some sort of color cast. But in recent months, many people I know have been buying a new type of bulb, that is something like a fluorescent tube, except that it screws into the socket made for an incandescent bulb. And though it looks okay to the eye, when you're in a room lit by such a light, I find that the lamps have a greenish cast, that is hard to get rid of by working with the photograph in a photo program. I remember, years ago, we used to use purple filters when shooting without flash in a room with fluorescent lights. But the fluorescent white balance was not able to help me so far. This is because the color changes with the distance from the lamp to the subject. But I intend to try a few different cameras, to see if I have some way to overcome the problem.

The photos here have all been 'corrected' as best as I could. But I still see the green cast. Do you see it? Does it bother you?

There is one way, of course, and that is to switch to black and white. Which I could do, because I like the monochrome. But I like color too, and it is hard for me to surrender to this new bulb, and not shoot color because of it. Another method to overcome the influence of the green cast is to shoot with the help of a flash. But in general, flash photography, if not in a studio, tends to flatten images.

The grass is always greener on the neighbors lawn, they say. The country mouse comes to the city, and is filled by the wonder of the cityscape. And the city mouse comes to the country church, and wonders if this isn't paradise. I've lived in the city almost all my life. It's my city and I love it. But I've often dreamed of the pleasures of the country life, and like to go to the country for my vacations.

Here in Jerusalem, each neighborhood is like a self contained world. As a photographer, I used to do my own developing and printing, and spent many hours in a dark room, doing my work. When working with black and white, one can illuminate the room with a red light, because the papers are engineered so they're not affected by the color red. It is as if the room was pitch black even when you have the red light on. But color papers are sensitive to any light, and so you really have to work in the dark. Now that I've changed over to digital, I am able to work in a fully lighted room, with an open window, and I am more aware of the environment outside. As I write this, I'm sitting in the office of a customer, on the third floor of a building, and I hear children playing in the school yard across the way, and cars honking and moving and driving on the street below. I hear the bell of the elevator every time it stops on our floor. And see some tree tops through the window, and apartment houses across the park. There is a taxi station not far from where I'm sitting, down on the street, and I can hear people talking occasionally, or calling out to one another… sometimes even arguing. There is something very nice about city life, that I enjoy. And it is a lot more fun now, that I work on the computer, and not in the closed room of my lab.

Having a laptop, I have also gained much more mobility. I can take my work to a friend's house, or to a customer, and have everything I need in a small package.

Another advantage of living in the city, is that one can get just about anything one wants or needs within a very short period of time. I can eat Chinese if I feel like it, just by going down the street, or find a book that I just heard about from a friend.

The home is a very private space, engineered to satisfy the needs of the person, no matter whether he be in the city or the country or commune. That is his personal space. When I am in my home, it really doesn't matter that I am in the city, unless I want to order pizza at 11:00 pm. In order to thoroughly enjoy the city, you have to be outside. You can take a walk along the city streets, or go shopping in the shops (which I rarely do); visit interesting sites, or take some newcomer or visitor to see the sights. This is a very good way to know any place. Though sometimes it's embarrassing… if the visitor asks you about some landmark, and you don’t know anything of its history. It's not just that you're an idiot. Your also useless!

Today, for instance, as the shadows grew long, after I had already started this post… and even posted the first part of it, got together with a dear friend of mine, and we went shopping for ingredients. She did the shopping, and I saw the sights… and they were intoxicating. After all, some people have made it their profession to attract our attention, and yet it's all more gentle and beguiling than the advertisements we're occasionally exposed to. My eyes took the merry ride down the streets, past the neon signs, and to the products seductively presented on the market shelves…

In the novels that we read, the love stories, and the romances, and the Hollywood films about love and relationships, the greatest interest is usually in the process by which two people bridge the gap between two different worlds, and commit themselves to a relationship of love. There's always the hope, and sometimes it is even a spoken promise of 'happily ever after'. Often, in the middle of the courtship, there is some terrible difficulty. The parents are against the relationship. One of them finds out something about the other that makes the possibility of a life together very unlikely. As they grapple with the difficulty, they find themselves all the more tied to the other; wanting the love to succeed.

Rivka and Giddi

Those of us who have married, and have lived with a husband or wife for a number of years, know that the real difficulties only begin after that 'happily ever after'. How hard it is to share our life with another; to make the compromises needed for day to day coexistence. Each has his own vision of the relationship, and his or her expectations. And often, there are disappointments. If falling in love is blind, how difficult is the process of learning to see again. One question I've often wondered about, is just how close we should be to those we love. Should we spend as much time as possible with our mates? Sleep with them in the same bed? Or should we keep a little distance between ourselves, for the sake of mutual respect. I chanced across a blog post the other day, about sleeping together. The blogger had reached some conclusions very different from my own. But reading her thoughts on the subject, I thought about the fact that there is no 'right' way to do it. Everyone has to figure out what works for him.

