a little of this, a little of that…

Brilliant Marketing! At least this baby got a chance at 15 min. of fame, usually plastic dolls (and stuffed animals) are sealed in plastic bags and hang suffocating from random places on bedroom walls-or in the case of my new-ish flat-they make an installation of it, utilizing a gas line to string up Fluffy the Bear and Friends.

 

Speaking of things being strung up and out, these unfortunate Faux-People where spotted outside a uniform shop near a metro stop-it seems the owner is a little scared they might dip out when he turns his back-cant blame ‘em though, the clothes are bland enough to bring the clergy to tears.

I bet that Baku Faux-People were a little jealous of these gems from the Whitechaple Green area in London Town-My sister passed this stand every morning on the way to the tube and had failed to notice it, until I pointed out that it was a kindly reminder of my AZ home-a la crotchless nylons.

It seems that the Faux-People are not the only ones subject to hideous clothing being forced upon them-the Toy is a lone holdout showcase of bad life choices and animal print refusing to die. This rather shocking ensemble provided over 4 hours of amusement; however I wasn’t able to capture the matching suitcase size purse that threatened to wipe out children whenever she turned around. Thankfully for attendees’ progeny, she left the purse on the table when she got up to dance.

Even I with mad Nina skillz honed and strengthened from 2 years of avoiding animal print was not safe from the insurmountable challenge of the wonderful (seriously) host mother who is terrified that her American sons and daughters will die from cold feet (sometimes such things happen, apparently.) Anyway, it was a pity that SnowLepordGirl wasn’t around to enjoy the socks with me.

Not every clothing article given to me is just barely suitable for home wear I received a kicking pair of pants that not only made my legs long and skinny, and my butt 2 sizes smaller, but also gave me BlingInTheLowerFrontalRegion-catapulting me into categories of HardCoreness mostly reserved for Gangsters and two wandering Aussie Photographers. Sometimes its hard to walk upright, so much flash is weighting down

If I am found to be walking in style, you would notice I prefer to take full advantage of the national obsession with knee/thigh high boots of all colors and prints -no matter how high, slinky, skanky or massively hooker-ish, boots are welcomed in every size, shape, color, quality, and function-too bad the population of most small villages isn’t as accepting of foreigners, people with disabilities and African Americans. Found, and purchased at a metro shop:

 

Found and snapped, this ridiculous beauty not so innocently dangling from a line in a larger regional city.

It seems towels are the one canvas upon which horn-ball fantasy computer geeks are let loose to create public art acceptable for purchase and consumption. This towel in particular was a gift from one Azeri English teacher to one American English Teacher, a Ms. NE of AZ5-both women are in their late 50’s-a point I make not because late 50’s is old, but because I’m of the opinion that proper English teachers giving naughty-towels to other proper English teachers is more a cause to assume the world is ending than me running and not eating meat.

(Thank you to Mr. J for modeling the towel he was lucky enough to inherit)

If the world does indeed end in 2012 as so many of my friends have told me, then at least this poor atomically incorrect Elephant guarding a kiddy pool at a family resort on the Caspian will be put out of its misery. This one is indeed a head puzzler. Since when did female Elephants have chests located in their armpits? And since when was it OK to have that at kiddy pools yet wearing red pants and making eye contact are actions deemed inappropriate enough to send every pious/board person in a 60 km radius into spasms of shock/horror?

This requires no explanation, other than it was given to me, last winter, with a many a laugh, by a nearly blind old man at a fruit stand near my old flat.

Explanation would have been helpful when this lovely find of a restaurant did its menu- Freelancers out in the world looking to earn some quick cash; take note-proper translation between languages is a skill in high demand

Also in high demand are t-shirts sporting naughty English phrases-even IzzyTown was not safe, a student from my school was spotted proudly wearing ‘Eat Me’ across his scrawny chest. Spurned on by several more sightings of disastrously funny t-shirts, EM (my partner in crime for most everything) and I took on the SummieLandClothingBazzar hoping to swipe a few t-shirts for holiday gifts. Finding it nearly impossible to not laugh when asking for ‘Eat Me’ (a phrase which had to be s l o w l y enunciated) I settled for the following: (Be glad I didn’t pick up the long sleeve tee which shamelessly stated: ‘Turn off the lights and take off your clothes.’)

Rendering myself lame for 2 days by smashing my big toe is clearly a result of not consuming enough Ninjalar Candy-complete with super awesome disk throwing watch.

Photography! Baku! Arts!

On September 19th       Azra, Javad and I opened ‘First Step’ at YarAdAn Gallery in Baku.

