Signs, Objects, A Photo Essay

 

Everything we see and touch and find possesses a multitude of meanings and says a little something quirky and humorous. 

Above, get your alcohol delivered.

There are found pamplets, letters, business cards given to me or those which fell out of used books I was pricing during the years I worked in second-hand bookstores or was volunteering with my wife at our local library book sale.

The ticket above was for a guided tour in a hearse. 

Below, Virginia's Humpbacked Bridge. A lovely spot.

Above, you haven't been to LA if you haven't been to Norms. 

From New Orlean to Seattle.

Below, a receipt from a French bookstore in Manhattan, September 1961. One book was three dollars.

The paper ephemera are either ticket stubs for events I attended, or places I visited. I wanted to preserve them for others to see.  

Below, a recipt from a French bookstore in Paris. I just found these items. Or maybe they found me.

Above, just order your booze and get it delivered.

Below, remember library card catalogs? Those long narrow wooden drawers. Talk about a certain fume and texture.

Below, George Carlin one night in 2004, and Neil Young another. That was a good year for me for live shows. 

Most of the signs I happened across and just by chance was carrying a camera. These were days before the ubiquitous cellphone.  

What the photos don't capture are the fumes of the paper articles. The textures and delicacy in one's hand. 

Objects speak in a quieter yet fuller way. Sometimes humorously, but for me with subtlety and a suggestion of time past and present that I don't get from paper or signs or words. 

Light, of course, affects how certain architectural details are experienced. They suggest mystery and the possibility of mutations.

Words don't feel as flexible. They have their say, make their impression. 

Consider what light does below for these two photos I once took during a move of my collected books. If the books were words, the light would have less of an effect, I think. Stacked, snaking upward, looking about to topple, the books become something else, a canvas for the light.

Of course, signs mean one thing if we look quickly. They mean something else altogether when we take our time and absorb them. For example, at first glance, this photo could have been taken anywhere in the States. However, it was taken in Russia, about twelve hours by plane from Moscow. 

This envelope above was so fragile in my hands. It's over a hundred years old. Arrived to Richmond from New Orleans just two days before Christmas in 1908. Unfortunately, there was no letter inside the envelope when I found it.  

Above, look at the price for a ticket to a baseball game in 1982. Six dollars and fifty cents. For box seats, as well. Excellent seats. Today, a fan at a pro baseball game can't even purchase a beer for that sum. 

Below, a ticket to see a screening of The Apartment at The Egyptian theatre in Hollywood. Jack Lemmon was at the screening. He had a cold, but I went on stage after the screening and did a Q and A that lasted almost two hours. He was funny and interesting and really generous. He died less than two years later.

Above, dated 1944, a letter home to the States from a soldier during wartime. 

Babies and horses. 

Can't get enough books.

Touch the fish below before you buy them. Put your fingers in their mouths. I dare you.