Whirling Dervishes featured at the HP booth at Photo Expo

Well, just when you think your walking out the door and seen everything, you then see everything!! I was getting ready to leave the Photo Expo Plus in New York City this weekend and decided to stop and talk with my friends at the Santa Fe Photographic Workshops booth. A dear friend informed me that Hewlett Packard both had my image of the Whirling Dervishes featured as one of three main images on the front of the booth to the right of the front entry. Now, when she mentioned that it looked great, I thought, how nice, I am sure it's a good 8x10 in size, nothing fancy. I come around the corner and see this huge, 20x24 print in a beautiful blond wood frame. All of it's blue and white richness set off by the warm glowing face of the Sufi as he twirled. IT WAS AMAZING! I had never seen it that large, and printed that well. I have to say, HP is looking pretty good right now in comparison to Epson. It really was incredible to see the colors beautifully rendered and smooth in transitions. There was virtually NO DIGITAL NOISE reproduced in the print, even though it was in the original image. It really was incredible. I had settled on having a fair amount of "grain" in the image, and possibly not have as large of a print made in the future. Now, having seen the quality of this HUGE print, I am strongly being swayed to the HP side.

Other great news, the exhibit of the Kurdish Portraits has received rave reviews from the students and faculty at the School of International Training in Brattleboro Vermont. We have made several connections to other schools and colleges to continue the exhibit and lectures in the near future. I am hoping to get it in two places at the same time, while leap frogging from one venue to the other. The idea is to generate as much public support as possible to gain further funding to continue the project. It has been far too long since I have been there, even it has only been a little over a year!

More soon,

Cease Fire...and possible peace.

Nomadic Kurdish Village Guard




Thankfully, two days ago it was reported by the BBC that the Kurdish Workers Party, the PKK, located in South East Turkey would implement a cease-fire in the wake of current bombings in Anatalia and Istanbul, and kidnappings in Hakkari. Peace negotiations will begin in the capitol, Ankara, to hopefully resolve the disputes the extremist Kurds have with equality issues among the Turkish, including human rights, equality of pay and business opportunities, equal health care, as well as freedom of speech and practice of their culture. Disarming is the main focus of the Turkish governing officials, with the hopes of causing a disbanding of the organization all together.

In light of the recent disbanding of the IRA in Ireland, this may not be so far fetched, as even I would think. I am always hopeful for a peaceful resolve to any conflict, but can at times grasp the frustration and anger that can thrust people into action and violence. Unfortunately, this is a hard concept to impart on those doing the suffering.

The preceding are images of a village guard I met up in the mountains of Hakkari and Van. He is one of the men that would protect the villagers from not only raiders, but also the Gendarme in search for gorilla PKK fighters, and tragically snitches that expose those that are with the PKK. These are working people...beyond blue collar...beyond working class. They are true solders, and true men. He displayed great peace and intelligence to me, even gentle kindness.

He changed into his uniform and brought out his guns with its ribbons of bullets. What struck me more, and I think meant most to him, was his baby daughter; complete with blond hair, and blue green eyes, like mine. It was clear what he was protecting, and why.

I hope this cease-fire will bring about negotiations and peace accords that will benefit the Kurdish of Turkey, as well as set a precedent for the Kurds in Iraq and the remaining Middle East. There is the ability for all of them to exist and thrive with each other...not against one another.

Special thanks to Polaroid and John Reuter....

Robert and DJ, 20x24 chocolate Polaroid.






I realized last night as I was sorting and cleaning the last of my Type 55 negatives that I have been remiss in thanking a great friend and supporter of my professional work and personal fine art, John Reuter from Polaroid.

I met John several years ago in Santa Fe, New Mexico at a workshop he was teaching on the world famous 20x24 Polaroid Studio Camera which he runs and operates out of Manhattan, New York. I was his wide-eyed and overly eager Studio Manager, he the nimble and quick witted Instructor. Needless to say, the workshop was a bit of a disaster due to shipping issues, but John kept a stiff upper lip and handled himself like a champ. He and I have managed to remain good friends, and revel in the story every time we meet, cause it’s a good one!

