Driv(ing)-By(e): Intersection 1

25°48'13.5"N 80°12'12.2"W

I was once taught that most people rarely look up. Walking down a sidewalk, the majority of people will either look down at their feet or straight ahead, careful to avoid eye contact. I have had three experiences which confirmed this and really stuck with me. First, as a photographer, next, walking to an Oakland Bart Station, and finally while I was up a tree.

During the summer of 2002, I participated in a study abroad program for our Fine Arts department. The program was specific for photo majors and I was one of about 12 students that traveled to Paris, France. During the second day, I was walking past the Paris Opera house with 2 other photographers. I stopped, keeled down and focused my camera on a gentleman reading a newspaper. I sat there for about 3 minutes waiting for a pigeon to fly off the statue next to him and hoping to get the bird in flight (which I did!). During that same time, a tour bus was unloading behind me. At some point, I don’t know when because neither of the photographers with me bothered to take a picture, one of the passengers noticed me pointing my camera up to the Opera House. He walked right up behind me, pointed his camera in the same direction and snapped a shot. I noticed it out of the corner of my eye but didn’t think much of it until the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, person did the same. By the time I had taken the shot, at least 8 people had stood behind me and taken a picture of the front of the Opera House. Fortunately, the streets of Paris during 2003 were much safer than the streets of Oakland during 2008.

At the time, I was living in a warehouse on Filbert street in West Oakland but working at the Academy of Art University in the Financial District of San Fransisco. To get to work, I would drive over to the West Oakland Bart station and ride across the bay. Even through I was only about 7-8 blocks away, it was safer, especially at night, to park within 3 blocks and drive home. One very bright and sunny morning, I parked on Mandela Parkway and started walking the three or so blocks to the station. However, I was looking straight into the sun and forgot my sunglasses, so with my hand covering my eyes and my head down I proceeded up the street. I was quickly reminded how dangerous it was to walk with my head down by a group of young men shouting at me to remember where I was and watch were I was going. Fortunately, their comments were out of concern and not because they sensed an opportunity.

Finally, as part of a wilderness survival training class I took, I was taught that climbing a tree can be helpful to get a lay of the land, orientate your direction, look for food. When I tried this, I also noticed it was a great place to watch people as none of the rest of the group noticed me in the tree for quite sometime. by contrast, when standing on a street corner the traffic signals are placed just above eye level in relation to the button to activate the signal in, i suspect, an effort to get people to at least stop and look across the street before stepping off the curb. Once you have them stopped, if you ever want to make someone wonder, just point your camera up!

Driv(ing)-By(e): Freighty

25°50'29.4"N 80°11'47.6"W

Fright trains hold a specific place in my psyche. Even though I really didn’t like the book, “On the Road” by Jack Kerouac, I romanticized about seeing the country by freight train. During 2006 when I was living in Alaska and laid off from Noritsu, I tried applying to the railroad. With 20/20 hindsight, thankfully, that didn’t work out. While I would have loved to have remained living in AIaska, I fully understood that it would be a terrible way to see the country; but I connect with the idea of traveling across the country and being On The Road. Much of my early photography, including my senior exhibition for undergrad graduation, focused on my travels, On The Road, with Roxy, my 1977 Corvette. Through the years there have been many memories of trains, but two really stood out when I shot and edited this image.

When I was in high school, a friend was killed late one night while driving on a country road when she ran into the broadside of a freight train that was traveling at high speed. There were no crossing lights at the intersection. It was a dark night. It was moonless night. And based on the lack of skid marks, she never knew what she hit. Even worse, her toddler was in the car with her. In an ironic twist, I found out about the accident the next evening when I arrived at the home of a date. I learned not only of the death of my friend, but that she was a mutual friend of my date.

For many years, my wife and I have lived in a townhouse about 40 yards from train tracks that have freight and commuter trains rolling back and forth most of the day and evening. For the most part, we rarely hear the trains go past. But, the trains have been a constant source of entertainment for our sons. Each of them, between 18 months and 3 years old, have run to the door screaming that “Freighty” is going past! Not until I I take them out and let them watch the train cars rubble by from my shoulders - counting the cars, naming the colors until the last car passes - would they stop shouting. Of course, I never let on that I loved doing that with them. If I had, they would have quickly forgotten about the trains and wanted to watch Blippi instead!

Driv(ing)-By(e): Specticals

25°49'46.1"N 80°11'46.8"W

What caught my attention at this intersection was how people were choosing to time their crossing. In Miami, pedestrians rarely pay any attention to intersections or stop lights. While I waited at the red light and traffic was crossing in front of me, a group of 3 young women began pushing a baby stroller across the street with the oncoming traffic. Like the young man on the bike, they group was wearing dark clothing and paying little attention to the traffic. The bike rider was riding circles around them, waiting for an opportunity to cross, which he began right as my light turned green and the oncoming car……

The title for this post is inspired by the bike tires and how I am reminded of the eyes in Manuel Álvarez Bravo’s 1932 image, 'Parabola optica.'