Tag Archives: photography

San Francisco 1969 Photo Album

Does anyone make photo albums anymore? In July of 1969, I flew from Los Angeles to San Francisco, where I spent a few days wandering around town, taking a few photos. Included here are a few black and white photos taken with my Exakta 500 – purchased used at the photo store on Main Street in El Segundo to take surfing photos. It came with a 50 millimeter / 2.8 lens. I didn’t have a light meter and guessed at the settings. I would have been using Kodak 35mm black and white film, not sure what speed.

On Instagram, and other social media sites, we might view, I don’t know, hundreds of pics an hour? Light literally flashes through the eyes, faster than a camera shutter – where does it go, that light? What do we get from those quick views? What do we remember? There are other sites, some devoted to more serious photography (500px, for example). I follow a few good photographers on Instagram. The ones I’m most interested in these days are the street photographers. Here’s one I follow that does some black and white and I think does good work: David McCarthy. He has a book out, titled “The Portlanders,” which features Portland street scenes taken in black and white.

My photo album I dug out from a closet this morning I’ve had since 1969. It’s amazing to me it’s survived all these years. Click to view galleries.

I kept an eye out for Steven McQueen’s Ford Mustang, but I didn’t see it anywhere around.

I would have taken the photos out of the album, but they’re stuck to the pages now under the plastic sheet covers, which are also stuck. I edited a couple in Google Photos, but that’s much ado for not much more, and anyway I prefer the attempt at getting the originals with my camera as shown here, with no touching up.

Old Pic of the Day: Venice Beach Around 1970

We walked out one morning to find an art installation up from the water, large paper wraps spread across the beach. They looked like sea creatures, dinosaurs, giant lizards of some kind. I asked Susan to stand in front of one to put an idea of their size into the picture. Susan has never liked having her picture taken, and she’s showing that in her pose here. We walked down the Strand for some breakfast, and Susan snapped a picture of Joan and Terri and me. I think we were using slide film in an Instamatic of some kind.

Fictional Photography

Yesterday, we cruised on foot an antique, theatre, and tavern storied section of Sellwood then drove to the north facing cliffs where we looked across Oaks Bottom, where still lives lively the Oaks Amusement Park, “where the fun never ends since 1905,” the Oaks Park Roller Skating Rink, East Island, Hardtack Island, Ross Island, and across the Willamette River and above the trees to the tops of the taller downtown Portland buildings, looking smaller than nature in the distance.

Downtown Portland from Sellwood Cliff

The walking tour of Sellwood came after a trip to the Ledding Library of Milwaukie where Clo returned a book and Z checked out a new one and where I purchased from the library discards store a copy of Gordon Bowker’s 2011 “James Joyce: A New Biography.” Ahead of his Preface, Bowker quotes from Bernard Malamud’s 1979 “Dubin’s Lives”:

“The past exudes legend: one can’t make pure clay of time’s mud. There is no life that can be recaptured wholly; as it was. Which is to say that all biography is ultimately fiction.”

p. 5

In a similar sense, all photography might be considered fiction. Certainly that view of Portland above is only distantly related to a view of what’s going on in the streets below and between those tall buildings. One problem is how quickly things change, grow, recede. But photographs stick, or they used to. Maybe memory itself is a fiction – without which nostalgia couldn’t thrive like it does. Sellwood is currently an interesting blend of the old and new, of change. Imagine a time when it was necessary to build and display a gargantuan grandfather clock on the street. Did no one carry a watch? Today it’s one of the local antiques, and like a true grandfather tells a fiction all day long about what time it is.

Walking Tour of Sellwood

En Plein Air

An urban photographer idling along on foot
found a plein air painter her portable kit
easel, small canvas, box of luscious bright wet
paints open and with one brush loose and light
all the motion in her wrist at the edge of the street
like frosting a cake her subject the poet
scribbling on a napkin at a sidewalk cafe table
sitting cool under an umbrella saturated scarlet
his poem about a live oil painter out and about
creeped up on cautiously for the stolen
image no one likely would object.


