Be Perfect in Every Way

Stop drinking

Stop bingeing on Ben and Jerry's

Stop bingeing on chocolate

Read more

Stay on the stair master for 1 hour a day.

Lift weights for all body parts.

Be more organized

Write more

Meditate

Be perfect in every way

Stop being moody

Stop being depressed

Stop being manic

Leave the apartment more

Keep to commitments

Find inner peace

Be thankful for pills

Be thankful for roof over my head

Be thankful for the guidance of dear friends and strangers

Be more thankful

Stop staring into space aimlessly

Be perfect in every way.

Be cultured

Go to movies

Go to gallery openings

Read the New York Times every day.

Learn a new word a day.

Learn to read and speak Spanish fluently

Improve on French skills.

Learn to use CS3 and Lightroom flawlessly.

Be perfect in every way.

Stop tormenting myself.

Stop involving myself with people who torment me.

Eat more greens. 

Be a better listener. 

Stop sleeping so much.

Be perfect in every way.

Go outside and pray for warmer days and friendly smiles.

Be simple

Don't complicate

Don't eat too fast

Don't be a bore

Focus

Don't work too much it only makes you miserable and boring.

Start crying and feel your feelings.

Be perfect in every way.

Happy New Years or Back in the Day?

Paddy, Back in the Day

Back in the Day! Don't you just hate that expression? Well, I do...it's bullshit. It seems like those who are saying, "BAck in the Day" are so young these days that they still lounge in SUV strollers. They are the same offspring whose parents deliberately knock me off the sidewalk with these four-wheeled monster trucks.

I actually just googled to see where the origins of this pathetic expression came from and I found it on a list of the most annoying expressions back in the spring of 2008 even though it was already abused back in 2006 and yes, even earlier.

"Back in the Day" conjures up that stand in the line, last minute book of the same name you can buy at the cashier at Urban Outfitters on 14th St. (the same store I typically cruise, look for decent lighting, fix my hair in the mirror and then walk out empty handed). 

The book of the same name and the same lame abused expression was the smart design of photographer Jamel Shabazz. and powerHouse Books who have continued to perpetuate the "good ol' times" in subsequent other gooey-ooey books. 

For the Hip Hop crowd and those of more or less the same generation, it brings a simple Hallmark smirk to the face. We think back on a kinder times when we danced below revolving and falling television sets at the Palladium and after hours, snorted coke at Save the Robots found on the bathroom floor.  As another coinage used in the age of Oprah Winfrey, "Been there, done it." 

The back in the day calculator is very useful. I calculated mine and it seems that from 1986 to 1990 was mine. Which I actually believe was only off by 3-5 years, as my "Back in Day" continued a little longer than I'd like to admit.

"Back in the Day" is the key that let's you into the so called cool group. It's being on the A list and gets you into Susanne Bartsch night at Club Savage, beyond the ropes and past the bridge and tunnel before you became bridge and tunnel and moved to Jersey. They lift you high in the air and Kenny Kenny  the ubiquitous doorman sees you flying high above the suits as your Holly Hobby doll skirt rises above your ass. You don't care because you'll know you'll be through the doors momentarily and handling a dealt hand of drink tickets. Every time you smile, the Manic Panic kabuki make-upon your face feels like cracked southwestern soil and the glittered extra long eyelashes you pasted on four hours ago are falling off, gashing into the soft flesh below your eyes. 

Later when you are old and frail and fragile as I feel right now..."They" have the nerve to make up this expression, so you can sit around with your other same aged counterparts and feel like you once had a chance to be at the top of the world; in other words, you are completely delusional about your position in society, in denial and suffer from low self-esteem. 

You lived in a minimal railroad apartment painted white and silver and couldn't manage bills without a meager handout once a month from your parents.  You fought with your soon to be homosexual boyfriend over tofu hot dogs and how to wash the dishes properly. And you collected change off the floor to buy your monthly supply of Tampax.

