So…why this video from 2011 if I’m gonna post about Folklife 2012…well let me tell ya’ll a story and use that as my post with just images from FL2012…
2011…last year I went to the Georgetown Carnival with @boohi_bronson and @smlife and it was a great day for shooting street…I posted quite a few photos…one was of a guy who was dressed like the 60’s MIB secret agent and he was talking on his cell like he was tracking someone…another image was of a Tom Selleck type moustache guy that Boohi and I ran into at Starbucks and his ‘stache was just straight amazing…luckily I ran into him at the Carnival…and another photo was of a man with a top hat, a real interesting moustache, with a vest of golden sequins…all of these posted onto my Instagram of course, but I can’t for the life of me find the original RAW formats that I would’ve loved to post…
The Carnival like Folklife has many awesome characters…a lot of folk bands which makes for dope music…and I’m not a folk music expert or nothing but I do find the history and the music and the people to be very awesome…
Fast forward now to yesterday in Seattle…mass murder that had the shooter murder members of God’s Beefcake, including Schmootzi the Clod and Meshugunah Joe…Joe is the third guy I mentioned up above…top hat, real interesting moustache, and a vest of golden sequins…the muder took place in the Roosevelt neighborhood of Seattle at Cafe Racer, a local coffee spot that was a spot for folk music and art and was well respected for their arts involvement in the community…the shooter then took a bus to downtown and murdered an innocent woman, a mother of two, for her vehicle…and all victims were shot in the head, with one fighting for his life at Harborview now…
The shooter then ends up in West Seattle where Seattle Police finds him and he ends up taking his own life in a residential neighborhood…
Initially when I was at Folklife, I wanted to take photos of the artists and musicians of Folklife in a way that is different that what was getting posted on Instagram…the ducklipped teenagers, the Space Needle, the bursting water fountain in the middle…there were some great shots posted to the hashtag #folklife of some musicians…well I wanted to capture those moments of the artists and the musicians to show that the spirit of the festival was really true to the original founders…it’s about the culture of the northwest, the music, the art, the community…and then a shooting happened on Saturday and I was going to talk about the plague of violence that has happened around town and how the mission of Folklife got lost…since 2008, Folklife has had gun violence top the news at the festival…and i was going to talk about the fucked up things…like the boss (my wife’s nickname) and I were talking about why we had to leave Folklife by 3PM because the kids are starting to show up and that means it’s not such a family atmosphere any more and we should get going…it’s wierd that all of Seattle’s (I’m sure in a lot of the world’s metropolitan cities has this problem also) festivals are set like that…fun times until the late afternoon when it’s time to get moving because it’s about safety…well shit…I’m starting to go into commentary about guns and gun violence and I don’t wanna get into that…
So let me parlay real quick into the music…again I’m not a folk expert…but the music to me, shows a lot of soul and real life talk about being alive in this world we live…I mean all music does for the most part…but folk music really carries that old school vibe for me, with mandolins, and banjos and washtub instruments…and the carnival and circus feel to it…entertaining and yet gritty and country…I gravitated to a lot of the musicians at Folklife this year…mostly to those that had some great lyrics and emotion in performing…the ones that caught my ear, and my son’s ear…he absolutely LOVED the washtub instruments and the drummers on buckets…for the few hours my family was at Folklife it was a great feeling to remember the mission of the original founders ideas on showcasing the art and music from the Northwest…and I’m not into the stage musicians so much…but really love the buskers…the street musicians…with their music and harmonizing and gritty yeeeehah’s…lots of finger pickin, cheesy grins (Graham if you read this…this is why folks look so happy in my shots)…they just love the music, love the work that they do singin and entertaining!
Summary: It’s too fucked up that in the news it’s about the violence and not about the festival any more…and it’s too bad that people aren’t willing to go and experience it because of the crowds…and more importantly the violence that occurs at a family friendly event…it’s too fucked up…
For the victims of the murders, for the victims of senseless violence, for the music lovers, for the arts lovers, for my city…this is for you…
REST IN PEACE Schmootzi the Clod, Meshugunah Joe, and the other victims from May 29, 2012.
