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Cultivating Gratidude

by Jessie Kaufman
Hello Sunshine and Olly readers.
This is Jessie again.
Thank you so much for reading, and making me feel so welcome. The writing today might have some painful triggers, but if you are game, here we go….
In February of my freshman year of college, I witnessed Wilson die. (He was one of my best friends.) Wilson had an unknown heart condition: one moment we were joking in front of the dorm, the next he was convulsing on the floor and then he was gone.
Beloved Wilson
College life doesn’t offer a lot of sign posts for someone in deep grief. The night Wilson died, the sounds of parties echoed through my dorm room.
My one respite was a class in Buddhist studies.
I read, and re-read passages about Buddhist monks and nuns meditating in front of corpses, to help me navigate how to endure the images of Wilson’s body implanted in my mind.
It was also through that class that I got invited to a retreat with Thich Nhat Hanh, and my whole life changed. At that retreat, I experienced more peace, joy, and gratitude than I knew was possible.
“Gratitude for your teachings” (Image of Thich Nhat Hanh courtesy of Plum Village and Lion’s Roar)
By the end of that weekend, a new life goal had been formed, become a Buddhist nun.
So not long after I graduated from college, I made my way to Plum Village, Thich Nhat Hanh’s monastery in France. During my training, Thich Nhat Hanh would always instruct us to do the dishes like we were washing the baby Buddha.
That teaching rose from my memories last night, as I watched the coverage of the LA fires. A reporter was interviewing a tearful mother, soothing two distraught children. The mom had just learned her home had been completely destroyed, and she said to the reporter, “All I want right now is to go home and do the dishes. Something so simple so ordinary, but I can’t.”
The disappearance of ordinary, simple things (Screengrab courtesy of @InfoOfficialChannel on Youtube.) So last night, even though I was really tired, I washed each dish like it was the baby Buddha, with such gratitude for my home and for the simple ordinary things. I also remembered how the shattering pain of Wilson’s death led me to one of my greatest teachers.

Washing Baby Buddhas, Plum Village
Sending Love to LA.
If you would like to donate, I love this organization - World Central Kitchen - by José Andrés. -
Cultivating Joy

by Jessie Kaufman
Hello, Sunshine and Olly readers. Happy New Year!
Sunshine beaming love
My name is Jessie.
For those who have followed Jonathan’s work, you already know that I am: his wife, a mom, a therapist, and the survivor of many things, including a major depressive episode that would have taken me out, if it were not for my fabulous husband.
Me and my three favorite people
What you may not know, is that I am also a bit of a shit talker. Along these lines, I have been talking smack to Jonathan since he started Sunshine and Olly about posting something for this site. However, I have not backed it up, as I was busy surviving some brutality or other, and did not have the juice.
Now that we have pushed back the move to San Diego, I have found a myself in a good place. My amazing husband saw I was ready to grow, and challenged me to actually post something.
So here we go….
As I said before, I am a survivor of many things, and have picked up some tricks along the way. I then made a career out of teaching these skills to others through my role as a therapist.
One of my favorite gems is to make meaning out of suffering. If you can find a lesson, learn a skill, or help someone else because of your experience, you can transform great pain into many beautiful things.
The other day, I was scrolling through Youtube, and saw the performance of “Joy,” by Pharrell Williams and Voices of Fire, for the re-opening of Notre-Dame. The song struck something deep, a memory that had been buried under years of surviving. It was the realization that we also learn, and find meaning, through Joy.
In the same way you can develop skills from enduring pain, you can heal and flourish by listening to what brings joy, and focus on those points with love, curiosity and humor.
As a discipline in joy practice this year, I plan to post about things that nourish me:
Dance
Design
Fashion
Artistic Expression
And exploring the meaning of wellness.
Dog walk/ Cat walk
We will see if I am just being a shit talker, but it sounds like fun. -
Change is Coming

I killed Party City.
(It happened during my December hiatus.)
They say it's official, as Party City is going down; the stores are closing.
I called them out, in my 2016-18 series “Party City is the Devil,” which was featured as a solo exhibition of the same name at the Harwood Museum of Art here in 2019.
For the Harwood show, in addition to my photographs, (which were made exclusively of party supplies from the store,) I also included wall sculptures made from the objects themselves.
Including two helium sculptures, (of SuperMario and Elmo,) that slowly degraded over the course of the exhibit.



