Picture Box

I used to periodically rummage through my grandmother's "picture box." It was a worn cardboard box filled with a random assortment of loose, mounted, and enveloped pictures, programs, and memorabilia in varying condition. There was a Reverend Ike program here and a Martin Luther King, Jr. fan there. But, it was mostly assorted photographs. This "picture box" was always kept in the very back of her walk-in closet behind tons of other junk. It was always a new adventure to get to that box. It was almost intentionally hidden or buried.

There were photos of my grandmother's parents and her deceased siblings; growing up in Gonzalez, Texas (east of San Antonio, basically) in the 1930s and '40s. Miserable looking rural conditions that were understandably escapable. Frailties. Poverty. Blackness. The South. But there were the good times too: trip to Tijuana. Nights on the town, dressed and posed. Friends.

There were photos of my more immediate family too. My mother by a pool. My dad in a pretty hip suit. This was 1950s and '60s-era Los Angeles. My nutty aunt and my incredible uncle. My uncle's alcoholic father. My dead grandfather. [My bi-racial parents in 60s. I guess I never admired their bravery, if you can all it that] History and context. Moments. Spaces.

I guess my birth is kind of the zero-point here. I was as fascinated by the before birth images as I definitely was of the post birth pictures.

You know the stuff:

Forth grade class photos (1974-1975 school year, Mrs Ahlstrom). I can remember a handful of kids names. Tim Hatch. Tim Seal. Jeffery Pollack. Stephanie (one of the twins). Manny. Denise.

1976 Claremont National Little League Bears (same year as the film The Bad News Bears and, yep, we had a girl pitcher - Lorna Christen - and an alcoholic manager). Lorna's about the only name I remember from that losing enterprise.

There's me on a horse with a set of twin boys. For some reason, I'm making the thumb/forefinger pistol gesture. I guess someone had asked me to do that. Looks like I'm fiver or six so that would be 1970/'71-ish. I have absolutely no idea who these boys are. I wonder if they are alive.

There's a picture of me with a Very Bad Santa circa 1970.

Random SCV shots. 1985-1987.

Pictures of me with friends: Nancy, Lisa, Tim, Big Dave Wave, Mark, Rene, McKenzie. A shot or two with my father, my grandmother, and step siblings whom I hardly know. College and graduate school.

Eras and places: Three Mile Island, Vegas, etc. It's all et cetera.

From time-to-time I would borrow (steal) a picture or two from my grandmother's picture box. I'm pretty glad I did, too, because after my grandmother died, I have no idea where those pictures went. "Where is 'picture box?'" I might have said as a child. I still have some of those borrowed pictures. I have two photo albums where I've stored these images along with others collected through my mid-20s.

Most of this stuff is horrible photography too. But, it serves its purpose. But, I've always loved good photography too. As a middle-school kid I'd go to the public library and check out (and check out) the large-format fine art photography books. Plus, there was nudity in those books and no one cared if a kid was looking at it. It was art, dammit!

I've always liked to look at photographs and that whole "...worth a thousand words" crap actually makes a lot of sense; then and now. Because...in those old photos from my grandmother's picture box and in my back history photo album set and in the blurry memories of large-format fine art photography books, I've always noticed -- aside from the ostensible subjects -- an enormous and fascination world of Other Shit. Middlespaces.

I always wondered who else was present at shoots, but not pictured. I wondered who was taking/making the image. There were always background information - cars, celebrations, litter, strangers, relatives, and buildings that no longer exist. Riveting shit. Te unanswered questions.

And I've always had this interest in the stillness (or not) of still images. I can see the same scene in video and have no interest. Video serves a specific purpose, but stop all molecules and I can gain a perspective on contexts, a keener perspective. So, for as long as I can remember I have taken a shit load of pictures. I am not a photographer. I just like to take pictures. Occasionally I will present imagery in some form (framed, uploaded, or arranged in some context and on rare occasion, with some explanation).

I am neither perfect nor technical. But, I know what I'm doing.