From the Archives - County Coroner, Minneapolis, Minnesota (circa 1982) This is from a series that has never been exhibited or published on what people do for a living. I was inspired by Studs Terkel’s book, Working: People Talk About What They Do All Day and How They Feel About What They Do. I thought it would be interesting to photograph the coroner for Hennepin County. I just called him up and he said to come down. I got there in the middle of the week and was disappointed because there weren’t any bodies. He said to come back on a Monday because there was usually a lot of business after a weekend. I did as he suggested and walked down a dark narrow hallway that spilled out into a  bright room. On top of a large metal sink-like table, not dissimilar to one I used in my darkroom, laid a male body with the chest cavity pried open and the skin pulled off the face. Shocking. I had never seen a corpse before. But once I looked through the viewfinder the excitement of trying to make photographic sense of this macabre scene took over. I decided to use the light above his head, knowing it would create a halo-like flare for this investigator of death. The sweetly sick pungent odor of formaldehyde and pickled flesh stayed with me for days.  
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From the Archives - County Coroner, Minneapolis, Minnesota (circa 1982)

This is from a series that has never been exhibited or published on what people do for a living. I was inspired by Studs Terkel’s book, Working: People Talk About What They Do All Day and How They Feel About What They Do.

I thought it would be interesting to photograph the coroner for Hennepin County. I just called him up and he said to come down. I got there in the middle of the week and was disappointed because there weren’t any bodies. He said to come back on a Monday because there was usually a lot of business after a weekend.

I did as he suggested and walked down a dark narrow hallway that spilled out into a  bright room. On top of a large metal sink-like table, not dissimilar to one I used in my darkroom, laid a male body with the chest cavity pried open and the skin pulled off the face.

Shocking. I had never seen a corpse before. But once I looked through the viewfinder the excitement of trying to make photographic sense of this macabre scene took over. I decided to use the light above his head, knowing it would create a halo-like flare for this investigator of death. The sweetly sick pungent odor of formaldehyde and pickled flesh stayed with me for days.  

This is the start of yet another concept in which I ask people to interact with someone they don’t know well (their Other) by discussing the chalkboard questions (see previous post). Then I ask the “Other” person to also approach someone they don’t know well, and so on, creating a “Chalkboard Chain.” — New Work - Charles & Hai at Tip Top Haircut, Minneapolis, Minnesota (2012) I don’t have much information about Charles, except that he’s a regular at Tip Top, lives in the neighborhood and has a passion for donuts, as do I. We excitedly discussed the merits of the holed pastries at Patisserie 46, A Baker’s Wife (my favorite), Wuollet Bakery (his favorite), SugaRush Donuts and The Donut Cooperative. I don’t believe I’ve ever had a passionate discourse on dounuts before, with a stranger no less. I have another photo of Charles, almost exactly the same except that he has his eyes open. I couldn’t decide which one I preferred and asked several people for their opinions. One person commented that with his eyes open, what he wrote seems like a demand. With his eyes closed it’s more like a prayer.
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This is the start of yet another concept in which I ask people to interact with someone they don’t know well (their Other) by discussing the chalkboard questions (see previous post). Then I ask the “Other” person to also approach someone they don’t know well, and so on, creating a “Chalkboard Chain.”

—

New Work - Charles & Hai at Tip Top Haircut, Minneapolis, Minnesota (2012)

I don’t have much information about Charles, except that he’s a regular at Tip Top, lives in the neighborhood and has a passion for donuts, as do I. We excitedly discussed the merits of the holed pastries at Patisserie 46, A Baker’s Wife (my favorite), Wuollet Bakery (his favorite), SugaRush Donuts and The Donut Cooperative. I don’t believe I’ve ever had a passionate discourse on dounuts before, with a stranger no less.

I have another photo of Charles, almost exactly the same except that he has his eyes open. I couldn’t decide which one I preferred and asked several people for their opinions. One person commented that with his eyes open, what he wrote seems like a demand. With his eyes closed it’s more like a prayer.

