Karen Kampbell - May 1989

Del ár. hisp. *azzahr, y este del ár. zahr 'dado1'; literalmente 'flores'.

Azar is a lovely  Spanish that when you see that z you know that it comes from the Arabic as the RAE (Real Academia Española) Dictionary defines that in its etymology. It means chance or my preferred serendipity but its original meaning was flowers..

In May June 1989 my portrait of model Karen Campbell appeared in the Georgia Straight as an Intro. Writer John Lekich and I had gone to see editor Charles Campbell and we told him we knew this extraordinarily beautiful woman. We suggested that he place it in his newspaper with a short accompanying essay. These became Intros. Ours was the first.

In 1989 I was crazy trying to imitate the Hollywood portraits of the 40s as perfected by George Hurrell. This sort of thing involved many lights including a focusing spotlight. Years before Angie from Beau Photo had sold me one for $15. In that spotlight I would slip in metal gobos (go-betweens) that had patterns stamped on them. In the case of Campbell I projected clouds.

I believe that this is as close as I ever got to George Hurrell.

When my photograph appeared in the Straight I can tell that the result was inferior to my print. In those days scanners were still not in operation. The image in this blog is one of the scanned b+w 6x7cm negative.

I started this with azar or serendipity because I am doing my best of filing all my photographs in preparation for my eventual oblivion. My daughters will decide what to do with my extreme output.

Today I found this single Ektachrom e under some of my Nikons. I have no idea how it got here and no memory of ever taking any Ektachromes of Campbell. I must have somehow copied an 8x10 b+w print and there were reflections. The slight blue cast is normal for Ektachromes.

Perhaps this one image leaves Hurrell behind and this is my own to savour.

Something I must mention here how my program refuses to accept the existence of the word Ektachrome.

Abraham Rogatnick and his Murano glass

Rebecca & Dulcinea 

Barnes - Involuntary Autobiographical Memore (IAM) 

Un ruego de Sancho: "No se muera vuestra merced, señor mío, sino tome mi consejo y viva muchos años, porque la mayor locura que puede hacer un hombre en esta vida es dejarse morir...". Don Quijote de la Mancha

A request from Sancho Panza: “Don’t die your worship, sir of mine, but take my advice and live for many years, as the worst madness that a man can make in this life to let himself die…” Don Quijote de la Mancha

I cannot get out of my mind what my friend, architect Abraham Rogatnick told me a few months before he died, “Alex I am not long for this world and I am glad.”

In my present isolation and loneliness, somehow ameliorated by the constant warm presence of my cats Niño and Niña, I feel that I am waiting. I used to tell Rosemary, “We are WTD (waiting to die).” I then modified that to PTD or preparing to die. Because I studied statistics in college I definitely think of my impending end constantly. While I am not yet suicidal I have wondered how the Canadian MAID affects one’s life insurance.

My will persists because Niño stares at me and tells me (in Spanish), “If you go first who will take care of us?”

The above quote of advice from Sancho Panza brings more IAMs because my abuelita who was well versed in Don Quijote often told me stories about that great Spanish novel. I read it because of her influence and then not too long ago I read it again to find out what the name of Sancho’s donkey was. I found out that the donkey did not have a name and was simply called “el rucio” which means “the spotted one”.

When Rebecca, my oldest granddaughter, was a young girl I took her to a play inspired by Don Quijote. I was happy to find out that she enjoyed herself. Who knows she just might one day think of me as I thought of my abuelita. She inspired me. Might I inspire Rebecca to think of me when I meet my oblivion?

Un ruego de Sancho: "No se muera vuestra merced, señor mío, sino tome mi consejo y viva muchos años, porque la mayor locura que puede hacer un hombre en esta vida es dejarse morir...". Don Quijote de la Mancha

A request from Sancho Panza: “Don’t die your worship, sir of mine, but take my advice and live for many years, as the worst madness that a man can make in this life to let himself die…” Don Quijote de la Mancha

I cannot get out of my mind what my friend, architect Abraham Rogatnick told me a few months before he died, “Alex I am not long for this world and I am glad.”

In my present isolation and loneliness, somehow ameliorated by the constant warm presence of my cats Niño and Niña, I feel that I am waiting. I used to tell Rosemary, “We are WTD (waiting to die).” I then modified that to PTD or preparing to die. Because I studied statistics in college I definitely think of my impending end. While I am not yet suicidal I have wondered how the Canadian MAID affects one’s life insurance.

My will persists because Niño stares at me and tells me (in Spanish), “If you go first who will take care of us?”

The above quote of advice from Sancho Panza brings more IAMs because my abuelita who was well versed in Don Quijote often told me stories about that great Spanish novel. I read it because of her influence and then not too long ago I read it again to find out what the name of Sancho’s donkey was. I found out that the donkey did not have a name and was simply called “el rucio” which means “the spotted one”.

When Rebecca, my oldest granddaughter, was a young girl I took her to a play inspired by Don Quijote (see above link). I was happy to find out that she enjoyed herself. Who knows she just might one day think of me as I thought of my abuelita. She inspired me. Might I inspire Rebecca to think of me when I meet my oblivion?

Julian Barnes - Death and the Lemon Table

These days I am constantly affected by the current Reading of the Julian Barnes book called Departures(s). All this is happening on the fact that since I read Jorge Luís Borges poems and stories I am thinking like that favourite Argentine writer of mine.

As I was looking at the portrait of Rosemary opposite on the wall from where I lie on my bed this Involuntary Autobiographical Memory (shortened to IAM by Barnes) appeared. I immediately wrote it on the edge of my bedside NYTimes. I wrote – It became and ended to begin again so that it ends to begin again.

This happens a lot as Rosemary’s portraits are everywhere on the walls of my house. The statement above is pure Borgesian as he wrote that all first times where repeated as first times all over again.

The framed photograph I took in the beginning of 1969 in Mexico City. I photographed her nude for the first time and last (alas!). Looking at it I fall into it and she is then posing for me and I click the shutter of my Asahi Pentax-S3. It is just another and that same time all over again.

When I came into my oficina to write this blog when I went into my drawer to get a ruler I found this day-of-the-week-reminder that Rosemary had by her bed table in the few months when she was ailing and then died on December 9 2020. The reminder is in her clear printing and all I can do is to weep in my mind and be so glad that we lived together for 52 years.

Camellia sasanqua 'Yuletide'

A Yuletide Memory Postponed
 

Time confuses me as I thought that I had purchased a Camellia sasanqua ‘Yuletide’ just in the last four years. That could not be the case as Rosemary died on Dec 9 2020 and for at least three years before she would nag me in about the second week of December to go and look for this camellia that blooms near Christmas. It seemed that the camellia was not all that hardy and it would die.

This year my camellia survived from last year but (a big but) it did not bloom until a few days ago. Why would this be? My suspicion is that those camellias from the past were grown in a greenhouse so they were forced to bloom earlier.

Whichever I look at this I can only smile when I enter or leave my house as my camellia is on a stone block outside. It has only two blooms. I cut them both for this blog without having second thoughts.

This camellia, like all the plants in my garden, have (flowers or not) the lovely face of my Rosemary.