Amigo, can you spare a peso?

Music pours over the streets of central Oaxaca, Mexico. There are the marching bands of course; trumpets and snares for hire, chugging along with the Sousaphone, clogging the avenue in honor of a saint. One night there was a young girl playing the accordion and belting out beauties with a smoky voice while she kept watch over her younger brother. Their parents were somewhere else, perhaps further down the street selling something else. I wondered how she could posses such an old voice. She hardly took notice aa peso was dropped in the purple bowl before her.
Bring on the pan pipes, marimbas, and acoustic guitars; all of them became as common as the black iron shrouding the tall windows. The blind trio pictured above sang Spanish ballads karaoke style just two blocks away from another blind trio. I wondered how many of them could see.

Surge Babies

Recently Fayetteville, NC, home of Fort Bragg and Pop Air Force Base, declared itself the first "sanctuary city" for soldiers and their families. On Nov. 15th the city organized a massive military baby shower, the biggest in the world, with over 1,000 pregnant women or new mothers attending. I was assigned the task of winding through the crowd at a huge convention center and seeking out other "sanctuary" images around Fayetteville for the Dec. 1 edition of TIME.

See more of the outakes.

From the Rooter to the Tooter

Hog Killin' - Mebane, NC, Dec. 12, 2008

Outside the assignment . . .

Derrick, Salvation Army, Raleigh, NC, 2008

Lately I've taken up the practice of making photographs outside of assignments, of listening to my intuition when it tells me to stop, turn around, look again. It's amazing how easily you can get out of practice when you're so focused on fulfilling assignments and making deadlines.

Gotta stay sharp though, keep sketching and stretching it out.

Enjoying The Off Season

Selected snaps from a tour of the Outer Banks this past weekend. Starting out in Ocracoke and ending in Manteo.

Roxboro Road

Recently I've begun work on what I hope will be a long term project about North Roxboro Road in Durham, a part of the city experiencing rapid growth in the Latino community. This building was a bank two years ago, now it's called El Vaquero, specializing in the latest cowboy fashions. Their boots are beyond. Simply beyond.

The County Clink

Durham County Jail, Durham, NC, 2008

After listening to Tom Waits on an overcast day, I walked around the Durham County Jail and made some sketches for consideration in a multimedia piece about people who stand outside the jail and wave or hold up signs for significant others currently incarcerated.

Butt Stains

Butt Stains #3, Durham, NC, 2008

As mentioned in the previous post, I've recently taken up the fine Art (note the capital A) of North Carolina barbecue - slow and low, smoked to pieces, tender as a mother's love, aw hell yeah. The preferred cut of pork for barbecue is called a Boston Butt, hence the title, though it actually comes from the shoulder region of a pig. Thanks to the generous donation of a Weber smoker by my former housemate Mr. Jason Alexander Bissey (Chef at Rue Cler), I'm able to spend upwards of 14 hours at a time devoted to craft of creating perfectly pulled pork to pile high on a bun and smother in cole slaw. Sweet Jesus is it good.

UNC Press recently published a facinating book on the subjet Holy Smoke: The Big Book of North Carolina Barbecue if you'd like to learn more.

Chicken Shit Bingo

Col. George O'Rudeboy, Durham, NC, 2008

Compton & Longbeach, Durham, NC, 2008

The first time I witnessed chicken shit bingo was at a sweet honky tonk called Ginny's Little Longhorn in Austin, TX (short film). I had just endured four long days of intense live music at SXSW and the three hours spent at Ginny's sippn' Lone Star far exceeded all of that. So when some funds needed to be raised for Ms. K's trip to Italy to attend Terra Madre - we thought this would be a delightful way to spend an afternoon - listening to fine bluegrass music by Rob and Mary D of the New River Rock Skippers while breaking several laws gambling with friends and eating some delightful BBQ made by yours truly.

Mr. George graciously loaned us two of his finest hens from his Lil' Farm out on Arthur Minus Rd., so if you happen to shop at the Durham Farmer's Market, do stop by his stand and show your appreciation.

Eva en la Kudzu

Yes We Can

"It's the answer that lead those who've been told for so long by so many to be cynical and fearful and doubtful about what we can achieve to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day . . ."

Barack Obama
Senator from Illinois
President Elect
Acceptance Speech, Grant Park, Chicago, IL. Tuesday, Nov. 4, 2008

Wednesday, Nov. 5, 2008

Ideally journalism is best practiced from close distance, yet removed of influence. As an American citizen. As a witness to the last eight years. I felt the influence of my actions as I cast my ballot one week ago. It was a powerful action, weighted with all the selfless courage and sacrifice given by others before me to preserve this precious right. It was not like past elections. Something was vastly different. On Tuesday, when the numbers returned, when Obama spoke, my spirits would not, remain distant. I made photographs, but I also hugged friends and strangers as we all sang out.