The general idea is that Party City was a conglomerate that sold items meant to be thrown in the trash.
It was embedded in the concept: cheap crap from China that you just throw away when you’re done.
The idea of the stuff as garbage was powerful enough that one of the museum custodians actually threw Elmo away.
(Even though he was tethered to the wall with Party City ribbon.)
The Harwood preparator had to go to Santa Fe to buy a new Elmo, (and get more helium,) even though it’s an hour and half away from the museum.
True story.


Me, in the exhibition at the Harwood Museum of Art, 2019 My point is that Party City was here, and now it’s gone.
Trump was gone, and now he’s back.
Poland was a doormat for centuries, but now it’s powerful.
Sunshine and Olly used to be only my voice.
But that’s changing too.
I just read Jessie’s piece, and it’s excellent. A perfect first step.
Beyond that, I made overtures to a terrific writer/photographer I know, who is thinking of joining up.
And another writer/photographer reached out this weekend, expressing interest in taking on a photo beat for the blog.
That’s (potentially) four voices writing stories here at Sunshine and Olly.
We’re approaching our 2nd Anniversary, (no gifts necessary,) and as Jessie’s article is written, I can brag that it’s no longer a one-man band.
If we have a slew of new content from fresh voices, over the next few months, that would be awesome.
I’m ready to be an editor.
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Sending Good Wishes to NOLA

Happy New Year, everybody.
Hope you, your families, friends and loved ones have a safe, healthy 2025.
I’ve been away from blogging since Thanksgiving, but it wasn’t an intentional break.
Since I used to do this for a living, (back when professional blogging was a thing,) and now it’s a hobby, I really only post when I have the juice.
December was a hard month, for a variety of reasons, but none were traumatic.
So I don’t have anything nasty to report, other than blogger burnout.
That said, as this platform exists to share thoughts, and spread ideas, at the very least, I want to pass along my condolences and positive energy to the people of New Orleans.
I visited the city for the PhotoNOLA festival in 2011, ’14, ’17, '21 and '22. (Not including the online festival in 2020.)
The hotel I stayed in, each time, was about 1.5 blocks from where the mass murderer entered Bourbon Street on New Year’s morning.
I walked through there so many times, I can see the scene in my mind.
It is literally a place designed for people to party and have a good time. (Though watching bodily fluids washed off the French Quarter on an early Sunday morning will disabuse you of any notions the fun is harmless.)
And some crazy dude who prob had CTE from military combat got hooked on ISIS and killed a bunch of innocent people.
I guess we empathize more with people and places when we know them.
So I feel terrible for New Orleans, and send the community my love.
As to 2025 for Sunshine and Olly, my wife Jessie is preparing her first post, which we’ll publish soon.
The doors are now open to new voices.
If any of you would like to volunteer to write now and again, I’d be happy to consider your pitches, and edit your work. (Though as this is a non-commercial venture, we’re not offering stipends just yet.)
Wishing you all well, and as usual, please feel free to drop me a line about Sunshine and Olly, or whatever you’re up to.
The French Quarter, New Orleans, December 2021 -
Secret Recipe: Chicken Saltimbocca


I’ve got a new recipe for you.
Super-duper special.
As with some others I’ve shared, it’s an intricate, multi-step dish that’s perfect for celebrations.
In this case, I actually made it for Thanksgiving dinner last night.
(I don’t bother with turkey, which is not flavorful enough to be worth all the effort.)
Poultry is specific to the occasion though, so I busted out a modified, personalized version of one of my favorite Italian classics: Chicken Saltimbocca.
(It’s often done with veal too, and again, my recipe is not traditional, which is a no-no to the Italians.)
Before we get into it, I apologize that I didn't put much energy into the photos.
I made a big baked ziti with marinara sauce for Wednesday night’s dinner, and also did an apple crumble and cranberry sauce earlier yesterday, so by the time I got around to making the chicken, I had “this” much energy left for pictures.
(That said, the photos at least give you a sense of some steps.)
In my experience growing up with a ton of Italian-American food, and then spending 6 weeks living in Rome in my 20’s, I’ve had different versions of Saltimbocca.
What always sticks with me is chicken or veal, topped with prosciutto, and finished with a nice sauce.
Sometimes, there’s cheese.
The Romans use sage.
And at a NYC Theater District joint called Lino’s, in the late 80’s, they included a super-thin layer of eggplant too.
Here’s how I did it:
About 3 lbs of chicken fingers
10 good mushrooms
1 clove of garlic
2 packets of prosciutto
1 package of Mexican quesadilla cheese
1.5 c AP flour
1/3 stick of salted butter
1 carton of chicken stock