Coast Road Trip: Adage and Algae

The idea, now an adage, that a picture is worth a thousand words, seems to have come from early 20th Century advertising strategies. A picture might be worth more than a thousand words to an illiterate shopper, and advertising must be short and quick and hit hard enough to leave a brand image on the brain. The problem now for advertisers might be there are too many pictures. We are now uploading upwards of 2 billion photos daily to the Internet. If the early 1900’s advertising adage is true, that’s two trillion words, daily. It’s easy to see why a writer struggling to reach a goal of 500 words a day might resort to posting a pic or two. Or simply trade the blog in for an Instagram account. Digitized images are the algae of the Internet.

Mural in Harbor Zone, Crescent City, CA. Photo by Susan.

Coast Road Trip: Sans Pics

A perspicacious reader asked why I haven’t posted any pics from the road trip. I’m working on moving toward a new kind of blog, more like the one I started, back in December of 2007, which contained no pics, just short bursts of writing pleasure. I had in mind the kind of posts the venerable E. B. White wrote in the early New Yorker.

“From 1925 to 1976 he crafted more than eighteen hundred pieces for the magazine and established, in the words of editor William Shawn, “a new literary form.” That form was the magazine’s Comment essay—a personal essay that was, in White’s hands, light in style yet often weighty in substance. As White noted in a 1969 Paris Review interview, > I do feel a responsibility to society because of going into print: a writer has the duty to be good, not lousy; true, not false; lively, not dull; accurate, not full of error. He should tend to lift people up, not lower them down. Writers do not merely reflect and interpret life, they inform and shape life.

“Eighty-Five from the Archive: E. B. White,” by Erin Overbey, The New Yorker, June 7, 2010.

Not that I ever achieved anything everyone might call, “not lousy.” In any case, I drifted away, or off, and into a kind of academic stream, where I imagined I might augment my adjunct work at the time. And I tried to bring some attention to the books I was working on, both reading and writing. Then I began to work-in more slant, though never totally “false,” and found the proverbial bottom of the barrel when I started putting up some poetry. And I recently considered retiring The Coming of the Toads, leaving it to sink to the bottom of the archive abyss of the Internet, where some future crab scuttling along might find a few morsels to criticize.

E. B. White’s idea of the short, personal essay (note the importance of that comma) has been replaced in many blogs by the personal pic essay, with and without words, the latter like Beckett’s short play, “Act Without Words.” And I suspect more reading is done on phones these days than when I started The Coming of the Toads on a desktop computer back in ’07, and the phone and other smaller size formats encourage changes in aspect ratios of screen, pics, and writing. And thinking about that, I decided to remove this blog’s header pic, begin writing with a minimum of pics altogether, returning to the short, personal note or comment type essay. I even thought of a new tagline for the title space: The Coming of the Toads: No links, No likes, No comments. I know that sounds a bit anti-social, but what I’m aiming for is clarity, simplicity – a clean, well-lighted blog.

Besides, I don’t get many comments or likes, and many that I do get appear to be from spam and bots, and I lost all the pics I took on our recent trip, mistakenly thinking I had backed up my phone photos to Google Photos when I had not, in the meantime deleting all the photos from my phone, then crashing my Instagram account trying to retrieve what I had at least saved there. Seems poetic justice for an anti-social attitude.

Having at this point already exceeded my target word limit, not to mention having probably lost my target audience, those interested in hearing more about the Road Trip, I give you this portfolio of road trip pics, all taken by my sister Barbara and Susan as I was trying on the lighthouse keeper’s uniform jacket at the Yaquina Head Lighthouse, north of Newport, trying to strike poses I imagined a lighthouse keeper might have aimed at were he the subject of a live, on the job photo shoot:

Note: Comments On for this post. Have fun!

Drizzle Rain

A trip of plovers paused wading
in the wet sand of an ebb
tide each one after another
across the sloping beach
stopped and pecked and ran on.

Up on 101 a swarm of workers
on a wet sidewalk in winter
huddled at the bus stop waiting
and each one hopped aboard
and nipped and gripped.

They feed with their eyes
and only pretend to be
where they are,
falsely brooding,
but amusing, all the same.