Pastor Tony

                                                                                                                  Home Line, 2011 © Chrissie Smolders

It was late December and I was walking around in Midland. The roads were wide and open, with bare trees and bushes covering the dry grass. Though the sun shone, it was cold and there was no one on the streets but me. I felt happy that I was walking around in this little town in Texas. It felt real.
At the end of the street, a man appeared. He went from house to house, knocking at their doors. Sometimes there would be a brief conversation, sometimes the door would stay shut. We greeted each other as he passed, and I looked back at him. It looked a little sad, how he was being sent away time after time. As I walked on, the well-known "I'll never forgive you if you don't take a picture of him!" started repeating itself in my head. I wanted to talk to him. I put a new roll of film in my camera and began walking after him.

Our conversation took a while. He told me that he was from Pennsylvania originally, and had moved to Midland to preach at a new baptist church. Today, he was visiting people at their homes to tell them about the ways of the Lord. He was raised a catholic, he said, but lost his faith when he got older. He told me he got a family at a young age, that his life was good. Then he started drinking. He became addicted to drugs. He lost his family, his job, and everything else. At his lowest point, he didn't want to live anymore. That's when God came back into his life.
I asked him if he was happy now. He said yes.

Afternoon Roadtrip

                                                                                            ©  Chrissie Smolders

From Brooklyn to Princeton. It was my first time outside of town, and it really was a beautiful day. Princeton felt like a fairy-tale town, and the highlight of our trip was probably when I shouted for joy at the sight of my first Walmart. I enjoyed walking around the campus with my friends though, while I got my first taste of America outside of New York. On our way back we listened to Motown's famous hits and Black Sunday from Cypress Hill. It was a good day.

                                                                                    ©  Chrissie Smolders

A Soft Spot

On Tuesday I visited Joel Sternfeld's exhibition in Amsterdam, called Color Photographs since 1970. Foam has over a hundred photos from ten different bodies of work on view, and I think they did a great job at showing Sternfeld's extensive and colorful career. I don't know why Sternfeld hasn't come to my attention before; with rosy cheeks I have to admit that I wasn't too familiar with his work. I'm happy I was able to experience it all by prints on a wall, instead of on a computer screen.
You'll want to spend some time alone with this work.

  A Man on the Banks of the Mississippi, Baton Rouge, Louisiana, August 1985 © Joel Sternfeld

Stranger Passing made me very happy, this photo in particular. It kept me lingering for a while; I got closer, looking at his expression while pondering his life. It's a photo where everything comes together, but it doesn't seem to fit quite right. The man reminds me of Twin Peaks; there is something off about him. I wonder what he and Sternfeld had been talking about before they took this picture. I wish I'd have been there for it.

What I love so much about this series is that it makes me very aware of the possibilities of everyday life. All of the people he photographed, they're people we could meet at any given moment. Be it in an unfamiliar town, or the corner of the street we've been passing for the last eight years. Everything we need for a great picture is within reach; still often I wish I would be in a place more lively, strange or beautiful than where I live. But I know that even though Williamsburg seemed lively, strange and beautiful for the first three months, that wore off too. Which means it's just a matter of opening your eyes and making contact with what's in front of you.

The two hours spend in the museum were incredibly inspiring and I walked away with a light step. Sometimes I need a wake up like this, a reminder of what photography means to me. A reminder of what it can do. Without a doubt, photography is limited in some ways. But the lonely interaction between the image and the viewer still exists. And that is ultimately what I want to achieve.

Keep on keepin' on...

                                                                                                            Alpine, 2011 ©  Chrissie Smolders

Oh, the great plains of Texas. Where there are beautiful sunsets to be seen without a city skyline. Just the dark outline of a mountain against the pastel gradient in the sky. The romanticist in me can't wait to live in a little hut somewhere for a few months. In my dreams, I see myself rising with the sun, drinking coffee while baking some bread. And when I look out over a beautiful landscape through the kitchen window, I won't miss the big city at all. When the bread is done, I'll butter up a thick slice and then get my camera to take a walk outside with the dog. In the evening a fire will be built, and we will cozy up beside it. Most likely we'll toast some marshmallows and drink loose leaf tea.

Secret team!

Warning: Don't like dramatics? Look away now!

                                                                                                                          ©  Chrissie Smolders

Poems should be written about him. Poems that cry of love, of passion and sometimes tears. He's someone I found during the most memorable time of my life so far. And even though he may be across the ocean, and we certainly have some mountains to climb in the future, I found something that I never want to let go.

