Top Five Lunches: Part 1

Don Alfonso: Sant'Agata sui due golfi - Massalubrense Italy

Once a year, we spend a week somewhere in Europe with our friends, Doris and Ed. We all enjoy a good lunch and some of our favorites have been while we were traveling with them. A few years ago we decided to meet on the Amalfi Coast in Italy and spend a week in Positano. It was a nice enough place but all the restaurants were a bit touristy and after eating there for a few days we felt we had to try somewhere else. We decided to drive to the tip of the peninsula and without any plan in mind, we would stumble on some lovely little idyllic spot for a superb lunch.

We set out on back roads passing through a few small towns and enjoying the scenery when all of a sudden while driving through what seemed to be an innocuous working-class village, Sharon yelled out Stop! Ed slammed on the brakes in front of an iron gate on which some lettering in gold said “Ristorante Don Alfonso: with four gold stars beneath it. Through the gate was a small path leading through a garden to a neat little building surrounded on three sides by windows with flower-boxes.

We parked the car and entered through the gate to the restaurant. We sat down in a very bright sun-filled room, ordered a bottle of white wine and waited for our lunch to arrive. Shortly afterward, a very handsome sixtyish woman showed up at our table and introduced herself as the owner. She asked if, after our meal, would we like to tour the wine cellar and if we were, we could meet her in her office across the garden.

The wine arrived, the appetizer arrived, our lunch arrived, all at the proper time and all of it absolutely delicious. For the next two and a half hours, we sat by ourselves in this beautiful white room, enjoying the food, the wine and the soft gentile mood of the place. It was blissful, it was soulful, it was heaven.

After our coffee, we went across the garden to the lady’s office and she graciously showed us the property, including the gardens, the library, and finally the wine cellar. It was quite the cellar,starting out two thousand years ago as a roman well and now being home to sixty thousand bottles of wine. We walked down an old stone staircase for what seemed like forever passing endless bottles of wine stashed away in the sides of the stone walls in tiny little nooks and crannies. The place was musty, a bit cool, and covered with cobwebs. It reminded me of a scene from “The Casket of Montresour” with Vincent Price and Peter Lorre where they have this wine tasting contest in Vincent Price’s wine cellar. Only it wasn’t a movie set. it was real. The place was fabulous. After the tour we went back to her office where she graciously poured us some liqueurs and we sat for about an hour and chatted with her. She said that it was past season and that all her vegetables and foods were grown on their farm a few kilometers from there but perhaps the next time when we returned we could tour her farm. Right at the end, I asked her if I could take her picture and she agreed. This shot is of her relaxing in her office.

Fatima: Portugal, 2007

Do you remember the scene in "La Dolce Vita" where the two kids claim to have seen the Virgin Mary in a field and the whole Italian media circus swoops down on there town to report the event?

Well, it's sort of true because in this town in Fatima Portugal, that's exactly what happened. It wasn't a town in the 1930's when this "vision" supposedly took place but today it is a small city devoted to this event. The high point is the cathedral which you cannot see in the photo . The photo only shows a part of the steps leading up to the place. Its fucking huge! We arrived there at around 10:00 PM but the place was still , kicking with masses going on in an outdoor cupola 24/7. This place was about as trashy as one could get. I thought I had seen it all when I was a kid in Montreal and they had the "Oratoire" situated on a hill with brother Andre's heart in a glass vase in the cathedral but this place put it to shame. I only wish we could have arrived a bit earlier while the souvenir shop was still open. I would have loved to get a slice of Pizza with an image of Jesus visible in the cheese topping.

Montreal Winter

Small Cameras

For the past few years, I have been using small cameras which I can carry in my pocket when I am too lazy to schlep along my regular one. I had bought a Contax TVS III sometime around 2000 and usually it stayed at home as I wandered around all over the place saying "Why the fuck did I leave the camera at home" or similar elegant phrases. (read this) But every now and then it would end up in my pocket and every now and then I would be lucky enough to have it when a brilliant picture opportunity occurred.