However, the imposed pretense of a lost time once better, not only makes you feel miserable but turns you to placate your unfulfilled desires by shopping. But, you can't because you made the poor decision to be an art major in school and now, things really seem lonesome and scary in the midst of an economic crisis. Oh, how sweet it was.

I want to buy up anti-ageing creams even while I have the simultaneous awareness that it won't do a damn' thing. I want to take a nap. I want to take a flight right away to Ft. Lauderdale and prepare a final residence in an old age home, so that one day I'll be in a group of like-minded same aged people who can talk about "Back in the Day".  I'll be sitting in a wheel chair in a circle of other elders in wheel chairs. 

A nurse's aide will put on "Jesse's Girl" and exclaim, "Remember this one ladies and gentlemen? From back in the day...."?! There will be no more than a condescension from a perfect stranger to look forward to in later years.

"Back in the Day" goes back to our ageist fear of living the here and now.  And of course Death too.

I want to know where this cruel phrase came from because I find it very depressing when I hear twenty-somethings talking amongst themselves about "Back in the Day". What could they be talking about... a memory of mothers applauding them for their first success while sitting on the poddy trainer cushion?  "Back in the Day" is another sign that kids don't have much of chance to play and be children...they are already talking like they have lived long and weary lives. I might feel the same way, if I feasted on "Gossip Girl" and believed it was normal to own your own business at 21.

What about today? 

Jamel Shabazz is still super smart and still is making nostalgic books that pull us into a backwards catatonia. Like many savvy business women and men he makes super bucks on our fears of growing old and are need to cling on to a past far gone,  flawlessly reenacted in the delusional follies of our fading grey matter.

I know I could find out who coined "Back in the Day" if I searched enough. Maybe I'm too lazy...but, I rather someone lead the way and tell me their own personal story about this manipulative expression.

In the name of "Back in the Day." I will now reflect on an East German singer who came into my life and became an early mentor. Nina Hagen. And Happy New Year and Years to come!

Video to come shortly! It's worth the wait. Yes, I know....Beasley needs to learn how to copy edit and make side gadgets and put in cool videos! I need your help. 

Some and most and even myself will say "Beasley, you are a hypocrite!"

Yes, it's true...this is a memoir blog and no less through photographs taken and seen. Every time we click the shutter another memory is bound to be embedded in coming years with a variety of interpretations. But, that doesn't mean that I think they shouldn't annihilate "Back in the Day" from the list of American expressions.

Oh, Let Us Adore Him!

I am off to the Rockaways to stand out in the frigid air with my dear intern, Buddhist Jesse. Who else would join me on my yearly voyage out to Rockaway Park for the holidays?

He is ready to meet Tara, Bryan, Michelle and anyone else who comes down our path, as it always seems to be. I learned the hard way that making plans out there is something akin to waiting 5 hours in Albania for the bus to finally show up and then when it doesn't, hiring some random driver to take you halfway to your destination.

After the Big C. day, Jesse is off to the hills of a state that will remain sacrosanct. Yes, he is off for a week-long retreat with fellow meditators to purge all wordly distractions and malaise. My first destination choice-- two week full body massage, facial, and herbal wrap complete at McClean.

This time, I actually might get use out of a tripod that I bought almost 2 years ago. This might be the time to try out those long exposures at night. Where is Todd Hido when you need him? And yes, I've been avoiding recording interviews because with a camera nearby, the decision is always clear cut. This time...all those great conversations will be conjured up once again.

I'm off to breathe in lots of second hand smoke and sit in the Kerry Hill and go to homes of friends whom I haven't seen since the summer. It's not my favorite time of year out there or anywhere in the Northeast, but in someways, the most honest time since the tourists are long gone. The streets are deserted and the bars begin to fill early morning. Jesse and I will be there just in time, at 11am, right before the last cantankerous drunk has had enough to settle the shakes and the crankies.

They will all say "Happy Hanukkah!" when I walk through the door, even though I never celebrate the holiday. You might think that Jews in NYC don't exist with the kind of dazzling salutations I will receive out here this week. In the end, I feel like I just don't fit in. But, this might be as good as it get's.

