LREI 2014 Art Auction

 I have been fortunate enough to have worked for and been associated with LREI, a unique and fantastic private school in Manhattan, for a number of years now, thanks to the lovely and talented Laura Hahn. I participated in their art auction 2 years ago, selling a photograph I took in Bogata, Columbia.

This year I have donated two pieces shot in New Orleans, Louisiana, to be sold in tandem and titled  'Americana Diptych.'

The show is March 12th.
Register to attend (and bid) at LREI!

Diving to New Heights in the Great Barrier Reef

 

If heaven exists – it looks like an Australian sunset. I have been witness to the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen on this trip, and taking off from Cairns airport at 6:45pm this evening was no exception. Not usually having the window, I got a front row seat to the painted colors glowing and melting into one another, masked only by the most delicate scattering of white fluffy clouds precariously placed on the ever changing canvas. When you see something this naturally mesmerizing it makes you think that there must still be beauty in the world, despite all of the hate, malice and broken dreams.

I will admit that my departure from Cairns was bittersweet, as it has by far been the best part of my journey so far. Arriving just a few days ago it seemed like a nice enough town and I knew that the reason for being here was to have my virgin run as a scuba diver in the famous Great Barrier Reef. It seemed almost perfunctory to have booked the extra ticket up here and I saw myself fulfilling a responsibility to my time in Australia and, most importantly, to myself. What I got instead was the opportunity to meet some great people, experience some authentic culture and pet a sea turtle – which I only later found out is illegal – so don’t tell.

I spent the majority of Saturday night in my bottom bunk, pant less. This sounds like I must have had a rousing good time, but the true reason is that Jackie was washing my pants as they had been worn to bed every night for a month with her load and instead of throwing on some haphazard evening ensemble and spending $7 on a jug of beer at the local Irish pub, I read in my bed and chatted with my roommates – who I fell a little bit in love with individually as well as a whole.

Logan is a 19 year old ginger from Boston, at that stage in life where you’re so desperate to grow up yet not at a place where you fully understand what that means (perhaps you never fully do) was located across the room from me. We talked about music and being away from home for the first time. I felt a big sisterly affection for him and marveled at his craftsmanship when fashioning a bong out of a Coke bottle and a pen. He was reading On The Road for the first time, which made me feel ancient in the most endearing way.

Chris is a 28 year old from Liverpool who's Liverpuddlian accent is so thick and energy so frantic it can be difficult to keep up. He quit his job in finance to travel for a bit, scuba dive and perhaps change his direction in life. He cooked some incredible meals, none of which I sampled but all of which I salivated over, while we were here and he casually mentioned maybe pursuing something in the culinary arts. I certainly hope if our paths cross again he will have done so. Last night he identified himself as a nice guy, and I have every reason to believe he truly is.

James, also from England is 26 and loveable in a Dick Van Dyke sort of way. For anyone who knows me, they understand what an immense compliment this is. He broke off his engagement and quit his job to do laundry at a hotel by night in Cairns and romance a local by day. I have heard her voice behind the curtain he hangs to create an adult fort on his bunk – but her identity is still a mystery. You could feel the warmth held within him almost ooze out of his pores.

The kindness and generosity these three boys shared with me over our brief time living together will not soon be forgotten. Now onto the good stuff…

We had booked a tour with Silver Swift for a Sunday adventure into the Great Barrier Reef. The boat took off at 8:30am and, being the punctuality freak I am, we were on the dock and ready to go by 7:45. With some ill given advice I had opted not to bring my land camera on the trip with me and instead just stuck to the underwater device I had rented from a local shop that comes replete with first aid kit inspired carrying case. We spent the first hour of the boat ride inside, watching an informational video and listening to fun facts about diving for the first timers and generally inexperienced. Being in a moving boat for that long was making me a little queasy, but I took deep breaths and attempted to focus on the task at hand – a task and it’s inherent dangers that were described so throughoughly and with such great detail that I thought it faily certain I would pop a lung or blow an ear drum or better yet – die on the ocean floor in Queensland. At least it would make a pretty grave.

