There is a moon that only exists as legends and myth. The legends are talked about as people huddle around the fire pits  sipping warm sake trying to fight off the night’s chill.  These are the stories of the Lost Moon of Kasai.

As legends goes this one has been whispered about for ages.  The stories has been passed down over the generations.  No one knows when the moon was first lost, only that it used to orbit high in the sky over the land of Kasai.  Its brilliant night time illumination would fill the moon gazers with wonder as it hung low in the sky.  Where did it go?

As I take another sip of the warmed sake the bearded elder says, “It vanished.  Mankind has squandered their blessings and the light that it used to shine is now gone.”

My hands tightly wrapped around the ceramic cup trying to keep my fingertips warm.  I think about the lost  moon’s radiance.  The guidance it gave to those  that would make the long journey in Kasai by night.  The moon was their guid for travelers.  It was there so that the traveling souls could know where the stood, and keep the direction rightful.

“There is a chance.” the bearded elder continued.  “The moon has been known to show itself on nights when the alignments in the heavens are in harmony.”

“I hope that I have a pure of heart vision to witness a sighting of the Lost Moon of Kasai.” I declare as the whips of my own breath dissipate in the night air.  Knowing well enough that I will never catch the sighting.  Can anyone’s heart be pure enough to see the unseen?  To be able to see what was lost so long ago.

I wrap my the rough silk scarf around my neck to keep the  wind at bay.  I retrieve the clay bottle out of the hot water and pour the elder another glass.  He returns the pour in my cup.  I raise it to my lips, as we meet each other eyes, and we both smile and sip in the warmness.

 

 

This shabbat I am thankful.

I am thankful for having what I need.

I am thankful for simpleness.

Truly loving the warm sun on November 1st day.

Spending the time with family in the garden, digging in the dirt, helping new life to sprout.

I am thankful for my family that has spread out across the globe.

The splitting open and deseeding of a pomegranate.

With all the world’s troubles,

the sun has set, time to separate the worldly and the spiritual.

Let the day of rest wash over my soul and give me the fire to continue my journey.

Give thanks

Being thankful.

 

 

 

The autumn festivals are upon us.  The red spider lilies have shed their wispy petals.  The nights are growing longer, and I have harvested the baseball sized pomegranates from my own patio garden’s tree.

I have been fascinated by the burgundy arils since I was a child.  It was the fruit that was an absolute mission to get at those tiny bursts of goodness.  They always made such a mess, but it never bothered me.

Perhaps my interest in this fruit goes back to my DNA.  My ancestors would split them open, cook with them, and take them on long journeys.

This year I was able to raise some of my own.  Previous years I had been left with one or two golf ball sized fruits.  This year it was closer to about 10 and half of them were the size of a baseball.  I left them on the tree until they split open.  Not sure if this is the way to do it, but it just seemed like the way to go.

They were pretty sour to my tastebuds with only hints of the pomegranate fragrance.  They just burst bursted in there sweet and sour goodness.

I am thankful that I could play my little part in helping to bring some colorful goodness into the world.

 

 

Uncle  Emanuel “Manny” Pushkin in his Home with my Father, 2011, Miami.

 

 

I received a message via Facebook from my brother on the passing of my beloved uncle Manny Pushkin. His influence over my heart, and my photography have made me the photographer that have become.

I remember going to his home off Old Cutler Road and walking in the large double doors and being surrounded by art.  Not just paintings but most specifically photographs.  Uncle Manny had a passion for photography that captured my imagination.  I was amazed at how light and shadows danced in his  photographs.

When the time was right we would all shuffle into his study.  We would on the floor as he dimmed the lights to watch a slide show from their most recent trip.  We would be swept away to the golden hour sunsets of Bryce Canyon, the snow capped peaks of the Rocky Mountains.  We sat in the darkness and just marveled.  It was magic to my heart and eyes.  I still hear that gentle roar of the kodak projector, the kachunk of the changing slides and his beautiful sweet voice reliving the stories of his and my Aunt Claire’s travels.  “I want to do that,” I said to myself.

