FERTILE GROWTH in the den of Atlantis

This is either darling Maybelle or Sadie, one of Vikki's two hound dogs. I have never seen creatures so dang exuberant for life. Amazing. She rescued them as sisters that couldn't be parted and was told that they were little Jack Russell mixes. What a surprise to see the increased results!




Miss Vaden at the Earl! An amazing painter, check out some samples of her work.







This Mrs. Winner's sign provided us with the name for our future band. Look out world, here comes Dark Snack!

QUINTRON MAGIC: Hot jams

If you looked in any worthy dictionary, under "Power Fox", I would have to believe that it would only need to say Mr. Quintron. Once again, serendipitous forces had the end of his and Miss Pussycat's tour ending in Atlanta on my first evening here! The symbiotic push-me-pull-you roar of their always succulent stage show had the kids in a frenzy, throwing one another into each other's arms. Ahhh.

En route out of fragments into wholeness and reprieve!

The end of my stint with 20 teenage forces of personality is over!! An enriching and exhausting experience full of dramatic swells and depth. That said, I drove along the Gulf Coast and witnesses miles and miles of heartbreak. From casino shells to giant oaks downed in graveyard rubble to 3 streets inland now selling as "beachfront property," the effects of the power of wind and water and natural forces have spoken. I look at the decimated Outback Steakhouses and wealthy resorts and wonder about whether the weather CAN discriminate. Look at Marco, the sweetest heeler mix EVER, at the Gulfport Humane Society. I came within inches of leaving with a new buddy...Arriving safe and sound at the adorable casa of Miss Vikki Vaden in Atlanta with her beautiful paintings and more hospitality than you could shake a stick at.

New Orleans Imagery, Part 2

Not for the sensitive or faint of heart or sentimentals.





This gorgeous creature is Rita, a security guard at the New Orleans Museum of Art. She buys her rings at the flea market, works a matted wig like nobody's business and cawed 'Pretty Gurrrl. Pretty Gurrrl.' after me after she checked my knapsack. A relief to see old NoLa character that is still alive and well post-Katrina.

Trash versus treasure: INTERPRETER CALL

The program I'm documenting is comprised of kids from the Bronx, many of whom had never been outside of the City or on a plane. Fresh eyes and raw adolescent emotions abound. I dragged Lindita and Brittany, two darling subjects out into the wreckage for some creative release. They thought it was spooky, but that the shots looked unreal and "more like paintings than photographs." The perfect models.

Only in the South can one witness the sheer magic of a raccoon in the wild scarfing down on a Cheeto! The essence of my experience of the last two weeks.

We Shall All Rise Again and Again: CYCLE

More quality time on the Coastline of Mississippi. The Trail of the Wrath of Katrina. These are a resilient people, loyal as all get out to their space in this land. Returning against doubt and despair, pulling through the mire of the remnants by whoever is left, and volunteers, mostly of the Christian variety. FEMA is the new devil of today. Highlights here include Ola and David Baker, pictured above at their stand in the farmer's market. Married for 66 years, they are both 88 and he played his harmonica for me. I have seen 18 Lynard Skynard shirts in two days, eaten at a chicken drive thru called Raising Cain, bought liquor from a store where they make their own bags out of newspaper and wear sunglasses at night behind the counter, and bowled next to church youth groups and bikers.

FULL: Ultimate absorption in the South!

A brief moment of reprieve. A breath of the in-between.
*Let me catch up on the interim since I have been too busy to write anything at all! Today marks three weeks since I left the city I call home although it feels like three years. I began the journey with Mister Scott Moffett, fresh off the proverbial boat from Ess Eff. (Formerly of The Werepad fame, Scott is now running an online B Movie database site that is a must for any film freaks!! We drove to and marvelled at the fog and tiki vibes of the Motel Ronjo in Montauk, which I highly recommend, by the way. We traversed West with rough weather, evacuated flood towns, giant red suns goin' down, the hospitality of my Aunt in the North, Canadian thrift treasures, Michigan midwest depressed cities of former industry and backwoods demolition derby speedways.
*The Following expanse of relaxation and magic were spent at HIggins Lake, Michigan. The home of my great-grandparents cottage, we are lucky enough to still have this time capsule in our family. A sand-bottomed clear lake in the North, filled with sailing, tubing, "Black Water diving" and full cottages of family and friends, the essence is pure and timeless, reminiscient of an F.Scott Fitzgerald moment and the power of pine woods. My mother, ever the gracious hostess, my brother, niece, and close comrades were amazing AND great sports about modelling for photographs (see first Blog entry).
*A guest of the highway, Scott and I drove South. He left from Chicago and I went further through Illinois into Memphis, where a small reunion with pals at the Lamplighter commenced. Shirley's cheeseburgers and the can of PBR are still unbeatable. JD Mark from the Haunted Hearts was sweet enough to let me stay with him and his wife in Oxford and we stayed up into the night, talking records, natch.
*Next stop: NOLA. I had no idea what to expect when I entered the remains of one of the city centers of magic at Dusk last Wednesday. Media-fueled images of looters and the National Guard swam in my mind. What lay before my visage was the bare skeleton of a community, ravaged and sad. The slow pace of neglect that already attended many parts of New Orleans pre-Katrina was now exaggerated as whole neighborhoods sit, untouched. Ghost towns with X'd building from FEMA, checking for pets or the dead, starting to fade in the endless, oppressive Southern sun. Gutted shells of peoples lives in the Ninth Ward, Mid-City, St. Bernard Parish, Chalmette, East New Orleans...Small groups of church kids with dust masks helping to gut; old men patching their roofs alone in 92 degrees with scraps; Shuttered up public housing and supermarkets with smashed windows and empty parking lots. I could continue, but the general impression is understood. WHERE are those billions of dollars in aid???!!???
*Joining up with my dear pal Greg Ayres and his work, a group called
ACTION project/Dreamyard from the Bronx. I have spent the last week with a group of 20 teenagers here to work with local kids in the 7th Ward and share experiences and talk about building community through making art. More photos and details about this incredible group in days to come. I head East today to reconvene with them in Bay St. Louis/Gulfport.

Hope in Destruction

Yes, it's as devastating as you have heard.
Yes, I have cried every day.
Yes, people are trying to move on despite the absence of any government aid or hope.
Yes, the general consensus is that the levees were dynamited. Intentionally.
Everyone I have met here has an incredible story.

I would strongly encourage my faithful readers to send hope or money or pray for the survival of the character of her. N'awlins: The beast. The burden. The queen. The Mutha of all Towns.
Long live the Indians. The decadence. The Flavor. Mysterioso. The traditions. Le Spice. The center for releases from this Baptismal cesspool of Southern repression and struggle. Amen!

HEARTLAND LOBBYISTS

Quality time with the family in the North, under the spell of the Northern Lights and the impending full moon provided a plethora of inspired new work and good times, as evidenced. My niece embraces and brags to teenage pals there about her aunt's "sinister art" being way cool.