Our first dive site had arrived in no time and we were given small groups and instructors – very much like a field trip for adults. A very expensive field trip for adults. Jackie and I had signed up for 2 dives and we were designated the first two sites with the third being our opportunity for snorkeling. Our group was comprised of the two of us and a married couple from Utah who had left 2 kids at home for a couple of weeks down under. The wife was visibly nervous and the husband visibaly attentive – it was actually sweet to watch. Our instructor options were between a seemingly smart ass man rocking a gold chain across his chest or an adorable blonde who looks as though she stepped directly out of a Roxy ad. Gold Chain it was – score!

Marcos was our instructor for the day and despite his lackluster dental work, I could not help but be at least partially intoxicated by his charm. The last time I had encountered a scuba instructor – on a boat in Hawaii when I was 17 – I felt similarly smitten and I believe it may be a mix of the personality types attractied to such professions coupled with the personality types needed for the tourism industry. Silly foreigner I may be – but it was fun to flirt with a man for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

On the first dive we were instructed to all link arms, mine being with my covert ops travel mate decked out in full regalia, having opted for the hood attached to our warm water wetsuits, creating a mess of flippers and tanks clinking together. My assumption would be that this is to see if we can in fact swim and gauge our comfort in the water. Luckily we all seemed to pass that test because once we arrived at the second location we were unleashed – if only slightly – and navigation became considerably easier. It was at the second location that we met with a fish as large as a lab who evidently likes the tourists and essentially poses for photos with them. It was also the first location I was able to bring my camera out on and tried by best to manage a leaking mask, a mouth piece that was taking all of my strength to hold onto with my teeth, and a camera constantly getting caught up in my gear. Luckily Marcos, my instructor/boyfriend for the day had made me take off my hoops that I so desperately wanted to dive with because that may have been just too much going on.

We had been told at the start of the day that there was the potential for a third dive (and a third charge) and when it became apparent that there was in fact that opportunity I couldn’t have possibly said no. We signed up for a third dive and dug into the lunch buffet, drying off and warming up before our next adventure under the sea. And I say under the sea because you can almost hear Sebastian singing ''The Little Mermaid' soundtrack when looking at this whole other world that exists deep in the ocean. And lets face it, everything is better with a soundtrack. My father had told me this would be the most exotic place I had ever seen and although I may not agree with that statement, when you see schools of fish flitting about and coral stacked up like natural hotels for sea critters you do think you’re someplace unlike home. The third location was by far the coolest and Kubrick-like with deeper drop offs and more vibrant neon colors splattered about in the form of fish, coral and unidentifiable gooey creatures. We met with a friendly sea turtle, a big black sea dildo (or cucumber for those of you over the age of 14) and a pretty chilled out jellyfish – a nickname my pretend boyfriend had given to me for some unknown reason that very day. I would like to think it is because I am beautiful, graceful and can sting the hell out of you. But I may be romanticizing a bit there. It was during the third dive that I felt I finally got the rhytum of my breathing down and the pace at which to flip my flippers and just as I was feeling the ease of the groove – it was time to go up.

Back on the boat we were presented with certificates of completion for our first dive and the sun finally came out to warm us as we headed back to Cairns. This was also yet another opportunity for me to tell my sob story to yet another unsuspecting bloke as Marcos and I had a lively debate about how Australians are assholes and for what seemed like out of the blue to me, he asked if I had had my heart broken. I of course answered yes only to discover he was asking about some sort of Danny Zucco summer romance down here. I explained in succinct language that I was not 11, and therefore incapable of having my heart broken by some foolish fling – of which I had not even partaken in – and then he asked some questions about my ‘partner.’ Only later did I realize – did he think I was a lesbian? Lets hope not, or I may have lost my game entirely.