My mother once asked Uncle Manny how come all his pictures came out so well.  He replied, “Linnie, I don’t show people my bad photographs.”  This nugget of knowledge has stuck with me all the years.  The most important part of the editing process is to be selective about what you show others.

Technically I didn’t learn much from him, but I did learn that one has to have passion for life to be an artist.  He embraced life with such a passion.  He would from time pass off some of his old and equipment to me.  I still have the cameras he has given me.

He made everyone feel special.  He always wanted to know about what we were doing what we are thinking about.  I always received a birthday greeting even though I am now have become a man.

Later in life after retiring he had a new passion for butterflies.  He and Claire planted plants that attract butterflies.  For him it was never what can the world do for him, but it was always what can he do to make the world a more beautiful place.

I know that all of the hearts that he touched will shed a tear, and remember all the joy that he brought into the world.  I will always miss his warm heart.  His ability to communicate with anyone. For me as an artist, I would not be where I am today without sitting in the darkened study, and gazing up at his images.

My heart goes out to my Aunt Claire, My Cousin Joanie, My mother and all whose hearts he touched..  We miss you.

 

It been a minute since I have sat down to write a blog.  Not exactly sure why.  Perhaps I am trying to adjust to using Instagram and have been focusing more on uploading images there (http://instagram.com/lucidcommunication).  I am interested in connecting with other interesting photographers there, so take a minute and let me know where to find you.

We have a typhoon that is about to bear down on us.  The weather reports are threading / warning that it might be the largest to hit our area in more than 10 years.  Spent last night prepping our garden patio to brace against the winds to come.  Since we live on Tokyo Bay the winds are fierce without the typhoon behind it, when the typhoon hits it can be a bit ridiculous.

Keep us all in hearts and minds as it moves on though.  I pray that it moves quickly and without loss of life.

Peace.

Shalom

 

 

We are in the beginning of beautiful seasonal change to autumn.  The air has dried out except for the occasional typhoon that rolls in from the pacific.

I can still get away with wearing a short sleeved shirt during the day, but last night I had to pull on a light jacket.  I love it.  Autumn and spring are my two favorite times of year.  The light becomes incredible as the days grow shorter and shorter after the equinox.

I had never noticed the Red Lily Spider flower until after the March 11th disasters, when I my soul searched out nature where ever I could find it.  My eye were beginning to sync with the seasons when I first spotted these popping out of the ground in a little temple garden in Ichikawa, Chiba, Japan.

I called them spiders, because honestly that is what they looked like only they were a stunningly hue of red.  The are called Higanbana or Manjushage in Japanese meaning “never to meet again, lost memory, abandonment”  which is quite fitting because the bulbs are highly poisonous.

Autumn is here because the moon and the higanabana have told me so.

May you all have a peaceful day of rest, and enjoy the changing seasons.

 

 

Tokyo is seemingly endless.  I am still finding places that I have never been.  Today’s wander was around Uehara to Yoyogi.

Never getting that lost, but just lost enough to just on what I see around me.  When I am on a wander my senses are on high alert, scanning over the streets, and turns.  Looking for whatever catches my soul.

A perfectly aligned garden on an edge, a backdoor to an old Showa era home, an outer wall constructed out of that famously blue hued corrugated metal.  Its all good for my soul.

Get lost, get found, and a long the way keep on snapping.

 

 

 

 

I was in good graces to be invited out to catch the two most legendary “H” performers in Japan.  The jazz trailblazer Terumasa Hino, and the world renown hip hop dj honda.

Dj Honda has been putting out beats and working with an international cadre of performers since the early 90s.  Terumasa’s has been blowing the horn since the 60s.  In the wake of the 311 triple disaster the two teamed up along with Hino’s son Jino on bass to form h-factor.

