I am having a fine time.

Will.

P.S. Ralph Steadman is teaching me how to write.

Stitched Together Leather

You know, sometimes a group of vaguely related things or images turns up at the same time, more or less, and there you have....well, something - a blog post, at least. These are all somehow related to leather.

First, a collection of ice skates being offered at auction. I've always admired skate blades and fittings.
Then an antique real photo postcard of the interior of a tack and saddle shop. See the big heavy duty stitching machine in front?
And last a digitally printed Pantone leather chair that was exhibited at a trade show but is not yet in production.

Floating World

Just because I like the image.

And lily pads. And reflections.

Photograph by Claude Vosburg, Ellake, Michigan, 1911.

Swept Away

Poultryphilia

Once I was riding an elevator car in an upscale residential building in NYC with a man who I knew to be, well, blunt in his assessments. In truth, he was a psychiatrist (but I was only visiting, swear). Anyway, a little elderly lady gets on, and she's holding one of those tiny, profusely hairy animals that some people call a dog. You know the kind, you can't see their eyes, and their weight is measured in ounces. The doctor says gruffly, "Isn't it amazing what people can love?" Being Southern, I wasn't supposed to laugh. Being appalled, I couldn't help it.

That memory sometimes comes to mind when I see something in which people take a bewildering pride.

Such as in these real photo postcards, where folks have posed for posterity with their favorite chickens.

Chickens.

Raw Power

Yesterday's post of the photographer's self-portrait brought to mind one of more evocative images I own. It too is a real photo postcard, and shows a man with a very young child dressed in white on his knee. The expression on his face, which I read as pure shell-shocked grief, just begs the story. I imagine that his wife. the child's mother, has died, and now he faces a frightening future without her, the daunting prospect of being a father alone and poor. Note the patch on his pants at the knee. It's remarkable that he chose to have this portrait made. I think of it as a sort of post-post-mortem. The condition of the card, stained and stepped on, just amplifies the effect. I put it right up there with Dorothea Lange's Migrant Mother portrait.

Exposed

Keeping a blog, and reading those of others, is interesting both for what is revealed and what is concealed. I suppose that we're all practicing some form of self-portraiture. Thinking about that today reminded me of a real photo postcard in my collection that has a single scrawled word on it, "Me." I bought it for two reasons: first, for that lonely, concise and assertive inscription, and second, because it's a portrait of the photographer himself, who, for once, has stepped around in front of the camera. Leaning against his leg is a large case, and against it, a film holder with the word Exposed clearly visible.

Happy Valentine's Day

"bowlegged mamma all way from yumyummer."

Unmailed real photo postcard, c. 1925.

Laughing at Spirit Photography

Manipulated images have been used to deceive people for a long time. The fad of spirit photography around the turn of last century was responsible for separating a lot of gullible people from their money. Have a look at this goofy example from a real photo postcard. Below it is a leaf from an autograph book from the same era, a little doggerel from a skeptic.