John not only runs the Polaroid 20x24 Studio in NY, but he is also an accomplished artist as well. His works are ethereal and often cerebral, encompassing several mediums and technologies from computer printing to 20x24 Polaroid Transfers with pastels painted over top. His work is always creative and inspiring, but with a firm footing in Fine Art.

John has been an appreciator of my work, as well as a supporter. He, and the Polaroid Corporation donated the Type 55 and Type 59 film that I needed for this trip to Turkey. If it had not been for John and Polaroid, I would have had to shell out even more money to create the portraits I has focused on creating.

It is sad to witness the difficulties Polaroid is enduring these few years in the wake of the Digital Age. In contrast, I would like to say that it is rare, and inspiring to see that there are still individuals and corporations that take an interest and initiative to back even small artists like myself. Cheers to you John, and Polaroid, I wish you both the best, and many thanks.

Please take a moment and check out Polaroid's web site which is chock full of great art and ideas, as well as John’s own web site that features his personal photographic and painting work.

http://www.polaroid.com
http://www.johnreuter.com

Home again......finally..no thanks to the French!

Home, finally after a long and arduous journey home through Stuttgart, Germany and then Paris, France, then Washington DC, then Boston. All that in only 3 days, not bad considering that the French are the single largest pain in my ass. I am sorry, I have tried to not become an ignorant American, I have tried to not fall into stereotypes, but this is a large exception.

Now, I have very close friends that are indeed French, and they are great people...cool even. Somehow, the actual people in France seem to really live up to the standard that the world seems to label them with. We as Americans also seem to have this issue, I am by no means exempt from this problem as well, but this experience has tainted me forever against France, but mainly Air France.

Charles Dugalle airport is basically one large, and I quote a Belgian who said this..."Hungarian Cluster Fuck". Now I know a few Hungarians, but I cannot say that I have seen them cluster fuck, per say, but I can imagine what it entails. The airport is a menagerie of bizarre gate areas that are totally separated from other parts of the airport...it is not one contiguous building with gate wings. There is no rhyme or reason to the numbering or LETTERING of these gates, and you need to take a shuttle to get to other gate buildings, but you never really know what or where they are, or which one is yours! So I got lost for an hour. Traveled all of my life, been to a few random countries and been through WY too many airports, but I have NEVER been lost in one. This would prove to be an omen.

I later found my gate, but noticed no plane..and the gate was marked for New York. No one seemed to believe me that is should be a Boston flight. I later found my gate was moved to another gate terminal all together. I made it in time, after going through the 5th security point- (it gets old REAL fast). I sat for another hour, and then stood for another hour after we were to have boarded, only to learn that the flight was now going to be cancelled due to a "technical problem". My theory, the snails escaped and they couldn't find them all. Anyway, after waiting for two extra hours, they cancelled...CANCELLED the flight. No extra plane, apparently that blew up in Toronto a week earlier. So we were shipped back to the main terminal to stand in line for 9 HOURS. That was NINE (9) HOURS to find whatever flight there was that would get us to Boston via 3-4 other airlines. 9 hours, after 4 hours already...I was a little punchy and a little pissed off. The sad thing was I was about 3/4 of the way through the line, so I would get the worst and the latest flight combo available. Thankfully I became fast friends with a man and his daughter that were traveling in Spain and Portugal, as well as a girl that was traveling in Greece for a month. So we had a few laughs at the expense of the French of course. We finally got our flights through DC, Toronto or JFK. Now the over annoying issue I think we all have is the SEVERE LACK OF CUSTOMER SERVICE the French seem to have. They said nothing, literally, told me I had only one option, and that was it. I had to demand a hotel, I had to demand meals, I had to demand a phone card that never worked, and I had to demand transportation. If anyone knows me, I never demand anything other than maybe extra foam on my freaking latte, that’s it. But I had to DEMAND that I get theses things. These people were doing this for 9 hours, they had to have been doing the same thing for everyone, so why was this such and issue? Why did I have to demand? When I did, they would shrug their shoulders and say, "oh..do you need that?"..or " oh, I suppose I can ask my supervisor." Then, they just hand you the papers, with no explanation of where to go, what to do or anything. Where is the hotel, how do I get there, when does the flight leave, what is the gate, what is my connecting flight.... you know NORMAL SHIT! It was like pulling teeth! I received no refund, support money, or a functioning means of contacting anyone that I was alive and leaving a day later. BUT, these things happen in life, to a lot of people everyday when you travel abroad. It was just my first time to have a cancelled flight and first time to be trapped, and it had to be in France!