The sound is where urban cuts meet the smooth and free flowing blasts of Hino’s trumpet.  They are on a tour to promote the new album Unity which can be downloaded from itunes.

The house was packed in the trendy upscale music and bookstore T-site.  The audience all had numbers and they packed the little space even though it was pouring outside.  It was dj honda on turntables and beats, Terumasa on trumpet (he also rocked some maracas, drums and cowbell.)

I was fulljoyed that Hino pulled out a shell horn to blow on for my favorite Okinawian flavored track Funakura.  They only played a short 40 minute set of three songs the other two were also off the album including the title track Unity and Never Forget 311, commemorating the triple disasters of March 11, 2011.

After the show I asked dj honda what was up next for him.  He told me that for him it is everyday in the studio making beats and a tour in Japan.  Later in the year he will make a trip to the US.

It was a great night out with great music, and good peeps!

Big time shout outs to dj honda, Hino, Jino, Gemba, and Mance

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was made official at 5 o’clock in the morning Tokyo time that Tokyo will host the 2020 Summer Olympics.  This should be good news, right?

I have such mixed feelings about it.  First lets look at the good points.  Japan has been besieged with disasters for the past several years.  I have personally lived though them and rode the waves of depression, fear  and anger that followed those seismic waves.  At this point in time Japan and the city of Tokyo have been given a piece of optimistism about the future.

Of course there will be loads of money made off the olympics, but the real question is will that revenue filter down to the everyday man and woman, myself included.  That historically is usually not the case.  The big corporate sponsors will make off like Madoff, while the mom and pop shops shutter up.

Now lets take a look at what is Japan actually facing.  Japan is still being criticized the world over for it’s mishandling of the Fukushima triple disaster.  Japan and its citizens need to face up to the facts and do what is necessary to correct Fukushima, and to take effective measures for it to never happen again.

Japan has totally bungled it’s economy and has a debt that is growing larger second by second.  I am no economist, but I feel the bite of rising food prices while salaries remain completely stagnant.

There is the low birth rate.  This is something that will take generations to overcome, but if there are not more youth, and those youth are not involved in helping forge Japan’s future than the future will turn into the horror that we presented to the world though Akira in the early 1980s.  (In the comic, Akira, the 2020 Olympics were set for Tokyo too.)

These are all very serious problems that need answers.  I am optimistic about the future, because to be pessimistic pushes me over the edge of depression.  I do truly hope for the best.  I hope that the Olympics will not be used as a snake medicine cure all tonic, that will only lead to ruin and disappointment.

Tokyo and Japan at large has set itself a goal of the year 2020.  There is a lot of hard work to be done to show the world what a great country Japan can be.  I have to be hopeful that bread and circuses tactics of the past will be discarded for a brighter future.

 

 

Finally decided it was time to venture to the top of Tokyo’s latest Babel attraction, Skytree.  It has two observation decks.  One is at 350 meters and the other at 450 meters.

All I could think about was how the sprawl seemed endless.  Only stopping when it hit Tokyo Bay, or the mountains.  In 360 degrees there was concrete lego blocks as if them had been dropped and stacked by the jolly green giant himself.

Then there was the sky.  The sky was boundless.  There weren’t any boundaries until the stratosphere melds into space.  The sky dwarfed all that man has built below.

I don’t know if we should build so high.  The view was amazing, and seeing my tiny part of Tokyo as only a little bump near the bay helps to put things back into their proper view.

We don’t have enough time on this planet to let our precious time waste on hate and pain.  Focus on the good.  See the light that we have been provided with.  Look at each other with warmth in our hearts.  Don’t let fear shape our hearts into hate.

All of this from atop the new Tower of Babel, Skytree.

 

 

Over 500 pictures taken in the land of Korea, why is it that I have chosen to post and write about this one first?  That is truly an intriguing question.

Perhaps it is because this image is unlike everything else I had taken in Seoul.  I focused so much on the urban landscape.  I wanted to come to an understanding of how the location of where the Korean people live.  I wanted to see their homes, gardens, and gates.

