While most of the spring breakers descended on Miami’s South Beach to burn themselves to a crisp, drink themselves into oblivion, and dress up for hunting the opposite sex, we choose to visit a park that I had only once have a memory of.

That park is Oleta State Park.  It is Oleta State Park just of the NE 163 Street right before you go over the bridge to get to North Miami Beach.  This park was fist settled by indians as a fishing village.  The urbanites head out here and rumble over the mountain bike paths.

We didn’t jump on bikes, we just wandered around the trails.  My father even found a kite which we played with for a little while.

I am back in Tokyo, and now is the time to sort through all my images and let them tell their story.  This is the first one

Miami will always be the land of my physical birth.  It is the land where I played on the citrus trees in my backyard, drank warm water from the garden hose, and learned to drive on the backroads all the way down to Homestead.  I couldn’t wait to go away to university to get as far away from Miami as I could.  I felt like Miami was a cultural dead end.

That has all changed.  I really only knew Miami from the point of view of a few selective neighborhoods I would wander around, and the horror of the nightly news.  Now I just adore the light.  The sun hid behind the clouds until it bursted out around 6 p.m. today.  The light was so intense that I had to wear shades, but I don’t mind it now.  The light was just gorgeous.

I sat with my family along the Miami River at Garcia’s eating some freshly caught fish chatting with my parents and looking out over the city as the sun inched towards the horizon.  I thought about how much the city has changed since I was a youth.  Buildings have come and gone.  Trees have been blown away by hurricane force winds.  The language heard in the streets has added Haitian Creole.  One thing has remained constant over all this time the amazing beauty of light that the Most High has blessed Miami with.  The light is there beating down on my skin and tinting all I see since before I even knew about the qualities of light.

Thank you Miami for keeping somethings the same.

The artist Trek 6, with his painting of Gandhi

I was so joyous that I was able to catch my good mate’s solo show Through the Looking Glass.  The paintings were all painted with only spray paint.  All of the portraits were of historical and cultural significance like that of Gandhi, DMC (from Run DMC), Andy Warhol, along with many other.  Each detailed painting measured about 4 foot squared.

I was so captured by looking at the way Trek 6 layers the paint to sculpt the images.  I found myself staring into the paintings looking at the tiniest of details.  I mentally dived into the one Trek 6 painted of Sammy Davis Jr.  The way in which he two dimensionally carved the sideburns fascinated me.  I stood there in front of the painting just in amazement at Trek 6’s skill with a spray can

The party was a blast too.  Old skool hip hop music was spun that the crowd just vibed to.  Tracks by KRS ONE, A Tribe Called Quest, and of course RUN DMC.  The art patrons wandered through the gallery space and out onto a back patio where Trek 6 had also painted a huge mural as homage to the eternal B-boy including an throwback hat decked out with 6s for a pattern.

There was also a reunion of the three original Plan Be members.  Actually, they first were called The 3 Wise Men.  The members were Trek 6, Sweetpea, and Brimstone127 (who at the time went just by Brim).  It was great to see all three together at one time.

I got to give a big shout out to Trek’s wife Lizzie who not only helped out to put on a lovely show, but also opened her home to me so that I could print out my photographs for the PATH fundraiser last Saturday.

There is some is some amazing art being created in Miami now.  It has come a long way since I grew up in Miami that had about as much of an art scene as Topeka, Kansas.

Check out Trek’s Facebook page.

Trek 6, Sweetpea, and Brimstone127 (original Plan Be line up)

Self portrait in front of Trek 6’s painting of DMC

Detail of the B-boy mural on the patio

Tawk Love in character, by Jacob Schere

What does a slave revolt leader, a slave teaching other slaves to read, and a Jew on the run for teaching others how to make Molotov cocktails all have in common?  On first observation it would seem like there is no connection, but this is not the case. Check the rhymes and the beats for a further exploration.