I left late the next day and flew to Washington DC to connect to Boston. It was a pretty good flight actually, although long. Good food, couple of good movies, and comfortable seats. I had the last open seat; thankfully it was an isle in a quiet and more open section of the plane. So 9 hours later we flew over Boston and landed in DC. Shipped through customs to get my bag and have it re-scanned and put back on the flight to Boston. I had to check in at the front to get a seat on the next flight, and that is when the French reared their ugly head, again. I as told I had to check into Air France for a new seat. I stood in the first class to try and just do it fast, since I was a charity case. That didn't work. I stood in the regular line for 2 hours, only to learn that my flight was not Air France, but United Air. Generally, I am a pacifist, very calm and very yielding to others, no matter what. I wish I knew what happened at that point, but it had to have been scary because all I remember is the guy at the desk leaned back in his chair and slipped out of it sideways as his eyes grew to the size of an orange. He looked like I was going to slap him. I do remember standing really straight, and I recall my voice sounding deeper that it normally is, and I think I threatened him which is NOT a smart idea to do at an airport in Washington DC! The next thing I know he was walking me over to the counter of United Air, and we went to the front of the line. He never really said much after that. He did give me a form to fill out to get a refund and lodge a formal complaint to Air France and the FCC....I think he slipped me 10 bucks too, but not sure about that one.

So I get my ticket, and learn I have 15 minutes to get to the gate, on the other side of the airport, after security points that are really...really....REALLY LONG. I know we need them, and I am very glad for them, they have done a lot of good I am sure. Although I have never ever heard of anyone getting caught with a hand gun, knife or explosive or having arrested any criminal or known terrorist, so they are still getting in somehow. Anyway, I got yanked out of line...literally. My bag got torn apart, my passport was run thought the computer and rechecked- somehow I was born in Arkansas a couple of years ago, oops, and I was thoroughly searched, and I was asked all sorts of questions. I think the Frog squealed on me. So now I was 5 minutes late for the flight. I ran out of there to the gate like O. J Simpson over luggage and small people and what I swear was a Pomeranian, and luckily made it to the gate, the flight was late to board. The fun doesn't stop there though!

We had no copilot, nor flight plan. So we sat for an hour with no A/C waiting for the copilot. Finally showed up, and filed the flight plan and got a spot to take off; pulled away from the gate only to turn right back and park again due to a storm system that was moving into Boston. So we say for another hour with a little A/C. The interesting thing was that I was really calm. I think I blew off what ever pent up rage and homicidal tendencies I may have had at the French guy earlier. I mean I was really Zen, just chilled and cool, even bodily. I liked it a lot. Well, I think it had to do to the really cute girl I was sitting next to. Thankfully she was cute, but a great conversationalist as well. We talked about her work and family as well as her travels, but we talked mostly about my trip and the Middle East. It was great to close the trip with a beautiful girl and her perspectives on what she thinks will happen to America and the Middle east, and how we can bring in some of those values of true family and support of fellow man into our seemingly self absorbed society, as well as teach them the balance of a more feminine society, human rights and release of grips on Holy Wars and Holy societal laws. I think in all sank in that flight.

It was actually the perfect way to end the trip for me. I will expand on this later today, but I think the whole trip and possibly my own self came and settled back on me on that flight. Something soaked in gently and completely, like a hot bath or a long sweet breath. It is hard to explain right now, but I realized that my trip had come to an end, and I was no longer in Turkey, I was no longer away, and no longer alone. I was back to where it all started, where I left from, but everything felt different, looked different, sounded different but I knew it was the same. Then I realized that it was I that was different, or at least my perspectives and my attitude were different, but I was still all of the good things that I liked before, and learned so many new things about me, and I like these things too. As I said I will expand on this later. I think I need to sit a little longer with it.