**Disclaimers: 1. I’m not a journalist 2. I’m not a folk expert 3. I wish this world was different sometimes.**
I seem to have lost myself somewhere during my pregnancy. These days I don’t recognize myself. I say and do things I wouldn’t normally do. I cannot describe the anger I feel deep in my bones almost every hour of the day. Anger is such an ugly, draining emotion. It takes so much to keep it in and pushed down in an effort not to hurt those around me. I know this burning feeling isn’t normal, at least not for me. Yes, I get mad from time to time but nothing like this. It almost feels like someone else has taken up residence in my body and I have been pushed to the side. I feel lost and overwhelmed by the need to clench my fists and shout until I am hoarse. My heart feels purple and bruised from the weight and severity of emotions that accumulate during the day. Two weeks ago, I allowed the thought to take hold that perhaps this anger wasn’t normal, that perhaps this was something more than the transition period after having a baby. The thought allowed relief and guilt at the same time. On one hand, relief that maybe this wasn’t something I could control, but guilt that I couldn’t control it. A vicious cycle of thought that left me more worn than the anger by the end of the day. This idea, that maybe something was wrong, allowed me to test the waters slowly, stick my toe in and get used to the idea. A few nights ago, when asked by a friend I answered honestly and said I was really angry all the time. She surprised me by describing exactly how I felt. She went on to explain that what I was experiencing was postpartum depression, but instead of the sadness, I was feeling the anger side of it. I cannot express how relieved I was to know that something had indeed taken over my body. That this angry woman wasn’t me after all. The anger and guilt as still ever present companions but they are easier to see now that I have shined a light on them
A couple weeks ago my friend (and yours) Brad said something that stuck with me, he said “we are a reflection.” I have turned it over and over in my head. This simple phrase touches something deep within me. It reminds me of something my mother used to tell me when I was young. She would tell me you are who you hang out with. Which I didn’t really understand until it was too late and my life had jumped the tracks. I have decided until I am myself again I will look to those close to me to remind me of who I am. My friends are beautiful, creative, loving people and if I use them as a reflection then I am also those attributes. In the dark hours, when I am the most lost, I will pull their faces up one by one and remember why I love each one of them. On a good day, I am a weak version of their best attribute. And every time I see my reflection, I will do my best to remember that. Their hearts will shine a light on my darkness and show me the way home. Where there is light, there can be no darkness, and with light there is hope.
There’s this fascination I have with protests and rallies and social change movements. In college I was honored to be a part of a few organizations that worked on identity of self and how ones role in the larger society is viewed/perceived by the mainstream culture. Fast forward to post college and I’ve been able to be a part of other organizations that was also focused on “love as revolution”, “love as self”, “love for community” as its vision and missions.
It definitely wasn’t something that was instilled too much from our parents (my brother and i). We were always told that we had a fit in society already and that we were not to rock the boat or be a part of that because the best thing we could do for our family is “make it.” BUT what my parents/family did teach us, is to be passionate and be in the moment.
My brother and I both went into social service work/ community based work for a reason. We do love the communities we live/work for. There were times in that community where we felt that it was not necessarily healthy for us to stay in it. Pushing the limits and lines of our belief systems definitely is a daunting task. Sometimes you believe in certain things, certain people and yet it feels that those things can be turned upside down and on your ass without you knowing what happened until your licking your wounds. The personal price is as hard to swallow like the holistic horrors that we fight against.
Ok, I know…I’m talking without telling you all too much. Well, let’s just say that for a time there my brother and I retracted from the community we serve because we had to re-evaluate our place in them and figure out what is a good balance, a good role for us to fight the good fight.
My fight is: how to pass it down to my son. Enough said. He will learn how to fight and how to be the person who he wants to be as a good and righteous man; free from bunk and negative ideologies, like the “isms and phobias”, free from gender stereotypes and fucked up beliefs that men are superior to women…all of it…and I’m surrounding him with the village that I know supports this change. That pass it down in their own way to him.
Well, when I go out to occupy it’s a bit self-serving. One it satisfies that part of me that used to go out and raise hell. Not back down, and rally folks behind for the cause. Now I’m an observer and an occasional activist who engages in dialogue. I’m older with a family that can’t afford any ill will or repercussions that didn’t scare me before. SECONDLY, it satisfies the “passing it down to my seed” idea. I come home and before I share with you all on the social networks, I’m editing and showing it to my son. These conversations help me know that a part of me is doing something for the movement.
So with that long ass intro…here are quite a few images for you to digest from the May Day in Seattle of 2012. It also has OCCUPY elements as it is the first International Workers Day event post-occupy wall street.
Some of the images will have captions, some will have quotes from folks after talking to them, I hope to portray the movement from the ground level, with you there with me. I am going to try not to talk too much about the negative aspects – the news and media got that covered.
well…here we go…thanks for following the coverage…if ya dig it, i’d appreciate if you would tweet, fb share, g+ it =)
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There were a couple clowns (amogst a few other uniforms and costumes), the prep for these guys were pretty deep as they were ahead of the rally most of the day. I’ll have a few of these shots up of these dudes.
The Dialogue
Lots of times during these protests, you’ll be able to have conversations with folks about the societal woes. I see a lot of times, people just walk around them and avoid them, but there are folks who will actually take time to find out exactly why there is a protest or rally and want to understand (not necessarily agree) with what is happening.