Last week I received an email notifying me that I had won a prize at the Px3's Human Condition Competition, Prix de la Photographie Paris and that I would be included in a group show this spring in LA and New York and perhaps Europe later this year. I did not remember which photo I had entered so I logged onto their site and was surprised to discover my image was one taken a few years ago with my Contax. I have mentioned this event a couple of years ago (click here) in a previous blog. I never considered it one of my best but it seemed to fit the theme of the competition so I entered it.

Lately I have been using a Canon G9 as a pocket camera and although it takes a pretty good picture, it does not function very well at night because of the noise which is common with small digital cameras at high ISO's. But when I convert the image to black and white, it has a nice grainy effect which I like. I have exhibited a few of these images taken with these small cameras at my recent show in Italy and also there are a couple on my web site.

The photo at the top was taken last week in Montreal. I had to go there for a family function and although I dread going north in the winter, I felt I had to be there. As usual, Montreal in winter is miserable, damp and dim in every way. This photo was taken with my little Canon G9 from the 16th floor of my hotel room in late afternoon on a typical Montreal, February day.

Blocked!

It happens to everybody who creates things. one day, the juices just stop flowing. You find your self doing the same shit over and over and your not satisfied with anything you do. Your creative life just stops. I am not sure when it started but its like a spider's bite. You don't really know when you were bitten but suddenly you find yourself scratching the spot.

I started scratching when I came down to Florida last November. I did not notice it at first but I suddenly found myself visiting the same spots I always do when I am here. The beach, Lake Worth, Palm Beach,— the same old shit— more shitty pictures. I knew I had to change my style a bit but how?

This is not the first time I have been "blocked". Creative block is a frequent guest in my psyche. It like recessions; they come around very regularly at certain intervals and some are worse than others. This one is a middle-of-the-road one and over the years I have developed a method of working through them. I might still visit the same old haunts but I expect very little to come of it, but every now and then, I am surprised. I bring my camera everywhere but shoot very little—I don't want to be caught off-guard. I look at my old images a lot and try to figure out where I want to go next. I also see if anything can be done differently or where I can improve.

But most of all there is the technique that I have used for over 30 years (Yes, it has really happened over and over). If I were ever to write a book on photography, this would be one of the main chapters because this technique has worked so consistently over the years. I call it the freebee technique and it works like this.

People are always asking me to take pictures of their shit that they sell, their relatives, insurance claims, their dogs, for passports, etc. I hate doing it and always graciously decline, but not when I am blocked. During these periods, I always say yes on the assumption that one never really knows whats around the corner.

Last Thursday night, Sharon and I had dinner downtown at Sushi Rok, and then decided to take a stroll down to the park in front of the library to see a free concert. When we walked out of the resturant and crossed the street, there were these four black guys talking in front of a storefront. One of them said something to me which I did not hear so I went closer and and asked them to repeat it. He asked me If I had ever been to Africa and I replied no. "We are from Zimbabwe" He said, "we have just opened up this store", he went on, motioning to the store behind him.

One of them was very tall and had wonderful dreadlocks. "May I take your picture" I asked. "Sure" he said, "and all my friends too. We can send it home."

This is not what I had in mind but what the hell. We all went inside and he gathered up all his partners and they all stood in a line and all of a sudden this little kid ran up and stood in front of everybody and I took the snapshot. I asked the kid's father if I could take a picture of the kid alone and he said sure. These guys were very warm and friendly and were delighted when I offered to come back and take their pictures (this time on my terms) later in the week. One of them then asked if I could take a few pictures of the store for publicity and I said sure, why not, no charge.

I have a feeling that my creative block is coming to an end.

Mens Locker Room: Country Club of Florida

300 years ago, some besotted Scots, having too much time on their hands, started whacking a feather ball around for fun. It seemed to catch on and in no time at all, they were stumbling around in sheep shit on the northern hills, while keeping warm by drinking a bottle of scotch as the icy wind swirled up their kilts and tickled their balls. The bottle would last for about 18 holes and hence the modern golf course layout was born.

About 350 years later, I fell in love with the game of golf. About 10 years ago, Sharon had decided that I needed to depart from my slothful habits and take up some form of exercise so off we went to Marty Keene’s Golf Academy in Williston for lessons. After the lessons came more lessons and endless trips to the driving range to hit balls but it was a slow sell. The main problem was that I did not know anybody who played.