This image of two lovers is not about where people live, it is about where they escape.  The two lovers in the image had kicked their shoes off and catching a bit of private time on a hot and steamy Sunday afternoon.  My friend had pretty much insisted that I visit Seoul’s Cheonggye Plaza, even though on paper it really didn’t grab my interest.

I was wrong.  It was a beautiful cooling off spot that runs though the heart of Seoul.  Children played in the shallow stream.  Old men poured each other cups of makori rice beer.  It was a place to melt away and just relax.

I was stealing away there too.  A chance to duck under one of the many overpasses, and let the cool breeze  wick around my sun baked skin.

Catching a glimpse of two lover, surrounded by many, but alone with each other.

 

My original thoughts on my encounter with Mr. Cho were pecked out on my iphone to my brother after walking back to the hotel.   This happened 2 weeks ago while in the Korean countryside.

Sometimes Father has other plans for us.  We have to be open to receive those plans, because when we give over to Father’s plan then the fuller our lives will be.

Father truly works wonders for us.  I couldn’t spend my usual Shabbat cooking for my family but I was to find out that Father has other plans for me this hot shabbat day.

I decided i needed to be out in the nature that surrounded myself at the JIMFF and see what I could in this lovely land.  I Went for a walk in late morning near the hotel.  At first I walked over to where the outdoor venue was setup to discover that there was noting open and no one was around at this early hour.

Before I reached the site I noticed an official brown sign in Korean and English that said ruins 600 meters.  I thought to myself 600 meters, to see some ancient Korean ruins sounded like a pretty good idea for a Shabbat hike. Let me see were the road would take me.

The paved road quickly gave way to gravel.  I Passed tow older Korean hikers coming on down from the trail and greeted them with a Anyahaseiyo (Hello).  I should have known but the trekkers were decked out in boots, backs, and walking sticks.

I then Came to a home and was greeted by an older gentle Korean man.  He warned me in good English that the trail was rough ahead.  Thinking to myself It can’t be that Bad.  I have hiked in the Rocky Mountains.  I decided to keep walking and see what there was to be seen.

I probably didn’t get more that 200 meter or so up the path till it became a watery bog.  It was not a hike that I was going to be able to make in my low top Sauconys.

I knew that the right thing to do was to head back down the path feeling defeated by not being properly prepared for my journey.

I told the man I would have needed a good pair of hiking boots and that my tennis shoes just weren’t going to be able to take me where I wanted to go.

He then offered me some coffee.  I instinctively knew I shouldn’t refuse.  He next offered me a seat on a low bench in the shade.  The bench had a cardboard box of grapes, a good had for the sun a pack of smokes and a lighter.

As we sip on the hot sweet coffee he began to tell about his life.  His name was Cho and he ran a wedding hall business in Jecheon and he was only visiting these friends for a quick weekend getaway.  He was 71 years old but explained that Koreans count the first year in the womb so actually he was still 69.

He has 5 children all of whom had graduated from US universities.  They were top class schools: UCLA USC, NYU, and Brown.  Most of his children still live in the US and he goes and visits them when he can.

He knows that he needs to give back to his community; therefore, he feeds the needy every Wednesday.  He also, helps young people get scholarships for high school.  I didn’t know but in Korea junior high school is payed for by the state but high school is payed by the parents.

He is truly doing works for Father.  It was a meeting that did not happen by accident.  I had to learn from a wet pair of sneakers that meeting Mr. Cho had been arranged by the Most High on a hot and humid Shabbat hike.

The last thing that Mr. Cho taught me before I left was the buddhist word in Korean, inyoen, which Minju later told me meant everything is connected.  Which I thought was completely fitting our non-random Shabbat reasoning session.

 

This has been a difficult blog post to write.  Not that the subject matter is hard, it is more that the experience in Jecheon was one of the moments that put my life, and my work into perspective.

