Work

My editing desk, Garrison NY, May 2020

 

A further thought on What to do when there is nothing to do.
 
For those still wondering what to do these days, to my mind, there has never been a better
opportunity for work. I don’t mean for the poor souls who spend their lives in law or accounting or finance but for those who make films and take photographs, paint pictures, write books, compose music and poetry and perform. Now, we may not be able to perform or create, but we can work.

Think, plan, make notes, file, research. What better chance has there ever been when you cannot now be distracted from your thinking and planning, by meeting Myrtle for a coffee––Myrtle was the girl you met last night at a party, but there was no party; or, you just must go to the gym to clear your mind––no gyms open; or a quick game of backgammon or ping-pong with Felix across the street because you feel like it––both activities banned as players will be closer than the recommended social distance. And now it is 12:30 p.m. so let's call Dorothy and suggest a drink or lunch at the local––no locals open. So there’s nothing stopping you from working.

By the way if you were thinking about doing something other than work, forget it. Shall we say you have thought of learning to play the piano, or reading Chaucer, or attending a Zoom class in diversity and inclusion; you will either have done these things years ago, if you were ever going to do them, or, they are, anyway, a complete waste of time and of no benefit or enjoyment to anybody.

A final thought: in 1938, the English critic, essayist and journalist, Cyril Connelly, wrote a book called Enemies of Promise. When you have worked, sit down with this, it is a wonderful book. Part 2 deals with distraction.

Talking to people

                    Friends at Victoria station buffet, London, 1981

                                    

Talking to people. A very pleasant pastime.

What to do when there is nothing to do? I have, like many people, shut down. There are four people I wanted to photograph but to reduce the chances of infecting or being infected, they will keep until the perils have past. There is no tennis, as West Point, where I play regularly, is closed to visitors until

further notice.

I have done our taxes and polished all my shoes. It is too early yet to tackle spring gardening.

I shall practice the piano more frequently than usual, read Chekhov's My Life for the tenth time, and look for other works by him that I have not read. I will watch Polanski's films, make bread more often and sit behind the slit in our castle wall and shoot anybody with my bow and arrow coming up the drive. (Except for the plumber and carpenter who are working on keeping our castle from falling down.)

When I have read all of Chekhov I shall order a copy of William Boyd's latest novel and a mystery by Sarah Caudwell from Split Rock Books in Cold Spring NY. For some reason there are a mass of English women who are very good at writing mysteries. From Dorothy Sayers, Agatha Christie and P.D. James in the early 20th century to a thousand and one others all the way to today's Ruth Ware who people say is terrific.

                 Conversation at Marlow and Sons, Williamsburg, Brooklyn, NY, 2011

Caroline and I will not starve nor shall we overspend on take out because I shall be trying new recipes from my favourite cookery books: French Provincial Cooking by Elizabeth David, Great Dishes of the World by Robert Carrier, Ou est le Garlic? by Len Deighton and The New York Times 60 Minute Gourmet by Pierre Franey. If I do not get round to trying more than one or two recipes I shall anyway read the books because they are all written by exceptionally good writers.

What I will not be doing is twittering or texting, because I never have and it drains away from what we should all be doing—I like talking to people! It is a very good way of passing the time! If anybody wants to ring me, please do.

Let's hope the warm weather will soon return and we can clear up the winter mess in the garden and spread compost on the soil. I dislike walking (I say this with due respect to Caroline and our dogs who are truly good companions) and there is no tennis, so I shall welcome the bending and stretching and the toing and froing of gardening.

Copyright Dmitri Kasterine, 2020 All rights reserved.

Published in Putnam County News and Recorder, March 25, 2020

At war with Coronavirus

We all have a sob story about the damnable virus ripping through the world. Mine is that one day I was able to photograph people I liked the look of and the next day I could not even see if I liked the look of them because their faces were covered. 

I dig out old stuff and write about the mostly happy memories of my subjects or the time I had with them. See my encounter with an enchantingly difficult girl  35 years ago that worked out well in the end.

In normal times I go out to restaurants to see who’s there, rather than for the good food found in a very few of them. I can get all the food I like at home cooked by me or Caroline. Not that sitting back and enjoying friendly, quiet and lightening service in restaurants is not very pleasant when it is done right. (But not too friendly: “And how are you today, my name is Gertrude and I am your waiter for tonight,” makes me want to get up and leave there and then.)

I walk down Main Street not for exercise but to scrutinize the people coming in the opposite direction. I go into shops seldom to buy anything but to see if there are faces that I want to see. Can’t do anything of this now.

Caroline used to go to things more than I did and has been responsible for finding me some of my favourite subjects. Book clubs, readings, painting lessons, wine tastings, visits to pharmacies and dog food suppliers etc. not to mention who and what she finds on –– I can hardly mention the words I have such an objection to them –– social media.

Now we come to the question of whether we are at war? Well, yes, we are, according to those you govern us and those who broadcast the thoughts of those who govern us. I was seven when World War II was declared. My mother and I were standing on the tennis court when she told me that there was going to be a war. “Will the soldiers come here?” I asked, not being sure if I meant our soldiers or theirs. Only ours came and hundreds of them, preparing for D-day.

Though plenty of enemy airmen came with their Stuka dive bombers, as we were only 20 miles from London and surrounded by fighter stations. Sometimes the German bombers dropped their bombs meant for the London docks on us, when they could not face the anti aircraft guns that ringed London.