One day my neighbor Marc asked me if I wanted to play golf one afternoon and so off we went to Cedar Knoll in Hinesburg for a round. It was a good day. Marc and I became friends, and I became addicted to golf.

Eventually, in my third year I payed my $600 and joined Cedar Knoll Country Club. It was anything but a country club. It was really a homemade local golf course which started out as a dairy farm and the owners who really knew how to grow things, got interested in golf and turned their farm into a golf course. I loved the place. I started showing up about three times a week to play, joined a men’s league and just got into it, and when I wasn’t playing, I would just hit balls on the practice tee.

One day as I was hitting balls, I heard from behind me “Nice shot!”.

It was Barry, the club pro complementing a shot I took as he was walking past me. Eventually, I began to take lessons from him and over a couple of years, My handicap dropped to almost respectable.

One year, Barry asked Marc and I if we wanted to have a Sunday regular round with him and Scott (who I did not know at the time). I was surprised and asked him why he would want to play regularly with an 18 handicapper and his reply surprised me.

“You are really serious about your game and are always trying to improve. You don’t see that with too many of the golfers around here.”

He was right. Cedar Knoll was a “blue collar” club and many of the members were in the building trades or had regular jobs, and golf for them was just drinking beer, being away from the wife, and hanging out with their friends.

So, every Sunday, the four of us would meet at 7:28 and play golf. I loved it!

In our fourth year of playing together, after the round and sitting on the deck drinking a beer, the subject of playing another course came up. Barry said there were plenty of wonderful courses for us to play at and he of course knew the pros who worked at them. A few weeks later, Barry asked if we wanted to play at this place called Country Club of Vermont. " I know the pro there. He is a really nice guy and I think he can get us on." I promise you it will be a real experience.”

The following Sunday, we met bright and early at the Williston car park, packed our clubs and drove up the interstate to Waterbury.

As we turned up the hill to the road leading into the club, I could see the front 9 on either side of me and immediately fell in love with it. It was by far the most beautiful golf course, I had ever seen. After the round, we had a beer on the deck of the clubhouse. overlooking the back nine with the mountains and Camel’s Hump in the distance. It was one of those rare beautiful serene moments which happen rarely and are remembered forever.

When I got home that evening, Sharon asked how it went. I told her the course was spectacular, I shot a crummy 95, I had a wonderful day, — I wanted to join.

“ Why not” she replied. “You really like to play golf, Why not at a nice club.”

I was floored. The next day I phoned the club and inquired about membership. A nice gentleman called back and invited me out the next day for a free round. I could just feel myself getting sucked in.

“I would never join any club that would have me as a member.” — Groucho Marx

I was not sure it was my scene or that I would fit in but on reflection, I had been a member at Cedar Knoll for the past 5 years and had still had not fit in. In the end, it was a “leap of faith” and I joined.

It did not take me long to find out how right I was. The first thing I noticed was that the members went out of their way to introduce themselves. It was not hard to find a game and the level of conversation had changed. I had moved from listening to people talk about football (which I never watched) to talking about business, wine, politics and football (which I still do not watch). People in the clubhouse would say hello instead of nod, behave like adults on the course instead of drunken slobs, tee times were respected and overall, it was a far more relaxing, friendly atmosphere.

My greatest thrill though is still driving up I-89 in the late afternoon, playing a round, and then sitting on the deck with a beer, watching the sun set while chatting to one of the members and thinking about my other great love— how to take a better photographs.

The photo you see at the top of the page is the men’s locker room at the Country Club of Florida in Boynton Beach. We play an inter-club tournament with the Country Club of Florida. Last September they had come up to play us in Vermont and now it was our turn to play them on their course. They were great hosts and at a reception for us, our club president was really impressed with their locker room (who wouldn’t be, most of Florida’s residents don’t have homes this nice). He came over to me afterwards and suggested I write something in my blog about it so this one’s for you Skip.

