Early Morning Camera Club

I hate today

©Dan Shepherd Images

My very talented friend, Dan Shepherd, was starting a project called "Draw Me a Tree," where people tell him a story about a tree that has had an impact on their lives, and their drawing of the tree is exposed over an image of the actual tree. Last January, he solicited people's "tree stories," and this is what I wrote to him:

When I was a senior in high school, October 28, 1988, a car hit a tree in the median of San Vicente in Santa Monica at 11th.   Russell, the 17 year old driver, has been drinking and was going 100 miles per hour on San Vicente, as he always liked to do.  The car skidded, and hit the coral tree in the median, flipped over and caught fire.

"The four teenagers in the car were killed were my friends.  I went to four funerals in three days.  One of those was for my best friend, Lisa.

Around the time of the accident, we all gathered around the tree.  We didn't know where to go, or what to do, but the tree was where we needed to be - it was the closest we could be to the friends we lost, and it was somewhere to go and grieve together.  If you said, "I'm going to the tree," people knew exactly what you meant.

For months, the tree was covered with flowers and letters.  After a while, people stopped going, and the flowers disappeared, leaving only the tree with a giant gash made by the car. 

I still live in the neighborhood, and drive by the tree every day.  It reminds me of where my friends died, and the grief we felt, but it was also the last place they were alive, and a place where everyone that survived came together.  The gash in the tree is slowly growing over, but it's still there, two decades later.  I hope it never goes away completely.  That gash is proof that Cal, Russell, Reid and Lisa existed.

I love that tree, and I hate it.

So I drew the tree, and Dan photographed it. I wanted to post it today for everyone else who hates today.

For the every other day of the year, I try really hard to remember Lisa's life.  We spent high school laughing, going to Rocky Horror, eating at Mort's, driving up Topanga, going to State Beach, washing her car, and listening to music really loud.   She was fun and smart and young and beautiful.

But each year on October 28, I lose her all over again. We had fought before she died, and in a short time, drifted apart. I saw her leave school one day, and that night she was gone. We never had the chance to become friends again, or reconnect on facebook years later. For years I felt guilty and horrible for my part in that fight, and apologized to the tree and her grave more times than I can count.

So for today, before I go back to remembering the good things, I'll remember the things I learned on October 28, 1988 and pass them on to you.

Don't drink and drive.

Tell people you love them before they're gone.

I love you guys.  Now get off the internet and go tell you love them.

-Ash

¡Patina o Muerte! (Skate or Die) - solo show at f/9 Gallery

I am happy to announce the opening of my first solo show at the f/9 Gallery in Culver City

"¡Patina o Muerte! (Skate or Die)"
The evolution of skateboarding culture from Venice to Havana.

Please join me for the opening reception
September 8, 2011 6pm - 9pm

Available for viewing September 8 - 25, 2011
Saturdays 11-3pm and by appointment.

f/9 Gallery, 5239 Sepulveda Blvd, Culver City, CA 90230
access to the gallery is in the alley
do yourself a favor and print out directions here

Questions or appointments: email or call 310-567-8393.

 

Summertime Show @ The Duncan Miller Project Gallery

I am so excited to be part of a show about Summertime!   It will be the first time my skater work will be hung in a gallery, and I hope you will join me for the opening reception.  See you there!

Join us for the opening reception for "Summertime"

A group photography show at the Duncan Miller Projects Gallery

Curated by Aline Smithson

Includes work by Nancy Baron, Michael Cannon, Marian Crostic, Megan Edwards, Cat Gwynn, Kelli Knack, Ann Mitchell, Steven Rood, Aline Smithson, Ashly Stohl, Noelle Swan Gilbert, Gray Malin, Liz Huston, Bootsy Holler, Stella Lee, and Karen Florek

The opening reception is on July 21, 2011 7:00pm - 9:00pm
1716 Oean Park, Santa Monica, CA

The Gallery will be open every Wed night from 7-9 and every Thurs, Fri, and Sat from 11-5

Patinar o Muerte: En El Aire

  

 

Drastic Plastic - a toy camera show!

I have a few pics hanging in Bel Air Camera's show, Drastic Plastic, featuring images taken with toy cameras.  Come join me at the reception on Thursday (this thursday) June 16th from 5pm to 7pm!  We will be in the downstairs gallery/classroom.  Hope to see you there!

Details:
Bel Air Camera
10925 Kinross Avenue Los Angeles, CA 90024-3405
here is a map
June 16th from 5pm to 7pm

Patinar o Muerte: Havana's Original Street Skaters

The mid 80's in America saw the decline of vert skating, and the closing of skateparks across the country.  The sport was once again truly underground, left to a hardcore group of kids that would not give it up.  Skate or die, they used to say. So they found new places to skate on the street. Handrails and stairs in front of office buildings and malls, park benches, the curb, anywhere. Usually in public, often while being chased by security guards.