There was a contingency called the “Unicorns” which was a queer group who truly led a lot of the rally with festive and powerful messaging.
This shot signified the joinging of the two rallies in the late afternoon; the Westlake Center group and the International Workers rally. I must say that this was a beautiful site, as it brought tears to many before the two groups converged. Throughout the day it had been the Westlake group who was handling most of the action and press coverage. The workers rally started later in the afternoon coming from Judkins Park in Seattle’s Central District. The two groups met; with about (I thought at least) 750-1000 per side. I’ve read reports that there was upwards 4500 total. I’m not good at math so I could be way off =) but when the two groups met up, it was like in a movie. The groups were seperated by about a block, both groups became quiet; after a few minutes, BOOOM. All you hear is cheering from both sides. It was surreal. It was amazing.
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The Voices
“I am a part of this because of the issues that my community faces. Deportation plagues my community and I am here to stand up for those who are not allowed to.”
“I am here for Occupy Hip Hop. We are the 99%. My music, my culture, my people have a right to stand up and using this as a platform to get my political ideas out is one of the best ways for me to stay involved.”
“I am an artist. I am the 99%”
“I am this monster created by the evils done against the citizens of the world. I choose to fight for you and us. They will rid of me with a signature on a check. I want to have them remember that I cannot be deleted.”
“This is for my great grandmother. She deserves to know that this world is a better place than she left it. She was the 99%. I am the 99%”
Here at JUXT we are always looking for ways to make our experience with photography more personal. There is a ever-present dialogue behind every photo we take, even if we don’t share it openly. We have decided to embark on a new adventure here at JUXT. We are stepping out of our comfort zones to share our craft and our hearts behind our shots and we are asking you to join us. If you are a JUXTER feel free to join the conversation here by posting your own blog entry. If you are an IGer or on EyeEM or Tadaa feel free to post there, but please let us know so we can take part in your conversation also.
Every two weeks I will post a new theme for us. You can then go out and find a photo that speaks to the theme. When you post here or on another site please include what the theme means to you, a story, or a memory associated with the theme. Look at it as a place to let your mind wander 🙂 The theme will always be
posted under the title SHOW AND TELL
The theme this time is LAUGHTER. This theme will go on for the next two weeks. Take your time. Think it over. Find the perfect shot. Then come and share. We can’t wait to hear what you have say.
•on IG use the tag #showandtell_1
•on EyeEm post under the tag Showandtell
•on Tadaa i will post the challenge on my feed Annacox and you can respond to it.
My show and tell
Laughter
Today was the first day I have felt like myself in a long time. I have been overwhelmingly sad for a few months. The cloud that has overtaken me is due in part to pregnancy and the after math and also because I was getting ready to be responsible for another little person. Don’t get me wrong I am incredibly thankful for my baby boy, it’s just change and sometimes change is scary. I am still unsure if I can be a good mom to two boys but I believe we don’t receive more than we can handle so I rest in that fact daily.
Today I felt courageous so we headed to the park where my oldest son proceeded to make a million friends and roll in the dirt to his hearts content. I sat quietly by and watched him play, my heart singing every time a smile crossed his face. He is my first great love and I would lay my life down for him. Beside the playground, there were rows and rows of paddle boats. He sat in the boat paddling and paddling but because they were chained to the dock he made little progress. If it was me sitting in that boat, I would have gotten frustrated for lack of progress but he was content to just sit and paddle. He played an imaginary game shooting other ships and sword fighting with pirates. Watching him play, I alternately laughed and cried. He is such a beautiful boy with a huge imagination. Sitting on the bank, I decided I may be sad today and tomorrow but that boy on the dock will be my smile when I can’t. He will be my imagination when my mind is clouded. Most importantly, when I forget how to laugh I can just watch him. He will teach me . I may not be making any progress today but tomorrow it may be different. And if it’s not, I’ll let the boy laugh long and hard for me. And that will just be okay
Down the street from my Mom and Dad there is a gorgeous house. It has more windows than my house three times over and a beautiful rolling yard. It is a traditional brick home you could find anywhere in the States, in any neighborhood. Not long after my parents moved we were driving home from dinner and we drove past the house. My mom remarked to my father that it was so sad the people that owned the house were what she called “house poor”. When I asked what that meant she explained that sometimes people buy houses that are too big or too expensive and they cannot afford to furnish them completely. As a kid, with little understanding of money or responsibility, this seemed like such a silly thing. Why would someone buy a house just to let the rooms sit empty? Immediately pictures of a family eating in an empty room, sleeping on the carpet, and listening to their echoing voices bouncing of bare floors and walls came to mind. Even now, years later, whenever I drive past that house I glance towards the windows expecting to see the bare rooms instead of the silhouettes of furniture.
