Friday Photos: Who Has the Time?

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I can't seem to get myself together enough during the day to write here and I feel very remiss. Also, my attention span is plummeting, particularly since I got the new i-phone for work and so could be checking my email there and sending messages and Tweets and making sure my virtual zoo is intact. Who has time for writing! Or taking pictures, which I also haven't been doing. When the weather gets warmer, I will try to take more morning walks, which is when I end up dong the most window photos.

Here is a blurry but festive Irish Veterinary Clinic.

And two green Irish birds (swans? Don't know).

A cat trapped in the Doggie Style shop's display case.

And a close up. I would take him home in a second. Look at his sad, jagged ears.

For my final project in that art history class, I've decided that I'll do some research on the artist, Sophie Calle. I had hoped to get a creative project out of it too--a story at least, but I don't think that's going to happen (don't think the teacher would be open to that--he seems fairly traditional). One thing she does that I like is she blurs the line between personal and public--like taking all of her private life and making into an exhibition. She also has no problem invading other people's private lives--stalking a man she's never met, calling all the people listed in a stranger's phone book. Dan says it functions as a form of shock value. So then I thought about ways that I could do what she does--write about photos or using photos as triggers for her own memories or fictions. I came up with something I could do, but I don't think I have the same level of bravery that she does. I always am curious about the people around me on the subway; thought I could try to do a photo a day and a related writing project.

Here's one from this morning:

A terrible photo. I did take another one, but I felt like they knew I was taking pictures of them--like the girl looked at me funny, or least I thought that she did. That's why I'll never be a news photographer or performance artist. Why I choose them is because I was stressed out on my way down to the platform as I had heard the train whistle and knew the train was waiting, but this guy was just meandering down the stairs--no sense of urgency; what did he care, it clearly wasn't his train. I made it to the platform, almost got inside the subway car, but just missed it, in part b/c of this slow poke of a guy. I did that thing where I made a wringing motion with my hands and said, Damn! and shook my fist or whatever I do to express public outrage. The train pulled away and I realized that it was going the wrong way. So, if it weren't for him, I probably would've gone backwards. Still, I thought it was obnoxious that he didn't even consider going a little faster...

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