New York City: Mikhael Subotsky - W. Eugene Smith grant winner; Wasilla: mean dog, cute baby

This is Mikhael Subotsky, the Cape Town, South Africa, photojournalist* who won this year's $30,000 W. Eugene Smith Memorial Fund Grant in Humanistic Photography and he is just about to inflict significant pain upon me. Following the awards ceremony, the Fund hosted Subotsky and several others of us who had played a roll in this year's event at a fine, French restaurant where diners are greeted by a calico cat.

After dinner, a group of us were standing on the corner waiting for cabs and that is when I took this picture with my Canon Powershot G9 point and shoot pocket camera. I had wanted to bring my big, heavy, Canon 1Ds M III with me to New York, because of the quality of pictures that it produces - especially under low light such as this. Yet, given the state of my still healing shoulder, I knew that I could not handle carrying the weight of that camera around New York, so I left it home and took only the G9.

Subotsky's cab came first. Before getting into it, he shook hands with everybody on the corner. I had meant to warn him that I had broken my shoulder in June and that my whole arm and hand was still sore and delicate, but before I could, he clenched my hand in a vice-grip and vigorously pumped it up and down.

Despite the sudden pain, I managed not to howl out or scream. He then let go of my hand, and, as I struggled to maintain my composure, with his left hand he suddenly gave me a good, hearty, vigorous, friendly, cuff directly over what had been one of my major fractures.

I gritted my teeth and suppressed the scream that tried to escape me. I smiled, expressed once again my admiration for the powerful, stunning, poetic, enlightening look this 27-year old photographer has taken at this often dark life that we all share and then said good-bye as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Not far from Broadway and 84th Street, where Sue Brisk, of the Funds Board of Trustees dropped me off by cab, I spotted this homeless man pushing his cart past the trappings of a fantasy world so impossible to him. This gave me a good excuse to point my camera at a fantasy image of the kind that I never have nor ever expect to get to take - although I damn well sure could, given the lights, the model, the assistants and the time.

I damn well sure could!

I attended this year's awards ceremony because I had won a first runner-up grant in 1999 and, as a Smith fellow, had now been invited to show a sample of work I had done since. Furthermore, as my little hometown has recently become famous, infamous, and notorious, I was asked if I might show some Wasilla photos as well.

The test run went fine, but - oh my! The presentation! Technological nightmare. Instead of photos, I put on a display of gigantic pixels over tiny images, some of which hinted at possible photography. 

Fortunately, I quickly realized that the situation had gone to hell and was not likely to get better and so I joked about it and kept everybody laughing all the way to the end and afterward managed to get a bunch of positive comments anyway.

I then spent the rest of the week in New York and I walked all around, at least ten and maybe sometimes 15 miles each day. I rode the subway, again and again and again. As I walked and rode, I snapped a hodge-podge of images with my little pocket camera.

Now, I will devote my next few entries to samples of my New York grab shots.

To keep the blog relevant to Wasilla, each time I do I will also include a few of the Wasilla images that I took to New York to show. To keep the blog timely to the day, I will end each of these presentations with some pocket-camera Wasilla images from the date of the post.

Here, then, are the three images that I used to introduce Wasilla to New York:

And yes, this damn dog bit me. Later, when it came after me again, its owner assured me that the dog was all bark and no bite, a truly loving and gentle character, not an individual to fear at all.

And here are five images from today in Wasilla:

My flight arrived at convicted Ted Stevens International Airport in Anchorage at 1:15 this morning. Daughter Melanie picked me up and got me home by about 3:00 AM. I slept in until 10:00 AM, then, as I always do the morning after I return from a trip, I got up and took Margie to breakfast, Kalib too.

A bit later, we ate lunch at Taco Bell, which now sits in the parking lot of the new Wasilla Target, where someone took a cigarette break, and talked on her phone. After New York, where people amazed me by bundling up in warm weather - some even wrapped their faces in scarves - it felt quite cold here, even though it was actually a nice, pleasant day in the teens. Single digits, now that evening has fallen (and come morning, a few degrees below zero).