First, dust the chicken with salt and pepper, cover, and leave it out at room temperature for about an hour.
Then heat up a dutch oven, or big skillet, and add extra virgin olive oil when the pan is hot.
Cook the chicken in three batches. Sear each side, and make sure the pieces are mostly, (if not completely) cooked through.
Remove the chicken when it’s done, and set it off to the side.
Using a slightly damp paper towel, wipe off your mushrooms, and then slice them.
Add more olive oil to the pan, and sear/sauté the mushrooms, seasoning with salt and pepper. Meaning, leave them alone for periods of time so they can develop a sear, but also move them around enough they don’t burn.
Once the mushrooms have some nice color, make a well in the center of the pan, mince your garlic, and chuck it in. Add a little salt and pepper to the garlic, and when it has some color, stir in with the mushrooms.
When the mushroom/garlic mix has the right cooked-down consistency, remove from the pan.
Drop the heat a smidge, then add in the flour and butter, to make a roux.
You can add touch of salt here, but not too much, as the butter is salted.
Once the mix has a paste-like consistency and a nutty brown color, add the carton of chicken stock, and stir. Add in the mushroom-garlic mix now too.
Season with salt and pepper to taste, and stir the sauce until it cooks down to a creamy consistency.
(About 5 minutes or so.)

If you want to minimize dishes, (as I did,) you can do all the pre-cooking in one pan.
If so, remove the sauce with a ladle, reheat the pan, and add just a touch of olive oil.
Then chuck in the prosciutto so it can caramelize. (Which gives it a great texture, and enhances the meaty, salty flavor.)
Once it’s done, remove the caramelized prosciutto from the pan.
In order to capture some of the pan flavor, I added some mushroom sauce back in, stirred it around, and then removed it again. (But that might be one too many steps for you.)
From there, slice up finger-width chunks of the quesadilla cheese. (If you don’t have access to that, anything melty-creamy like fontina will do.)
Then in a long casserole pan, use a spoon to layer down some mushroom sauce.
Add the chicken fingers as a layer, then the prosciutto, the cheese, and then the rest of the mushroom sauce.
Bake for about 30 minutes at 350, and you will be in (unauthorized) Italian food heaven.
Enjoy!
Correction: a previous version of this story, (including the email newsletter,) incorrectly stated 2 cartons of chicken stock instead of 1.
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Trapped in Paradise

