Music is a beautiful thing; art is a beautiful thing... but it really only comes to life when people become a part of it.

Self Portrait as an artist!

It's not quite winter but it's coming. You know it by the life that's retracting from the outside world... as the cold trickles upon us. Lake Ontario from a little village off the 81.

Keep The Light Burning

After we spent the day at the recording studio, emptied our souls, made some music for hours and hours... there is a smile on everyone's face and the engineer turns off the gear... reluctantly ending the night. The musicians walk out and all they can think of is to keep the night going. So the only thing to do is to sit outside the car and pour out more and more songs until a somber quietness settles over the gang. I got to bed and as I lay there falling into a slumber, I think... I am glad to be here - proud to be alive, and then I make myself a promise... 'keep the light burning'!

Thanks John Carrol, Tia and Pierre Chretien for the music and the dream in this picture... Keep the Light Burning!

The Beach Shack

Cape Cod's beaches are as serene as they are mysterious. It's long arm reaches through banks of sands and beaches that seem to go on forever... melding into the endless ocean waters. Only the residents will tell you of the cape's bare season. In the days of summer, the cape is full of life. A grown up kid's dream... and a child's dream too. But when the winds start blowing from the north and bluefish near the end of their feed, a curious thing happens. People migrate faster than the birds and fish do. The cape becomes somewhat of a lonely place, all of a sudden you become aware of all its space. Near Province Town, a half hour walk from the 28 to the ocean reveals a small village of beach shacks like this one. With a warm wind and a sky of eternity, I wish that one day maybe you and I can have our own grain of sand in New England's 'never never land'.

Otha's Stables

Otha Turner was a farmer born in 1907. He led a simple and meaningful life people say. In the heart of the Mississippi, here is my favorite shot of Otha's Stables. Two beautiful horses reside here. Horses that grew up with the sound of Fife and Drum.

Mississippi... knows how to party!

Otha Turner started a tradition in Senatobia, Mississippi. Every late august weekend, the tradition comes alive. Standing right in the middle of it, I looked around and everyone was either dancing and had a big grin on their face. A sense of deep tradition and seriousness made the experience quite profound. Here is one of the drummers.

It has been a packed summer and for good reasons I have slacked on keeping up with posting photos. However the summer travels have also provided me with an armload of stories and pictures which I am about to share with you over the next weeks and months. Let's start here. Not two weeks ago, Liz, two close friends and I decided to take a road trip down to Mississippi for the Otha Turner Family Goat Roast. Otha Turner is a legend of the Mississippi Fife and Drum tradition. He started a tradition of family picnics which run to this day. The experience sent shivers down my spine. Life, reality and dreams mingle here. Time slows down, dreams grow roots. I met a man named R.L.. Something about him was really deep and simple, like his honesty of musical expression. RL doesn't play for money - he plays because that's where he is from and that's what he knows how to do.

Top of the Holand Tunnel Vent

Simply hot. It's so hot in New York City that everything becomes redundant. Details don't matter. The air turns into water and it feels like you are walking around in a fish tank. People mellow out because of the heat and as they slow down the honking subsides. The noise doesn't travel so far underwater, and walking along the West Side highway all you can hear is the low humming of a big fan that sends air down to the people below. People in their cars - people in the tunnel - the Holand Tunnel. Standing right above the tunnel, is this peaceful view as you look in the direction of New Jersey.

Old Ford in Red Hook

Once there was an old car. Well, a truck to be exact by the name of Ford. When it first rolled out of the factory, it was proud and eager to be on the road. As time passed by and the work went on, Ford felt like it could do anything for anyone. Then one day Ford noticed the other cars were passing him by, and as his voice got throaty and things were beginning to squeak, folks started to call him 'old'... there is one of them "old fords" they would say. Just the same, being a good ol' truck, he pushed on and wouldn't give up. Ford didn't recognize any of the young'ns anymore. The road felt bumpy and even the people different... all in a hurry to get some place. Well as the days rolled by Ford eventually found himself parked on an old side street in Red Hook, Brooklyn. The cobble-stone road and ocean breeze made him feel right at home and he thought that was it... I've had a good run at it. Then one day, a man came by and saw Old Ford. He said to him: 'I've been looking for you a long time. Folks told me there's an old ford parked down in Red Hook right by Sunny's, so I decided to go see for myself"."I'm so glad I found you", said the man. I've got a granddaughter with an old soul. She doesn't feel at home in the big city and needs someone to show her around... all the cars around look the same, come, go and die, but you're gonna live for ever". Well Old Ford perked up like he was still on the assembly line and from then on he wasn't 'an old ford' but came to be known as "The Old Ford".

Far Rockaway. A place so far from New York that it's hard to believe it's so close. Tom Waits and Jesse Harris were touched by the beach enough to write songs about it: the surreal, the mysterious and free. Pass through Breezy Point and you might think you are in southern California, but the people will remind you that you are on the east coast - and so you head back to the city: relaxed and smelling like the beach. In this picture, a group of musicians and good friends embrace the wonders of Far Rockaway.

The funny thing is it really felt like time stopped. As though no one had ever heard of this little town; Alfred. The folks unaware of the world outside, dancing to their own tune... I wish I could remember how it went? Outside, in the breeze of a warm summer's night all you could hear were the crickets accompanying the picture show... that you see.

Snap... a-snap... a-snap. That's what New York is about. The music and the dream. Michael Winograd knows and here is a fabulous picture of him.

Here is a trip I took in my last life when I was a june bug. All my legs swinging independently... I don't know how I did it. The stalks I climbed, the fingers I've walked across, the girls dresses I decorated, and of course... all the mirrors I crossed. I even had wings, but they never made a tracks these.

What better way to introduce pictures into this story then by including a portrait of a good friend. Here is Sean Berry in Brooklyn. The background here is one of my favorites - a painting makes Sean appear to have a certain mythical character. I love it!

"Music is the weapon of the future" said Fela Kuti once and I believe him. I have a shirt that says so. And for my first entry on this blog I want to let you all know that music is food for the soul - and you 'd better believe it.