As you can see, Rupright survived the primary and is still vying to take over Sarah Palin's old job. I have no idea why. If I can meet him, I will ask him, and share his answer with you.

The other primary survivor was Metiva. Same goes for him, should I meet him.

I end this day's presentation with baby Kalib and his mother - my wonderful daughter-in-law, Lavina, photographed in our driveway, right here in Wasilla, Alaska.

*Mikhael Subotsky's webpage.

Car breaks down, get it fixed, walk to pick it up, baby poops - a real stinker

Monday night, the car broke down. Starter wouldn't engage. Battery would die real quick. On Tuesday, called a tow truck to take it to the shop on Fish Hook: Fish Hook Tire and Auto. No car since. Glad it didn't happen during the trip to Fairbanks.

By today, not having a car had become annoying. Kalib, however, got himself into a position to crawl. He is ready to travel.

Called shop this afternoon. Said car be done at 4:00. Three mile walk. Started walking a little after 3:00. Along the way, I saw this kid, biking up Mulchatna. Got to shop close to 4:00 PM. Shop keeper said 10 more minutes. Gave me some chocolate cake - one piece for me and another for Margie.

Forty minutes lady car was done. Went home to pick up Margie so that we could go to a kiosk and get a brew to go with the chocolate cake. Stepped into the house to find Kalib had pooped in his diaper. It was a real smeller.

Margie cleaned him up, put on a new diaper, then discovered it was all over his shirt and had to start over. We climbed into the car, headed to the kiosk - Little Miller's this time.

Here we are, driving home, eating our cake, drinking our brew, right here in Wasilla, Alaska.

Baby Kalib's first snow / the death of one of the great whaling captains of Barrow

 

It's not really his first snow, as he was born the day after Christmas, last year, but it would seem to be the first snow that he took conscious note of.

Do you remember feeling this kind of wonder?

And it makes him smile. He's an Alaska boy, all right!

As for Muzzy, when it comes to snow, he's an old paw at it.

Muzzy in the snow.

Kalib observes falling flakes.

He touches his first snowball. 

Martigny. I took other pictures out and about in the snow today, and I intended to put some here, but I think I will wait and share them tomorrow, maybe. This was Kalib's day.

The death of the great whaling captain, Arnold Brower Sr., Barrow

Iñupiat Eskimo Whaling Captain Arnold Brower Sr. was found dead this morning, not far from his camp on a river near Barrow. Apparently, from what little information I have so far, his snowmachine fell through the ice. I am told that he was able to get out, but even so he did not make it.

He was the father of 17 children and I have no idea how many grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren. One thing that could almost always be counted on was, come whaling season, his crew, the ABC crew, would bring home a bowhead whale to feed the community.

I took this picture inside his home three summers ago, as he fed me caribou soup. Just by the taste of it, Arnold could tell you where a caribou had been shot and in what season.

His crew will be featured in an upcoming National Geographic TV special, so keep your eye out for it.

Arnold was 85. There is no one more knowledgeable about Arctic survival then was he. I found him to be a kind and generous man; exceptionally observant and intelligent. He served as a paratrooper in World War II and since that time had been at the forefront of anything having to do with Native rights and land claims. He did all that he could to make certain that the development which had to come to the Arctic would be done with protection of land and water, mammal, fish, and bird, and the Iñupiat culture at the forefront.

I am greatly saddened by the news of his death, but find comfort in the fact that he never had to face a nursing home and that, to the very end, he lived his life the way he loved it.

This time, we did breakfast at IHOP

  

Jacob loves IHOP corn pancakes and so it has become a Sunday tradition that we meet there for breakfast. As usual, I stepped out the door to start walking, even though the Wasilla IHOP is over five miles from our house. I saw this new snow embedded in the frost that settled down on Caleb's old car - the car that doesn't run anymore.

The plan was for Jacob and Lavina to come and pick me up after I had walked a couple of miles. Then we would go wait at IHOP for a table. Hopefully, we would have one by the time Margie took her lunch break and came to meet us. This is not Jacob and Lavina in the mini-van. I don't know who it is.