Sorry to leave you on a cliffhanger last week.
The decision has been made: we’re moving in June.
It’s not the end of the world; quite the opposite. Jessie and I realized rushing through such a meticulous process, and disrupting the kids’ school year, when we’re both still working our way back to full health from that nasty virus...
...not ideal.
Our house has come a long way towards being ready to rent, but it’s not there yet. Working on the details between now and April, for a June 1 departure, is way more doable. So even though we hoped to make it sooner, I don’t feel trapped in Taos at the moment.
We’ve done so much to get ready for moving. Slowing down and focusing on being full strength to start a new life in California is exciting.
My family and I have come a long way in a short period of time. (We're rock solid.)
Truth is, the 2020’s have been difficult, as the pandemic disrupted our lives in profound ways.
In 2020, I started documenting my neighborhood walks on Instagram, to help spread peaceful energy at a hard time.
Then I got a new camera, and began documenting my life here in Taos during 2021.
I made pictures all year long, and have been editing them ever since.
Trying to find the right way to tell the story of a challenging, emotionally devastating year.
I showed the pictures to a couple of people in Poland, and emailed a curator or two, so it’s time to put the work out there.
Here.
On Sunshine and Olly.
I’ll share the artist statement below, and then the pictures, to Trapped in Paradise.
Hope you appreciate the work!
Trapped in Paradise
2021 was the worst year of my life.
(Worse than 2020 even.)
My wife was recovering from clinical depression. My mother-in-law evaporating to Alzheimer's Disease. And my children were withering, stuck at home part year, as the schools were still closed during the pandemic.
Mid-life is famously tough, but for Jessie and me, some of those days felt like actual torture.
I was 30 lbs overweight, unhealthy, and unhappy.
However, I live in a beautiful place; a horse farm in the village of Arroyo Hondo, just outside Taos, New Mexico.
And I love my wife and children more than anything on Earth.
During the Covid 19 pandemic, my family and I found ourselves enmeshed in deep misery, yet walking in circles around the gorgeous farm and adjoining dirt roads.
(Or driving aimlessly around photogenic Taos, with nowhere to go.)
I felt trapped in paradise, as even when vaccines became available, we still spent 2021 in a state of suspended animation, desperate to avoid getting my Mother-in-law sick.
Bonnie became less communicative each passing day, and was mentally gone by late May of that year. (She passed in December 2023.)
In order to stay sane, amidst the chaos, I made this photographic project, shooting pictures the entire year.
These images represent my world in Taos as I know it, having spent the majority of my adult life here.
They’re also chronological.
They record a state of mind, pulsing with energy: claustrophobic, anxious, vibrational.
The exceptions, the beautiful ones, break the tension and represent the joy of healing.
Like birds in a deep blue sky.
Those few times when I looked up, and felt free.























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Lowes in Española is the Hellmouth


images courtesy of Ai Weiwei and publicdelivery.org
I’m frustrated.
(Which is an emotion that often pushes me to write.)
Jessie and I are getting tortured by Lowes in Española, and it’s gotten to the point it might postpone our move.
The Christmas timeframe was always tight, as we’re trying to wrap up a 20 year Taos life in a 4-6 week time horizon.
Finish the projects, take the photos, list the house on Zillow, find the proper renter, get it all legally sorted, find a house in San Diego, sign a lease, get everything moved, and then the kids enrolled and started in a new school.
All over 6 weeks, total?
Like jumping out of an airplane and hitting the landing target on the money.
The difficulty of the plan has pushed Jessie to envision, and then complete, one gorgeous house design project after another.
We’ve had workmen in our home, regularly, since April, fixing three bathrooms, a bedroom, the kitchen, and part of the living room.
All the while, trying to thread the needle on our departure, as Theo is a junior in high school, and his guidance counselor told him if he doesn’t switch schools at mid-year, it could negatively impact his college options.
Quite the pickle.
And then we got fucked by Española Lowes.
If like me, you assumed that a major national chain, the second largest home improvement company in America, would have to do business ethically, you’d be wrong.
Part of why we’re moving is that things can be difficult to accomplish here in New Mexico.
(I’m being diplomatic.)
But those assholes down there in Española have taken it to new heights.
I’ll spare you the litany of offenses, but the reality is that we bought new appliances for the house on September 8th, and still have an LG dryer on our front porch, more than two months later.
The companion washing machine hasn’t been delivered yet, (after mis-delivering it twice,) and now the new dishwasher just broke, after a month.
Throw in the times they’ve disconnected us on the phone, refused to answer the phone, or when they sent delivery workers here who spoke absolutely no English at all. (I speak some Spanish.)
Plus the literal hours we had to sit and stand around the store, (which is an hour and 15 minutes away,) just trying to get anyone at all to help us resolve the many, many issues.
Honestly, I’m about ready to stand in front of their store, stark naked, with a strobe light attached to my head, drink tea all day and then piss in their parking lot.
Over and over again, I’d dance and chant, until the rest of my sanity is gone.
So yeah, will we make it out of here by January 1?
Looking less likely by the day.
Jessie’s still fighting hard for it, but the rest of us are starting to make our peace with riding out the school year, and getting out of here June 1.
I might have to get a day job in the interim, but at least we’ll have some mental security.
(They don’t call it the Land of Entrapment for nothing.)
We’ll end up in California, I have faith in that.
Our home and property are insanely nice, and Californians and Coloradans are moving here daily, as if they were giving away gold in the mountains.
(They’re not.)
So that’s where we stand.
I might be living in San Diego six weeks from now.
But it will require Lowes of Española to get some fucking dignity and do the right thing.
And the New Mexico gods to offer me a bit more luck than they have so far.
We shall see...
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Secret Recipe: Minestrone Soup


