Concrete City, PA

Ever since seeing some of the amazing photos Cheri Sundra got from this abandoned coal town called Concrete City, I couldn't wait for the opportunity to visit it. After missing a couple chances because of prior commitments, the aligning stars, the weather gods (of which EOS is one) and some members of the Northeast Photography Club made it happen. Alan Peslak, Art Bockelkamp, Mo Devlin, Ray Listanski, Curtis Salonik & I met at 10am and planned our attack. I've heard that Curtis is the King Of Concrete City, and after seeing him in action, must acknowledge the reign. He led us up the forbidden trail and suddenly said "Turn here," but there was no there. We rambled through bushes and I heard our leader, who was actually behind me at the time, say, "Watch out for mosquitoes; West Nile is in the air." Each one of us lamented, "I left the spray in my car." You can see that Curtis was not king because of his life-protecting provisions, but his prop planning was perfect. Here you can see some of the stuff he brought with him. He even had a hammer and concrete nails for when it became necessary to secure his 48-star flag to a basement entrance. Besides sharing his toys, he freely shared his knowledge of the craft, and became the perfect model when one was needed. Hail, King Curt!

We emerged from the bush and there it was. Overgrowth. Tall, can't-see-over-it-or-through-it overgrowth. From where we were we could see only two houses, yet through Cheri's blog photos of the way this place looked when in use, I knew there should be a whole circle of buildings with a big baseball field in the middle. There was one circular thing in the immediate space and I put the 70-200mm on to capture it. The unlit spider web was a failure because of the constant breeze, but it was, however, used in the making of photos 1 & 2. An animated gif illustrates the eerie feeling that you're being watched in this ghost town.

Curt is a contagious craftsman coaxing creative curves from conventional corners, and it didn't take long to catch the bug. On the second floor of the 1st building I twisted the zoom for the 6-second exposure and liked the results in photo five. I smiled and thought of the king's influence. In many, or maybe all, of the buildings there were curious steps leading up from the 2nd floor to... a concrete wall. There seemed a mysterious beckoning to climb them. But climb where? For photo 7 I dialed in a 30-second exposure to capture the feeling by placing myself in the frame at 3 points for 10 seconds each. This gif shows more accurately the sense of urgency with which the apparition beckoned. [For those who don't know me, should I mention when I'm kidding? For those who know me, am I?]

Certainly one of the main visual attractions of this place is the graffiti. They are also the main thing that raises eyebrows accompanied by a spontaneous "Wow" from most who see a photo from here. It also raises the monocle-less eyebrow of the not-in-my-town conservative who shits ice cream and calls it art. In my opinion we should all make space for these creative sprees of spray cans. I'd love to see more murals on and in buildings, including homes. Wouldn't it be cool to visit someone and they show you their graffiti room? You could have different artists in different rooms (great idea for a B&B or hotel) and even change the wall from time to time. If we confine the definition of graffito (singular of graffiti) to "a socially unacceptable defacement of something already commonly considered visually pleasant" [Straub's Revised and Constrained Dictionary, 2012], then the worst graffiti are the scribbles and swooshes of hate and self-aggrandizement that are perpetrated upon the original artwork. Again, compare Cheri's photos to what we got and you'll get the idea. My only concern in displaying photos of graffiti is ostensibly suggesting I agree with any message. Certainly I know what a swastika means to many and will try to remove it or crop it out, even though I love Hopi Indian culture, but most everything else I'm oblivious to, except as a whole, visual, right-brain sort of awareness. [End tirade.]

At one particularly uncreative point... wait, what does that mean? Does that mean I somehow became unplugged to the creative flow of energy that is our universe? Yeah, sort of, I guess. It's not an on/off sort of thing this creativity; it could be said to fluctuate with the amount of conscious effort I apply --the less I think about it, the more there is. At any rate... at one particular point I got the feeling I was working for a realtor, taking pictures of the rooms so she could sell the place. I always prefer looking at photos at 100%, so sometimes shoot knowing that the little abstract diversions can be cropped for closer inspection later. It was surely a day and place for short bursts of panoramic photos, like #12 showing two rooms through a hole on the left, a concrete staircase, hallway and basement entrance, the current resident's graffiti wall, and a hole leading outside on the right. There are also three 2-shot combos, photos 9, 26 & 28.

Curt's little bags of pops held many surprises, and he shared them with all of us. After crawling through a hole in the wall I saw the king shooting one of his loyal subjects. I took a shot of the sacrificial altar moments afterward. Notice the head in photos 22, 23 and others. Curt found it at a flea market or something, then painted it perfectly to bring out its full potential. Well, actually at this point I wasn't truly aware of its full potential --probably still not, but read on.

We all wandered from building to building, in and out, up and down, got some similar shots as well as unique attempts, and stayed pretty much together keeping laughter an important element of composition. At one point Mo left us to explore further reaches, and returned fully charged with similar shots of other ruins. Art got a difficult shot of a fox face taking up the whole facade of a building. There was reward in maneuvering the gear up through the narrow concrete openings, and entering the upper floor to hear Alan and Ray tripping shutters and each other in their enjoyment at getting the shot of the day.

In one building I climbed the steps and heard the voice of our king. Feeling safe, I walked around and noticed a small puddle on the floor that seemed to have come through the window openings or small leaks in the crumbling ceiling, photo 24. Sensing that I might be getting ready to show off my waterproof boots, Curt showed his life-protecting leadership by reminding me it was actually a hole in the floor. That photo is not crooked either; the floors on most of the buildings, although very sturdy, do sag as if the structure is sinking to one side or one corner.