Somehow though, I think those scots really were into something and that over the years, it has been mostly forgotten. What I really love about golf in Vermont, is walking up and down about 4 miles of beautiful scenic Vermont golf links, with a golf bag on my back, in good weather or bad, and ending up in a club house quietly drinking a beer at the bar as I watch the sun set over Camel’s Hump. There is nothing like it.

Art?

What does one do on a rainy Sunday in Florida?. This week we went to Palm Beach3 which is a gathering of all sorts of art dealers in painting, sculpture, photography and decorative arts. The event is held annually in the Palm Beach Convention Center which is appropriate for this sort of thing. The following week this building will be occupied by luxury car dealers selling Lamborghinis, and Rolls Royces — the same toys for the same boys. This is Palm Beach, the land of the pretentious, the impostor, the exhibitionist, and super rich. Its quite a mix. The convention center is the closest they will ever come to a mall.

Question: Whats it cost?

Answer: $35,000 (very glibly)

Response: Oh Fabulous!

No one here would ever dare to be shocked by the outrageous price of dreck.

This event brings in art dealers from around the world. Like a moth drawn to light, they descend on this convention center to peddle their wares to the rich and powerful who are united, only in their total lack of good taste. (If you don't believe me, just take a walk down Worth Avenue in Palm Beach and look at the schlock being peddled as art. My favorite is the life-sized bronze sculpture of Picasso sitting in a rocking chair— $120,000. Not BY Picasso, OF Picasso. It was done by some whore with a goatee.) There seems to be some uniform for art dealers. The men are dressed in black suits with black shirts, black ties and rimless glasses. The female dealers also have a "uniform" but it is more subtle. diamonds, white dresses and breast implants seem to be the fashion of the moment.

The public is just as contrived, at least most of them. They are dressed in the same"uniforms" as the dealers. This is to ensure that they recognize each so the sellers don't have to waste their time answering stupid questions from amateurs.

I know I am just ranting now but lets be honest. Its not all bad. Amongst the life-sized nude sculptures of porn-stars. over sized photographs of washed-out views from grandmother's kitchen, paintings of voluptuous semi-clad women staring vacantly into the distance, over sized photographs of blurred footprints, life-sized sculptures of push pins, $64,000 lighting fixtures, wall-sized portraits of screaming children with blood dripping from their empty eye sockets, and endless prints of Botero and Vazarelly, there was actually some good stuff to be seen. You just had to wade your way through all the shit to get there.

For me, however the main attraction was the crowd and the never-ending cacophony of color, shapes and styles was far superior to what was hanging on the walls.

The photo on top is of a jewellery dealer from Ottawa, Sharon was looking at a bracelet and this was the only contact we had with any of the dealers. (Most of them just ignore the audience as they peck away at their MacBooks and pretend to be very busy. The only thing that will get their attention would be a whiff of Chanel which is a secret sign that the person wearing it is stinking rich and worthy of their attention.)

But I digress. Anyhow this woman was showing Sharon a bracelet and I asked to take her picture. She said yes. By the way, she didn't really belong here since her stuff was reasonably priced and she actually spoke to people.

A Quick English Lesson

For the past few months, I have been tracking the visits to this blog and my web site (www.dsaxe.com) using a neat little utility called Statcounter. It tells me who has visited my site, where they came from where they went to and how long they visited. It also tells me what search criteria they used to visit me. The results were quite surprising as I found out that about half the visits were from Saudi Arabia, Iran, Yemen, Egypt and elsewhere in the middle east.

A quick look at their search criteria gave me some clues. They were all searching in google for the word “Saxe”. It wasn’t a quick stretch to figure out that they were in search of porn sites and were confusing my name (Saxe) with the word “sex”. (Although most of them quickly move on after discovering their error, a few of them linger on and explore my blog in more detail, and I appreciate that.)

Not only do these guys have to get laid more often but they also have to improve their English if they want to surf the web for porn sites. So here is my message:

Anyone searching this site for porn or sex, you have come to the wrong place. What you really need to do is to google the following words:

Sex
Porn
XXX

This should get you to the right place. Good luck.

P.S. I have a feeling that by my using these words, increased traffic will result because the search engines will direct them here. Only time will tell.