Showcasing the photography of youth from Seki, Zaqatala, Mingacevir, Goycay, and Xacmaz, the event was the first of its kind held in Azerbaijan. Part gallery show, part publicity event, part celebration, we estimated over 300 people visited over a 2 day period.

(Apologies for the somewhat blurry snaps)

Azra and I take a moment to shamelessly pose at the entrance.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Javad-gallery owner-artist-psychologist- extraordinaire interviewed by the press. (In reality, the youth that attended gave more interviews than Azra, Javad or I, however, no snaps of that)

 

The Xacmaz crew reprezents! H font and center and L on the right were amazingly bold in talking portraits in the community-they also swooped in to help endlessly with translating.

Chilling in the street front room.

 

Y-my self proclaimed ‘brutha’ from Seki next to one of his portraits.

 

A-the right hand man for Azra and I in Seki, he was the saving grace when working at the Yaddash Orphanage-if I could adopt brothers, A and Y would be top picks. A took some of the most original photos of the entire summer.

Mr. French next to Mr. J-my two aficionados of style, culture and hipster-ism-we have snooty conversations about snooty topics while waving around cheap smokes and making sarcastic jokes.

Sometime during the after party, Azra and I had an ‘Oh. Wow. We did it!’ moment and then followed up with a victory snap shot. Lovely.

Fresh Photography from AZ Youth

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“First Step” – Exhibition of photography

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

YarAdAn project,

In cooperation with Azra Vardar (Germany) and Colleen MacDonald (USA)

With generous support from Union of Azerbaijan Photographers and Asiyat Fatullayeva

Over the 3 summer months of 2009, youth ages 13-21, in the regions of Mingechevir, Goychay, Zaqatala, Xachmaz and Sheki participated in an intensive one week introductory digital photography course.  The course was taught by volunteers with the purpose of not only introducing photography, but also introducing and encouraging creative expression. For the youth, it was the first time they had used a camera.  Learning how to focus, try different angels and frame, the youth spent a week in their communities photographing people, objects and themselves.  The youth were bold in their approach; playing with everyday items to make them fantastic and fearlessly stepping in front of the camera themselves and to produce art that is both playful and relevant

it could get worse, you could have their job.

                  Arming ourselves with cameras, water and our best smiles, Azeri and I set forth to conquer ‘The Factory’-a structure, somewhere between Baku and Ismailli that sports 4 stacks and look wretchedly out of place in the dessert that proceeds Baku-we both had been eyeing the beauty for most of the winter, and had finally set aside a weekend to tick a few items off our photography hit list-in context photographing anything in AZ is tricky-the numerous times I’ve been accused of being a spy, chased by yelling arm waving fat men, chased by pissed Xanims, been mobbed by street kids, have, all in all made creating a few pieces art not easy, sometimes dirty, sometimes scary and generally a challenge.

[Warning: Tangent!!! In fairness though, there have been several odd situations while photographing in other countries, take, USA and my hometown of MPLS-one night out wandering due to sleeplessness, I happened to be shooting a few long exposures of an old grain mill (original, huh?), was approached by a Rent-a-Cop (who make up for their utter uselessness by providing endless amusement trying to look tough and smart) who in one breath accused me of being part of a ring of prostitution /meth production, pointed to my tripod and asked "What’s that?". Convinced of his stupidity (since old ripped jeans, an ugly tee shirt and a camera is the latest in MethHeadHooker fashion) I told him to leave me alone and go away-muttering under my breath as he drove away that if natural selection hadn’t already taken him, the recent event would guarantee at least an honorable mention in the DarwinAwards.]

So we set forth-as many things in AZ are, there is no straight path to anything, making our best guess we boarded a bus in hopes that it would take us in the general direction of ‘The Factory’ 20 min later we realized we’d gone in the opposite direction and were in an outlying suburb of Baku that, from our bus windows was mostly a collection of markets selling gas pipes, door/window frames, car parts and the occasional engine. With nothing to lose, we jumped off the bus at an old gate that was guarding a seemingly promising spread of old buildings. Too late we realized, that guarding the gate was a house turned guard shack, that was occupied by at least 3 curious police men (shown by 3 faces smashed up against one dirty window)-the pull of interesting buildings was too great and we marched up to the door, surprising the men with our boldness. It took a few min, of smooth taking on Azra’s part to convince the police we really just wanted to photograph the mosaics we had glimpsed through the gate. 15 min later we left the complex, mosaic pictures in hand, snickering helplessly-the 5 men in the shack were guarding an old, abandoned, and disused (since ’96) chicken farm.