There will be other posts and images from my short time spent in Korea, but this entry will focus on those people that I came in contact with and helped me to see more deeply into myself and to the artistic work of others.

Our little film KRS ONE:  Brooklyn to the Bronx opened the door for me to visit Korea and reason with other souls from across the planet.  I was treated with respect for being a humanistic artist. I sometimes loose touch with from time to time, but the great people and the organizers of the festival helped it all to come into sharp focus.

Each of the foreign guests were assigned a bilingual (or even trilingual) volunteer to help them with interacting with those that could not speak Korean, and with any matter related to the festival and beyond.  My fabulous host was, Minju.

 

I might as well say this now, and I am sure I can speak for the others at the festival that the core of 12 interpreter/volunteers took our foreign guests communal experience at the festival.  The drivers, hosts, guides, and all hustled to make their guests feel at home.

I arrived and Minju met me at Inchon Airport and we set off for the three-hour drive to Jecheon.  The first night I decided to check out the Boogie Nights outdoor event, this is where I met some of the other directors later that night.  They quickly became known as the three brothers, Guillermo from Uruguay, Rodrigo from Argentina, and Matti from Finland.

Minju and David took me to the outdoor film and concert event and ordered up some of the food stall treats before entering the venue.  In proper Korean culture David scooped the fresh sweet Makori rice beer for me, and I retuned the favor.

It wasn’t until the next morning that I would begin to feel my family grow with the addition of these filmmakers.

Alena, who is the subject of the film Appasionata, approached me at breakfast.  I was a bit surprised that she knew who I was and wanted to talk a bit about Japan.  I felt a connection with her almost immediately and knew that I had to see the documentary that was directed by Christian Lambart.

 

Next, Guillermo, arrived at the table with a bombilla, a gourd, and a bag of mate herb.  In his joyous nature he went on to instruct me on the proper brewing techniques to make a gourd of mate tea.  Rodrigo, jokingly told everyone at the table that it was Guillermo’s personal stash of marijuana.  Which we all replied with a round of laughter.

 

I discovered that both Appasionata and Guillermo’s Solo were screening that day, and once arriving at the MegaBox Theater, Minju, booked tickets for me.  Our film screened with the shorts followed by a question and answer session with a professional interpreter.

 

Appasionata was so moving.  Alena’s gift is opening her heart to the world.  She could be playing a piece of Bach or talking with her parents, she spoke truth from her heart.  I was so moved at one moment in the movie.  The scene hit so close to my home in Japan that it pierced my heart, and the tears streamed down my face.

This film was followed by the drama Solo.  A moving look at one man’s struggle to reconnect with the musician within himself that he let grow cold so many years ago.  I was surprised that such a thought provoking film could come from the young man that was keeping us all laughing at breakfast.

I related to the film because it is a struggle for me to keep in touch with my inner artist.  I never would have seen either film or met the directors if it wasn’t for the JIMFF.

 

 

 

Alena and I went to the evening screening of the silent film The Kid Brother starting Harold Lloyd and accompanied by the amazing Philip Carla.  It was a great cathartic release to laugh communally with Alena and the rest of the outdoor audience. Carla’s live scoring took the event to the highest level of art and entertainment.

After the film, Alena, Philip, Matin I and sipped on some beer and talked into the night drifting between wine, music, Fukushima, and gardening.  It felt wonderful to be surrounded by culture and just to be able to reason.

 

 

I was speaking with Hana about the incredible time I was having and told her that it was hard to believe that the directors were in competition for a prize.  She responded saying that she had never seen the foreign guests become so friendly and hanging out together s

In addition to the wonderful international directors the Korean staff were fantastic.  They made all of our time in Jecheon so special.  The translators, the helpers, drivers, were superstars in their own right.  I cannot thank them all from the bottom of my heart!