This idea of being house poor has come back to me many times since that day. The most recent being a disappointing relationship where I thought we were loved as we loved them. It was sad and shocking to realize my son and I loved this family multitudes more than they did us. I realize that not all relationships are equal and you are lucky if you find more than one friend that loves you as much as you love them. While I was trying to sort out my hurt and anger the term “house poor” came to mind. I was jolted by how perfectly the term fit the situation. On the outside the family seemed warm, inviting, and a good place for my son to spend time playing. But once I peeked in the windows I realized the rooms were bare. All the perceived warmth disappeared and all I was left with was bare floors and empty cabinets. Now before you start thinking “She thinks she’s perfect” know I am no prize chicken. My house has been bare at times even though my exterior looked great. I know I am flawed, cry on demand, and am sarcastic to a fault. But I also know that I am able to love deeply and would give you the shirt off my back if you needed it. These days my “house” looks like it belongs in a trailer park with a toilet for a planter in the front yard and a car on cinder blocks in the driveway. But if you take a chance and can get past the trash on the porch and the old washer that should have gone to the dump you will find a warm interior and a cup of coffee. And unlike my house poor friends, there is always a place at my table for you.
Anna’s Introduction
Over a year ago, I stumbled upon @agentluke’s feed on Instagram. I was immediately drawn to his strong sense of composition. The majority of his feed at that time was architecture from around Chicago. I adored the easy way he shot such detail, his strong sense of line, and the balance he always found in the shots. While staying true to his unique sense of composition, in recent months he has branched out into shooting more than just facades. Luke’s current series of abandoned locations blows me away. As a lover of the forgotten, the tenderness in which he shoots these locations touches a deep place within me. Anyone can shoot a broken down house but only a few can make it speak. Luke is one of the few I have run across that can give a place a voice and help tell its story. Overall, Luke is one of my favorites on instagram and I am so pleased to be able to introduce him to you all.
A: Anna L: Luke
A: I’ve been following you for a year now. Your feed has evolved in that time. How do you see the progression of your craft?
L: In the sense of it all, I think I’ve come a full circle. But before that I really want to thank you for your attention and am humbled that it is so. I’ve really let myself go when the mobile photography genre started getting traction. I was on few other platforms featuring traditional photography as well as digital and canvas artwork, but I never really put myself out there as much. It might have been due in part because I never owned a dslr or maybe that my street art career* called for anonymity. In any case, the ability to shoot and manipulate anywhere, with what I already have, gave me the opportunity I need to really put the focus back onto what I truly felt that I want to do. Create, inspire and share who I am and where I come from.
A:Where do you find the most inspiration?
L: At the beginning my main shooting objective was Chicago architecture. Not really the famous and glamorous parts of town but the everyday grid as seen by just another famous nobody. Which to me, is an ordinary citizen with extraordinary love for the city. I’ll admit that at times I’ll get consumed by the skyline and shoot from a common perspective, but hey, can you blame me? I live in the the most architecturally significant city in the world as far as I’m concerned.
Bricks, arches, and ornaments?. Fire stations, municipal buildings and courtyards. And everyday Chicagoans. That is where I feel my language comes from. That is where I find inspiration.
A:Tell us about your website. I love the idea behind it.
L: If you speak of Urban Lithograph then I’ll tell you it is an idea lab open to the public. My projects reflect the direction it follows so if you visit regularly you know it changes quite often. The main piece that holds it together though is that all the ventures there are bound together by a need to advance and standardize the art of mobile photography, mobile graphic design and mobile art in general. I feel that an Urban Lithograph is as unique as the moment in which the idea or image was conceived in. And the instant connection of today allows me to really push that belief. Thus here we are, creating, sharing and inspiring each other.
My latest project is an art exhibit entitled ArchitecturalBreakDown. Architectural Interiors and Exteriors of places man has forgotten, but time has not. Opening reception is Saturday, April 14th at 7pm, in Chicago.
A:IG has grown by leaps and bounds since we started. I find myself overwhelmed at times with the contests, photos, followers ect. How do you deal with the changes? Have you changed the way you look at IG?
L: Well, I’ll admit that I’ve backed away from IG in the last few weeks. And now, that Facebook is the new owner I think I’ll focus more on other web platforms and events. Keeping in contact with all these amazing individuals that I’ve met over the years is my priority. IG isn’t really the best way to continue or to have an extensive exchange of ideas, so I am very grateful for blogs such as wearejuxt.com.
I think IG has become a gateway of sort for many artists and amateur photographers. It has awakened a sense of purpose within many who never had an outlet and an oudience they can receive feedback from.