I got lucky and found another place to sleep. Unfortunately, I screwed up the last home stay. On the second night I moved in the apartment, I changed rooms in order to sleep with my host's new roommate who had also moved in the same night I did. We had met in the kitchen standing over a pot of crusty black bean remains.

I now hear on a never ending loop, a report on Fox 5 News that a fervent Christian who stays awake to all hours of night and day, looking for lost numbers scrolled on pieces of paper, is still praying for my lost soul. I'm thankful for that. Anything, can help a lost soul.

The next three nights, for better or worse, I'll be sharing a king size bed with my friend, Phil. He has a boxer's broken nose and the heart that comes with it. His studio is neater than my apartment and he loves to bake! Yellow lace falling from a balustrade veil secrets from a past tragedy he shared with me one afternoon over the past summer. He lay on the bed and peeked his face out of an opening in the transparent material, recounting the story of a lost love, a lost child.

It's getting late. I'll be up early. Moishe and Howard are being picked up by the doggie stay n' play bus at 7am. I have to prepare food baggies, medication, toys, and cushions for them and for me one change of undies, film, camera, flash, makeup, medication, etc , etc ....no credit cards.

New Editions from the Rockaways And Other Series for Sale!

"Fishbowl"

"Mr. Softee"

"Hotel"

"Trainer"

All of the above photographs are certifiable Rockaway Park images. All are 18X18", image size at 14.5X14.5" in edition of 15 and priced all at $300., except "Hotel" which is at $250.

Presently, all of the photographs listed here and below ("Last Stop: Rockaway Park", "City Heat" and "Eyes of Salamanca") are not linked directly to Pay Pal on my site, www.julianabeasley.com . Instead, they can be paid for by directly going to the Pay Pal website.
Payments should be made to jujubeasley@gmail.com.

Please, send me a confirmation number of the sale, the name of the photograph that you ordered, and your name and address, so that I can verify the information. I will then be able to send out your print expediently.

Don't worry, I still have more "Frieda", "Leopard Lady", "Last Stop: Diner" and "Miss Reingold".
All of which are featured on this blog on December 10, 2008 entry.

Scroll Down for More Edition Sales.

Two Images For Sale from "City Heat"

"Sunglasses and Arm Cast"

"Schmatta"

Both of these images were taken out in the Coney Islands. Notice the yummy fried sugar confections! The same ones sold in the subways of NYC!

They are both sized at 18X18", image size 14.5X14.5" in editions of 15 at the price of $300. each.

Eight Images for Sale from "Eyes of Salamanca".

"Before the Rain"

"Sunday After Church"

"Barbwire Howdy"

"Sitting on Grain Bags"

"Toe Truck

"Holding Hands"

"The Carriage"

"Maria"

All of the above photographs are being sold in editions of 17 each at 8X10". All are priced at the low cost of $150.

The "Eyes of Salamanca" is an ongoing project which I plan to continue in 2009.

New York City Riviera

On a hot summer mid-afternoon, I walk down the boardwalk towards Beach 116. I'm wearing a new green bikini I bought at a local store out in Rockaway Park. Everything is on sale and I can't resist buying something there every time I get off the train from Manhattan. The bathing suit looks like something Jane Fonda might have worn in Barbarella. I have a Rollei Twin Lens Reflex (2.8 Zeiss) with a flash bracket strapped around my neck and about 10 lbs of camera equipment and 120 film in my backpack, braced to my waist. I feel more like a Marine than I will ever feel.

Nothing in sight to shoot, I bet my wages on 115th St. The stakes are high, I will surely find madness in-between the SRO's, boarding houses and empty lots lining the block.

A reddish-brown mastiff tied by a long rope is snoozing in the shade next to a beaten-up trailer, standing idle in a gravel lot. Several electrical cords connect the trailer to the SRO a few yards away. The windows are dusted over in layers of filth. "Honey" is printed on the side. Three beach lounge chairs sit empty in front. No, wheels; just perched on the ground like a bird who flew down to Florida for the winter and never returned home from the summer retreat.