Under the creative visual direction of Tawk Love I witnessed two of the video shoots for the slamming new I’m a Soldier video featuring Tawk Love, Mecca, Kimani aka Dirty Sandwich and Brimstone127.  I joyfully glad to be able to lend a hand on the set as we wandered through thick mangroves filming the Brimstone127 segment.   I watched Tawk Love as he was transformed into a warrior angel who stood guard watching over the city.

The music is smooth.  The message is rough served with a heaping helping of truth.  Check the video.  Watch it again and meditate on the lyrical content.

We are ALL soldiers.  We just have to decide which side we are soldiering for.

Brimstone127 in character, by Jacob Schere

Mecca in character, photo by Tawk Love

Kimani in character, photo by Tawk Love

Video Directed and edited by Tawk Love

There should always be time set aside everyday to be thankful for all that we have.  A quiet time to reflect on the day and to give thanks for being given the opportunity to explore the Creators universe.

I stood on the windswept sands of Miami South Beach I couldn’t help but think that these same waves came all the way from Africa.  Moreover, the waves could have passed though the Rock of Gibraltar in the Mediterranean on the way from the edge of Israel.  Just a five minute walk from the craziness of spring break revealers I found the beach deserted and I could be alone in my meditations.

I turned around to view the sun setting behind the art deco hotels on Collins Avenue.  An amazing display of G-d’s wonder was on display in the sky.  The light danced as the thin clouds streaked across fields of blue.

I am thankful for all the the Most High, Abba, has done for me.

Take the time to be thankful.  Thank all that service you.  Remember to thank the Creator for letting us to continue to explore this universe.

The roots run deep in this North Miami neighborhood.  There are churches on every other corner.  There is one that has been frozen in mid construction.  The roots of the community seep deep into the shallow sandy earth.

The  creole speaking neighbors all greet us as we walk down the street at dusk.  The neighborhood may not be the most wealthily but all of them have real wealth.  They love their community and have respect for each other.  This is the way life is suppose to be.

G-d is with us if we allow G-d into our lives.  Only if we make room in our lives for him will we know what love actually is.  We have to be open to the love, and the reminders that we are shown every day.  These reminders are our daily bread.

Two years ago to the day Japan suffered its worst disaster since World War II.  Lives were changed forever on that day when the earth shook, the ocean reared, and man’s quest for power was out of control.  I was not in Japan at the time of the Tohoku triple disaster, but living though the aftershocks and the recovery changed the way in which I have chosen to interact with the world.

The earth never is truly settled.  The surface where humans have made their home is alive.  The plates shift and everything that we had could be lost in an instant.

I want to remember those that lost everything, those that perished, and those that scarred people’s memory.

On this the 2nd year anniversary I ask all those that can to pause and reflect on their lives.  Tell those around you how special they are.  Let them know from your soul that you love them.  On March 11, 2013, remember those that are no longer here, and those whose lives changed forever on that terrible day.

peace

shalom

平和

Homestead was always my escape.  It was where I would go to escape the hectic streets of Miami.  I would jump in my toaster on wheels and head south through the Redlands and into Homestead.  My camera a Nikon FG usually rode shotgun on these little adventures.

I could unwind on those backroads where the acres outnumbered the homes by a factor of 10.  In those wide open spaces I would park my car on the side of the road, look through the viewfinder and wait for the click.

When Hurricane Andrew hit in 1992 it erased most of Homestead from the map.  The streets and corners I used to know as a teenager no longer existed.  Most of the greening has come back, but those tree, corners, I knew by heart are no longer there.

The land of Homestead will stretch forever.

Just over the Miami-Dade County border lies a little piece of the caribbean that warmed my soul.  This little place serves up the freshest ital and Jamaican vegetarian dishes.  I hadn’t eaten that well in years.  We had the lunch special that included, rice and peas, some brown stew, a piece of boiled green banana and potato.  We each also had a fresh chopped coconut water, that the friendly young dread split for us so we could get at the coconut jelly.

The setting was even fresher at Treelion.  I felt right at home.  Looking out the back door it as if I had stepped back into the caribbean. It was cozy and the food was amazing.

Check them out in Hallandale.  Treelion !!!