From the Archive - The Diner, Lake Street USA (1997 - 2000) We had been married for about ten years when we opened the restaurant in November of ‘50. We separated several months later. She’s been working for me ever since. She does all the cooking. We’re both remarried. We always got along. I’ve worked seven days a week for fifty years. I’ve never taken a day off. I eat all my meals here. I like to work. For fun I like to go dancing. I used to work in a lumberyard. I made the restaurant out of a garage, added doors and just kept adding on. I worked on the railroads for 38 and a half years. I was retired, on a pension, when I decided to open. Didn’t know anything about the restaurant business. I only planned to keep it for about three months and then sell it. I named it the Diner because when I sold it the new owner could then just add their name, like Harvey’s Diner. But I kinda liked it, so I never did sell.
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From the Archive - The Diner, Lake Street USA (1997 - 2000)

We had been married for about ten years when we opened the restaurant in November of ‘50. We separated several months later. She’s been working for me ever since. She does all the cooking. We’re both remarried. We always got along.

I’ve worked seven days a week for fifty years. I’ve never taken a day off. I eat all my meals here. I like to work. For fun I like to go dancing.

I used to work in a lumberyard. I made the restaurant out of a garage, added doors and just kept adding on. I worked on the railroads for 38 and a half years. I was retired, on a pension, when I decided to open. Didn’t know anything about the restaurant business.

I only planned to keep it for about three months and then sell it. I named it the Diner because when I sold it the new owner could then just add their name, like Harvey’s Diner. But I kinda liked it, so I never did sell.

New Work - Eric & Mike with Cup Foods Employees and Customers, Minneapolis, Minnesota (2012) Chalkboard Pairs: A concept where people who don’t know each other well answer together these questions: What are you? How do you think others see you? What don’t they see? What advice would you give to a stranger? What is your favorite word? Describe an incident that changed you. When do you feel that you’re different from the those around you? When do you feel you’re the same? How has race affected you? — Mike (“Please”) is the second youngest of four brothers who own Cup Foods. Eric (chalkboard words below) is the second oldest of four brothers. They had not met before the taking of this photo. Eric has lived in Powderhorn Park for twenty years and has always stayed away from Cup. I introduced Eric to Mike and when I asked them both the chalkboard questions a conversation between them ensued that touched on Mike’s passion for football (he’s a linebacker in the Minnesota Spartans, a minor league) and Eric’s passion as a photographer. They were also pleasantly surprised that both had been to Jerusalem, albeit with contrasting experiences, what with Mike being Muslim while Eric is Jewish. But talking about their respective religions seemed more like they were sharing interesting, serendipitous facts rather than pointing out differences. — Eric’s chalkboard: “I used to feel intimidated by the people hanging out in front of the store but after spending some time here I feel comfortable.”
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New Work - Eric & Mike with Cup Foods Employees and Customers, Minneapolis, Minnesota (2012)

Chalkboard Pairs: A concept where people who don’t know each other well answer together these questions:

What are you?

How do you think others see you? What don’t they see?

What advice would you give to a stranger?

What is your favorite word?

Describe an incident that changed you.

When do you feel that you’re different from the those around you? When do you feel you’re the same?

How has race affected you?

—

Mike (“Please”) is the second youngest of four brothers who own Cup Foods. Eric (chalkboard words below) is the second oldest of four brothers. They had not met before the taking of this photo.

Eric has lived in Powderhorn Park for twenty years and has always stayed away from Cup. I introduced Eric to Mike and when I asked them both the chalkboard questions a conversation between them ensued that touched on Mike’s passion for football (he’s a linebacker in the Minnesota Spartans, a minor league) and Eric’s passion as a photographer.

They were also pleasantly surprised that both had been to Jerusalem, albeit with contrasting experiences, what with Mike being Muslim while Eric is Jewish. But talking about their respective religions seemed more like they were sharing interesting, serendipitous facts rather than pointing out differences.

—

Eric’s chalkboard: “I used to feel intimidated by the people hanging out in front of the store but after spending some time here I feel comfortable.”

From the Archive -American Girls, Frogtown (1993 - 1995) This is my first American girlfriend. We met at a party and she asked me to go to a movie with her. I like American girls. I would like to marry an American girl because they are more pretty. I like how they act, all nice and stuff. I like Mexican girls too. But they are different. I can’t explain how.
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From the Archive -American Girls, Frogtown (1993 - 1995)

This is my first American girlfriend. We met at a party and she asked me to go to a movie with her. I like American girls. I would like to marry an American girl because they are more pretty. I like how they act, all nice and stuff. I like Mexican girls too. But they are different. I can’t explain how.