"Hello, Hello," I holler. "Is anyone home?"

The dog wakes, charging me like a clumsy bull from a holding pen. I quickly shuffle backwards on my heels, cradling the dear Rollei in my hands before the imminent fall on my ass. With a quick tug of the rope, the collar chokes him before he can reach me. We stare at one another in a mutually pathetic standoff.

"Yeah, who is it?" A man appears from the busted door of his trailer home. "Eh, don't worry about him," he says as he pets the dog. "He's a big baby. See? Come and pet him." I'm wary, but I do.

"Have a seat. Would you like some water?"

"Can I take a photo of you and your dog?" I asked. When I begin to photograph, he begins a litany of the misdoings of Bush, every so often, saying, "Geesh, they are real assholes around here. They'll believe anything they hear."

"See, I went to Vietnam...." And it continued like that while I stood back and photographed him. Between, pressing down on the shutter and changing film, I could hear every sentence qualified with a whining "geesh". He rolled his eyes back behind tinted eye glasses circa 1978.

This is the day I met Bob or as I like to call him Trailer Bob. We became natural friends right away.

It was the summer of 2008. I was on the NYC Riviera. I put down my camera more often than I would like to admit and lay on the sand with the "tourists". I fearlessly jumped over shallow waves in the Atlantic Ocean and sneaked shots from a shared bottle of Jameson that I had bought in a local liquor store. I had a flawless tan. I became 16 years old. I had traveled to a far-away beach resort.

I met "him" in the most unlikeliest of places. He wasn't a native. He was just passing through until he found another cheap residence that was closer to his job. He was olive skinned, his eyelashes long, his Brooklyn accent undeniable and delectable. He was young and beautiful, ravished and vicious. I had lost all reason. I fell into a euphoric daze. I told him I was his Potato Chip Girl.

By mid-September, I was sitting on a bench with Trailer Bob, the salty wind blowing through our hair. The beach was empty, the boardwalk still. The summer was over. I stood at the railing, looking towards the ocean and dialed his number.

Answering machine.

Answering machine again.

"I'm here", I said. "Ya' know, the Rockaways is just not the same without you."

I closed my cell and turned to Bob. "I really did care about him."

"Geesh!", he said.

ALERT: Frieda and Leopard Lady Are Going Fast!

The limited editions of both Frieda and Leopard Lady are both selling off quickly. If you are interested in either of these editions, I would buy these hot cakes as soon as you can.

Juliana's Holiday Print Sale!

This holiday season I am offering an exciting sale of three of my images from"Last Stop:
Rockaway Park". All are well priced at 18X18" in editions of 15 with 2 APs.

From top to bottom of photographs above:

"Last Stop Diner", $300. USD

"Leopard Lady", $300. USD

"Miss Reingold", $250. USD

"Frieda", $250. USD

Recently, this long term project has been shown at Frieze in London and has become part of the collection at the Victoria and Albert also in London. The project has been shown in the US, Spain, Germany, and most recently in Paris.

This is an easy in for a seasoned or novice collector! So, jump in and give the love of the Rockaways either to yourself or to that other loved one!

You can purchase your favorite image from my website at www.julianabeasley.com.

Unity and Micheal

I took this photograph a couple of years ago with a digital camera. It was the first time that I had gone out to the Rockaways without my Rollei Twin Lens.

It was an overcast late summer day in August.

Before I left home, I put on a melon colored dress that I had bought at Old Navy. I wanted to look pretty; for once, my friends in the Rockaway's neighborhood would see me in something feminine. I wanted them to see me beyond the tough ruffian who trolls the streets with an over sized photo knapsack and a bandanna wrapped around my head.

"Oh, Juliana, you look cute!" was the first reaction I got when I ran into Richard when I got off the train on 116th st. His voice was less monotone than usual... an exclamation, no less. He grinned and looked downward.