Hi Everybody, how’s it going?
I made it home safe and sound from Poland, but only just.
I pulled the car in at midnight last Thursday, (just turning Friday,) and by 11am was sick as can be.
I’ll spare you the details, but it was one nasty bug. So bad, at first I thought it might be food poisoning.
(Note to self, next time, DO NOT eat the airplane tandoori chicken.)
But Jessie got sick three and a half days after I did, (it woke her up at midnight on the dot,) so it’s pretty clear that mixing germs with people from all over the world, as I did in Frankfurt Airport, left an unshakeable residue of some kind.
And it fucking sucked.
The nasty bugger ripped through my gut bacteria with a nuclear blowtorch.
Days of crackers and ginger-ale, and even Wheat-thins were hard to digest, at first.
Fortunately, I’m good at listening to my body, and after a few days, it told my brain that minestrone soup would be appreciated.
It’s a specific ask, but a soup I’ve made many times before.
(Having grown up on the Progresso canned version that my Mom always bought in the supermarket.)
The problem, though, is this illness has made it incredibly hard to digest food, and wants no part of any of my typical cooking buddies: chile, citric acid and black pepper.
Nor any flavorings or spices at all, really.
Just the blandest shit imaginable.
So how do you make that taste good?
I’m glad you asked.
The soup turned out so well I made it again yesterday. Only this time, I knew I’d be sharing the simple (but brilliant) recipe with you.
So I took photos throughout the process.
The big idea for this minestrone is that I used only two added ingredients.
Two.
Total.
A hint of oregano, and kosher salt.
Nothing else went in, beyond the primary ingredients.
Fortunately, the vegetal combination was so on point, the kids didn’t even want to add parmesan cheese, or black pepper, when offered.
Everyone agreed it’s perfect.
This is medicine food, and challenged me to leave all my tricks behind, and start over.
(Just like rebuilding my gut bacteria from nothing.)
I even used a pasta I’d never worked with, and now it will be my go-to for this soup going forward.
Let’s get to it.
You’re going to need two boxes of chicken stock, one can of tomatoes, a box of orzo, and then the vegetables.
1 large white onion
5 cloves of garlic
3 carrots
3 celery stalks
1 big bunch of cauliflower
1 green bell pepper
1 large zucchini



The technique of the soup is made more efficient if you chop your veggies while you’re cooking. (But that’s up to you.)
Start by dicing up the onion.
Heat your soup pan, add some extra virgin olive oil, and then sautée the onions. Add a small amount of dried oregano. Take them further than a sweat, but stop short of a full caramelize, where the onions lose all texture.
A well of garlic inside the sautéing onions
Then mince the garlic, and when the onions are done, make a well in the pan, add some oil, and sautée the garlic, adding salt.
Next, dice and add the celery and carrots, again salting the veggies as you add them.
Next, make a well in the middle, and add the zucchini. (Which I pre-salted. The only ingredient I treated that way.)
Once the zucchini has at least a little color from the pan, chop and add the bell peppers and cauliflower, adding salt as you go.

After all the veggies have been at least a little pan cooked, add the two boxes of chicken stock.
Then the canned tomatoes.
Then three cans of water from the tomatoes.
Add some salt, cover, and cook on medium heat for 1.5 hours, stirring occasionally.
(Adding salt to taste.)
Once the vegetables are nicely chewable, but still have firm texture, add 3/4 lb of orzo.
It cooks in about 10-15 minutes, and then the soup is done.
All told, under 2 hours of cooking time.
Yesterday, I kept eating off the pot all day.
Theo had it for breakfast this morning.
It’s that freaking good.
My favorite part is you really taste each individual vegetable. They sing.
And of course substitute veggie stock for chicken stock and you have a vegan dish.
Happy Cooking!