Rivka

My daughter Rivka runs a kindergarten that operates according to the Montessori method. She and her partner, Kika, also offer course in 'family physics'. I'm not sure what that is, more than a system by which people can learn to live together in peace. She and I have had many differences along the way, and I have learned to appreciate her dedication and ability in preserving relationships, and making them work better.

kindergarten

Many of the people I have known, have problems, resentments, and bad memories connected with their parents. And many of the parents have difficulties with their grown up children, often because of expectations that aren't realized. Is it possible to overcome these problems, and have gratifying relationships with people that we have resented, and been angry with?

We usually get together once a week. We talk about the things that really matter to us. And speaking for myself, I've learned a lot from her. We're meeting today, and I'm looking forward to the meeting.

There are all kinds of fences in Jerusalem. And when looking at them, I am often reminded of the American saying I heard many years ago; a fence makes good neighbors. We have the security fence which has done quite a bit to stop terrorist attacks in our frail neighborhoods. They are often insulted and cursed, but there is no getting around the fact that we had some very violent characters attacking our citizenry.

And then there are fences meant to keep people from walking on the grass, and fences meant to mark property lines, and fences meant to keep children and adults from crossing streets where there are no crosswalks. And there are fences meant to protect passers by from construction sites.

I'm not sure what this fence was made to do. Probably to hide an unsightly industrial property. But maybe it was a construction sight. There are two industrial neighborhoods in Jerusalem, Talpioth and Givaat Shaul. Both of them contain factories and workshops. And since there are workers there, they also have restaurants and simple eateries, and shopping centers and stores. And because no one sleeps there in the middle of the night, there are some night clubs there too, so people can enjoy themselves as noisily as they care to, all the hours of the night.

I was there to visit some of my clients, when I noticed the fence. It was something of a sheet metal fence, that had been put up with posts in the ground, and had been painted in three colors. A few businessmen had put together some money to buy paints, and some students from the Bezalel Art Institute in our fair city had volunteered to decorate the fence. They painted some stick figures. It was on the very edge of graffiti. Minimalist in it's approach, somewhat humorous, and no question about it, it's art. You can see the set here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/shimonz/sets/72157622487099837/

Well, the workman were here. They had modern tools that made a lot of noise as they cut through pipes, and broke the floor tiles, leaving neat dirt trails in the hallway and the toilet, where they will be able to check if the leak continues in a week's time. Nechama, the cat, didn't like anything about the repair, and left the house till it was over. Which was an opportunity for an unknown and anonymous gecko to extend his nose, and check out what was happening around here.

Interesting, the way the workman, the cat, and my friends were able to walk across that dirt line as if it didn't exist… and then I noticed, they were walking on air.

During the last week, I had occasion to leave the house through the back door, which takes me by the storage room, and the bomb shelter on my way out. I try to take a walk each day, for reasons of health, and because it is a time when I can think things out. It has a very calming influence on me. My dear cat, Nechama, often accompanies me on these walks.
http://tzelem-enosh.blog.co.uk/2005/09/27/meeting_nechama~205006/

Nechama last year:

On my way out, I noticed a little puddle in the hall of the condominium. It is often like that. How well is the first hint of disaster described by Camus in 'The Plague'. You have the feeling that all is not right, but you're not sure. Sometimes you avoid the thought of "what it could be", and sometimes you just hope it's something else. Perhaps the cleaning people left that puddle in their hurry to finish up work?

By the end of the week, the puddle having been cleaned and then having reappeared, it was obvious that I had a problem. A plumber was called. He checked here and there, and finally said that it might be a big job. It could be that this leak was related to the central heating, in which case it would be the responsibility of the entire building. But he thought it very possible that this was my problem. That is, a break down of some pipes in my apartment. In either case, it could mean breaking down walls and opening floors in order to find the cause of this leak.

Of course, even when it comes to disasters, there are better and worse; bigger and smaller. This was a minor disaster. Aside from the money it would cost to repair the damage, it would mean severe discomfort as walls and floors were excavated for the repair. There would be some time without peace and quiet.

backyard cats

And this new disaster reminds me of something I learned as I got older. When I was young, I thought 'normal' was easy going, coasting with inertia, good health, and a few coins in my pocket. I enjoyed a good adventure… and sometimes something would go wrong. I would get sick, or the car would break down, or friends would get sick or get thrown in jail… or I'd lose my way, or lose my address book. And when things got really complicated, I would start longing for normality. But somewhere, later down the line, I realized that life itself was full of ups and downs, and the point was to go with the motion. Like on a boat or a ship; you fight the motion and you get motion sickness. You have to learn to go with it.