                                                                                                                        ©  Chrissie Smolders

Dreaming of West Texas

                                                                                                                    Van Horn, 2011 ©  Chrissie Smolders

Last Christmas I was in West Texas for the first time in my life. I spent two days in Van Horn, population 2,500. This small town is covered in silence and surrounded by great mountains and desert plains. The roads are wide and empty, and when the sun shines everything is coated in gold. I walked the streets and climbed the mountains, taking photos of every house, plant and dog that caught my eye. I felt very much an outsider, and I couldn't imagine ever living in such a solitary place. But while working on these images, a new plan formed inside my head.

                                                                                                          Big Buck, 2011 ©  Chrissie Smolders

Someday, I want to pack up my things and move to a place like Van Horn for a while. Next to experiencing a new way of life, it would be the perfect opportunity for a long-term project. I can see the images in my head; perfect compositions of stately mountains, mysterious portraits of the few residents, night photography on the poorly lit roads... Somewhere, there are stories waiting to be told. 

                                                                                                       For sale/lease, 2011 ©  Chrissie Smolders

A Portrait

                                                                     Geert ©  Chrissie Smolders

This is my brother. When I was younger, a lot of things about him made me jealous. How incredibly smart he is. The large group of friends he has, and the social life he leads. How he makes people laugh with jokes that are just on the edge of being acceptable. He never seemed scared or insecure.

It's only since the last two years that I've really gotten to know my brother. Being able to see through the masks he wears made me realize we're not so different after all. And I caught him naked in this picture. This is my brother.

Commemoration

                                                                                          Untitled ©  Chrissie Smolders

Last time I visited my grandparents, I wandered about the house and secured some of my memories on film. This picture was taken in the attic; it was the main playroom for the grandchildren. When playing with my nieces, I'd pretend to be a race horse and run around on the carpet. The same carpet still lies there, after almost a decade. I haven't seen them in years.

Until recently, I never really felt like my camera could comfort me and be valuable to me in a different way. I'd read about photographers, saying that their camera got them through a difficult time. Now I know what they mean. In ten days I'll be back in New York, and I'll be there for ten weeks. It's what I have been looking forward to for months; so much so that I sometimes forgot to be in the present. But there's a chance of losing something back home. Because of that, I feel a tremendous need to capture everything that I'm afraid might go away. It's worth wondering though, whether I should spent those hours clinging to material scenes that mean so much to me. Maybe I should just be with someone very consciously.

This is me

Can you get closer to me?
What does this crop tell you that the larger framed photo doesn't?
Is there more access to me?

Hair!

                                                                                    the Hairpiece ©  Chrissie Smolders

When we came to visit her last time, Hope was still doing her hair. During the two months I was working with her, I've seen her with approximately five different hairstyles. It's quite amazing what it did to her appearance. It's almost like a continually shifting identity. I will be documenting this more closely when I go back this winter.

Or, maybe I should watch Good Hair! It seems like a fun movie.

Ideas

Do you know the feeling when you suddenly come up with a plan of genius? When for a short moment you gasp for air, your body gets all hot and tingly and your thoughts start tumbling over each other?

It happened to me when I was riding the train back to Brooklyn. The most exciting plan dawned on me; I should start writing about people I saw on the subway, and afterwards take their portrait. The subway fascinates me endlessly; Wall Street members next to mumbling drunks and discontent hipsters. The environment they're in is so natural to them that they seem able to create their own comfort zone. I started to carefully watch people, and let loose my imagination about them by whatever they were factually doing. I started to write little bits and pieces.
But I couldn't gather enough courage to actually take the portraits. I'm not sure what they should look like. Should I show their faces? Or only details? What is left to the imagination and interpretation of the viewer? The possibilities are never ending.

However incomplete now, I wanted to share a piece of something I wrote.
-------
There's a young man sitting across from me on the E-train. He's swaying his head on the rhythm of his song, while his fingers animatedly follow the spitting of the lyrics. The shadow of his cap increases the darkness of his face and I look at his dirty, white sneakers. They tap at the slow bass while his lips mimic the words of song. Resting his head on the metal bar on the side of his seat, he lacks every regard for his surroundings.

He got off at west 3rd street and I hesitated to follow him. I thought maybe he had seen me watching him and writing. At the last possible moment I got out and caught him walking to the train towards downtown Brooklyn. As I was a few steps behind, he looked back at me. I stopped. He walked on.
-------

Family Photos

Yesterday I went to visit my grandparents with my father. When we arrived, I was the first to go through the garden and step through the back door. My grandparents were watching the Queen giving her annual speech and we made ourselves comfortable at the dining table, with tea and cake. After a while my grandmother pushed an antique leather case my way and told me to open it.

