Day: April 4, 2014

The Round House Cafe photo show – George Forss and me – was taken down tonight, it was a great privilege for me to show my photos alongside my friend George Forss, it was my coming of age as a photographer, an act of honor, recognition and friendship. I am close friends with George and close with Scott Carrino, the co-owner of the cafe, it felt like a circle was completed.

I love sitting in the cafe and watching people look at my pictures and George’s photos. When I first me George, I thought of Willy Loman in “Death Of A Salesman.” Attention must be paid. Attention is being paid to George, he is reeling a bit from it and loving it as well. Attention was paid to my photography too, a lot of people bought my photos and last week I was sitting next to a woman who looked up at the pictures and told her friend, “these photos were taken by Jon Katz.” Really said her friend. “He used to live here,” said the woman. “Where does he live know asked her friend?” The woman shook her head mysteriously. “Nobody knows, I heard he moved.”

I resisted the urge to tap her on the shoulder, I thought it might be cruel. How wonderful for me to see my photos hanging right next to George’s, what an honor, I was blown away by it. Tonight, it was raining out, and the curators were there to hang another show, and so we didn’t really pause to honor the moment, I didn’t even think to get a photo of George and I together at the show, something I think I would have treasured. Maybe I can get one on Sunday, George and I and Maria and Donna are going to see the Ansel Adams exhibit at the Hyde Museum in Glens Falls.

Adams loved George’s photos, the two met and spoke. George is often compared to Ansel Adams for his brilliant landscapes and darkroom imaging. I am happy to be going with him to see the exhibit. I am grateful to Scott and his mystical cafe, good things happen there. I am grateful for my friendship with George, if genius can overcome the greatest odds, then perhaps some of it is infectious and can be spread. I am very happy to a writer, but photography has altered my life in many ways. My friendship with George is one of its sweetest gifts. I am grateful for this show, for George bringing his work, for Maria supporting and curating it, for all of the people who said the nicest things about my work.

Sometimes, on the teeming streets around Central Park, where tourists, office workers, strollers and residents all seem to form in one giant river of humanity, a man or a woman seems to be floating by, riding above the crowds, gazing up at the sky, you see some flowers floating along with him, an incongruous man in a top hat and black coat, there is something joyous and surprising about him, he is smiling up at the sky, and you hear the clip-clop of the hooves and watch all of the heads turn, and what a delightful thing to see a horse’s head bob up, see the flowers fly past, see the smile on the driver’s face, the look of a man many happy to be where he is., just look up to the smallest hint of magic and history, of theater and connection.

You almost never see a sheep alone, and if you do, something is usually wrong. Zelda, the intrepid and independent-minded sheep of our flock, is often sitting off by herself these days, no doubt hired from hauling her offspring around. She is due any day, she will give birth when she is ready. Red is avoiding her now, pretending not to see her when she is out in the pasture during hi outruns.

Sometimes, I am an object of great study and curiosity from Simon, Lulu and Fanny. If I come out of the house, they will come and stare at me with great interest, braying softly. Donkey lovers recognize this. It may be that they are curious, more likely they are trying to entice me into bringing them a carrot or cookie, which I usually do. I cannot resist the stares and importunings of the donkey gallery.

“And did I seek the kingdom? Will the Kingdom come? Spread his legs, bend low, and look between them

For the mystery of the hard and fast, To be unveiled, his inverted face contorting

Like an arse-kisser’s in some vision of the damned, Until he’d straighten, turn back, cock an eye

And stand with the brush at arm’s length, readying.

– Seamus Heany, Loughanure”

 

Imagine: From the lives of the carriage drivers in Central Park:

Imagine that every time you rode your horse or walked your dog or stroked your cat that everyone who looked at the picture would be thinking and asking: did you hurt that horse? Do you kick your dog? Do you starve your cat, and leave her to lie in filth? Do you abuse your animals? Every time you ever take a photo.

Imagine how you might try to answer their questions, torn between hurt and anger, eventually coming to know that there is no way to answer, it is not about the truth. That’s how it is with the biggest lies.

Imagine a world in which people looked at photos of animals and people and asked of the people as well as the animals: are you okay? Are you being treated well and fairly? Are you happy and secure?

Imagine that your daughter tells you at dinner that she will not be applying to college next year because she knows you might lose your job and livelihood and have no money because some of the most powerful people in the world’s greatest city mean to take your work from you.

Imagine that the bank will not re-finance your mortgage so you can pay off some debts because it is possible you will not have work next year.

Imagine that your wife cries herself to sleep every night because of the things she heard the young people in the park shout at you one beautiful Sunday afternoon, where she loved to go with your children but will not go any longer.

Imagine that the mayor and leaders of your city care more about a horse than about you and your family and refuse to even meet with you or speak to you.

Imagine that the people who run your city and wish to take your work from you believe you would drive an electric car instead your horse and carriage, and that to them, there is no difference.

Imagine that you wonder every day if you might soon lose the life you love, the life you chose, to join the rest of the unhappy world in their airless cubicles, trembling in fear every layoff day, because you chose to work outdoors with a horse and together, be your own bosses. Because some people believe that horses who work are sad, and that work for them is torture.

Imagine that you go to a shelter and seek to adopt a dog and are turned away because you drive a carriage pulled by a horse in New York City. Imagine that you are told that your work means you are not fit to own a dog.

Imagine that the way of life handed down to you by your father and grandfather and that you always meant to hand down to your son and daughter may not be handed down, this long tradition broken because it was suddenly decided by rich men and angry people in apartments that it is cruel for a horse to pull a light and empty carriage a quarter-of-a-mil on rubber wheels on a flat ground. Imagine that you are no longer sure you want them to have it, there is so much anger and trouble.

Imagine that you have broken no law, done no harm, committed no cruel acts, and that it does not matter. They mean to take your life away anyway.

Imagine that your ten-year-old son goes onto Facebook and comes and asks you about the angry demonstrators who come out each week and talk about the greedy murderers are who are killing and starving and torturing the poor horses in Central Park? Who do they mean, Dad, do they mean you?

Imagine that they mean to take your horses from your and send them off to the farms of the rich and the rescuers or to walk into the blades of the slaughterers where they will vanish from the earth and never be seen by people again, or work with them.

Imagine a world in which men and women are hounded out of their lives by millionaires and mayors because they drive carriages pulled by horses in a great  city.  Imagine all of the men and women in the history of the world who would have lost their jobs and livelihoods if this were a just thing to do.

Imagine a world in which all the horses are banished, to disappear from our world so that they can be saved.

Imagine that all you can really do is stand with the brush at arm’s length, readying.