Brighton Beach
"There are no wrong notes; some are just more right than others."
Thelonious Monk
I am a Brooklyn boy born and raised. In my youth I lived for time at any of the three tiny beaches strung together by boardwalks and diverse ethnic communities: Coney Island, Brighton Beach, and Manhattan Beach. Brighton was mostly Jewish European and Russian, and offered a guaranteed visit to Mrs. Stahl's Knishes. If you do not know what a knish is, I feel sorry for you. Please pass the mustard.
My "making images" mind relies a lot on construction, I see the light, I hear the notes, and I consider how to assemble the elements. My subjects are mostly still. There is a control of space between the subject and my camera. There is often a controlled moment as shutter is released.
Brighton is nothing of the sort. It requires such a different way to look. The vibrancy, the colors, the forms and shapes, all moving in the now, with no control by me. I had to let go, and it seemed like the patterns in the streets did the same thing.
This place is a visual of the jazz soundtrack of my brain and requires my attention to be on full alert. Shifting notes, dissonant chords, uneven time all worn on clothing by immigrants expressing their unique version of their American dream. I often laugh, even schriek as these hilarious moments appear and off I go in pursuit.