But as with all things, progression calls for constant migration of thought and style. So as we enter a new chapter it’s only natural to embrace change and construct future upon it.
Thank you Luke! If you would like to see more of Luke’s amazing work check him out at his website http://urbanlithograph.com or on IG @agentluke.
Check out more of the amazing photographs from Luke.
Juxt thanks the both of you for your art, words, and contributions to the mobile community.
About Anna Cox
Anna Cox lives in Nicholasville, Kentucky where she is raising her two sons. She is a mixed media artist who uses photography as a stepping stone for her paintings. She is also involved with anti-human trafficking and helping women within the adult entertainment industry.
This week We Are Juxt will be sharing with you stories from the amazing 24 Hour Project that Renzo @aliveinnyc and Sam @whittiersam organized on March 24, 2012. We Are Juxt has a few photographers who participated and in celebration of such a worldwide event, wanted to give you summaries of their 24 hours in their respective cities. To see some more of the work of over 65 photographers, in 35 countries, and 5 continents, visit @24hourproject.
My 24 Hours: Seattle, WA
First of all BIG thanks to Renzo and Sam for their hard work in getting us all organized and ready to shoot for 24 hours straight. What a task! Gotta say though it definitely pushed me to shoot low light situations and forced me to figure out how I wanted to document my city. It was rough since I was the only one that I knew of from Seattle actually doing it and so big shouts to those who came out for a bit to shoot with me and especially to those who supported me doing this.
Shoutouts
Before I jump into this, I want to let ya’ll know I centered my DB (Ryan Coleman) when writing this, thus all the hyper-links (I especially like the Seattle Hot Dog Link)…if you know whats good for you as far as history lessons with a dash of humor, a dash of awesome, a dash of “OMG”, and some serious mobile and big camera photography you will go up to the top and search his articles. Check his latest with the Nirvana Series – a personal favorite! BAM, if he had a book, you best buy (get it)!
Got to shoot some night shots with @thisguyfel and he let me use his tripod for the rest of the time I was shooting. Also to close out @boohi_bronson came out with me on the last leg of the project. Also, I have to shoutout Sam (LA) and Tony (Detroit). For the most part, we were in contact every few hours on how we are doing and what our energy levels were like. Tony and I were the only ones in our city (I was in contact with) shooting so we kinda had this unsaid thing to check up on each other also. Some of Seattle isn’t safe for shooting especially at night, and for damn sure Detroit has its parts where it’s not that safe. Seattle has had a spree of cell phone muggings and I didnt want to be a part of that, Tony was my text homie to keep in contact with.
So…
The first 12 hours started with a bboy/ bgirl competition held at the HG Lodge which is a local nightspot in Seattle. Some folks I knew promoted the event and although I looked silly to some folks with my mobile next to the big camera shooters, I was still proud to be able to say I got a few shots that we’re ok during those low light situations. Not only was it dark out, but in the club I was really looking for the light situations and trying to position myself where the light was more prominent. ON top of that shit, I WAS REALLY enjoying the idea of bboys/bgirls from my city teaming up with amateurs and drinking with them and still comin up with some crazy style and power moves. LOVED IT. Between each and every round, each participant took a shot of Jack Daniels. YO, pure entertainment!
After the competition and the club closed down, I thought why not stay up on Capitol Hill and get the folks who club and then get hungry. Their drunk asses had to look for sustenance right?!?! Each corner practically had a food vendor and Seattle is known for their hot dogs with cream cheese in them. If you’re ever out on the town in Seattle and you’re hungry after a night of drunken foolery and pickin up on the opposite or same sex, get yourself a cream cheese hot dog and truly be satisfied with a night complete of fun times. @thisguyfel and I walked up and down Pine Street from Broadway to 14th and back down. Lots of folks getting their eat on. Some drunk folks macking. Some drunk folks reliving their night. Some drunk folks meeting other drunk folks to figure out what drunk folks are supposed to do after getting drunk. Yea lots of that stuff. The cops were walking their beat. The food vendors were making their money. Folks were getting their Romancing the Stone on. What a better way to say I love you and Want YOU than leaning against a stop sign whispering sweet nothings and how your about to tap that…ok…you get the point…
The First 12 Hours
We decided to leave this drunken splendor and go to a city lookout. We went up to Jose Rizal Bridge which is south of the city on its way up to Beacon Hill. We decided to try and practice our night/city shots with the slow shutter app. Some folks were able to pull off some great stuff with long exposures on the big camera and slow shutter tries to do the same for the iPhone. Unfortunately the shots didn’t come out the way we wanted.