The protection of democracy and freedom should be journalism's highest aim. In my lifetime, I've never experienced a better example of a healthy, functioning democratic system than this election. The system has never been perfect, but this was a masterful revision.

But seriously, what the hell am I talking about? The liberal media has always loved an election; ref., http://stuffjournalistslike.com/

Here's what Mr. Lange and I found round the way on Tuesday.




The day after we pieced together a slideshow with the work of two other photographers, Eric Kaufman and Jenny Warburg.

D.F.'s election journey along I-85

Why This Election Matters

A Generation of Difference, Halifax Mall, Raleigh, NC // 10.29.2008

It's a sign

It's symbolic of something. That's for sure. Trouble is, exactly what? Take you're pick. Prove your point. We printed it with the following caption:

"Insert politically motivated cliché here: A former freight depot, Pettigrew Street, Durham."

P.S. If you're an big time editor from a big time publication and you would like to illustrate your point with this here photo. Give a big time shout.

Old Dreams

This past Sunday I spent some time revisiting a body of work known as the Delta Dream Express. It's been a year since the opening of the gallery show featuring 21 prints from the project named after a oddly symbolic sight I came across in rough river city of Helena, Arkansas.

I added the recordings of Mr. Gates, pictured above, to portfolio site along with more content related to the project. Listening to the righteously profound sounds of the St. Paul congregation again helped me recover from a wicked bout of food poisoning. Guess I'll I've to cool it with the Taquerias.

Listening to Mr. Gates carry it all along on these marvelous gospel numbers educes the experience of being there all over again. I'd like nothing more than to drive down right tomorrow and hear him in person. Yes sir. I'd like to play one for em too, on one of those eight uprights in the shop. There's always November.

The update Delta Dream Express project site.

Red Shoe. Blue State.

On the day we inked this here photo to press, news of the Gov. Palin's $150,000 wardrobe upgrade was breaking over the heads of pundits and voters getting their first salty licks of a depression. It would seem she came through on her promise of reform. Reformed the whole damn family in fact. Fashionably. Expensively. Americanaley. She even reformed my interpretation of "reform." Think I'll go out and reform myself a new pair of shoes.

Mr. Jeremy Lange, the deftly talented sure shot who shares the job with me at the Independent, was there to, working the "buffer" * - that's the part between the stage and crowd where cameras buff the candidate to give them the best looks. Shine em up all pretty. And Miss Wasilla did not disappoint as she declared her love for the pro-American parts of the country. Instinctively, the crowd called back,"U.S.A., U.S.A., U.S.A."

Now that's pro baby. That's pro.

We felt the need to eat steakburgers afterward, but declined the shakes. Which might of been something other than pro-American. Later on, I piled the snaps together, sorted them out, then mixed in a dash of ol' Hank Williams Jr. playing a sad remake of "Family Tradition" to create this here slideshow.

Watch. Reflect. Then go out and vote.

* So lately I've been brushing my teeth while watching the Daily Show on my laptop, which is on top of the toilet. And John Stewart, funny man that he his, made a joke about John McCain's excessive and vague use of air quotes while talking, "or as well call them, dick fingers." I tried to laugh, but I was brushing my teeth. I'd like to think it a fitting commentary on these high-strung times.

Almost There . . .

In one week I'll finally have this show on the wall. Printed and done. Finally. In the run up to this point there has been a lot of out-of-stock and out-of-luck moments to work around. In fact, I'm not sure if everything will be ready to go come Oct. 17th, but we'll go on either way. I picked up the last of the big square prints (24x24") today and was quite pleased with the job J.W. Photo Labs did with them. Now I need to catch up on sleep and finish out the small print portfolio. For more information about the show go here.

Free At Last

After spending seven years in prison falsely accused of an armed robbery, the charges against Erick Daniels were dropped and he was free to go home for the first time since eighth grade. Former Independent reporter Mosi Secret published a powerful investigative piece about Erick's case in May of 2007. I photographed many players in the story and created multimedia slideshow from a visit with Erick in prison. When the story was published we were expecting a public outcry for his release, but the recation was more mixed - in fact, many of the comments about the story were thinly vieled racists remarks about Erick and the enevitable trouble raised by young black males in America. News & Observer columnist Barry Saunders responded directly to these remarks with an excellent set of columns worth reading. There's no doubt Erick has a mountain of challenges before him, but for a man who has been bound and shackled for seven years, the sudden ability to choose his destiny must provide a sense of freedom that we will never know.

Moving on out . . .

After two and half years of living along Buchanan Blvd. it's time to move on. Fortunately I've got some friends to help with the heavy lifting.

Goin' Back Home

Landing in Moline, IL, Spet. 4, 2008. The remains of Gustav were blowing on through. It always seems to be raining when I head back home.

The Man Behind The Numbers

Mr. Chris Ivey, scorekeeper for the Durham Bulls. He's a swell guy with a sweet job. I could imagine myself doing this one day. I wonder if you could enjoy a beer while you worked?

