Copenhagen/Gothenburg/Stockholm

I boarded the plane for Copenhagen having never been and not knowing a soul in the region. During my visit I met kindred spirits and made friends that I'm sure I will know for a lifetime. I thank God for the bravery it takes to step outside of one's comfort zone and explore. I thank Gordon Parks and Melvin Van Peebles for inspiration as an artist and for never allowing themselves to be categorized. This trip I dedicate to them. What an experience it was. There was the canal with jazz musician lining the board walk fronting restaurants serving Carlsberg and local foods. Street performers, families, yachts being manicured and painted and loved. The opera house and its grand architecture. The people on bicycles, the water, the daylight at 11:00pm. There was the song I played for my friend on a busy sidewalk in downtown Copenhagen, and the few kroners (local currency) I made and gave to a homeless woman who I am convinced is a reincarnate of Mother Teresa. The train ride to Gothenburg which was not by design but turned out being the highlight of my trip. A Michael Jackson tribute in a public park with people celebrating his life and legacy with music and dancing. Those of you who know me, know how huge this was for me. I am so grateful for my friends in Gothenburg for opening their home to me. The human spirit is an underestimated and powerful thing, it can heal and make whole. I look forward to more journeys and all those I'll meet along my path. I am truly a warrior of the light, and I meet fellow warriors along the way who all have a story to share and sometimes, bread and tea. Until the next adventure.

Self Realization

so the story goes and I've been told by the griots that as a newborn, I stirred my finger in my own after birth and smeared the doctors spectacles and began telling his future while sending up prayers for the forlorn and downtrodden. That my soul was old and before its time and place...my hands up as if against a minority report window suspended by string theories that only graze the surface of what would be my existence in this form, in this lifetime, my lifeline bends like light energy piercing the darkness of catacombs where lay entombed the bodies of my ancestors, but their spirits fresh on my breath as I spoke with their tongues in languages unknown to man.

The Terminal

The airport terminal is one of the most perfect and prolific environments for the study or observation of human behavior. Its closeness and precisely appointed space provides the casual observer with an overwhelming amount of witnessed experiences in a very short amount of time. Whether it be the soldier going away to Iraq for his second tour embracing his wife whose eyes are slowly flooding then internal levee breaking unleashing an outpouring of emotion while trying to capture every part of him in this moment, so that when he's away she can turn to these memories for comfort.

 As one peers into this environment and is still in mind and body he or she can feel the movement surround them, as if treading lightly in deep water. The energy of the volumes of travelers is undoubtedly apparent. In some instances I have been a passenger or piloting an aircraft that descends into a destination that has poignantly welcoming bright energy and others that exude a cold somber essence. It must be then the sum of all those traveling, have traveled to and have occupied these spaces that create the mood.

 Be the light you wish to see, so that when someone down the line descends upon your space they will feel welcome and reflect all that is good in you.

This is my office. The roomy cockpit of the Embraer 190 Series aircraft. This particular model is known as the ERJ 170. Its seats 75, flies at nearly nine tenths of the speed of sound at an altitude of 41,000 feet. Its quiet and very much automated. 

"It is written

the act of writing is 

holy words are

sacred and your breath

brings out the 

god in them"

Suheir Hammad

South Bend/Chicago

I guess about a year and a half ago I took a train ride from South Bend, Indiana to Chicago. The ride takes about an hour and a half. The locomotive starts its journey from the South Bend Airport then works its way through the planes of Indiana carving through sleepy mid-american towns that wake mildly like a sleeping giant and settle again after. Then arcing around the south end of the lake finally arriving at the big city. It is a methodical and deliberate passage of time and space, of traversing energy. I sat near a small group of young people heading into the city for what seemed to be a night of partying. The conversations jump from romance to politics, to fear and freedom. I ended my trip at the plaltform near the Van Buren stop, where the train station became my muse for an artful expression. I took many photographs and contemplated the meaning of what I had just experienced.

I think of the train as a metaphor and also all of the mechanics that require the train to operate. Each train car is a part in parcel of a larger moving expression. A constant motion on a contrite and tight track, one of which must possess a perfect distance apart from its opposite. In human relationships we often long for this dynamic, one that is rarely achieved but very possible. There also comes a time when the tracks must split or separate to allow for maintenance or switching. This is a safety precaution. When two lovers become entangled in anger and resentment after a long straight, tight, narrow, track it may become necessary for them to part, but there are railways that run for thousands of miles and a train car can rejoin the unit at specific points making it heavier and more stable.

Oahu/Valley of the Kings

On a rainy day on the island of O'Ahu, when the beaches were not so inviting, and wind and rain precluded a long hike into the valleys, I came across one of the most majestic instances of architecture I have ever witnessed. The Byodo-In Temple is in the Valley of the Kings, a burial ground for mostly Asian and those indigenous to the island. It is a Buddhist Temple nestled at the foot of encompassing mountains. I rang the large bell on the Temple grounds and lifted a prayer. It was as if I could see my prayers and thoughts ecscape floating into the fog above and behind the tree line, up and away into God's hands.