I am very sad this morning. I dearly miss Tahir and his family. I miss the 25 cups of Chi a day with total strangers. I miss the sounds and smells, the food and the children shinning shoes and selling trinkets in the streets. I miss the shy women in the market, and the stray cats darting from doorway to doorway. I miss the mosaic tile work on the mosques, and the adobe houses that surround the mosques. I really miss the Call to Prayer, never thought I would say that one. But what I miss the most. are the people. I feel very sad, like I have left my family, or a loved one has moved away. I didn't bank on that happening, but it is one of the things that I have learned is a true fact and trait of mine, I make wonderful and lasting friends no matter where I go, even if I don't speak the language. I kind of like that. I will hold them all in my heart always and try to stay in touch with them all so that I can return one day soon.

Funny how deeply a people or a place can affect you.

More soon

Fınal entry from Van

Been a couple of days since last entry..been a little crazy here in what I thought was to be quiet and sleepy Van. There have been several power outages..nearly every day for a few hours...never predictable and always a pain when you want to upload images or need to charge batteries.

The above image is of an old Kurdish man, Çindi,(Chindi) who is the Grand Uncle of a person I met here in town. Decided after an unsettling trip up into the mountains to sort stay closer to home and see who/what I could find. Ill explain.

A few days ago my guide and I went on a hasty day trip with a friend and dolmuş driver to his town Çatak, and his nomadic village WAY up in the mountains next to a village called Nahir. When I say way, I mean WAY, like 4x4 pickup truck material. The mountains are exactly like those of Los Alamos and the Jemez; harsh nude volcanic mountains that just rocket up into the sky with deep rugged canyons. I think it was a good hour or so up switch back trails to get to the nomads. We spent time with the Shepard’s, and some of the men sheering wool. We then went down a canyon by foot to a plateau where the yurt tents were. The location was breath taking and very extreme..almost impossible to capture in photographs. We met the villagers who are not so distant relatives of our driver, Dirviş.

The Kurds are from tribes, like our Native Americans. Dirviş is from the Xawişta tribe...nomads..raise sheep for wool and food, they have a few cows and some horses, as well as a few crops of vegetables. Their land is expansive and seems to have no real defined boundries with fences or markers..but they know what is theirs. Very nice people displaying the typical Kurdish hospitality of yogurt, bread, cheeses, tea and conversation. I really enjoy some of these rituals and have been learning how to move within them and use them to my advantage. The following is why.

It can be very difficult and awkward to be white, blonde and blue eyed, as well as large compared to these people. I am watched and gawked at more than I am able to observe and study the people. They are more curious as to why a man, an American man would want to visit them and their town or city or village. Everywhere I go I would be followed by mostly children and a few woman and men to see what I was looking at, photographing, what I did, how I responded, as well as wanting to practice the 5 words they learned in English. It can be exhausting at times. This time I thought I would work more with-in their system and culture: that was actually the whole point of this trip!