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Portfolios from ICP in NYC

Tomorrow is a big day.
(For real.)
It sounds like hyperbole, but I’m off to the other side of the world.
To the land of (some of) my Jewish ancestors.
To the Old Country.
To Poland.
It feels monumental, as I haven’t been on an art/journalism/business trip in a year and a half.
After nearly a decade of constant travel, I’ve spent a significant chunk of time here on the farm outside Taos.
Working on my health.
Doing the jiu jitsu.
Hitting the gym.
(Being a part time, stay-at-home Dad, if I’m being honest.)
Tomorrow, though, I head off on a massive adventure.
I’m going to visit the Museum of Contemporary Art in Krakow, (MOCAK,) as they’re showing a large installation from my project, “The Value of a Dollar,” in their “Food in Art” exhibition.
from the Food in Art exhibition catalogue
I wasn’t able to visit the last time I had a big show in Europe, (in Germany in 2019,) and this time, I didn’t want to let the opportunity pass.
Plus, the visit opened up the chance to shoot a new photo project in Poland, which I’ll tell you more about when I get home.
(Unless I blog from Europe. Who knows?)
One benefit of blogging, of working in a milieu inherently online, is it's easy to see visions of elsewhere.
Really, it's a perfect vehicle for disseminating photography.
And Zooming allows us to communicate in real time in ways far beyond what I hoped for, growing up in the 20th Century.
(If you sense I’m building towards something, you’re right.)
Fortunately for us, last Spring, I was invited to review portfolios at an online event produced by the International Center of Photography in NYC, organized for their recent alumni.
Not sure if it’s because International is in the title of the school, but the student body is always hyper-globally diverse.
As such, because I’ve put it off for far too long, today’s post will feature five mini-portfolios from six artists I (digitally) met last Spring.
All of them were professional, interesting to talk to, and talented for sure.
For my longtime readers, I used to do these articles all the time at A Photo Editor.
The rules are the same, as the artists are in no particular order.
In a new twist, each artist wrote beautifully about their own work, so rather than doing my own deep blurbs, I’ll just intro their pictures and words.
Chia Yun Wu hails from Taiwan, which is the inspiration for her work. (Along with family and memory.)
Needless to say, in a world in which Russia invaded Ukraine, China’s threat to Taiwan is real.
Metaphorically, it pervades her multi-layered images.
She wrote:
“Taiwan has been isolated from the world due to its political issues with China. Questions of independence, identity, and territory never have clear answers.
This lonely island is surrounded by the ocean, waves, and tears. To the people who are waiting to be recognized as an independent nation, the image of water has become a symbol of fluidity, unsettlement, and confusion. I seek to deconstruct these liquid elements by reconstructing a solemn, while hopeful, map.”




Raine Roberts shoots old school, black and white, film based images, and creates photo sculptures from the results.
Blogging is inherently digital, (as I wrote,) so rather than showing reproductions of the images printed on plywood, I asked to show a group of the originals.
Her project is called “Things That Spill,” and my favorite part of her writing was:
“Does it ooze, like magma? Does it spill, like milk? Does it roll, like a wave? One with many in the ocean. By the by, it does, lest we remember to cry.”




Lidewij Mulder is Dutch, but currently lives in New York.
(Though I guessed incorrectly she was Polish.)
Lidewij is making conceptually driven, documentary images that explore masculinity. After our initial meeting, she did a shoot at a military base in Alabama, and sent me some of those pictures too.
Super-cool stuff.
She writes, of her project:
“The Great Pretender is a personal exploration of the multifaceted nature of modern masculinity among young adult men. As the concept of masculinity evolves and challenges traditional gender roles, a conflicting message has developed. This encourages men, on the one hand, to express emotions, vulnerabilities, and fears, but on the other, it also leaves conventional expectations intact.”




Maria Giovanna Giugliano is Italian, and it’s fair to call her photographs Baroque.
They’re grotesque, at times, and definitely sensual.
Arresting.
You look, but maybe you don’t want to look?
MGG wrote:
“Ordinary Pleasures retraces the visceral connection between humans and nature through food. In the whirlwind of consumer cravings, people have become detached from the origins of their food and the journey it takes before becoming one with their flesh.”