Well, wish me luck. I think I've got another adventure ahead of me.

One of the most serious problems of the artist, is that there are more artists producing more art than the public is asking for. Part of the problem is because the artist is usually at the front of cultural movement. And so, not everyone is able to understand what he is doing.

But there is also the problem that among the artists there are those who have more to say, and those who want to be artists more than they want to say something. It reminds me of an old joke I heard many years ago. It comes as a question: How do you relate to a medical student who always had difficulty preparing his lessons, whose friends helped him during tests, who had to be given a second chance with a number of tests, and only had his thesis accepted after rewriting it, and begging his professor for 'consideration' so that he can graduate? The answer is: You call him doctor. The same thing is true for artists, and plumbers and auto mechanics. Some people are A students, and some just barely get through. But in the end, they're part of the profession.

I've always felt that the most important thing for me as an artist, is that I find satisfaction in my work. It can be very exciting, producing a piece of art. Compared to my own excitement and gratification from the work, the audience is secondary. I believe that art is a work of communication, whether it be a painting, poetry, photography or sculpture. But it is not always easy to find a sensitive audience. In many cases, the art finds its own audience. I have spent some hours on the Deviant Art platform. And have seen fine works of art, which received many comments like cool, far out, awesome, and so on. You could see that there were people there, who had seen the work and wanted to show their appreciation to the artist, but just couldn't think of what to say. And didn't have anything original to say. Do these words say anything? Should the artist be running around looking for an audience? And what sort of an audience is he looking for? Is it enough just to have someone, anyone, look at his work?

aching for life

I had a problem with the blog some time before I stopped writing here. I got a message from the blog staff, that because of a change in their programming, I would have to change my blog address. I made a slight change and all was well. But it turned out that because of the change, the blog was unable to find some of my old pictures on old posts. And those old posts appeared, but without the pictures. If I wanted to, I could go back and re-edit the old posts, and in that way, I could make the old pictures re-appear. But it was a bit of trouble, and I didn't care to do it. I did replace some of the pictures… but others were missing on some of my older blogs. This bothered me, and I lost interest in posting.

There was this picture of a woman waiting at a bus stop that I had posted earlier. When it got lost, it was hard to find.

woman at a bus stop, looking for coins in her pocket book

And there was this one, which I didn't find then, but I have found it now.

lonely in Sodom

Don't know if the problem had to influence me the way it did. But pictures are actually just as important as text for me. Sometimes even more important. And the problem had ruined the blogging for me. Now I've changed my system of posting pictures, and I figure it's worth another try.

The blog that I would like, would be an integration of pictures and words. Usually pictures speak of themselves. But sometimes, there a place for words too

Quite a lot has happened since I stopped writing this blog. I've gone through changes, and I've learned a few things? some of which, about blogging. I started reading the blog of a very interesting man, who calls himself a vagabond, and spends his life traveling in an RV. When I first started reading his blog, I didn't even know what that was. It is a recreational vehicle. He has a little house on wheels, and he lives his life in that house. As a reader of a blog, I got a better idea of what it was all about. I was able to study my expectations from this form of communication. It's something of a one-way communication. Most readers don't comment. And in the past, it was enough for me to write whenever I wanted to say something? but I realized that if a reader checks out a blog, he does so regularly, and he expects to find something there when he opens the page.

In the last few years, I've become more integrated into the world of internet and computers. I now have a portable that fits into my backpack, and I take it wherever I go. And that's important, because it is no longer comfortable for me to write with pen and paper. I used to love writing. I enjoyed the aesthetic of the line on the paper, and the very process of writing. I enjoyed handling the pen, and I had quite a good collection of pens. But with the coming of the computer, I found that there was one aspect of digital writing that outweighed all of the qualities of writing longhand or by typewriter. And that was memory. It made everything different. The knowledge that you correct, or change something that you had written with minimal work, just by rewriting a word or a phrase, made writing so much easier. I remember, back in the days of the typewriter, I would often rewrite a whole page because of a sentence I wanted to change. And many times, the correction of an article meant rewriting too. So as time went by, I found myself becoming dependent on the computer, till I reached the point where I just couldn't write without it. Some years back, I got a palm pilot, and used it as a miniature computer, including the writing of messages on it. The big advantage was that I could transfer a text to my computer at home, later on in the day. I had my calendar in it, and my phone book. It was a valuable tool. But it wasn't as comfortable to work with as a computer. Now that I have a very portable little one, I feel free once again. And mobile too.