A big smile appeared on my face.

We looked at every little print. 

My granddad looked at them through a magnifying glass.

This is my grandfather when he was about my age. He was supposed to become a butcher, like his father. Instead, he married my grandmother and made his own dreams come true.

Conserving memories

This is my grandfather. He's eighty one years old. Together with my grandmother he lives in a small town, in a house they've lived in for thirty two years. Through the course of time nothing in that house has changed much. All the memories I have of spending time there have been conserved in time quite well. There's still the tiny room upstairs in which my grandfather tried to teach me how to paint. In the living room, the sofa still prickles my bare legs. The same heavy carpet lies on the dinner table. Every hour, their longcase clock plays a tune that's been etched in my mind.

I used to sleep over regularly when I was a child. But when I became older I stopped visiting them as much. Their house lost it's appeal to me. At this point though, I can see them getting older. And I want to know about their history. I want to hear the stories of their youth and see the photo albums they've kept all these years.
And through documenting them, I can keep what is there now.

                                                                              ©  Chrissie Smolders

                                                                                                       ©  Chrissie Smolders

                                                                                                        ©  Chrissie Smolders

Contemplation

At present I'm fascinated by light. The way it plays with color and form. How easily something ordinary can be transformed, just by being illuminated. When a particularly beautiful display of light catches my eye, I always hurry to catch it. Time passes quickly and sunlight is fickle; I may never see anything like it again. 

                                                                                The Front Yard  ©  Chrissie Smolders

Now I can easily admit I'm afraid to lose. Losing in the form of material things, but much more than that I fear of losing memories, feelings even. Everything in life constantly changes and as a human being there's not a whole lot I can do about that. But as a photographer I can try to capture that which I think is worthwhile, and I can look back and remember.

Chuck

Last Tuesday I finally got around to scanning the negatives that had been lying around for a while. Most of them were photos I made close to my time of leaving Brooklyn and they really took me back. It's been almost eight weeks since coming home, and living here ain't so bad. Sure, the partying went down with 75%. Plus the move to my parents went smoothly (I never slept at my own place again) and, being the cool kid that I am, I spend most of my time at IKEA. Working and serving, in yellow and blue. But at least I'm making money, to pay off the debt with my parents so they'll loan me a new sum to get out of here..

In the meantime I'll entertain myself, and hopefully some others, by reminiscing about the past.

                                                                                                Chuck ©  Chrissie Smolders

This fine man I met on the streets of Bushwick. I was out with a friend and the Rollei, and spotted sailor-boy across the street. Like that time on the bus, I hesitated but knew I had no choice but to go after him. He just looked so peculiar with his hat, and the little wooden toy train. Dressed in all white with nothing but black accents. Incredibly smart. He was taller than me too, which really is quite tall, and he was walking away from me with big steps. I shouted something to my friend, ran across the street and tapped him on the shoulder while trying to look decent after about 10 seconds of heavy exercise.

He didn't mind me taking a couple of photos, but was giggly and nervous the whole time I had my camera aimed at him. So much even he made me feel a little uncomfortable. But at least it made him laugh and I was happy.
However insecure I can be about asking someone for a portrait, it always makes me feel invincible. It's like a rush to the head, a drug that lasts for the shortest time.
I love how something so simple can make you feel so amazing.

P.S. Check back soon for exciting images and news on Hope, among other things!


EDIT: As a friend pointed out, he is wearing a 1950's milkman suit. Amazing indeed. It also explains what he's holding in his hand, which appears to be something to put the glass bottles in. Nice!

Red Lights Flashing

Every week is in it's own phase of high or low. I feel like a tiny ship riding high waves of an angry ocean, sailing towards the horizon. But every time the storm clears, I think I've reached my destination, and I drop my anchor. And every time clouds gather and the sky turns grey, I get tired. Tired because I've fooled myself into thinking I was there, again and again.

                                                                              Dog days, Bogotá ©  Alec Soth

I meditate. Eighty-five percent of the time, I meditate twice a day, for twenty minutes. Sometimes more, if my blind eyes don't see the red lights of our silent alarm flashing. Sometimes less, if I get up too late.
Saturdays are free. On Monday I have a class that teaches in Zen Meditation.
I'm not going to explain what one does when they practice this, but I will say I've been struggling lately. I have a hard time focusing. A hard time to be strict towards myself, and keep counting. And now the twenty minutes become a frustration, a disappointment, instead of a joy.

