n. pl. ful·crums or ful·cra
1. The point or support on which a lever pivots.
2. Zoology An anatomical structure that acts as a hinge or a point of support.
3. An agent through which vital powers are exercised.
He called me the fulcrum last night. Looked me in the eye with a slight sway in his step from too much indulgence and pulled me into a warm embrace. I knew it was one of the last for a while. It’s coming to the end, our time together and we are on the brink of picking up our lives where we left off 9 months ago, but picking up with a different set of hands. A little more well-versed in our craft, a little more hopeful with knowing that we are not the only ones who approach life from the other side of a piece of glass and perhaps a little more nervous because for many of us, we have come to this from change. The change that demands that we make a commitment to beliefs which may or may not yield… Beliefs in the power of the image, beliefs in our tenacity, our will. The possibility of survival in what has been labelled as a bleak time for our industry. And perhaps in my relative youth and naivety, my commitment to these beliefs are high – because I know the hearts of the people who have been on this road with me, and I can only say that beyond a doubt, we have vision, a multitude of voices with the power to be heard and above all, we are hungry.
~ For my peers at ICP, it was a pleasure and an honour to learn with you.
I think the kids are in trouble
I do not know what all the troubles are for
Give them ice for their fevers
You’re the only thing I ever want anymore
We’ll live on coffee and flowers
Try not to wonder what the weather will be
~ The National (lyrics from “Conversation 16”)
“Soak up the shimmer, drink in the scent, feel the skin… stop in your tracks and let the sweat roll down your trembling backs.” – Doug Rickard
Hot, hot days, wholefoods picnic, central park, tan lines, air-conditioning, french open, iced tea in June.
Hello? Summer speaking
We decide to take to the rooftops of Brooklyn. The summer comes and strokes us in secret places. Hard-edged places in soft light. Just the way we like it.
It was the stretched blue silk of the sky in flight, that band of white gossamer in between. It was the way that she carried herself with her marked hands and carefully coiffed hair. My impressions of Florida and her inhabitants are warm. Carefully manicured, what is natural appears unnaturally benign, gentle, easy to digest.
There is a uniformity.
She likes what she likes. Look carefully enough and you’ll notice the eccentricities.. Her idea of what people want and her efforts to provide. The expanse of sand, the friendly waters. The frolicking dolphins come to give their evening show to the oohs and aahs of aging sun worshippers. The islands separated by blue green jade inset with glittering speed boats and connected by monolithic arches of steel and concrete. Palms in the wind. Absurd little vehicles otherwise known as golf carts. Cardboard store fronts, chlorine pools, clay courts and SUVs. The elderly have come to be happy, the rich have their holiday homes behind towering hedges and faux roman columns.
The youth… well, the youth eat ice cream and look to each other for solace.
Some of my work on Larry Fink’s blog
A discussion about polaroids…