I could go on, but all things must come to a conclusion.  The festival has reignited my artistic passion.  I even began to shoot some video while wandering around the countryside.  Being surrounded by such beautiful souls reached far beyond time space and the bounds of culture.  I feel that my family was with all the wonderful people I encountered.

I thought I had given up on art changing the world nestled between the hills and the lake I rediscovered art’s power for change even if it is only one soul at a time.

 

Special shout outs to JIMFF staff:

 

Hana, for dealing with a multitude of technical projection issues for my crew.

Yoonsun, for my many emails back and forth, and for organizing our helpers.

Jinsu, for finding our doc at the SXSW Festival, and leading me to Korea.

Phoebe, for sharing with me her collection of shaved ice pictures.

Kim, for being the man!

Hailie, for meeting a DVC girl in Jecheon.

Eunbin, being a great host!

Sohee, providing a great dinner with all the filmmakers

Heejung, welcoming me with open arms and heart.

David, for being a great guy, and serving the good Makori wine.

Minju, she made my time not only in Jecheon, but also in Seoul so extra special.  I feel like I have adopted her as my niece.  Thank you so much for all that you did for me in your country!

I wish all the staff the best of luck in the future.  I apologize if I left anyone out.  You all are rockstars!

 

The filmmakers:

Rodrigo Villa, www.cinema7.com, director Mercedes Sosa: The Voice of Latin America

My Argentinian brother!

Guillermo Rocamora, director, Solo

For teaching me how to make proper mate, and his moving film Solo.

Matti Kinnunen, director, www.periferiaproductions.fi . Miss Blue Jeans

My other brother from Finland, hope to see you in Tokyo soon.

Christian Labhart, www.rinkercommunications.ch , director Appassionata

For creating a film that moved my heart and touched my soul.

Martin Le Gall, www.avalonfilms.fr director Pop Redemption

for the lovely late night conversation and beers!

Krzystof Gierat, Juror and director of the Krakow Film Festival www.krakowfilmfestival.pl 

 

The pianists:

Alena Cherny, www.alencherny.ch

One very special woman.  Thank you for sharing your life and the makori.

I hope very much that we can create art together.

Philip Carli, www.philipcarli.com

For bringing back part of my youth and for some stimulating reasoning.

 

As usual this is more of a beginning than an end.  There is always more 2 come.

 

I was fortunate to represent our short film KRS ONE: Brooklyn to the Bronx at the 9th annual Jecheon International Film and Music Festival nestled in the South Korean countryside.

The hospitality I received from the staff and volunteers at the festival was overwhelming.  I was anle to delve into film, art and beyond with all the soulful filmmakers that made the journey from all over the globe to this lakeside hotel.

There are so many pictures to edit, and pages of notes to go though before I can clearly transmit my thoughts on how meaningful attending the festival was to my life as first a human being and second as an artist.

Stay tuned for more thoughts on the festival and images from Korea.  For now take a deep breathe and soak in the soulful first sunset I witnessed over the Lake Cheongpyeong, Jecheon Province, Korea.

 

I have been a bit confused over what kind of components are needed to be able to plug in my electronics on my trip to South Korea this week for the Jeccheon Film and Music Festival.  Our short film KRS ONE:  Brooklyn to the Bronx was invited and will make it’s international debut there.

Been all over the internet, and finally just decided to revisited Akihabara to make sure I have what I need to keep my cameras clicking in Korea.  After running around checking the web, and talking with some staff I discovered that both my iPhone and my Ricoh battery charger can handle the 220 voltage and all that I needed are plug adapters.

I was deciding where to head next, I often make a right and head towards Ueno, but today I went straight following the the train tracks that lead me to Asakusabashi.  An interesting part of Tokyo filled with bead shops, leather, and shoe makers.  It is a neighborhood I have never explored so in the summer blazing heat I treaded around the neighborhood.

Shops and little eateries filled the arches under the tracks.  I just kept on walking and walking.  Eventually I walked all the way back over to the Tozai line at Monzenakacho station.

A good day to sweat and click.