
Portraits from Open Train Doors, San Francisco, August 2009.
writing about photographs in less than a thousand words








The week-long obsession with taco trucks made me hungry and nostalgic for Mexico. I love Mexico. I love eating ceviche on the beach while it rains. I love the family-owned distellerias and the sweet-smoky smell of burning agave leaves. I love how they let you sample almond flavored tequila even though you're only ten years old. I love that I can smoke in Mexican airports. I love that I can practice speaking in Spanish, but only in the present tense; the way I would struggle to order a meal in Spanish only to hear the counterboy answer, "do you want cheese with that?" I love Mexican Coke which is superior to American Coke. I love photographing in Mexico as much as I love Mexican photographers. I love Don Manuel Alvarez Bravo and his wife Lola, Graciela Iturbide, Nacho Lopez, Flora Garduño, and Tina Modotti, although she's really Italian. I love that Mexicans are not scared of color but also look great in black and white. I even love how they call me Chino even though I'm not really Chinese.
Nostalgia for all things Mexican had me clicking on my picture archives, where I found this old set of portraits that I took of hotel workers in Jalisco. A relentlessly friendly bunch, they make the phrase "hospitality industry" actually mean something. It's no different outside the hotels. People are pretty much all smiles and carefree everywhere in spite of the hard life and the hard work. Like they say in Mexico, good face to bad times. "Al mal tiempo, buena cara."


To chase a picture means to run. You spot someone and that someone has "the thing" -- a look of ages, a stoop that carries the entire burden of humanity itself, an innocence that restores hope, beauty or horror, a hat -- and you chase it. Instinct compels it. And in the fast-paced traffic of urban life, you have to run, bump shoulders with other people without apologies, and catch "that thing" before it recedes into your ever-growing stockpile of missed opportunities..jpg)
When that someone is on wheels, as it was here, you wish you put that extra hour on the treadmill. At first I heard wheels grinding on pavement, then the sound of kids whooping, and a dog barking. The howling trio swooshed past me, and I gave chase before I could think. An old lady recoiled in terror at being flattened by the onrushing boys and beast and man with a camera. I snapped away as the dog growled and pulled away at the boy's t-shirt. One of the kids gave me a peace sign. And for a few seconds, I was part of someone else's fun and games, out of breath, but happy.


I was standing in front of this office driveway with my Leica when a woman asked me what I was taking pictures of. I answered, "lines," and took a quick shot to show her (left). It looks like an abstract painting, she said.
She must have been thinking of Mondrian, who tried to distill the geometry of urban life into obsessively composed paintings of lines and squares and rectangles. To live in a city is to find lines and planes everywhere; the grids of a well-ordered existence. I am drawn to them and the shadows they create, but they are not enough. In much the same way I feel about Mondrian's paintings, I find the symmetry and order of geometry impressive but antiseptic; they leave me cold. People, on the other hand, are unpredictable, messy and disorderly. Their presence in a picture is exactly what I need to break the line.

It was warm in San Francisco today, as it should be, but this man was wearing a fur-lined winter coat and a woolen cap while he hawked Street News, the newspaper that donates its proceeds to homeless people. I told him he was overdressed. And he said, "I know, but I look fabulous." Billy Crystal's SNL character, Fernando Lamas, who said, "It is better to look good than to feel good," would have been very proud of him.


After a week of hand-wringing, I shot the taco truck project yesterday. The entire family joined me for support and the chance to gorge themselves with freshly-made carnitas. The pictures, like Mexico itself, are remarkable for the mad melange of colors, but disappointing for the lack of activity in them. I was expecting to find humanity feasting around the trucks; instead I found a smattering of weekend patrons standing on empty parking lots, a bad day for action photography.




Take it from the POV of the taco.I'm shooting on Saturday and thinking why can't I shoot Vespas instead? An old friend from New York said, "If you hang around one long enough you might get lucky." Sound advice which I will heed. I'll hang around, eat a taco or two, maybe even sample the beef tongue, wait and see what presents itself. In the meantime, I pray to the taco gods.
Park it on a RR crossing and wait for the magic moment.
Wait 'til they sell chow mein.
I take it you wish to capture the essence of the taco truck, transcend ego separation and achieve oneness with the thing itself. To do that, you must be prepared to spend years in quiet contemplation of taco trucks. Sorry, there are no shortcuts. This is why there are no famous pictures of taco trucks.

In the final episode of the series, photography today: the art and business of making and selling pictures; Gregory Crewdson and the staged, manipulated photograph; the battle for Seydou Keita's archives; Li Zhenseng, Wang Qingsong and new Chinese photography; Paolo Ventura's war stories; Alex Soth; Jeff Wall; Philip Jones Griffiths versus Martin Parr at Magnum; Andreas Gursky, $3.3 million dollar man. At left is Edward Steichen's The Pond-Moonlight (1904), sold at auction for $2.9 million.
Episode 5 looks at what happens when photographers turn their cameras on themselves and their loved ones, translating personal relationships into photographic ones. In this episode, Diane Arbus, Richard Avedon, Larry Clark, Nan Goldin, Nobuyoshi Araki, Richard Billingham, Sally Mann, Larry Sultan, Cindy Sherman, and Philip-Lorca diCorsia.
Episode 4 continues with a lively look at the golden age of street photography from the 1950s and beyond, the age of the photographic roadtrip. In this episode: the seminal work of Robert Frank in The Americans, William Klein's New York boogie-woogie, the unblinking reportage of Weegee the Famous, Joel Meyerowitz stalking Fifth Avenue with his Leica, the enduring wit of Garry Winogrand, British photographer Tony Ray Jones' everyday people on the beach, Edward Ruscha's gas stations, Martin Parr in Memphis, William Eggleston and the ascendance of color photography, Stephen Shore, Joel Sternfeld.
Episode 3 begins with delightful footage of Henri Cartier-Bresson "pouncing" at the streets of Paris in the 1940s. The decisive moment, how it changed the way we photograph, and how it collided with the historical moment when the world went to war. In this episode: war photographers Robert Capa and Tony Vaccaro, a Jewish ghetto in Poland, post-war reconstruction in Europe, Japanese photographer Shomei Tomatsu's documents of Nagasaki, The Family of Man exhibition, Magnum Photo Agency, and, finally, W. Eugene Smith's colossal Pittsburgh Project.
The Genius of Photography continues with photography during the 1920s and 1930s. In Episode 2, photography as document: the Machine Age, Alexander Rodchenko and Soviet Utopianism, August Sander and human classification in the Weimer Republic, Man Ray and surrealism, Eugène Atget, Walker Evans and the Farm Security Administration.