I went over to Unity's boarding house on 113th street. I hadn't seen her for a while. Her lower appendages were swollen, making it hard for her to leave her room. I found her leaning her head out the window on the first floor. She was standing in the corridor. She was petting her cat, Micheal who twirled in circles with every stroke she gave him.

It began to drizzle. We went inside.

"Oh, darling", she said in a thick Scottish accent, "you haven't lost too much weight, have ya?" She passed her hand over to the V neck of my dress and pulled the material closer together, covering whatever cleavage there is to show.

"Oh, no, dear, you must be careful...you must be careful someone might say something. They might think the wrong things"

Micheal came in from the sill. I took this picture. And not until this evening did I find it amongst the deluge of digital files eating up my external hard drive.

Christoph Gielen's ARCADIA at Daniel Cooney Gallery

Don't miss out on Christoph Gielen's wonderful aerial shots and cityscape's at the Daniel Cooney Gallery.

What makes Christoph's work so compelling is the eeriness in which he depicts contemporary urban sprawl. However, don't get me wrong. On the contrary, his work is strangely beautiful. Homes and highways, become dollhouses and tubular patterns. Colors define the graphic quality of the imagery.

One of my favorites is oddly enough, not a aerial shot, but a haunting image taken in Shanghai. Deep blue envelopes the night and a building under construction. From side to side, top to bottom, gradations of indigo are broken into crisscross lines while a single guardrail intersects the bottom frame with a rusty yellow.

Super Kudos Christoph!

And not to mention, a little bird chirping outside my window in Jersey City told me that Christoph not only has a passion for being strapped in hanging out of helicopters, but he's sweet as cherry pie.

The show will be up till January 31st! So, get on your long johns and take a hike over to Chelsea. If yours truly can do it with five layers on...

Darn', it's cold out there!

Yep, the Holiday Sale is still going on....so, get it while they are hot! Put these little toasty-gem prints next to your Menorahs and trees and make a loved one know the love of the Rockaways! Queens!

She Said White

I would like to thank the absolutely divine, Justine Reyes for commenting on my black template for my blog and suggesting white. Yes, this works...I think I really like it.

I Finally Made IT!

In the great words of Sandra Bernhard..."I'll still here goddammit!"

Amy and Colin have been telling me for weeks and years to do this.

How could this be...I'm starting a blog and I really don't think I have enough to say...

One thing is for sure...I take pictures.

Today, I woke up. I felt sick. The sick of the mind.

My psycho pharmacologist changed my meds on me. Isn't that what I wanted anyway. Up on the Lamictal (mood stabilizer)...I'm a walking zombie zapped of highs and lows...except, this middle ground feels like a one-sided outerspace abyss. I'm looking through a foggy window. I can see myself. My head is hung low as I slowly put one foot ahead of the other. I'm walking in straight lines, never ending straight lines, with a saddle on my back and a bit in my mouth. I can't look to the right and I can't look to the left.

I know this person. I haven't seen her in a while....she is a foreboding of a past I no longer want to visit. But, I can still recognize her.

Down on the anti-depressant, Nardil.

Let me interject here that I have never met another person, at least within my circle or through "friends" on Facebook who also take these old school meds. Recently, I found out that Marilyn Monroe took an MAOI....this didn't make my situation seem any more promising...all I can think of is a faded Polaroid of her sitting up in her bed in a house coat holding onto her precious Maltese dog. The bed covered in satiny white, the shape of a circle, and the walls a baby blue puke of that era.

Does anyone out there remember that dog's name?

Last night bad karma turned into today's bad karma.

Now, it just isn't good but possibly normal for me to drink half a bottle of white crap Sauvignon Blanc. I went to the the ghetto liquor store in Jersey City, after my intern left for the day. I could barely touch my feelings before the first drink.

A solitary soup at my dining room table and a plan to take it a step farther. I bundle up in layers on a temperate December night and surreptitiously make it over to the Pathmark to buy my favorite binge....a box of small square Butterfingers, a Dove chocolate and almond chocolate bar and a pint of Vanilla Heath Bar Crunch ice cream.