The House

I love the concept of an alternative gallery space. 

When I visited the Storehouse dispensary in Mount Washington back in March, I was inspired to see some art on the walls by several local artists. It wasn't always like this—art on the walls—but I was stoked about the new direction. Paintings and digital illustrations, very cool, but I didn't notice any photography. This felt like an opportunity, so I decided to track down the manager to see if they'd be interested in supporting a Woodberry photographer.

I had the perfect photo in mind, a mash-up of two images that I captured in the neighborhood of Locust Point and wrote about here. I thought the work—if displayed in a sweet maple frame—would compliment the rainbow signage in the lobby, which also had a stylish wood frame. And the thin white line separating my two photos would play nicely with the horizontal lines that underscored the sativa, the hybrid and the indica, which are varying strains of the cannabis flower. And for bonus points, a mash-up and a hybrid are kinda the same thing, the hybrid being a blend of sativa and indica.

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Hybrid | Baltimore, MD | 2023

The manager was excited, I was excited, everybody was excited. I only had one deadline to meet; make sure the mash-up was hanging in the lobby by July 1st, which was the first day recreational cannabis would be legal in Maryland.

Done. We hung that badboy on June 1st. 

The mash-up will live in The House indefinitely, or until it sells, or until I decide to replace it with something new. It's basically an ALT exhibition that I can have fun with, keep it funky, mix it up. 

There is a t-shirt you can buy at Atomic Books in Hampden that says, "Baltimore: Actually I like it." I'm digging that. But maybe an ALT tee would go something like, "Be: Art, Love & Trees." I know, I’m a hippie.

Find your happy home.

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The Ponies

A few years ago I wrote about nostalgia, and in particular, my fond memories of going to Santa Anita in the late 1970s to bet on the ponies with my family on Christmas day. As far as I was concerned, this was living large, second to none, except for waking up and seeing a bunch of gifts under the Xmas tree. Shower me with riches, bitches! Yeah, I had me an attitude back in the day. I had dreams of being a macho man even though I was a super featherweight. But nah, I wasn't a fighter. I remember getting shoved to the ground while playing basketball in junior high. My head hit the asphalt so hard I was literally paralyzed for what felt like forever. But I kept pushing my skinny attitude on others which abruptly stopped after getting punched in the face by my kinda-but-not-really friend in high school. I'm glad he did that. I had it coming. So yeah, I dropped the tough guy act that sunny day in Los Angeles. But somehow I was still angry inside, always on the defensive. I had a short fuse because I was bullied from an early age. Kids made fun of my nose, which made me hate being around people. My dad felt so helpless the only thing he could think of was to get me one of them new fangled noses. Fix me up, change the way I looked. This all helped in the short term but over the years I suffered the consequences. But this is life; a lot of things have changed since then.

Now I live in the Woodberry neighborhood of Baltimore which is an hour's walk to Pimlico, famous for being the second leg of the Triple Crown—The Preakness. Horses have big noses too. Maybe that's why I love them so much. My nose is a mess these days; it's all kinds of misshapen and full of spider veins, the likely result of premature surgery, booze, genetics and way too much sun damage from my surfing days. I often wonder what I would look like if my appearance was never altered. I imagine I would have a nose similar to Adrian Brody or Owen Wilson, who are both beautiful. But I am beautiful too because I've come to realize that my soul is what matters most.

Why the long face? Sure, it's the butt of a corny ha-ha, but horses have the long face for a reason; it helps them graze the grassy fields while keeping alert for predators. I can relate. I still feel anxiety when I am around people, but this cautiousness has shaped my pictorial aesthetic—which rarely features another human being (or horse).

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A Day at the Races | Santa Anita, CA | 1990

In order to walk to Pimlico from Woodberry I had to cut through the neighborhood of Park Heights, which I recently documented here. When I explore a new area of Baltimore I typically take dozens upon dozens of photos. But Park Heights was different. I spent more time contemplating and less time composing. Park Heights was—once upon a time—a thriving community. But today, the neighborhood is largely impoverished and deteriorating, which are not my favorite conditions to photograph. So instead of taking pictures, I walked cautiously and thought about my relationship to horse racing, which like the community of Park Heights, has significantly changed throughout the years.