Well this died out pretty quickly and @thisguyfel ended up leaving me and I was running the streets solo. Now I forgot to mention earlier, that I hadn’t gotten any sleep since that Friday morning waking up for work. So by this time I had already been running without sleep for 21 hours. I had to get a power nap in. So I got in the car and went to Lake Washington and posted up for an hour nap. I had to =)
I did get some sunrise shots from the lake and decided that those were my own to keep. Plan on printing them and getting them to my boss (my wife) for dealing with me missing for this weekend. She was a trooper and so I hope that not only will she be cool with a sunrise print, but not rack up too many points towards a shopping spree that I know I owe her, YEA thanks a lot RENZO AND SAM!! =)
After this I had to take the son to soccer and do the dad duties for a couple hours so there were some missed opportunities I’m sure, but did get some more kiddo portraits and action shots of my little Pele’.
The last 12 hours I ended up walking downtown in crazy zombie fasihon. I took the train in from the Southend and got dropped off in Chinatown in hopes to capture the morning elders at Hing Hay Park and morning deliveries. From there I ended up going to as many portions of the downtown area I could. Chinatown, Pioneer Square, Waterfront up to the Sculpture Park, back down into the city through Westlake and Pike Place Market, then back down into Chinatown to get ready for an afternoon meeting at Mercer Island with the Juxt partners. There were the typical Seattle tourists and street performers, very minimal Occupy Seattle coverage (which honestly really disappointed me since the day turned out to be real beautiful).
The day was sunny and in the late 50’s low 60’s. IT was great for chasing light. I’d say the bulk of my submissions for the project will probably be from during this time. My energy was pretty high considering I was really working towards almost 40 hours with only 1 hour of sleep.
The Final 12 Hours
After the Juxt partners meeting, @boohi_bronson and I went out and I had already planned what I wanted to end up doing. Seattle iconic shit. The Space Needle, the Pacific Science Center…as much of Seattle Center as I could and end it at Dicks on Broadway. There’s always people there on a Saturday night before midnight. I broke out the tripod and set up shop. These last couple to few hours of shooting is where I got the most interaction from strangers.
“Is that, is that an iPhone on that tripod?”
“I’ve never seen that done before.”
“REALLY?!?! you need a tripod for that?”
“Can I see some of your photos?”
“You did that on an iPhone?”
“That’s from an iPhone?”
“REALLY!?!?! that’s from an iPhone?!?!?”
Through all these discussions I was able to throw out some of the projects like #Fuck_Racism and #HomelessInSeattle and definitely got them to start out on the social networks and get them involved with some of the photowalks by Igers Seattle and get involved with other mobile folks…It was pretty cool to meet folks who were interested. One woman in particular is a student at Cornish is working on getting me to talk to her class. She’s a photography major and the big thing they are talking about now is how viable is the art created by mobile devices. So I gave her my contact info in return for her flipping me the bird for the Fuck Racism Project with Marco and in support of the Trayvon Martin murder.
Closed out at Dick’s, and I didn’t get no burger and fries and large coke. Got some photos, got some good conversation, then bounced.
The 24 hour project was a really cool experience. Would I do it again? Possibly. The answer would be certain if I had folks who would do it with me. That way we could individually cover the city, meet up, chat, and then go back out again. I think that’ll definitely sway me to the HELL YEA answer.
Again thanks to Renzo and Sam for organizing. They have a lot of plans for this project and We Are Juxt is in full support.
Storms come and storms go. Sometimes they leave you untouched other times they wreak havoc on what you hold dear. Lately, we have had string after string of bad weather. Snow, rain, tornados and hail have followed one another closely. It seems that we catch our breath and then another storm rolls in. Our umbrellas and boots barely dry before they are drenched again. I, unlike my great Danes and eight year old, love a storm. The kind that lights the room up and shakes the window panes. The power behind a storm is amazing in a knee bending, breath taking kind of way.
The last four years of my life have been a time of change and growth. All of the roles I played were stolen by the storm in my life and I barely recovered from the damage. I have emerged in the last year a different person, changed for the better. If not for the soul drenching storm I stood in I can honestly say I wouldn’t be here writing this, watching my son play, or awaiting the birth of the sweet boy that’s growing in my womb.
Normally, I am the one teaching my boy lessons or imparting what knowledge I have about life. I’m not sure he always hears me but I do hope he tucks it away in his heart to think on another day. Last week, it was my son who taught me a lesson. We were walking home from a friend’s house when J noticed storm clouds. He looked at me and said simply, “there is always another storm coming.” I didn’t think much of it then but later his words came back to me. The truth of them hit my square in the face. No matter how many storms come. No matter how well we weather the storms there are always more. Life is filled with lightening and thunder but after the storms we can go puddle jumping. After the storms we are wet but we are clean, we are nourished to bloom. Without the rains we cannot bloom in the spring of our life. Life brings many things to our doorstep but it’s our choice wether we will bend like a sapling or stand like an elm.