I love to run in humid climates and I wanted to take advantage of the evening so after deboarding and bidding adieu to my latest paramour (in my head) I went home, changed and went for a run on the promenade. I have no music on my iphone without internet so I have had to go silent these past weeks and just yesterday I realize why professional runners do so. You really find your own natural pace when not paying attention to those of Rihanna or Ke$ha – two girls I hate to look at but love to listen to. I was gone for the twilight hour and got to watch the silvery blue mountains disappear into the black night as the fog rolled in was quieting - even while running.

When I was a little girl my mother had told me a story about how when she was young, she would look out at a valley in the night sky and imagine a jewelry box, lined with black velvet and housing sparkling gold and jewels of every tone. I think about this from time to time when I see a line of red lights or twinkling solitaire in the darkness. Last night the sky was velvet and the jewels were alive.

A long day of limited oxygen, sun and a run resulting in so much sweat I may as well have gone swimming and I was exhausted. I ate crackers in my bed as Jacks dug into our roommate’s Burn-Flavored Doritos and hummus and it was off to a sound sleep.

The next morning I was, of course, up and at ‘em first for the free breakfast and free WiFi in Hostel Melrose Place, with a large pool and sitting area in the center of the room and a scene for sure. I was waiting for Amanda to be thrown into the pool at any moment. We had to decide between rainforest and beach for our last day and thinking perhaps New Zealand provided more of the former, we caught the 110 bus to Palm Cove or what I like to call Highway to Hades bus.  Cairns is hot – and humid – and when you’re on a bus with no air conditioning for an hour and poorly bathed people are flanking you on each side, and  the sun is beating down on you, the results can be deadly. Just about to take what I thought would be my last breath, the amiable driver dropped us off at the long stretch of beach lined with palm trees and rich hippie eateries.

Never having dried off since my shower I figured a dip in the tepid waves would do me good. I was having lovely moments of solitude with the ocean until a man came running out to Jackie, sitting erectly along the shore, to inform her that the bay there is infested with deadly jellyfish the size of your fingernail and that her stupid American accomplice should get the F out of the water. Australia had been so welcoming thus far, why would I have been surprised.

I got out.

We laid in the shade and read for a while longer before heading back into the city to catch our bus to the airport and, in turn a Tiger flight to Melbourne. The flight was full of crying babies and smelly Europeans so it is pretty awesome. Tonight will be another restful night in the Hostel Melbourne Airport where temperatures reach sub zero late at night and tomorrow – New Zealand.

Melbourne is a City for Lovers ... And it Stinks!

Have you ever noticed that when you're heart is broken all of a sudden the entire world is in love? Melbourne is fraught with couples hand in hand, young families glowing with familial love and senior citizens basically fornicating in public parks. Never before was I a girl who noted these things, let alone disdained them, but that all changed. With my wounds still gaping and raw from my love lost, the salt of others happy endeavors feels like grains being dropped into those war wounds one at a time. Bitter? I hope not. Dramatic? Most definitely. Sad. No Doubt. But alas, when in travel, as in in life you are expected to keep your head up, pretend those annoyances of life do not exist and march on...

After the underwear debacle in Fed Square I managed to put on my most suitable homeless lesbian ensemble, meaning everything I own all at once, and headed out on the town. Out on the town meant Elephant and Wheelbarrow, which seems to be two parts English pub one part Disco.

We immediately procured two local brews and set up shop at one of the picnic tables in their outdoor section. Between billows of cigarette smoke we managed to chat for a bit, before meeting our male counterparts for the evening. Rob and Liam were simply looking for an open seat, but little did they know they had just made American friends – at least for the evening.