The last time I went to a racetrack was in 2011 when I took the A train to Aqueduct. But I didn't go there to bet on the ponies; I schlepped to Queens to make a short ambient video. A few years before Aqueduct, I visited Belmont Park. And before my decades of living in Manhattan, I frequented several tracks in California: Santa Anita, Los Alamitos, Fairplex and Del Mar. My handicapping consisted of buying a Racing Form and channeling Charles Bukowski. Sometimes I would hang around the paddock just to stare a horse in the eye before placing my favorite bet: $2 exacta box, three horses, $12 wager. But like most gamblers, I pretty much lost money on a consistent basis, which is one of the reasons I stopped going. If someone were to invite me to the Preakness, which is coming up on May 20th, I would respectfully decline the invitation, but I would delight in the memories of—back in the day. But the real reason I would stay home is my love for animals. I don't eat the cow and I think horse racing is just another form of abuse. Horses love to run; I'm cool with that. And many are treated with grace and dignity. But I also know that some horses are exploited and oppressed, which reminds me of the neighborhood of Park Heights—downtrodden just beyond the grandstand.

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Red Bows and BBQ

I grew up smelling BBQ, mostly on the weekends, always with friends. The laughter was honest and the games were competitive. This was family life.

Weekends. I love them. The streets are quiet and empty. So I throw on my backpack and jump on a train. Just me and the camera and some sleepy—on the verge. This was a Saturday afternoon and I was headed to the Maryland Art Place (MAP) on West Saratoga Street in downtown Baltimore. The night before was the opening of a holiday inspired exhibition that I wrote about here. I had taken some casual photos of the merriment on Friday, but I wanted to capture the space when it was deserted and calm, which is my aesthetic-du-jour.

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Maryland Art Place | Baltimore, MD | 2022

Red bows indicate a sale. I had three photographs displayed on the wall behind the stage; two of them sold. I got me a bow, yo. When I first moved to Baltimore I visited an art gallery in Hampden. While walking around the space the owner inquired if I was looking for something in particular. I asked if they had any photography. No, photos don't sell, was the answer. I was like, dang. Most of the art exhibited at the MAP holiday sale was also—not photography. Out of the 70+ artists represented, I think there were two photographers. I was lucky to be included in the exhibition and super grateful that my work appealed to someone else. But who was that mysterious someone? I wish I knew who purchased my work. Where did they live? Was it for them, or was it a gift? Yes, I could have done a better job while I was at the party paying attention to the elves, who were the festive folks assigned to manage the sale between patron and artwork. I could have lurked behind a pillar and spied on any activity buzzing around my photos; but I didn't. I was looking at the other work and awkwardly speaking with artists and basically snooping around MAP since I hadn't been there before, especially in such a privileged capacity.

Living in retrospect.

After taking a few pictures of the gallery and silently reminiscing, I left MAP and headed uptown via Tyson Street, which is basically a back alley. My plan was to walk home and take a bunch of photos along the way (I ended up taking 160 pics over the course of 4 miles). But I needed to eat first. I was in the mood for a falafel, something I could hold in my hand and tear up. I was getting weak. Then I smelled it: BBQ.

Trevor was grilling chicken and ribs in the parking lot at the Downtown Cultural Arts Center. I told him I was a vegetarian and asked if he could make me something good. He said he could make me one of them Beyond Burgers. I said, ok, and started rubbing my hands together, excited as I watched him expertly tend to the meats, smoke all in my face, remembering the swimming pool on Kittridge Street in Canoga Park, CA where something was always sizzling on the grill. Trevor said he could put cheese on it: lettuce, tomato, onion. I said, yes sir.

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View From the Curb on Tyson Street | Baltimore, MD | 2022

So there I was, sitting on the curb, eating my cheeseburger. Trevor gave me a water on the house which I used to clean my hands after devouring the drippy deliciousness. I took a nice, long chug and looked up; nothing but blue skies and puffy clouds.

The perfect day for taking a picture.

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Holiday Exhibition at Maryland Art Place

I was invited to exhibit my photography at the 10th Annual Benefit Exhibition at Maryland Art Place (MAP) in Baltimore and I couldn't be happier. Let me break it down.

Back in April I became a member of MAP. My $30 fee was a modest way to show support for the arts. Basically, I had intentions to submit my work to MAP for open calls and such, so I thought it would be good karma to throw them some love up front. In July, my $30 membership gifted me a thank you letter from the Executive Director which said, "Later this year we will be celebrating our 10th annual benefit exhibition. We would love to see you there!" I thought that was so sweet. But did she mean as a patron or an artist? Either way, I had work to do. 

My priorities were thus: 1) Wake up and drink very fresh, dark roast coffee, 2) Honor my friendship with Dee, 3) Take pictures of Baltimore.