Many photos in these galleries are there simply to document or illustrate the day, but would never be considered for printing. Yet it's rare that I would ever include a photo that was not at least in focus. Photo 38 is an exception. I really like the composition flowing up and showing rooms in the other half of the 2-family structure, but I must have bumped a tripod leg or something during the 8-second exposure. It stands as a reminder to always check it before you leave it. That is, if the shot is duplicatable, check the histogram and focus before leaving an opportunity to do it right the second time.

There is a story told in the last 9 shots of the gallery. Legend has it that many years ago an incurable creative type was finally gunned down in his hideout at Concrete City. He haunted the spot where he was peppered with paintballs in his last gasp of artistic plea, and you can see the final three green pellets that did him in in this rare photo of his final appearance. The story goes that he was eventually visited by the city's ancient god, Bobob, the god of transformation. He was immediately drawn to the new way of light and was taken by Bobob on the transformation journey that settled his soul. You can see an exclusive image showing the energy exchange of this occurrence in photo 43. When he was so soothed, he was returned to his haunting wall where he calmly blended in with all the others eradicated before him. A molten image of Bobob can often be seen wearing the discarded shroud of the last creative type to menace the acceptable ways of the craft.

Reader, whether you know me or not, you should know the truth. No kidding.

Titanic Exhibit

...Coming soon...

Planters Exhibit

...Coming soon...

Delaware Seashore State Park

...Coming soon...

near Brooklin, ME

There are few things as exciting as a trip in search of beauty with your son or daughter.  Celeste and I had such a great time together last year on our Maine trip that this year's return visit was a no-brainer.  But this year Celeste wanted to go a little earlier to catch some of the other galleries and antique shops before they close for the season.  In Maine there is a time-honored tradition of staying until Columbus Day, October 12th, before heading south for a warmer winter.  I usually make the trip north on or after the same date to enjoy the magnificent colors in the presence of mostly True Mainers, as those who do not feel the need to leave are called.  This year, Thursday, September 27th, was our travel day up, and Monday was our travel day back. 

We arrived in plenty of time to enjoy the company of Stubdude and Juno, our outstanding hosts.  Stubdude, aka James K. Straub, is my first cousin, and his wonderful wife June Kellogg is also a gifted artist and teacher.  Stub and I are genetically closer than most cousins because his mom and my mom were sisters and his dad and my dad were brothers.  Sometimes people don't get it until I add "two brothers in this house married the two sisters in that one."  Stub usually gets the point across by saying, "We have the same grandparents."  Suffice it to say that Stubby and I can do time for each others crimes when DNA is the determining evidence.  Certainly if it ever comes to that, we plan on framing my brother Phil.

Celeste & I knew that Stubby and Juno both had to work our first full day there, and planned on getting to many of the galleries and shops while they did, with perhaps a few moments for photography along the way.  I was up with the first rays of light because I couldn't wait to renew my acquaintance with the ankle-turning stones on the beach across the road.  Our hosts were up and scrambling in their preparing-for-work rituals when we said goodbye.  I wasn't all that concerned about getting "the good shots" because I knew we'd be back here many times this trip.  Wrong.  I had no way of predicting our future, and, as always, actually knew nothing.  After watching some gulls and a lobster boat being a part of the morning scene, I headed back to the house where I supposed Celeste would be waiting.  Photo 1 shows the path to the shore, and photo 19 is from the beach heading back.  When I got back I noticed both of their cars still there and figured I must have misunderstood their schedules.  So I took a couple shots in the backyard and went in to say goodbye again. 

As it turned out Juno's car wouldn't start so she was going to take Stub's, and I was to drive him to Stonington for his day's work, which was to end at 2 when we would pick him up.  We waited for the tow truck to find June's car, and were off.  The 45-minute-one-way trip to the island meant that Celeste and I wouldn't be getting started until 10:30 or later, and would only have until about 1:00 before heading back to pick him up.  So between photo 21 (the last of the morning shoot) and photo 22 there is a two-and-a-half hour span in which we enjoyed the passing scenery.  Stub changed newspapers since our last trip, and now worked on Deer Isle overlooking the bay in Stonington.  He is making a lot less money, but is far more spiritually enriched.  We weren't prepared for photos on the way in, and, just as we pulled back into the lot at 2pm, it started to rain.  It didn't stop until the morning we left.  By then we were happy to be in the neighborhood of Wooden Boat Magazine & School, and in the Boat Building Capitol of the World.  We wondered if one of the builders was named Noah. 

But I progress...  Back to our first day...  Although we got a few shops in this first day, we did our best antiquing in the rains that followed.  While scouting for shops that we weren't sure existed or where exactly they might be, it was Celeste who suggested we bring out the cameras to find the true treasures.  There was only an hour and twenty minutes between photos 22 & 46.  Photos 22 to 41 were taken in the bay where the founders of Blue Hill first built their homes (see photo 40 for marker).  The yacht in 41, Stubby says, is owned by Guinness, but he says that about everything.  Notice the color difference between the waters from each side of the road.  I was reminded of Frances Slocum State Park back home where the water is often a lively green.  On our way back to Stonington we stopped to get a couple shots of the Deer Isle Bridge and an old building.  I think Celeste got the best one of a sailboat passing by.  We stopped for lunch in a small cafe in what probably used to be the living room of a fisherman's house, and made it back to pick up Stubdude just in time.  And, as mentioned, just in time for the unending rain, too.  We certainly weren't depending on the weather to have a good time, but sunshine would have made the photo ops more abundant.  Still, when it started I knew we were bound to get some great foggy shots at the tip of Naskeag Point in this rain.  Wrong.

near Brooklin, ME

...Coming soon...