Rob, an Abercrobie model in the making with golden locks and big innocent blue eyes immediately took a liking to Jackie. Liam, his brunette and pierced companion was left to wing man it out with me. As Rob attempted to charm the pants off of Jackie – literally – Liam recounted his tales of a recent visit to America to me with flash and fervor. Live music was being played upstairs and we made our way up the steep staircase to find a cover band and a sea of Aussies rocking out to American classics. By classics I mean Blink 182 and Eagle Eye Cherry. It was like high school all over again with a disco ball illuminating the eager crowd.

After the boys were kicked out of the bar for some mysterious reason we made our way down the block to yet another bar with yet another cover band. It seems that the money for entertainment here is invested in actual musicians as opposed to juke boxes or a dude with a laptop and and iTunes playlist. Refreshing - gold star for Australia! We danced the night away to some untapped female talent belting out Bruno Mars and Katy Perry as I tried my best to be the ultimate wing woman. This role is a delicate balance as you have to be around in case she wants you to save her and you have to make yourself scarce in case she wants to get busy. The signs are hard to read and I did my best to be present but not too present. It was once Rob became too inebriated and too frustrated with his stunted progress with the 6-foot tall blonde of his desire that he chose to confide in me about his love woes. Something about me makes people feel comfortable telling their sad tales. One of my many talents, I suppose. As we commiserated I felt incredibly old – and incredibly human.

The night was cut short as the rain came in and we parted ways with our boyfriends for the evening promising to meet up the following day at St. Kilda’s Festival – a huge weekend-long music festival held in Melbourne annually and the reason for our moves down South rather than West as we had originally planned. The weather was perfect as Jackie caught the tram out to the Docklands to meet a friend from her previous travels for brunch and I visited a local craft fair where I managed to pick up a couple gifts for loved ones back and home and ate breakfast by the river. Sitting in silence in the sun is perhaps one of the greatest things on earth.

After managing to get a handle on the public trasport here in Melbourne I met back up with Jackie in the late afternoon at St. Kilda. This is basically blocks of a big street party leading to a series of stages with free music situated right on the ocean. It is almost too good to be true. We had arranged to meet at the Latin tent and Jackie managed to dance a couple salsas and I managed to locate a short Hispanic man yelling out ‘Wepa’ before we headed deeper into the belly of the beast. The blue grass tent had Quarry Mountain Dead Rats and the main stage offered the musical talents of Ash Grunwald and Bluejuice. Jackie had yet another friend to meet so we took the 16A tram back into the city so she could have dinner with him and I could drive the car in circles for an hour, take a quick cat nap and pick her up before driving back out to Docklands where we would make our home for the night – in the frigid car alongside the ocean.

These car nights always have me up at the crack of dawn, and with few options and nature calling – sometimes pissing in a gutter. Not my finest moment, Ill admit – especially since after the sun rose and I went on my morning run along the water I saw a public restroom was not but 150 meters from our car. Oh well.

Today’s task was the Great Ocean Road that provides some great ocean and a lot of road. Thank god I was in the driver’s seat (as I have been 99% of this trip) as we traversed the PCH of the Southern Hemisphere because I would mos def have relived the days of my childhood trips up to Lake Tahoe, and blown chunks all over our cute little hatchback otherwise. With a couple fantastic views of the crashing waves we landed in Apollo Bay for a zen-like nap on the beach and some overpriced noodles. Noodles were chosen because it seems the custom in this country to close between lunch and dinner – ie the time we usually eat our meals and the noodle house was open, so it won by default. How is it not possible that people don’t see the money making opportunity in being available for business between the hours of 3 and 6? Or is that just the New York hustler in me? But I digress…

En route to Port Campbell, our arbitraty destination for the evening, I managed to scare off a flock of sheep and met two cows who could not have possibly cared less about my presence. The barnyard highlight of the day, however, was spotting the wild kangaroos the freeway. You fear for their safety when you see them grazing along the paved roads– but it is also a reminder that you are not driving along the coast of Central California and that in itself if thrilling.