Pretty simple plan. I also wanted to be on the lookout for any emails from MAP in regards to what they were up to and announcements for open calls. I noticed MAP was marketing their public art program, IMPACT, at the Hotel Indigo, which at the time was a solo show for a local painter. I put it on my to-do list—take a field trip to the Indigo. I eventually visited the hotel, which is conveniently located in the heart of Mount Vernon, and was jazzed by the venue, which was originally a YMCA back in 1907. The high ceilings were impressive, the retro furniture was chill and the cozy fireplace was a nice touch. I studied the paintings on display, but I also imagined having a photography show in the space, which would require larger prints than I was currently producing, and it would take approximately 12 frames to fill the room. I calculated the production cost at $3,400, which means I'd have to sell every photo, priced at $500, just to break even, which assumes a 50/50 split with MAP. I took one more look around the lounge and laughed out loud. Every photo. Hilarious. I’d be lucky if I sold one. But I wasn’t bumming, in fact, I felt motivated as I leaped down the Hotel Indigo stairs and headed uptown. 

Weeks passed without seeing an open call I could sink my teeth into, but I noticed MAP was hosting an MFA exhibition, which sounded like a perfect opportunity to check out their gallery, which I did. The space was classic, with the wood floors and that Soho loft feel; I loved it and felt my work would play nicely with their smooth white walls. At this point I was convinced my $30 membership was starting to pay off, but I would continue to scroll the MAP newsletters for future opportunities.

In September, while savoring my morning Sumatra and posting the daily gram, I read that MAP was seeking submissions for their inaugural exhibition at Zeke’s Coffee, which was a new addition to there public art program, IMPACT. I was interested; and ended up submitting my work. I wrote about it here. While at the opening reception at Zeke’s, I met the Executive Director of MAP and told her I appreciated the letter she sent me in response to my new membership. We got to talking a bit and I learned that the Zeke’s show had a three tiered vetting process which included herself, the program manager and a 12 person advisory committee. Well alright. The Zeke’s show runs through January 11th.

On October, 20th, I received an email from MAP that said their Program Advisory Committee had invited me to submit my work for their 10th Annual Benefit Exhibition. This was uplifting news. I was honored to submit the following three photos: My Chariot Awaits (2022), I Used to Be Super Lonely (2019) and The Trending Appeal of Corrugated Steel (2022).

***

The benefit exhibition runs for two days only: December 9th (Fri) & 10th (Sat). It’s a unique holiday event where each piece of art can be purchased, taken off the wall, and wrapped while you chill; which means, it’s more like a craft show than a typical exhibition where you can’t take your art home until the exhibition ends. 

On Friday the entry fee is $25 and includes an open bar, a DJ, drag queens as your hosts, and a cookies and ice cream sandwich truck. Naturally, you are encouraged to wear your most festive holiday sweater. Friday runs from 6pm-10pm. There is free parking in the Arrow garage across the street. 

Saturday the admission is free (because a portion of the art is sold by then and the drag queens and cookies are long gone) and runs from 12pm-4pm.

***

Ok, for sure, my $30 membership has definitely paid off. And I’d still be lucky if one of my photos sold; but I’m not bumming, because I will be attending the show as a grateful patron and a humbled artist. 

The best of both worlds.

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Don't Think

Yes, and: the basic philosophy of the Upright Citizens Brigade (UCB).

UCB is an improv and sketch comedy group that eventually morphed into a theatre and training center. I learned about UCB when I lived in NYC and went to a bunch of their shows in Chelsea and the East Village. I was bummed when they shuttered their NY presence in 2020 but happy to know they still have a home in Los Angeles. Although I moved to NYC in 1995 I didn't learn about UCB until 2013 which is when I met Elle who was taking a series of classes at UCB and subsequently became a member of an NYC improv troupe called, "Ski Legend." I went to all of their gigs and started to delight in the art of improv. 

Yes, and. An improv scene usually starts with someone in the group making a statement about something to another person in the group. The other person agrees with what they heard (yes) and then adds another detail (and). 

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The front of Elle’s t-shirt which she purchased at the UCB in Chelsea, NYC

When Elle and I took a trip to London in 2015 we treated ourselves to an improv show called "Austentatious" which is an improvised Jane Austen novel. London is brilliant. We spent five days based out of the Ace Hotel in Shoreditch and packed in as much as we could: the London Eye, a spot of tea, the Tate Modern, the National Portrait Gallery, fish and chips, the Soho Theatre. We walked everywhere and thought London would be wicked if we knew somebody that lived there, an artist perhaps, someone that showed us London on the cheap, nothing too fancy, maybe a trip beyond the perimeter, a tad more intimate.

These are the dreams of adventure.

In the meantime, Baltimore is as good as anywhere to embrace intimacy, which is basically what improv is all about. Yes, and—positively support your partner, keep the scene moving forward, and don’t think too much, just go with the flow. Trust. Improv partners are everywhere; we just have to recognize when a scene begins.

I received a message from a friend the other day inviting me to submit one of my photos for a collective photography exhibition called “I Don’t Know What You See” hosted by the artist IMPREINT and featuring 28 artists from around the world. This was the beginning of the scene. I said yes, and sent them Diesel. 