New Work - Hai & Sam, Minneapolis, Minnesota (2012) I’m introducing a new concept—Neighbor Diptychs—in which neighbors who don’t know each other well are photographed in each other’s spaces. — Tip Top Haircut is two doors down from Cup Foods. I have driven past Cup Foods hundreds of times over the years, but my first time inside wasn’t until shortly after I moved into my new gallery space across the street last May. From the outside it looked like your typical corner grocery store that just stocked convenience items, but I was surprised to find a butcher shop, 60-item deli, fresh produce, great selection of food items (including Middle Eastern and Spanish ingredients), a thriving mobile phone business, and The New York Times. Samir, or Sam as he usually introduces himself, opened the store 23 years ago. He works six days a week and has 16 employees. “I care about the customers and my employees. This is my life,” he says. “It as an Islamic belief that when you’re in the womb and your heart starts ticking at 40 days, your whole life and destiny is determined at that time. Well, this is what I was meant to do.” The constant bantering of customers and the loud sports announcing from the flat screen television is momentarily silenced for the late afternoon call for prayer. After Sam’s mother passed away 14 years ago from leukemia he decided to build a mosque in her honor in the basement of the store. Cup Foods is the most visible business on a corner that has had a sketchy reputation. “The perception is getting better,” Sam says, who served five years as President for the 38th & Chicago Business Association, and is currently the treasurer. “But there is no perfect place. Even the Holy Land where I come from has the longest history of war. Things happen everywhere.”
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New Work - Hai & Sam, Minneapolis, Minnesota (2012)

I’m introducing a new concept—Neighbor Diptychs—in which neighbors who don’t know each other well are photographed in each other’s spaces.

—

Tip Top Haircut is two doors down from Cup Foods. I have driven past Cup Foods hundreds of times over the years, but my first time inside wasn’t until shortly after I moved into my new gallery space across the street last May. From the outside it looked like your typical corner grocery store that just stocked convenience items, but I was surprised to find a butcher shop, 60-item deli, fresh produce, great selection of food items (including Middle Eastern and Spanish ingredients), a thriving mobile phone business, and The New York Times.

Samir, or Sam as he usually introduces himself, opened the store 23 years ago. He works six days a week and has 16 employees. “I care about the customers and my employees. This is my life,” he says. “It as an Islamic belief that when you’re in the womb and your heart starts ticking at 40 days, your whole life and destiny is determined at that time. Well, this is what I was meant to do.”

The constant bantering of customers and the loud sports announcing from the flat screen television is momentarily silenced for the late afternoon call for prayer. After Sam’s mother passed away 14 years ago from leukemia he decided to build a mosque in her honor in the basement of the store.

Cup Foods is the most visible business on a corner that has had a sketchy reputation. “The perception is getting better,” Sam says, who served five years as President for the 38th & Chicago Business Association, and is currently the treasurer. “But there is no perfect place. Even the Holy Land where I come from has the longest history of war. Things happen everywhere.”

From the Archive - Boy Scout, St. Paul, Minnesota (1982) It was exciting to be on one of my first paid commercial gigs, dutifully documenting the sundry festive activities surrounding the 100-year anniversary of the St. Paul Public Library for promotional materials. I had already taken hundreds of carefully composed shots that hopefully conveyed the celebratory nature of the event and, more importantly, pleased the client. But then I turned around and saw this, getting off one shot. When I get a good photograph, one that seems to have its own complete and particular logic, I often don’t know at the time I take it that it’s the “one.” You look so hard but sometimes it’s the photo that finds you. The best ones seem to take themselves.
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From the Archive - Boy Scout, St. Paul, Minnesota (1982)

It was exciting to be on one of my first paid commercial gigs, dutifully documenting the sundry festive activities surrounding the 100-year anniversary of the St. Paul Public Library for promotional materials. I had already taken hundreds of carefully composed shots that hopefully conveyed the celebratory nature of the event and, more importantly, pleased the client.

But then I turned around and saw this, getting off one shot. When I get a good photograph, one that seems to have its own complete and particular logic, I often don’t know at the time I take it that it’s the “one.” You look so hard but sometimes it’s the photo that finds you. The best ones seem to take themselves.