I stood in my kitchen tonight making my son’s lunch for a visit to a school
Tomorrow. We have homeschooled the last few years but we are considering sending him back to school. With this decision comes a few different trains of thought. The biggest one is trusting him to
The world for 8 hours a day and admitting the fact that may be best for him right now. As a parent and mom, the last part is the hardest to swallow. There is always a point where you have to let go in relationships, but knowing when and where is the hardest part. My boy is a good one, he loves southern rock and is brutally honest to a fault. He is the song in my heart and the melody on my tongue. How do you open your mouth and allow the song to escape without losing it all together? Ani Difranco describes the weight of love best in a song called School Night
“but then what kind of scale
compares the weight of two beauties
the gravity of duties
or the ground speed of joy?
tell me what kind of gauge
can quantify elation?
what kind of equation
could i possibly employ?”
These words echoed through my head while I was peeling an orange for his lunch. There is no good way to decide based on my love for my son because I would keep him with me always. I have to remove myself from the equation . So I am going to chose to allow him to peel his own orange and sing his own song. And I will tap my foot to his melody.
Who am I?
A white jacket lost in song. Old friends I remember but he has now forgotten in the music. Solace?
Qui suis-je?
Fear quelled in faith. The blood still drips from his hands like Longinus’s spear. Redemption?
Chi sono io?
One war traded for another. Drowning out the cries of the dead, that even deafness can’t silence. Perdition?
Quem sou eu?
Lost. His memories. His mind. Gone are the things we had to do. Paradise?
Sino Ako?
Stories told to a friend that remembers it all. A child wounded. A family to pray. A child that wounds. Fathers flailing fists. Mothers meth mouth. Two families in pain. A government that claims it cares. He will become me. Stories that shouldn’t be told, spilling secrets. My friends response. I know. Pain is short. I give him. Peace.
“I, like my brother, am a First Nations carver in the heritage and tradition of my people and my family who have been carving in Seattle since at least 1926. We give the John T. Williams totem pole to the City of Seattle in the hope that it will be a symbol of peace and honor for many generations.” – Rick Williams (pictured above), brother to slain First Nations wood carver John T. Williams
A man fatally shot by a Seattle police officer after being ordered to drop a knife often had difficulty hearing and understanding what was said to him, say people who knew him.
Officer Ian Birk shot and killed John T. Williams in August 2010, when Birk saw Williams holding a knife as he walked near downtown Seattle. The shooting was declared unjustified by a review board. Birk later resigned from the force.
Williams was a member of the Ditidaht First Nation, also a member nation of the Nuu-Chah-Nulth. The Ditidaht First Nation is a small, remote community on the west coast of Vancouver Island.
Williams was a celebrated, seventh-generation carver who at times sold his work to Ye Olde Curiosity Shop on the Seattle waterfront.
Alex Castas, general manager of Ye Olde Curiosity Shop on the Seattle waterfront, said his shop has been buying carvings from Williams’ family for five generations, stretching back to the 1880s, when the shop used to buy from tribal members paddling up in canoes.
“It was unbelievable that this would happen in this day and age,” said Les Sam, chief of the Tseshaht First Nation in the Alberni Valley on Vancouver Island. The Tseshaht are one of 14 member nations of the Nuu-Chah-Nulth Tribal Council.
The inquest process is all about putting the dead man/woman, in this case John T. Williams, on trial — a fundamental disrespect, as well as deprivation of due process. As the saying goes, “dead men tell no tales,” and in the inquest Ian Birk spread as many dubious ideas, inconsistencies, and stereotypes as he could about this dead Native man in hopes of saving his own skin. In this instance, however, the dead man does tell us all a story.
He tells us that his carving knife was never a threat — his small knife, contrary to Ian Birk, was not open. He tells us that he was not walking toward Ian Birk as Birk contended — he was shot in the side four times. Most importantly, John T. Williams reminds us of the lesson of Lord Amherst: Do not accept or even feign belief in this process; these people show absolutely no humanity or honesty when their own are threatened. Watch out for these men and women who shoot first and ask questions last — they do not have your best interests at heart.
The family and friends of William started to work on this pole about a year ago. Its design is a perched eagle, a mother raven and the figure of a woodcarver.
The event, which occurred on the eve of what would have been Williams’ 52nd birthday, followed Native tradition, with the pole carried to its final destination amid singing and dancing to drums.
“To me, it was a healing and a blessing,” said Roger Miller, 48, who traveled from his home on the Muckleshoot reservation to carry the pole. “We stopped here and there, but we had determination.”