The First and Last Time

This past weekend a good friend of mine, Mr. Aaron Kleidon, breezed through town, toting his 4x5 and a box of Type 55 Polaroid film. We spent some time at the old Liggett & Myers tobacco factory making photographs and he coached me through the process of making my first exposure on Type 55 - which will probably be my last since the company has decided to discontinue this unique line of positive / negative film. It was fun while it lasted.

Dress Up

Bowerbirds Redux

The Bowerbirds - (L to R) Phil Moore, Beth Tacular and Mark Paulson, circ. 2007.

Film takes it time.

Nearly two years ago I turned over three rolls of The Bowerbirds to be processed and scanned by a lab in Raleigh, JW Labs. The resulting image quality was so-so, but Burly Times needed to get out some mailers soon - so, as with most deadlines, it's done dirty, but at least it's done.

Scanning in film yourself can be cumbersome and slow, today it took almost two hours, All for this photo here. Even so, I appreciate a process that takes it's time and David Attenborough appreciates the bowerbird - a marvelous bird with a passion for interior decoration.

How could you not, right? Such color coordination . . . and those shiny beetle shells. Oh my.

Anydamnway, this here beautiful pile of horribly dismembered trees was just a small part of a vast swath of Carolina Pines felled not to far from Phil and Beth's home. It was a sad sight, but it also proved to be a suitable pseudo representation of a big ol' bower.

Farm Life . . .

It's a beautiful way to live, if only for one week. To wake early and check for eggs. To work often and eat healthy. Farm life is a good life.

Strange Fruit . . .

The American Dance Festival is the country's premier modern dance festival, held each year at Duke. This year we hosted a remarkable student from the Dominican Republic - Ms. Eva Martin. Along with sharing her endless curiosity for all things, melon smoothies and theories about the art of "flowing," Eva and I collaborated on a series of photographs revolving around the concept of Whole Essence. I shot a number of photographs on infrared film, but here is one digital capture that seems to get at the idea of being "one with your environment."

The old Bulls . . .

I've been working on an essay about the 20th anniversary of Bull Durham - mainly photographing the old stadium where the film was shot and the new stadium where the Bulls play today.
More images here.

Brotherly Love . . .

This week the Independent published a cover story about the Avett Brothers - expertly crafted by Mr. Grayson Currin. Using photographs of the band from past performances and a three night stretch of their tour in late June, I created a multimedia deal to accompany story.

Alongside The Allegheny

A storm blew in during an Avett Brothers' show in Pittsburgh. This young lady was seeking out the heat of a steam vent downtown. The band played on through the rain. Naturally.

Tobacco Land . . .

Through This Lens gallery in Durham will present an solo exhibition of my work about the Ligget & Myers tobacco factory complex as it was being converted into a massive residential and commercial development called West Village II. This is a project that I've been working on for the past two and a half years. The opening will be on Oct. 17th and there will be approximately 20 prints hung on the wall. There is a lot of work to be done between now and then, but then again I work best under a deadline.

First time out . . .

It's time for me to leave the country.

Not for political asylum or unregulated gambling opportunities. Not yet. Often my desire for other continents leads me to seek out the world wonders on Google Earth at all hours of the night, perhaps slightly drunk. Other times I study the slick, curled surface of the world map vinyl shower curtain in my lady's bathroom. Usually in my boxers, brushing my teeth.

Spit. Rinse. Tibet is there, but it's the same color of China? Mmmm.

Have you ever played geosense? I love it. Pray you don't cross me in a match up. Sho nuff. I know the GDP of Tuvalu and the capital of Ethiopia and how fun it is to say. Beyond the maps and facts, there's that one personal experience. When I was 14 I canoed into Canada with a group of Boy Scouts. Nothing looked different and we didn't talk to anyone else before turning around. Actually, I do remember someone calling out to us from a bridge. "Aye there," is about all I could make out. This was my only foreign interaction before deciding on a trip to Peru - the South American country of and not the sister city of LaSalle.

The intrepid Ms. Kavanavelica, had only one week away from work in May, so we started planning. Sweden? Denmark? Senegal? The we were offered standby tickets to anywhere in the world where Delta jets go from my river rafting mate Aaron Kleidon. Wisely, beautifuly, my love lady K, with the help of Werer Hertzog, struck me right with the suggestions of South America. I've had dreams of the places there before. A culture and history similar to ours, intertwined, infected by colonial fever and the idea of Manifest Destiny. Of unknown lands, resources, riches. Pioneers and ancient warriors. Savagery. Slaves. Civil War. A political coup or two. Beastial acts. Amazing beauty.

"Who am I going to have to pay when you're kidnapped?" No one dad.

"You didn't get a yellow fever shot!" It'll be fine mom.

And with that, we flew up and over the equator to see about this place. A week later, we didn't want to come back.













Waiting for the bus in Rumichaca, Peru. Altitude: 11,90 ft. (-12.3833, -75.1333)