We decided to go midday and sit with them..have tea and talk and let them get use to me and ask all of their questions, which there were many! I was able to make a few simple images as we walked into the village and found the chief of the village and were invited into the gathering tent for food and tea. We sat for a couple of hours while they showed us their various tools, the wool, some of their ceremonial cloths, ate some of their cheeses and yogurt and bread. One gentleman, a village guard even showed us his uniform and their weapons.... which struck me as odd...not sure why. In these situations, I always ask but will defer to NOT photograph..again to let things get settled and let everyone get to understand each other, especially if I am within someone’s home or yurt...it can be considered insulting. So I hide the cameras till later. Tahir, my guide told me that it was permissible to photograph him if I wished, so I did. He, and everyone else liked this idea very much. At that moment one of the younger village men heard of me and ran into the tent to say his Turk/English -hello how are yous- and sat next to me. He wore new cloths, like a young soccer player, and had clean shoes. I even teased him about it since he is at least 3 hours from civilization and works like...well... a nomadic villager. He laughed and proudly said he was a strong village guard like the man I photographed. My guide, Tahir picked up on something, and said it might be time to move on..make 4x5 images and leave. The light was still bad..so I just walked around the village with 3/4 of the people I was to photograph following me everywhere. I walked up the hills to do an over view with the soccer guy leading the way, and Tahir yelled at me to come down...it was time to go. I snapped back and said I HAD to make 4x5 images first..that was what I paid for. We did finally..only 3-4..and not that great....something was off, just not there. This happens sometimes, just not the right light or subject or time..cant always have winners. I noticed that soccer guy was always near me, saying the 5 English words frequently..and I noticed Tahir and Derviş were not around. Well, I finally, after 4 weeks of traveling alone into bizarre areas and situations..got nervous. You have to envision that when I make these images, there are at least 30 people huddled around me as close as they can get to see and watch...it can be cute...at times...just not this time. I yelled for Tahir, and he came running. He said sharply in his Napoleonic way that we had to leave..NOW. Derviş came around the corner on a donkey with food and wool for his family, Tahir grabbed my bag from a kid that was helping me, and we walked briskly from the village up hill, through the next little tent camp and farther up the mountain where we left the van. Honestly, I really didn’t think anything was wrong...I was actually pissed that the light was getting good and they wouldn’t let me stop to make portraits. Tahir would have none of it...we had to go..It would be dark quickly and the mountains are unsafe at night. We left, quickly, with me pissed and fuming in the middle of the van.

We got to the bottom of the mountain and found a spot to refill our water bottles and wash up a bit for the ride home. Tahir and I had words about the trip and how disappointed I was. Tahir apologized profusely, and explained that he did not feel well, and felt unsafe in the village. My understanding was that these were his people, his culture, and his nation. He informed me that they were Dervişes people...his TRIBE. We spat for a bit, but I let it go..It’s not my town and not my business.

The next morning Tahir and Derviş met me for morning tea. Derviş speaks no English, so Tahır and another man would explain in tandem when someone spoke to me, as they did with Derviş. I honestly trust these people, they have helped me everyday to learn and study and photograph, I really do trust them...I have to. Derviş immediately proceeded to explain to Tahir and I what happened yesterday, and why things were so odd, apparently for all of us. Tahir and Derviş are from separate tribes of Kurdish people. Their villages are a few miles apart over the mountains that Tahir showed me in the village. Apparently a couple of weeks ago one of Tahırs tribe had killed one of Dervişes. I think we all know how this progresses...i.e. Hatfield/McCoy. Hang on, cause this is the twist...the person was killed because he was a military informant against the PKK..the Kurdish Workers Party.

Each village has its own guards to police and protect. They are village appointed and only applicable within that village. The military knows this. The PKK are backed and protected by these outer lying nomadic villages, like the Al Queda in the mountains of Afghanistan. The PKK are fighting to help the Kurdish gain independence. The Gendarme, or military has figured this out and has taken to bribing the village guards for information and the movements of the gorillas. The man killed was one of the informants. The guy with the soccer cloths was also an informant, but a very stupid one. Tahir figured this out, and lied to him to protect me, as well as himself. The guy could have killed Tahir for being from the tribe that killed his friend/relative, but he was more interested in me, and being a model, and had not heard what tribe Tahir was from, and wanted to be my friend. For once, dealing with vain idiots seems to have protected me from a slightly awkward situation.

Everything turned out fine and there was no immediate danger, but very good lesson to listen to your instincts...but more importantly to your Napoleonic friend and guide!

I leave tomorrow morning for Istanbul for another two days..and then back home to the USA, although it will be Oregon for rest, relaxation and re-entry into America. I am very sad to be leaving...but I will come back.

Portraits of the Kurdish Villagers..and the PKK.

I think today is Tuesday...Finally got to the Internet cafe early enough to get a number of images up loaded. Thank God I stumbled across this one, since it has Photoshop and I can at least get the images sized and turned right side up!

The following shots are from the negatives of the 4x5 Polaroid’s, considering the villagers ran off with the print as soon as they saw it! These are the decedents of the original Kurdish people that came to Van centuries ago, and continue to live in the same nomadic ways as their ancestors. It is possible that they are mixed with the Armenians that also resided here after 612 BC.