             This is not a Doodlebug

1940 to 1942 it was conventional bombs dropping on us. Then a pause until 1944 when the doodlebugs (V1s) appeared. They just turned up with little warning, sometimes being chased by a Mosquito, Spitfire XIV or Mustang fighter aircraft. These rocket propelled bombs, launched from Nazi occupied France, were timed to cut their engines as they approached the outskirts of London, silently gliding to the ground which they hit in a terrifying explosion. There was little you could do if one appeared in the sky and its engine cut. Just watch and hope it would circle away from your area. Or run like hell to the nearest air raid shelter.

              Not a Spitfire ace

Skilled Spitfire pilots could upset the giros in the V1s and send them spirelling to the ground by flying alongside them and tipping their wings. To be effective the spitfire would have to engage the V1 as it passed over the coast of Britain and across the farmland of Kent and Sussex where it would do least harm when it hit the ground.

Now we have the silent enemy of Covid -19 with whom we are at war, doing its best to take us by surprise. We either take cover, or watch and wait for the infection to get someone else but not us.

We live in a house with a two acre field and woods stretching for several miles in three directions. We seldom have to leave this shelter, which almost guarantees us safety from infection. Until the all clear is sounded, this is where we stay––with our dogs, garden, books, keyboard, records, food and wine and each other. 

Helen at Lucky Strike

We've lost lovely Lucky Strike. A place that meant so much to us in the late 1980s when we lived within walking distance of it from our loft on Lafayette Street.

Always perfectly cooked steaks and burgers and never not a table filled with people you'd want to sit along side. Exemplary service.

This is a photograph I took of Helen Johansson tucked into a far corner of Lucky Strike in about 1989. At the time she had stopped modelling and was designing jewelry.

We first met Helen when she turned up at the studio for a go-see.  I took a Polaroid of her but she looked very tired and nothing came of it.

One day, a few weeks later I spotted a girl sitting on the curb on 4th Avenue in front of a table with jewelry laid out on it.

"Now there's someone I could photograph," I said to Caroline and without hesitating asked her if I might take her picture. She said yes and turned up at the studio a few days later.

"I have been here before," she said, "You looked at the Polaroid you did of me and did not seem interested."

"Well, today you look different, just as you did when I saw you sitting on the curb, and I am looking for someone to photograph at Lucky Strike. Would you like to do that?"

She said she would. She left her telephone number and I said I would ring to make the arrangements.  This took some doing. When I rang her she was either out, too busy, or said yes and then cancelled.

After she cancelled the third or fourth time I yelled, "You will be there at 11 tomorrow or I shall come and drag you out of your apartment." All right," she said and hung up.

"That girl is driving me crazy." I said, slamming down the receiver.

Astonishingly she turned up dressed as you see her here and was as good as gold. A week or so later she and a friend came to dinner and she gave Caroline a piece of her jewelry.      

Three glasses

I took this photograph at the wedding of the late Gerald Grosvenor, 6th Duke of Westminster in 1978. I can't be sure, but I believe this was his best man.

My way of doing weddings was to slink about with my Leica looking for moments that sent a shiver down my back. These moments mostly came from the antics of guests showing exuberance or boredom or anger or intimacy. Seldom did I get a picture of the bride and groom that moved me.     

We won't see fun and games like this for a while. I have not tried a virtual gathering, neither have I tried a meeting of friends sitting six feet apart and yelling at each other. (Anyway, how do you pass the bottle or tea pot around without breaking the social distancing rule—by robot?) Although, like many, I am missing the company of others, I think it better to wait and enjoy the safety of Caroline's company, the dogs and the garden for the moment.

The time to pour more than two glasses will return.


   

Spring is particularly welcome this year. Here it is, full of promise: hostas about to unfold.

We have, and so have thousands, clung to gardening as a way of escape this spring. We have replanted an area of about 30' x 30' mostly with ground cover―periwinkle, pachysandra,
day lilies, and lily of the valley. We've made a small patch for herbs.

We've planted two climbing hydrangeas against what is left of a fence that surrounds the area and  faces the house, in the hopes that the plant itself will act as a fence once it grips the remains.

If you have a cat that you love but likes to choose his spots around plants, scatter orange or grapefruit peel over the soil where you do not want him. Coffee grounds work too.

I am expecting to be able to photograph people again once testing is available to all and is proved to be accurate. I presume if the photographer and his subject both test negative it will be safe to get closer than six feet and not wear a mask.

But when?      

Work

Photograph by Dmitri Kasterine. His editing desk, Garrison NY, May 2020

 

A further thought on What to do when there is nothing to do.

For those still wondering what to do these days, to my mind, there has never been a better
opportunity for work. I don’t mean for the poor souls who spend their lives in law or accounting or
finance but for those who make films and take photographs, paint pictures, write books, compose music and poetry and perform.

Now, we may not be able to perform or create, but we can work.

Think, plan, make notes, file, research. What better chance has there ever been when you cannot now be distracted from your thinking and planning, by meeting Myrtle for a coffee––Myrtle was the girl you met last night at a party, but there was no party; or, you just must go to the gym to clear your mind––no gyms open; or a quick game of backgammon or ping-pong with Felix across the street because you feel like it––both activities banned as players will be closer than the recommended social distance.

And now it is 12:30 p.m. so let's call Dorothy and suggest a drink or lunch at the local––no locals open. So there’s nothing stopping you from working.

By the way if you were thinking about doing something other than work, forget it. Shall we say you have thought of learning to play the piano, or reading Chaucer, or attending a Zoom class in diversity and inclusion; you will either have done these things years ago, if you were ever going to do them, or, they are, anyway, a complete waste of time and of no benefit or enjoyment to anybody.

A final thought: in 1938, the English critic, essayist and journalist, Cyril Connolly, wrote a book called Enemies of Promise. When you have worked, sit down with this, it is a wonderful book.
Part 2 deals with distraction.