 

The ‘NiceTaxiGuy’ dropped us off at the ‘The Factory’ gate and with a worried smile, asked if we wanted him to stay and wait-assuring him of our determination to see ‘The Factory’ we sent him back to Summie with many a ‘Yaxsi Yol!!’ and proceeded to look for an entrance. Lacking the tabbie boots/equipment usually required for such mad moves as vaulting ones self over a 13 foot high rusted gate/climbing a wall of corrugated iron topped with razor wire, we snapped a few photos through the gate hoping that, as it usually does in the AZ, someone would wander over to see what the ‘foreign girls’ were doing, and that person would happen to have a key. Call it fate, or just bloody good luck, that was exactly what happened, only it was 2 young men, who not only happened to ‘guard’ the complex, but who also happened to be incredibly bored out of their minds-as the day we appeared happened to fall in the middle of their 3 day guarding stint-a stint, that we later learned, was void of any form of amusement outside reading the Koran and bludgeoning to death the occasional snake. Initially suspicious, the young men, quickly realized that giving a ‘tour’ would likely make the next few house pass swiftly and lift the dull stupor of watching 25 acres of left over soviet factory slowly rot away. We spent the next 2 hours wandering around the factory-the guys telling us their life stories and throwing endless questions our way-to ensure we had no doubt as to their manliness, they also gave several dramatic accounts of heroic snake battles, in which they, of course were the victors. Since there are only so many ways to photo pealing paint and rust, we ended the day sitting around a small table in their painfully desolate ‘office’ drinking chy with the stern look of HA in a picture frame watching us-survey says HA would have approved. Eventually working up the courage, the young men shyly asked if we would pose for pictures-figuring that a portrait swap was the perfect way to build cross cultural relations/understanding (etc. etc) we posed for mobile portraits, flashing our best pearly whites. Azra and I have portraits of the 2 young men, they are 21 and 25, both had never met a German or American before, they look much older, they try to look stern, but eventually crack smiles-they beg us to not leave, but we do, to the sound of ’Sag ol! at our backs, we make a graceful exit that is nearly ruined by a banshee Kamaz driver…

eye candy while you wait.

 

  Color from the BusStops on the Goychy-Ming. Yol.

(Lomo prints posted here in Dec.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Few Tasty Snaps!

 

The AZ5 Ladies in Ming, boasting mad jumping skillz.

 

 

 Yes we do, the perfect rainy day: chocolate cake, popcorn, coke and movies.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Brainnnnnnnnnns, Yummy Brains!! (too bad H didnt see the funny in oozing chocolate)

 

 

 

 

 Ming. Photo Class.

The first letters of all our names = friends (dostum)

 

 

 

 

Creative Center Ming. Azra, Kim, Nate 

Bringing the mullet back to the playground!

 The day we invaded da Lahood!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 ’I see your heart!’-K

 

 

 

 

 

Look what I found in Xcmaz, my very own, Mr. Clean! Think I’ll take him back to Izzy town…

 

 

 

 

 

 Faux stars of the traveling circus.

 

 

 Playing in Baku with a Lomo and my red shoes.

‘…n I’m gonna run for as long as I’m allowed…’

It seems (due to the high volume of questions from various people) that the general opinion is that I’m staying here longer (a year or so) due to the presence of a significant other person. It’s probably a good time to point out that besides ‘lack of prospects in the AZ’ (and this I could care less about), living with roaches on steroids (who see all my major and minor appendages as tasty treats), no water (at. All.) and the general populous thinking I’m a lose woman (because I like to run in the AM), are not exactly circumstances I’d like to stay in simply because I was keen on a dude. Rumor has it though, that a lady in Peace Corps (near my own age) is staying in the AZ for precisely that reason, (engagement)- married bliss awaits around the corner for them, and I wish them many years of joy lacking any sort of gold grills or tight faux leather pants.

Rather, staying here was an idea that’d been running circles in my brain for a while(since last August actually) therefore, when given the opportunity to not only expand the Photography for Social Change project but also a chance to work on a few personal photography/documentary projects (generally associated with leftover Soviet Sanatoriums on the Caspian, Secular Islamic Rap Groups, and Bus Stops) it seemed like the right life choice-living for 3 years in a post Soviet, contemporary Islamic country discovering democracy is a photographic gold mine of adventures that doesn’t present itself often.