We spent the afternoon walking around the lake talking with some of the villagers about the lake, what the seasons are like for them, how long they have been there. They are obviously a very strong and resilient people, just look at the faces. They were very nice and accepting of me, again I think they were more interested in me than I was in them. I did learn a very important journalism lesson...DO NOT LET THE SUBJECTS KNOW THAT YOU ARE SHOOTING DIGITALLY AND THEY CAN LOOK AT THEMSELVES! This was a BIG mistake on my part. In less than 30 seconds the children noticed that I was looking at the back of the camera now and again..one spotted the image and I showed it to her...then all hell broke loose. Every child in the village came over to be photographed saying -shoot me shoot me shoot me- in Kurdish. I photographed every child at least three times. We left to let things calm down and had tea on the other side of the lake with a village elder. The sun was starting to set; I politely told him that I had work to do still. We gave him our food and headed back into the nomadic tent camp. All the kids came back around with the village leaders. Tahir had helped explain that I wished to make portraits of him and his family as well as the other villagers. With a very loud smile he agreed and had me come into his tent for yet MORE tea. I handed my 35mm to Tahir and started to set up the 4x5, and that all familiar silence fell over everyone. I talked through Tahir to explain what I was doing and how it all worked and what I needed...like a tripod! Well, I got a 5 gallon metal oilcan and a chair...good enough! I made one shot of the leader in the tent...and pandemonium broke out again. He ran out with the image, everyone saw it, and then tent became flooded with village kids and people. I had to go out side to get the better setting sun light. I wish Tahir could have photographed what I was doing because it was hysterical. There were 25 people gathered around the back of me waiting to be photographed. I would hand pick the ones I felt were best, since I had limited film. Thank God for Tahir, because he not only was trying to do crowd control, but he also was able to get the only elder woman in the village to sit for me..and he told me to do it fast. Fast...with a 4x5....no tripod...no loupe to focus....yeah..okay. Well, it all worked out. I made 9 great portraits, only had the camera knocked over once and my back twice.




These images are from our leisure day at Lake Van. Great warmish inland sea, and very easy to float in! It was great to get out of town again for a while, fresh air and WATER! My body really needed that after two days of literal mountain climbing and feeling like I have been working everyday since leaving Mass.











These are from a barbque we had at Tıeres home just in the Barrio type area of Van. His kids are great and his wife is very sweet. We had a great feast of Kurdish meatballs and -Hot Salad- which is just like Green Chili stew! We had a lot of fun and even better conversations.














I learned even more interesting things about the Kurds...especially the ones I happened to be in the company of. The older man that has been driving us around and teaching me about the history of Van, Muktar, was a gorilla for the PKK. Tahir, my guide and friend has two brothers currently in the PKK with one of them imprisoned as an organizer. It’s all very parallel with the events that have occurred in America centuries ago..and continue today in Israel and the Middle East, with possibly one exception. They do not wish to have back what was theirs centuries ago like most of the warring Muslim and non-Muslim nations throughout the Middle East and even Europe...they want equality with the nations they have been forced to live with. Sound familiar? They cant -go back to Kurdistan- it no longer exists. They know they can’t just make 5 nations give up land to remake Kurdistan. They just want representation for their people in the nations they do reside in. Unfortunately for them they had chosen a route of violence and guerrilla warfare; a tactic the world does not respond well to.

Today they are going to teach me more about the history of the Kurds and what they are doing now. I think we are going to plan a trip to Hakkarı, and possibly Iran to see a more established town of Kurds where I can make a more complete story..maybe make a few more portraits before leaving in a week. Everyday things get more and more interesting, and everyday the world gets smaller and smaller.

More soon

Images of Village above Van

Okay, this is rough, but I hope they work. More about this amazing excursion into the mountains above Van later. Found a cafe with Photoshop! Too bad its an old version..cant open my RAW fıles! The main issue I seem to have is I can only get one or two images to actually load onto the blog...I think it has to do with the HORDES OF LAZY KIDS WITH NOTHING BETTER TO DO THAN INSTANT MESSAGE WITH VIDEO IMAGES TO EACHOTHER ALL AFTERNOON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Sort of clogs things up..and pisses me off! Can you tell?

Enjoy.