When the sun began to hang low in the sky and the ocean became frothy with it’s early evening tide we made our way to the 12 Apostles, a series of large limestone formations – of which there are not 12 – that stand in the ocean and evidently were once considered a wonder of the world. I have to admit, I can understand why. There is no way any photos I took of the tourist attraction do justice to the beauty of mist surrouning the bases of these mammouth tan structures. It was awe inspiring, but the awe was quickly forgotten as some French bitch clearly looking to expand her portfolio not so politely asked me to step aside so she could take yet another photo of herself in Gucci knock-off shades and a red windbreaker leaning against the safety railing in front of the rocks. Tourists!

Not 30 minutes later you come upon a town called Port Campbell which at first seems fairly underwhelming – but once you drive inside you see it is a charming little town with cute hostels and shops and a fantastic view of the sunset over the ocean. We feasted on peanut butter and crackers while watching the sunset and then headed back to Port Campbell Hostel to escape the increasing chill in the air and to take advantage of a lodging, at least for the evening....

Melbourne and the VPL

With our hostel located on Flinders, we had prime access to all of the hotspots. All of the hotspots we could not afford. That being said, we had seen a poster for Motown Thursdays a few blocks up from us and decided after checking into our swank suite that we would clean up a bit and head out there. As I rolled into Melbourne I was full of energy and ready for what this new city had to offer. As the hours passed I became increasingly sleepy and had to drag my ass out to da club.

Last summer (in North America) I had the opportunity to shoot something for Nike at which I met some amazing people from all over the globe. When I knew for certain that I would be coming to Oz, I got in touch with the man I had met from Melbourne. This means I know exactly 1 person in all of Australia. So what are the chances of, not 10 minutes after stepping out of Greenhouse Backpackers hostel and hitting the streets did I spot someone who looked suspiciously familiar dining at a local restaurant. I backtracked, and lo and behold – it was Andy. We chatted with he and his wife and dinner companions and promised to get in contact again in the next couple of days, while we are still here.

My head still dizzy from the strange coincidence and we made our way to Motown, only to discover we couldn’t figure out where it was. Or how to get in. Or what was going on. Upon closer inspection it appeared to be an office building. Confused and dismayed we wandered – a task at which I am a black belt now. The weather was comfortable and the city was enchanting. It made me excited to see it in the daylight.

Well, the daylight diminished the enchanting part, but the perfect Friday weather and readily available public art and diverse population set the ideal backdrop for some more wandering. Free brekky at the hostel consumed with fervor and and we were out the door – in canvassed foot to drop off some more postcards US bound and head to Queen Victoria’s Market where any number of cheeses, fruit or pies can be sampled. Having seen the Australian penchant for pie Jacks and I had agreed to sample the local fare and were not disappointed when trying the Thai Chicken Pie at the market. It was the only pie with no cheese or cream (per my request) and although it was a little ‘saucy’ for me I had a couple bites, and I would potentially have a couple more.

The market also offered any number of unnecessary knickknacks located at most of the markets located across the globe. Phone chargers, kitchenware, Australian beach towels and bras only your obese grandmother would be in need of lined rows of stalls as far as the eye could see.

I am not sure why, but I seem to have been particularly exhausted on this trip – perhaps the emotional turmoil carried over from home exacerbates as you cross time zones. With not a cloud in the sky we stopped for a rest in Flagstaff park before a long walk over to the supposedly hip neighborhood of Kinsey.

Exhausted from the sun, the walking and the lack of proper nutrition I ended up at the hostel getting my Wifi fix. Man, I am old.

When Jackie came back to meet me, Anzac Biscuits in hand, she wavered back and forth between whether or not tonight should be a dine out or dine in evening. Functioning on a tight budget in what has to be the most expensive place on the planet has made editing essential. This means from time to time food and lodging simply don’t make the cut. Finally, she decided we could rally, run a brush through our respective heads of hair and makes moves to DeGraves street, located not far from our hostel and known for its outdoor eateries and lively social scene. We decided on a bustling Italian restaurant based largely on budget and, although I knew better than to eat Italian food down here, I purchased and consumed yet another unsatisfactory meal. Luckily, this time the atmosphere made it all worthwhile.