Although Nancy Williams, sister of John, carried a black flag bearing the message, “Stop police brutality,” she said she felt as if her brother were looking down on the crowd with a big smile, “telling us we did it.”
“It’s going to be a while before there’s any healing done. Especially with the way we lost John, there’s a long ways to go yet,” said Williams, 53, of Vancouver, B.C. “But today is about peace and honor.”
So instead of writing too much about it, I wanted to use what I shot in the format I’m most comfortable, to set pace with some quotes from articles that best (I thought) described the JTW story. In no way am I saying it’s the best stuff, but for the purpose of this post, I wanted to have my story brought in by fragments of the other writers. I believe like all things that happens in our society, whether good or bad, and in this case fucked up and plain out wrong, that everything is fragmented and hidden, and pieces are given to us by those in power to keep truth from really prevailing. The end all was this memorial. It will stand now in the presence of millions of visiting people to know that Seattle is not immune to any injustice handed down by our peace keepers. Ian Birk is a murderer of John T. Williams. A family and a community lost a loved one at the hands of a man who was pompous and arrogant in his work. He has since resigned so that is one less crooked cop BUT that also means that there is a “citizen” who is out on our streets who has taken a life without just cause. I have friends who are cops. I by no means am saying that they are bad. What I am saying is the system is fundamentally screwed and that some officers are being conditioned to carry on good ol boy tradition at the sake of the people they serve…whew…let me get *off my soapbox*
February 26 the totem was lifted. The community grieved together, prayed together, danced together.
Ask my wife, I LOVE BALD EAGLES! I used to get on my brothers jet ski and go on Lake Washington by myself to go through the lake and find bald eagles on the treetops. I’ve only seen a couple in the last 10 years in the city. The day of the memorial brought tears to many who noticed above. Right before the raising of the totem pole, HIGH above, four bald eagles flew right above us. I looked to the elder I was standing next to me, he said, “The ancestors are truly with us today friend. John would be happy that his life has brought this to come about. It erases all the lies that we have been told. We are not done, but we are protected.”
I used these folks below for their insights onto the JTW murder and Memorial.
Seattle Times: Lynda V. Mapes, Amy Martinez
Seattle PI: Casey Mcnerthney
SU Spectator: Bianca Sewake
Blackfeet Nation: Gyasi Ross
Here are some more shots from the totem procession that I have posted on other networks. Hope ya’ll dig the shots and post. RIP JTW. Hit me up on Instagram/ EyeEm/ Streamzoo/ Twitter at @bradpuet or on Google + at BP Juxt or on email at brad@wearejuxt.com. Peace.
My son made a new friend last week. His new friend has a different skin color, different life circumstances, and a different view of life from Jeremiah. Many of their conversations have left Jeremiah confused or angry at the boy or the boys life. For a few days I struggled with how to discuss this boys life with Jeremiah and help him understand. How do you explain that some parents just don’t know how to love their children? Or that in some houses the rules are very different and that’s okay? But really, in my heart of hearts, I know what my real struggle is. I don’t know how to explain the emotion pity and why it isn’t a good emotion to display. It is one thing to recognize circumstances are not optimal and to figure out a way to give a hand up to the person. It is another thing to look at them, shake your head, and walk away.
I view life as a community chest of sorts. If i have it to offer, I do. My friends operate under the same assumption and together we have anything and everything we need. It is easy to give if you know nothing is truly yours to hold on to.
I showed Jeremiah a couple types of chain. One that had soldered links and one that had cuts in the links. We tugged and pulled on both of them. Eventually the chain with the cut links stretched and broke. We compared all of the links and decided they were all the same thickness and weight. He came to the conclusion that the one that gave way was in the perfect place to take all of the strain of the pulling.
I told him people are very similar to the chain. We are all the same, equal in the beginning until the pulling starts. The links that aren’t in the perfect spot to break need to take on some of the pressure for the link that is. It’s not always our job to take pressure away and it’s not always our turn to be in the pressure spot. But where ever we are there is a job to be done. I told Jeremiah that right now it’s his turn to hold on tight for his friend but soon it may be his friends turn to be strong for Jeremiah.
My son made a new friend last week. His new friend has a different skin color, different life circumstances, and a different view of life from Jeremiah. Many of their conversations have left Jeremiah confused or angry at the boy or the boys life. For a few days I struggled with how to discuss this boys life with Jeremiah and help him understand. How do you explain that some parents just don’t know how to love their children? Or that in some houses the rules are very different and that’s okay? But really, in my heart of hearts, I know what my real struggle is. I don’t know how to explain the emotion pity and why it isn’t a good emotion to display. It is one thing to recognize circumstances are not optimal and to figure out a way to give a hand up to the person. It is another thing to look at them, shake your head, and walk away.