Carroll Family

This is a great picture of my father's family when they lived in Cape Elizabeth.

Sasha's Modeling Shoot

Sasha and I went out to her secret spot for taking portraits, and we did a photo shoot of her. Taking modeling pictures was an eye opening experience for me, but I love the results. She's so beautiful!

Some of my favorites are right here, but at the bottom you can also see a slideshow with all of them.

From Photo Shoot of Sasha

From Photo Shoot of Sasha

From Photo Shoot of Sasha

From Photo Shoot of Sasha

HOBY Maine Program Book and Videos

We just had the 2009 HOBY Maine Seminar a few weeks ago, and it was another great one. This year I did not have my own group of students, but instead was more of a coordinator for the whole seminar. (At least from the kids' perspectives.) Beth did the seminar planning again this year and did a great job!

This year I was the Director of Publicity for the Board, and among my responsibilities was the website and the Seminar Program Book. You can look at the Program book PDF here.

HOBY Maine 2009 Seminar Program Book

For the website I made two simple videos to better explain what HOBY is to the parents and students. This first one talks generally about what HOBY is, and why a person should donate.

This second video tells prospective seminar students a bit more about what to expect at the HOBY Seminar.

Please check out our HOBY Maine Website and consider donating.

Unbuilt Architecture Awards

Here in Portland, Maine we have a Portland Society of Architects, just like Boston has the BSA. Now of course we're not as big scale here, but it's a great organization from my experience. This Spring I entered my thesis from 2006 in the PSA's Unbuilt Architecture Awards Competition in the "Intern" category. . . and I won!

I didn't make the award ceremony because I was volunteering for HOBY, but the board I submitted will be on display this coming Friday, June 5th at the Salt Institute for Documentary Studies which is now at 561 Congress Street.

I haven't seen any of the competition entries, but I'm sure there will be lots of good ones on display. Here's the board of mine that you will see if you're there. (Click here for the full PDF.)

I am excited to have my thesis on display. It will be during the First Friday Art Walk so there are sure to be tons of people walking around. The Salt Institute is also a fantastic institution, so it will be great to be able to hang out there for an evening. It will hopefully be a warm summer evening full of art and conversation.

I am looking forward rubbing elbows with friends, family and colleagues all night, and I will have something of my own to talk about for a change. I invite anyone interested to come!

6pm, Friday, June 5th, 2009 at Salt (561 Congress Street)

Urban Contra Dancing

This is not my video, but a friend made it for her film class. It was fun to be part of, and the Empire Contra Dance really is awesome!

House and Bride

I'm getting married! This was the image on the save-the-date postcard:

It is my future bride running to her parents house, where the ceremony will be held. Her and I had a great time coming up with the idea and making it happen.

The composition was oddly familiar. . . 

. . . ah yes. . . 

No idea is totally original I guess.

Rings

I just finished taking a creative writing class. We spend just an hour writing in each class and then share our writing immediately. That leave the writing unpolished but very fresh. This story, based on things my grandfather recently told me, is probably true but I took a few liberties to make it cohesive.

My Grandfather's story has been substantiated only by him. I have yet to question other parties involved, but it does help explain many things. Like his right ear that no longer hears, why the wedding rings he gave me are not just any-old-rings, and perhaps, just perhaps, his story could explain why in Portland it is illegal for men to tickle women under the chin with feather dusters. (The feather dusters part is a shameless insertion of that week's writing prompt which was a list of odd laws.) 

My grandfather is a Portlander and his mother is a Portlander and father and I, we are all Portlanders. It is important to understand that. Important to understand that I could, if I could just nail down a few more facts, visit the place he was married, where he had his first kiss, and where his mother first  lost her wedding ring.

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The details, as I mentioned, are a bit lacking and I find myself more reluctant than expected to fill them in fictitiously. I will start with my grandfather the signaler. In World War II he enlisted, went to the Pacific, and grew up the quick way. 

He learned the skill of flagging. Two short, red and white squares. Not even a flag. Rigid works better, communicates better. Hold one in each hand at abrupt angles. One o'clock and nine o'clock, three and eleven o'clock, snap snap snap. Saying "Yes, bring the boats in. Unload. Hold up, still unpacking. All set here. Go to the next camp."

On the final landing at Iwo Jima my grandfather, like the rest, was just taking orders, waiting or reacting. Even so he was an orchestrator. Someone with the ability to make things happen at a time and place. Close to the higher-ups by necessity meant that he collected the beer rations for him and his fellows. An essential task of course. Two of them didn't drink. No matter, more for the rest.

Finishing beers was certainly a worthwhile pass time with no motivation to explore the nearby fauna. The beach was wide open, without surprises, full of friends, food and beer. The jungle surely hid the enemy. Stragglers, either unwilling or unable to retreat. Unable to retreat was not the same as unable to fire.

The beach without surprises. The thing about surprises is that they are not expected. Those who cannot retreat have little to live for. Those who have time and beer give up other things. My grandfather suspects that someone in the jungle got to their ammunition dump. What he knows is that he came to awareness wandering the jungle. His hearing compromised, but his life was not. His mother's wedding ring, still on his right hand, would be returning to her yet again, against the odds, with her son.

A returned soldier is a hero, a catch, proven, desired material. At least in his own eyes. In reality it becomes tiresome to say "Speak to my other ear," to explain again and again that the ring is on the RIGHT hand. And besides, who's really asking about the ring anyway? Certainly not Ethel Peru (name changed), spotted a few rows ahead in Church and far more interesting than the father and his words. She became the spoon-full-of-sugar that accompanied his mother's orders to attend church again upon returning from the war. This Ethel was going to take some work.

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I now know that for pizza, real pizza with the wonderful smell, without the edgy doughs and topping combinations, can be found at Pizza Villa. Pizza built on tradition. Oddly, the perfect place for father, son and grandson who haven't stood together in years to share some beers, eat, and talk.

It is an event. Three generations brought together for the exchange of rings. Once one ring, then formed into two on the hands of Ethel and the soldier, now passed to me, bound by a purple twist-tie, with shaking hands.

My faith (TED Talks, Barry Schwartz)

When asked if I believe in God I hestitate to say "no" because while God is a word I would never use, I do have blind, unfounded faith. I believe that people are good. This is the basis of this TED Talk by Barry Schwartz. I hope you enjoy it as I did.

Whoosh. . . bump.

This is pulled out from the archives. . . . ice sledding in PDX.

Writing Workshop

I'm taking a writing workshop right now. The main focus is on creative writing, and others in the class do great stuff with their characters. I seem to be hovering between prose fiction and autobiographical poetry. Here's something I wrote last night.

A stone wall warmed by the sun, in a feild of hay, is the best sort for walking on top of. And barefoot of course, is the best way to do it. Barefoot and with a friend, on a summer's day, and the smell of hay, all around.

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Most of the stone walls I know have not smelled the scent of hay in a long time. They can be found aged in a forest, beneath the trees, resting. Less glamour, but no less dignity. A stroll on these walls may be less carefree, but more thoughtful. There is awe to be felt in these walls' age and experience. Seeing carefull tending, progress and yeild, now seeing unbridled growth, nature and peace.

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Aging with respect. That's what we deserve. Don't move the wall, don't rebuild it, don't mimick it, don't forget it, but DO visit it. Remember with the wall, what IT was. Remember with them, who THEY were. The secret to eternal youth is hope for the future. If not for ourselves then for those who visit.