New Work - Hai Singing, Minneapolis, Minnesota (2012) I asked Hai if he ever gets bored waiting for customers. “No,” he replied. “I sometimes sit all day and think about music.” The 40 songs he’s written in 20 years traverse loss and migration, witnessing burning bodies in India, sights in Alaska and Wyoming, the death of his mother and the memories of his homeland of Vietnam before the Communists took it over. He was inducted into the South Vietnamese Army at age 20, served as a radio operator for 14 years, and was captured briefly by the Viet Cong, spending a week as a POW before escaping. “I hated it,” he says. “I don’t like communism. I like freedom.” Although he owned a barbershop in Saigon for ten years, he still had to get his barber’s license at the Minneapolis Community & Technical College. He held two jobs, working 14-hour days as a machinist in the morning and then onto Great Clips at night. With his savings he opened up Tip Top last year. He said that in Vietnam the barber, not the customer, chooses the style of hair because back there you only had a scissors and comb while here you use clippers. Also because of communism people were afraid of choice and thought it better to leave the decision up to the barber and not argue. You make a fuss and they’d take you away or kill you. “America knows how to build a civilization,” says Hai. “What better way to understand American culture than to make people look nice? My clients come from all over the world: Mexico, Laos, China, Cambodia, Russia, Africa. You don’t have to be a politician to affect a community. You can just be a small business owner.”
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New Work - Hai Singing, Minneapolis, Minnesota (2012)

I asked Hai if he ever gets bored waiting for customers. “No,” he replied. “I sometimes sit all day and think about music.”

The 40 songs he’s written in 20 years traverse loss and migration, witnessing burning bodies in India, sights in Alaska and Wyoming, the death of his mother and the memories of his homeland of Vietnam before the Communists took it over. He was inducted into the South Vietnamese Army at age 20, served as a radio operator for 14 years, and was captured briefly by the Viet Cong, spending a week as a POW before escaping.

“I hated it,” he says. “I don’t like communism. I like freedom.”

Although he owned a barbershop in Saigon for ten years, he still had to get his barber’s license at the Minneapolis Community & Technical College. He held two jobs, working 14-hour days as a machinist in the morning and then onto Great Clips at night. With his savings he opened up Tip Top last year.

He said that in Vietnam the barber, not the customer, chooses the style of hair because back there you only had a scissors and comb while here you use clippers. Also because of communism people were afraid of choice and thought it better to leave the decision up to the barber and not argue. You make a fuss and they’d take you away or kill you.

“America knows how to build a civilization,” says Hai. “What better way to understand American culture than to make people look nice? My clients come from all over the world: Mexico, Laos, China, Cambodia, Russia, Africa. You don’t have to be a politician to affect a community. You can just be a small business owner.”

From the Archive - Uptown Parade, Lake Street USA (1997 - 2000) Every photograph is a self-portrait in some way, reflecting both the person who took it and the person looking at it. How often do you feel that you are part of what surrounds you? When do you feel apart? I like the moments when both seem true.
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From the Archive - Uptown Parade, Lake Street USA (1997 - 2000)

Every photograph is a self-portrait in some way, reflecting both the person who took it and the person looking at it.

How often do you feel that you are part of what surrounds you? When do you feel apart? I like the moments when both seem true.

Every Wednesday (round midnight) I will post a photo culled from my 35 year, film-based archive. Although many will be from projects that have been published or exhibited, some have never seen the light of day. I’m not sure how many tens of thousands of negatives I have stored in boxes and three-ring binders, but most have not been digitized. As of yet, I still shoot with a 35mm Contax Aria and a 645 Mamiya. I have not, as they say, gone digital. — From the Archive - Laotian Funeral, Lake Street USA (1997 - 2000) I was walking through a Lake Street neighborhood when I saw several monks coming out of a house. I asked if I could photograph and spent the rest of the day experiencing several elaborate stages of a Laotian funeral service that started at the home of the deceased, which overflowed with mourners, and then proceeded to a funeral home nearby. These young boys, relatives of the family, were novice, or temporary monks, chosen just for the funeral service. They shaved their head, eyebrows, and facial hair, training for two days with ten commandments to follow. Senior monks have 227.
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Every Wednesday (round midnight) I will post a photo culled from my 35 year, film-based archive. Although many will be from projects that have been published or exhibited, some have never seen the light of day. I’m not sure how many tens of thousands of negatives I have stored in boxes and three-ring binders, but most have not been digitized. As of yet, I still shoot with a 35mm Contax Aria and a 645 Mamiya. I have not, as they say, gone digital.

—

From the Archive - Laotian Funeral, Lake Street USA (1997 - 2000)

I was walking through a Lake Street neighborhood when I saw several monks coming out of a house. I asked if I could photograph and spent the rest of the day experiencing several elaborate stages of a Laotian funeral service that started at the home of the deceased, which overflowed with mourners, and then proceeded to a funeral home nearby.

These young boys, relatives of the family, were novice, or temporary monks, chosen just for the funeral service. They shaved their head, eyebrows, and facial hair, training for two days with ten commandments to follow. Senior monks have 227.