As a visual artist, people watching is one of my favorite activities – especially when traveling. We were seated next to a junior Aussie version of Sex And The City ready to rock the town, eventhough I am almost they were old enough to order a cosmo. I found their awkward style and cherubic faces slathered in makeup to be endearing and although there was not a wrinkle or grey hair at their 4 top – I did not envy their exposed bra straps and precarious heel posture one bit. It was while situated in this busy marketplace that I came to the conclusion that down here granny panties are all the rage and whether you’re rocking Dockers or Herve Leger – a visible panty line is A-ok. Well, my uptight American ass disagrees and would like to impart some wisdom to the women of Oz – buy a thong; purchase some shape wear; have a girlfriend look at your ass in your clubbing dress before heading out to pain the town red. I mean, its just simple logic…

Some late night strolling took place and some Australian magazine racks were perused before heading back to our new bunk on the 3^rd floor that smells of sweat socks, stale food and Axe body spray. It almost made me long for the days at San Francisco State University where dorm life allowed me to live most of my life in pajamas.

The next morning was a running morning for me and I did so along the river and over to Southbank. I was privelaged enough to watch the early morning rowers and feel the early morning rays beaming down upon me. The quiet and solitutde of running makes it such an ideal sport for both body and mind, and when immersed in beautiful scenery you cannot go wrong.

After reconnecting with my travel companion, we decided to once again cross over to Southbank, grab some breakfast and head to one of the free museums we’d read about. Being a part of the Pacific Rim, it seems that all things Asian are big in Australia as well, and this in no way excluds Chinese New Year, a celebration for which Jackie and I found ourselves immersed in. Having regretted eating my low fat muffin when I saw the fried delicacies featured at the festival, I persevered and we moved on to a Travel Expo located in the Exhibition Center where we received free tote bags and the allure of more untapped countries.

Finally ,we made it to ACCA – the Australian Center for Contemporary Art – where ‘Desire Lines’ was currently showing. This exhibition consisted largely of quirky video installations. There was a pleasant trans in their strange monotony – but, in my humble opinion, they were art only a mother could love.

Over to Queen Victoria Botanic Gardens for another break in the shade and some light coversation about religion, love and the meaning of life and we were on our way to yet another museum - NVA. The National Gallery of Victoria is a large imposing building that in itself is worth a visit. The architecture – as it is in much of Melbourne – is both striking and beautiful and after checking out the costume exhibit of ballet costumes and swinging by the café, where lone apples could be purchased for a mere $2.50 – we were back across the river to Greenhouse Backpackers to make a homeless dinner of scrambled eggs, red peppers and boiled sweet potatoes.Yum!

Dinner was surprisingly satisfying it was a quick turnaround back out into the world and into Fed Square – where free wifi is promised and not in any way shape or form delivered. Luckily we were provided entertainment from the locals as Jackie and I scoped out two prime deck chairs in the middle of the expansive square and made our way over to recline. It was in mid recline that a woman, likely in her late 40s or early 50s literally asked me if I was wearing underwear. I will admit I wore a dress that is perhaps too short for my advancing age, but my legs are still on point and it was easy to pack so I didn't pay it much mind. I had even gone so far as to do as the natives do and wear full-assed underwear as to spare any passerby from having to come face to face with my lady bits. This was not enough for the woman. I, seated, lifted up the side of my dress to show her my purple chonies. Still not enough –  I stood, lifted my dress and pulled my underwear down to an acceptable cheek level for this balsy Aussie. Appeased, she relaxed and seemed content with the now placement of my undergarment. I am uncertain as to whether it was her brazen question or my full rear nudity in public that was more distasteful or offensive. I’ll let you be the judge.

Who knows what else this night will entail...