The exhibition will be on Saturday, 15 October from 15:00-23:00 BST at the IMPREINT Space—in London. 

It’s smashing to be back. 

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The back of Elle’s t-shirt which she purchased at the UCB in Chelsea, NYC (sequined heart added by Elle)

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Partially Based on a True Story

Fact:

Two photos from my series of minimalist Baltimore exteriors will be making their public debut at the inaugural group art exhibition hosted by Maryland Art Place entitled, IMPACT: Baltimore Showcase @ Zeke's. The show opens on Thursday, September 29th and runs through January 11, 2023.  

Fiction: (partially based on a true story)

I am fastidious when it comes to daily living, which also applies to art making and more recently, picture framing. I trust Metropolitan Picture Framing in Minneapolis when it comes to crafting the frames for my photography. Their work is exact, consistent and high quality. But the job doesn't stop there. Once I receive Metro's frame I put everything together, which basically relies on two very specific things: 1) Ensuring that the glazing (museum glass) is spotless, which for anyone who has worked with museum glass knows—is not easy, considering both sides of the glass have an anti-reflective coating and one side is also coated with UV protection; the glass is gorgeous, but it's high maintenance; cotton, lint free gloves are a must, and 2) Making sure there are no foreign particles (boogers, hair, flakes of skin, dust) under the glass or on the photograph; a soft, anti-static brush is perfect for this task.

Once I've ensured the above two things, I am ready to screw in the strainers, attach the strap hangers and seal the frame, which I've done before and then turned the frame over only to see some debris under the glass. Fuuuuuck. I hate it when that happens; which is why I am so careful. 

When I delivered the two frames to Maryland Art Place I had a silent moment to myself, invoking both Grace and Hope Walk Into a Bar and The Ghosts of Detention with a safe and happy journey to Zeke's, which is a coffee shop located in the neighborhood of Lauraville in northeast Baltimore. I thought about the photographs being hung. Would anybody be wearing white cotton gloves? Oh goodness, my heart started to tremble. I felt like I was sending my kids off to first grade. Nerves. I took a deep breath and whispered my last goodbye, “See y’all on opening night, daddy loves you.”

Dee and I have nightly dance parties.

So far our new neighbors haven't complained. But we are civil, keeping those phat bass lines to a reasonable bump. Our sets last around 10 songs so even if we were a bit ecstatic, it's just a temporary nuisance. Ain't nobody getting hurt. When we are feeling it (you know, butts out, the usual) we often have intimate conversations about our day. On this particular DP we got to talking about the opening reception at Zeke's. How wonderful everything turned out and how lucky we were to have our first Baltimore show go off without a hitch. The show was fabulously curated, full of diversity, and oh how happy we were with the placement of our photos, in an area with nice light, but perhaps a tad bit close to the bathroom. But hey, it's a coffee shop, the vibe is youthful, artsy, caffeinated and intellectual; our kind of people.

After the dance we made a delicious celebratory dinner and then crawled into bed for a quickie crossword puzzle, relaxing in the glow of it all; no worries, it is written, our kids survived their first day of class. My phone rang. I picked it up because it said Maryland Art Place. "Hey, what's up?" 

"Hi Michael, sorry to bother you."

I recognized the voice; it was the curator from MAP. "No worries," I said. "Is everything ok?"

"Um, well, yes, everything is fine."

I glanced over at Dee while the curator took a breath. Dee looked back at me with grave concern. I continued listening.

"You see, after the reception was over, the party kind of continued at Zeke's. Everyone was super amped. Really great show. But, you know, um, a couple was making out near the bathroom and it got a bit heavy, in a good way, I mean, kids just having fun and one thing led to another and—boom—The Ghosts of Detention flew off the wall and crashed onto the floor, glass everywhere."

"Oh no,” I said and looked directly into Dee's wide eyes.

"So I just wanted to say I sincerely apologize for this accident and if you'd like to replace The Ghosts with another photo we would love to make that happen—ASAP."

I looked at Dee and didn't take my eyes off her as I deliberately spoke into the phone, "So the photo fell off the wall (pausing to look at Dee), and crashed onto the floor (pausing once again), and it's in pieces?" I held my eyes on Dee.

"That's correct."

I kept looking at Dee. I wasn't smiling. I was expressionless. Like a Sergio Leone western, Dee looked at me, then I looked at her—and then—Dee spontaneously burst into laughter! I started laughing too. It was so joyful. Tears filled our eyes. "I'm sorry, we're just enjoying this moment. What a blessing.”

The curator patiently waited out our catharsis.

I steadied myself while looking directly into Dee's eyes and spoke softly into the phone, "You know, no need to replace that photo, everything is just the way it's supposed to be. This is a city on the verge—after all."

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