Of course, a month ago, while hauling boxes, and various personal items out to the street (to the sound of xanims cackling at my odd and so very ‘English Qiz’ possessions) due to once again being kicked out of a flat, I would have given anything to be back in Minneapolis at 3AM talking with Mark about the various ways we could defend our house against the battalion of drunk frat boys relieving themselves on our front door.

So, I’ve jumped in the work fray-frantically (I forgot to pack the Christmas Tree) throwing my possessions together (and the above mentioned high profile exit), leaving the most permanent ‘home’ I’ve had thus far in my 24 months, and depositing kitchen tools with another volunteer, I’ve been living out my pack since the end of June with my collection of film and cameras and a few horridly unfashionable clothing articles. But everything has sorted, as things do-given my summer work-holding photography day camps in various regions, I’d be traveling anyway-best not to have rent payment, and a mostly crazy, toothless landlady hounding you. In between imparting massive amounts of photographic knowledge to hordes of bright youth, (This is worthy of at least 3 posts.) Azra and I have been navigating new territory in the photo realm of ’Foreign Ladies in ‘Baijan Possessed of Charm, Wit, Mad Language Skills and Cameras’-which means, we made a list of places to see over 3 months, checked it twice and celebrated the warmer weather of June/Start of Summer Adventures by conquering ‘The Factory’, ‘Artyom Island’ and ‘Chicken Factory’ (all abandoned and guarded) in top form.

Since then Azra and I have managed to engage in all sorts of photo shenanigans (halved Lenin statues, traveling circuses, giant Soviet telescopes…) as well a few more sobering wanders-one in particular, which, found us in Mardekend (village north of Baku) was a shocking reminder of the mess left over when cultures, ideals, politics and a host of other human meddling converges and explodes. Several attempts have been made on my part to accurately convey (via writing) what we saw and its significance-however, it seems when I try to write, a bit of self doubt creeps in, that, if unable to thoroughly describe Mardekend, I would fail at making anyone see its importance-because somehow, I think Mardekend is important.

Also of importance are the half a dozen or so stories that are collecting dust/taking up hard drive space-eventually or when I find a home, they will make their way here…

Motivation, Goals, and General Ass-Kickery

In answer to the general question of what the heck I’m doing, find something on this list…I never listed my dream to be doing exactly what I’m doing now, teaching youth photography and living abroad in a crazy country-I honestly wasn’t sure I’d ever see that dream realized, everything else seemed easy to accomplish in comparison to what I’m doing now.

The list started in ‘06 and carries on to present.

Learn 2 other languages (French, Azeri, Spanish….)

Stay proficient in ASL

Own a DSLR and all related gear

4 gallery shows (at a minimum) of my art (painting, photography, mixed media)

Have my own studio space

BASE jump into Sotano de las Golondrinas

Climb Mt. Fuji

Run the Altitude marathon at Pikes Peak

Make it through the Peace Corps

Own sufficient rock climbing gear

Proficient in swing, salsa, tango and waltz. (Learn to belly dance)

Live in Paris and photograph the hell out of the place

Spend at least 6 months photographing the wild horses in SouthDakota

Burren, Ireland, hiking.

Broadway show of Beauty and the Beast and Phantom.

Hot air balloon ride

Get a tattoo

Be a mentor to a child(s)

Masters/PHD in foreign relations/advocate /photography/communication

Campaign against human trafficking

Deep sea dive (explore an ocean wreck)

Well read in theology of Christianity and other religions

Well read in classical literature.

Flat stomach.

Lead a detoxified, organic, clean lifestyle.

Travel to every continent

Pay Off Student loans

Travel/Boat the Amazon

Travel/Boat the Nile

Rappel out a helicopter

Published photography and writing in National Geographic

Create film/photography documentary on AZBoyz HipHop Group

Azerbaijan vs. Spain 0-6

When Spain scored, the guards lining the field would stand up and stare at the fans with mean looks-most ingnored them, I took pictures.

This was the first football mach I’d ever attended, and it didn’t disappoint, hard core fans painted in Azeri colors(red, green, blue), a lone friend of mine proudly waving the Spanish flag, stern guards and free reign to photo whatever we wanted based solely on the fact that we were cute foreign girls! We had the police asking us to photograph them, were nearly trampled in a crowd rush at the gate, (que’ing has never been heard of), and then I caused 2 rows of mostly drunk Azeri/Turkish/Spanish men to fall silent/shamed/shocked when I turned and cussed at a deadbeat dude who thought blowing on my neck was the an appropriate way to woo me. Top night all around!

Yea, Real Madrid is not shabby looking. At. All.
(photos…eventually, as I was shooting with a LoMo likely wont have the funds to develop film for a while)