These two kids came walking in the opposite direction. I told them what I was doing and they proved to be very friendly. "Have a nice day," they smiled as they continued on in their direction and I, mine. In one of her bright and witty columns, humorist Maureen Dowd of the New York Times, disparaged Wasilla, for among other things, being a place without sidewalks. She forgot to mention our great bike trails.

 

Her dog died of cancer. After I walked for somewhat less than two miles, I turned around and was surprised to see Jacob and Muzzy, jogging toward me. Shortly afterward, we crossed the street and came upon this woman. She, too, had kept a giant dog, but it had come down with cancer. It grew so miserable and pathetic that she had it have it euthanized. She felt pretty badly about that.

I still feel bad about Willow and that was what, four years ago?

Lavina picked us up in the Tahoe. We had to wait for about five minutes for a table.

Kalib charms people, wherever we go.

Jake was dismayed. "Corn pancakes have been removed from our menu," the waitress told him after he ordered some. Perhaps the tradition will change now.

Breakfast at IHOP in contemporary times.

Muzzy gets his share.

The dog that tried to kill the bunny. Remember the rooster? The one that got shot at the place where the chicken crossed the road? This dog lives there as well, as does a bunny. Last June, shortly after my second surgery, the one where I got the new shoulder, I had barely begun my walk when I saw this dog break into the bunny pen, drag the bunny out, take it across the street and then begin to kill it.

In my condition, I was helpless to rescue the bunny. The children of the dog and bunny's people were bouncing on a trampoline in sight of everything, laughing and having a great time, completely unaware.

"Your dog is killing your rabbit!" I shouted. They did not hear. I shouted again and again and again as I drew closer. Finally, they heard. By the time they rescued the rabbit, it was very still and looked dead, but one of the boys told me later that it had survived and was doing fine.

I step into the house and find Martigny on the couch.

At 4:00 PM, I drive back to Wal-Mart to pick Margie up from work. Lavina is in the car with me. She wants to get coffee.

When we get to Wal-Mart, I am surprised to see Lisa there with Margie. She has driven up from Anchorage. She leaves her car in the parking lot and gets into ours. She wants to get coffee, too.

Tony the baristo. He is new. I have never seen him before. I wish him well, and tell him how to find this blog, so that he can see his picture.

Lisa and Jim. (Lisa wants it to be clear that the face poking out from her shirt is Joe Biden's - not John McCains.)

Our backyard. As dusk settled in, it began to snow.

In the woodstove, birch logs become heat. We used to cut all our own wood, but then I no longer had time for it. Now we buy. Just two winters ago, $100 a cord. Now, $200 - and, I tell you, those cords looked to me to be less than a cord used to be.

I am quite certain of it.

As she watches Desperate Housewives, Lavina gets herself some sherbert. Kalib wants some.

Kalib got some. I wanted some, too. I didn't get any. That bowl was the last of the sherbert.

Jacob tosses Kalib around.

In Wasilla, fall is wonderful, but it rushes by

Driving to a coffee kiosk.

Fishhook Road.

From the car, while driving down Bogard Road.

Looking towards Hatcher.

Fishhook Road.

I consider the damn things to be a blight upon the land. Maybe one day, if I ever get rich, I'll have one. So many places yet to go. 

While standing in my driveway.

Driver's seat, parking lot, India Palace.

Rain comes. A dog checks me out as I walk on Sands.

Church Road.

Corner Study: Church Road and Shrock.

The rain begins to turn to snow. If you click on the picture, it will get bigger and then you can see the snow a little better.

Ahead is the place where some folks stop to pray. 

Maybe another day.

I would pray for my son, and for his dog, too. I would pray for all those I love. Don't know who I would be praying to, but I would pray for them all. Pray for America, and all the people in America; pray for the world, and all its inhabitants, that each might have some good experience before death takes them.

But what if that inhabitant is a mosquito, and her good experience is that she pricks my skin and sucks my blood? What if she injects me with even tinier inhabitants, who make me sick, give me malaria?

That's not likely to happen in Alaska, but it might in India. 

I must go back to India, you know.