Street skating has evolved in America with the rise in popularity of the sport in general. The old slogan, skateboarding is not a crime doesn't really apply any more. It's not a crime - it has gone mainstream. Many skateparks include all the rails and curbs, eliminating the need to run from the cops. Street skaters can now have a viable career as a pro.

Those kids in Havana remind me of the original street skaters from the late 80's and early 90's. They will skate on anything, anywhere. Watching them, I wished they could come skate our beautiful Venice Skatepark, and I also realized that street skaters in America have it easy. Many kids here don't really know what street skating used to be.

Skaters in Havana make their own skateparks out of public spaces. Fortunately for them, every fountain is dry, so they get a broom, sweep them out and skate in them. Public benches, handrails, the curb - anywhere. I saw young kids practicing ollies on broken concrete and dirt. If you can do it there, you can do it anywhere!

In Cuba, a phrase left over from Che's revolution 52 years ago. Patriar o Muerte, looms on a public monument, meaning "fatherland or death." They were born long after that revolution, but in the way that all boys must, they are forming their own. Their leader is ironically named Che, and their motto seems to be, Patinar o Muerte. Skate or die.

Oh, and I'm pretty sure they have skated on that monument. Definitely while being chased by guards. These guys are the Original Street Skaters.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Don't Practice Santeria

At some point on the trip, I found myself on a rooftop overlooking Havana, which looks surprisingly like Rome from that vantage point.  That is, if Rome was built with tin roofs and hit by a bomb, complete with fires in the distance.

I sat on a makeshift chair, squinting in the setting sun, watching the doves fly out of the coop on the roof. Two glasses of rum later, men all dressed in white came out and the drumbeat started, and then the singing. And then then dancing.

Did I mention it was Santeria dancing?

It's not what you think.  The Afro-Cuban tradition of Santeria is not the same as Hatian Vodou.  Slaves were brought from Nigeria to work on plantations, and with them, they brought their own religious and cultural beliefs.  Forced to convert to Catholicism, they hid their worship of their gods, Orishas, under the guise of worship for the Catholic saints, Los Santos. (Hence the name - Santeria - "way of the saints")

 Just another one of the strange and beautiful things that goes on in Havana.

Boxeo

We were able to go to a boxing school and photograph the guys as they worked out. At first, they were enjoying the cameras, but it didn't take long for them to forget we were there, and settle down to work. They worked hard, as if they could fight their way off the island, as if it was their way out. They were still going after we left.

Esperando El Cuba

I have been home a week, and sat down at least a dozen times to write about the trip, and every time, something gets in the way. I get distracted by facebook, or agonize about how to release my images, or saying to friends that I need to process the whole trip. The truth is, I am not done with the trip - I'm not done with Cuba - I have to go back.

Cuba, like some of it's food and all of the water from the tap, sneaks up on you. On the surface, the people are happy and welcoming. I felt safe everywhere I went, possibly because I had no idea where I was most of the time. At the same time, they live in poverty we can not imagine in the United States. Even those who are not living in some of the worst neighborhoods live without things that we consider necessities, and I don't mean necessities like a spare car for the nanny, I mean like pens and antibiotics. Tampons.

And on top of the basic drugstore needs, there is a greater need not filled there - the need for hope. Jobs are scarce, and the state provides for families, rather than families themselves. What happens to the most basic instinct a human can have; to hunt and gather for their families. Independent of politics, we are genetically programmed to want to provide for our children. Without the opportunity to provide, what happens to our hopes and dreams? What are the hopes and dreams of the Cuban people?  That is what I want to go back to find out.

At the same time, Castro has put a tremendous amount of money into the educational system, resulting in a higher literacy rate that that of the US. Socialized health care allowed my twelve year old friend to get x-rays within an hour after falling off his skateboard. One night I sat in the backyard of a family's home, enjoying a home cooked meal and a cervesa, and wondering why anyone would want to live differently. It's that same feeling I have in hawaii - remind me why we don't live here?

So there is good there too. Like the peeling layers of paint on every building in Havana, there are many layers in the life of a Cuban. I want to know them all.

A man stood in front of a wall spray painted with the words "Esperando El -"  Waiting for. Waiting for what? A job?  A better life? Waiting for Fidel to save them? Waiting for another revolucion? Waiting for the eventual lifting of the embargo? Waiting for the crash that will follow? So much waiting in Cuba.

If you read through all that rambling, you deserve to see some pictures. Stay tuned...

Baggage

My check in bag weighed 50lbs exactly. Phew. More worried about the charter flight to Cuba. Got my Starbucks, and listening to Carly sing over the airport muzak system. "anticipation, anticipa-a-ation is making me late, is keeping me waiting...". You said it girl.