One of the best things about it is, though, that twice a day you get the chance to start over. To try again.
When does that ever happen?

So, I will not be angry with myself for feeling like this tonight. 

Tomorrow is a new day.

Ongoing story

I want to write more about Hope. The last time I visited her was two weeks before I would leave, and I promised to her that I would see her again before I got on the plane. And I thought I really would. I really wanted to. But somehow, when in the last week my best friend was at my side, I never had the time; or took the time to make the effort. Even though I was all tied up in being with my friend from home, being with the friends I made in Brooklyn and accepting the fact I actually was going to leave, I felt incredibly guilty about it.
The guilt stopped me from contacting her sooner than I did, a couple of days ago. But when I finally did, the way she responded made me realize again what an amazing person she is. Hope has a lot of love in her heart.

These are some of the photos I made later on. I wanted to try and do something else than what I normally do, which is being the fly on the wall; nothing more than registrating with my camera. This time I took control and created the scene myself (except for the one with the baby, Justin was actually sleeping there).
I'm quite happy with the results so far, but the project is far from done.
Actually, this may be the first time I mentioned a project... More about that later.

As far as Hope goes, the story does not end. We are still talking and I have no doubt about seeing her again. Just as I have no doubt that I will return to Brooklyn, New York, and create some sort of life for me.


P.S. My 11" laptop is not calibrated, which means the photos may not be a 100% in tune. I did however buy my own Rolleiflex. Happy face!

Thinking Back

Regretfully, it has taken me a while to write a new blogpost.
The last few weeks in Brooklyn were amazing, but it still felt like it wasn't enough. Ofcourse, the time spend would never have been enough; and time flies when having fun. Meeting one's soulmate in a city across the ocean and then having to go back home doesn't make a goodbye any easier, either. I'd known leaving was coming up since I first arrived, but when it was finally there it felt unexpected, and unreal. It's not that I have any doubt about coming back to America. But after having such an amazing time I very much resisted being back home.

We took off on the plane on Sunday evening, and arrived at Amsterdam on monday morning. After sleeping through the day and drinking with my brother at night, I had to start afresh on Tuesday. I had an important critique coming up on Friday, which helped me to stay busy during the day - while skyping kept me busy at night.
I was completely drained after my presentation, but at least I knew I did well. I took the weekend off to regain some strength and now a whole week has passed.

Plans are being made about my return, and in the meantime I'm moving back in with my parents to save money. If that ain't radical, I don't know what is!

P.S. I miss you.

Home away from Home

The date of me leaving this continent is getting closer and closer.
It is not something I look forward to; my friends and I have even decided not to bring it up. When we do talk about it (quite occasionally), I sigh and they try to convince me to just not leave, ever. I believe they are planning on stealing my passport and duct taping me to the stairs..
Even though the idea sounds very appealing, I know my old life is waiting for me to be picked up and lived again.

It really does feel like my old life. Naturally I want to see my friends and my family again But the thought of going back to my own place, where I live alone, scares me. I'm spoiled by the days and nights spend with others, and this was a very happy way to live for me. Besides that, going back to work and and meeting with the responsibilities I used to have is not a thing I look forward to at all.

That being said, I am ever so grateful for all the people I've met and everything I have been able to learn here. I do feel like in a lot of aspects, I've been able to better myself. This may have cost struggle, but I will benefit from it for the rest of my life. Although I suppose the actual test is still to come back in the Netherlands, I look forward to proving myself with my graduation project. Even if not to anyone else but myself.

After graduating next spring, I plan on coming back to the United States. I never expected this country to appeal to me so much. I want to see everything there is to discover. Maybe I'll have my driver's license, and I will drive my own route through the states. Maybe I'll settle in a city that's not New York. Maybe it really is the country of endless possibilities.
What's sure is that if I'll ever be homesick,  it will be when I get back home.

Blessed

I met him on the bus a couple of weeks ago. I purposely sat down two rows behind him and stole some glances while listening to him talk to a lady in front of him. I kept thinking I would never forgive myself if I didn't take his portrait.

I thought of getting off the bus when he would, but I kinda' wanted to go home and wasn't sure he would let me take his picture anyway...
When I clicked open the viewfinder on my Rollei, he looked back at me and said: 'Wow. That's one oldschool camera, isn't it?'.
He smiled at me. We talked, and he let me take a couple of photos. I asked him about the headband, and he told me that he just started a new brand called Blessed Addiction. He'd put all of his money in it, but he told me it was hard to set something up.

He had the friendliest smile. Under his headband, there was a portrait of the devil.