..August 2010.. ..New York to Hiroshima..
..New York to Hiroshima to Nagasaki..Shots from the commemoration ceremony held in New York for the victims who died in the atomic bombings.
A small bell is rung simultaneously as in Hiroshima at the time when the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima.
..August 2010.. ..New York..
Portrait of the bronze Shinran Shonin statue that survived the atomic bombing in Hiroshima, now located in New York.
..April 2006 New York..
My 7 pound eye lids open slowly in the morning. I’m sleeping in someone else’s bed, gripping a borrowed steering wheel, using laundry detergent that’s not mine, eating food that doesn’t belong to me. I’m a stranger in my own clothes.
..June 2006 New York and London..
Thanks for your beautiful description of the beach. Was a pleasure to read. I walked down the block and peered at the fog hover over the Atlantic after I read it. Was more of a view for reflection rather than a look of distance. Time does fly by. Last week I was 25. I just realized I was 32 tonight.
Paule
..February 2010 East River, New York..
Striptease Burlesque
“Most of these women have day jobs.”
I first stumbled upon the New York burlesque scene in 2004. Burlesque shows would take place in the backrooms of small downtown bars. For $5, you and 75 others crammed into speakeasy type rooms to watch Dirty Martini, Julie Atlas Muz, Little Brooklyn, and Amber Ray perform stripteases on broken down wooden stages. The stripteases ranged from elaborate sensual fan dances in lush costumes to in your face bump ‘n’ grind.
The broken down wooden stages still remain but the number of people who attend these burlesque shows have grown exponentially in a short time. The performances have spilled over from the backrooms to the entire city. Performers from all over the world now travel to New York to be seen on big stages ringed with velvet curtains and mock stages in the backroom of bars.
My interest in photographing burlesque performers wasn’t to highlight striptease. The nudity wasn’t what attracted me. What grabbed my attention was the characters and satire each performer brought on stage.
The majority of these women have day jobs. Hours after riding the crowded subways home from work they would be tassel twirling in front of a raucous New York crowd.
The purpose of my portraits was to show the persona of each performer. I wanted an intimate glimpse away from the stage and crowd. As if their character were walking the streets of New York at noon or midnight.
..February 2003 New York..
A series of photos for an off-Broadway revival of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I tried to keep the spirit of Mick Rock’s original photographs done in the 1970’s.
..June 2005 New York..
My friend, who I’ve known for 2 years, came to my home for the first time yesterday. She glanced at my place, remarked “I can’t believe you live in a place like this. It’s neat and civilized.”
That set me back a bit. I’m 31. I live in a neat home because in college I lived with 4 random people. I didn’t know their names. I slept on a dirty concrete floor in the sunroom portion of the apartment. I had no furniture, ate cans of string beans most nights, and owed $60,000 in student loans. In the winter I slept with a ski hat on because the wind came through cracks between the windows.
After graduation, I toured with rock bands for 2 years. Even though they were the biggest rock bands in the world, we criss-crossed the country on a tour bus. Staying in cheap hotels when not sleeping on the bus. Living on a bus with 4 rock stars is far from a glamorous life.
Three days into this journey I realized rock stars are as boring as I am. They put their pants on and off, go to the bathroom, and stress about responsibility like I do.
I wore most of the same clothing those 2 years. It didn’t matter what I looked like. There was no one to impress. We spent the majority of our time staring at an endless landscape of concrete strip malls that infest the Midwest. Countless daydreams about being in New York rather than at a pit stop in Iowa looking at truck drivers with missing teeth. We lived in close quarters on a bus for months, but we all felt alone in your hearts.
Now I’m 31. I live alone in a house built in the 1920’s. It was bought from a gangster. My home is clean, with enough furniture to make one person comfortable. The rooms are dominated with the colors red, black, and white. With not much furniture and tall ceilings, there is plenty of room.
My living room consists of a black couch, circular red chair, skinny black metal lamp, large tv with sound system, wooden coffee table with a chess set, red candles, and a zebra print area rug covering a portion of an untreated wooden floor.
In the corners there are props taken from a fashion campaign I shot, an old cracked wooden chair, and a guillotine. The long narrow windows are framed with red curtains.
The walls are lined with my photos mostly of rock stars and fashion models, framed as murals. Obviously the photos are dark. Most are provocative. Some nude. The main wall has a large mural of Jane’s Addiction lead singer Perry Farrell. It’s a sentimental photo, taken on the first night I toured with a real band. To the left is a photo of Marilyn Manson. Taken seven years later, it’s identical to the Perry Farrell photo. On the end is a blue toned photo of Radiohead guitar player Jonny Greenwood.
Randomly throughout the rooms I’ve hung hand painted Venetian masks. Most have been used to photograph nudes in different parts of the world.
My home is neat considering there isn’t much in it. I don’t know how to cook. The only food in my house is chocolate chip cookies and cans of soda. I’ve never sat at the kitchen table for a meal.
The bathroom is the most problematic room. The walls are lined with pastel pink ceramic tiles. Apparently the gangster had a soft side to his personality. The tiles are completely hideous. I’ve kept the bathroom the way it is so I can lock myself in there if I get lazy or take bad photos. It’s incentive to work hard. The only silver lining is the spacious shower stall. It’s large enough to shower and walk around. If I bite my lip and close my eyes, I can imagine not being surrounded by pastel pink ceramic tiles.
Yes, I’m 31. I photograph rock stars and fashion models for a living. And I live in a clean home. Why? Because the years prior I lived like a resident of a monkey cage at the local zoo. And yes, famous rock stars and beautiful fashion models live similar lives as you. They take their clothes off like you do and their shit smells just as bad as yours.