Last, but not least, we have Jake Salyers, a photographer in New York who had the most Gotham of projects.
Jake became interested in bird-watching, and documented the phenomenon and culture in NYC.
(Including the story of Flaco the owl, which became a news sensation.)
The pictures are terrific, and I’m sure it will become a book.
His statement says:
“At first glance, the dense urban jungle of New York City might seem like an uninviting home for nature lovers. But in this place, a beautiful, unexpected wildlife thrives; New York City is a site for world-class bird watching. Just Look Up is an examination of the birds that live and thrive in our urban environment and the people who obsess over them.”





Anyway, we’re done for today.
Catch you on the flip side, and hope all is well. -
Photobook Review: Paul Shambroom

It’s election season.
(Everyone knows this.)
I’ve been less engaged than in other Presidential contests, perhaps because I’ve felt stunned ever since the Biden-Trump debate this summer.
During my years as a columnist at A Photo Editor, I wrote about politics often, and some of my most memorable moments came from the Clinton-Trump debate in 2016, (which I watched in public at the Hammer Museum in LA,) and the Biden-Trump 2020 affair, in which Biden yelled, “Will you shut up, man!”
On both occasions, I had powerful, correct instincts towards a Trump, then Biden victory.
This time, though, I felt like Daniel Kaluuya in Get Out, as reality fell away and I descended into a paralyzed netherworld.
Biden couldn’t finish his sentences.
He stared into space like the worst caricature.
And Trump lied about doctors in Blue States murdering babies after they were born, with no pushback.
“Fuck,” I thought, “the Dems are toast if Biden is the nominee. It’s over.”
Image courtesy of the NYT
But Kamala replacing him, and Trump’s assassination attempt, happened so quickly, the news took on qualities of a fever dream.
And I read the news, extensively, every day.
Hence my conundrum.
In America these days, with a (nearly) evenly split republic, I suppose it might be easier to tune it all out.
But so few of us actually live in places balanced by the other side.
That, along with the ease with which social media promotes vitriol, is the main reason people can so easily demonize each other.
Prejudice is more difficult to maintain, if you meet, know, and like people from an out-group.
So a New Yorker living on the Upper East Side, who only travels to cosmopolitan places, or Deep Blue beach enclaves, can think whatever they like about some beefy Rancher from Central Texas, but the two are not likely to cross paths.
(Conversely, it makes the evil-city dwellers trying to invade Montana, in Yellowstone, 2-dimensional characters in the opposite direction.)
English actor Danny Huston playing a nefarious city-dweller/ unscrupulous land developer in Yellowstone. Image courtesy of Looper
Do I have a point in all this?
You bet I do.
Paul Shambroom sent me a copy of his new book, Purpletown, recently.
It features a multi-year project in which the artist traveled to municipalities in the US that were tied, or virtually tied, in the 2020 election.
Places that were evenly split, rather than just metaphorically.
These towns were located in States like Iowa, Illinois, Maine, Minnesota, Virginia, Oregon, Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, Washington, South Dakota and Colorado. (Maybe Georgia was in there too?)
They were towns all, with the exception of Colorado Springs, a small city on the southern end of the Denver Metro area.
(Which has some of the worst drivers I’ve ever encountered.)
It’s easy to appreciate the entirety of the book, and the scope of the project and commitment.
From the first page, it’s extremely well written and thought out, with many strong photos.
This is art as journalism, as Paul wanders, roams, but also interviews people, gets involved, learns, engages, and exercises his curiosity and creativity.
There are interview sections included in an appendix at the back, to go along with opening and closing statements.
I like the cover, the end papers, and the idea that focusing on places where people do coexist can perhaps teach us something.
Such conclusions as were drawn focused on the fact that most, if not all of these places had people who relied on their community members.
If you need people, and help them when they’re down, it’s harder to hate them because they prefer the other political party.
(I mean, there are only two choices, right?)
I like the photos, overall, (more than love them,) but they certainly give a visual sense of the visited places.
Overall, I think this is an excellent book, and was glad to spend time with it.







