Which won’t matter much now; but it will soon (when holiday time comes around).
Anyway, I have 30 prints to get out, and they are all due by end of next week. No, only one of them is from an individual. The rest are from art buyers, interior designers, and architects.
Good stuff. I like to have a stack of prints to get through. It means for now I can put aside looking through all these negatives from 20 years ago; and in fact, I can begin to put some of the better ones into the store. The little fine art photography store in a corner of the world wide web. The kind that you find when you make a wrong turn on a night rainy night on a country lane.
There’s that sign swinging in the rain; a little creaky. And you go in and find five lanky farmers with their feet up on the pot-bellied stove. (That’s this blog). And you look around and see prints that you’ve never seen before; and curious, they’re pretty good for a country store. You begin to wonder what it’s all about; and your shaking your umbrella out, when a guy that seems to be the proprietor approaches.
“Can I help you with anything?”
You tell him that you’re lost. You must’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere.
And he tells you that most of the people that stop by have taken a wrong turn. But unlike the scene from Psycho – this place isn’t scary, and the guy you’re talking to is friendly. He invites you to look around while you dry out; and to your surprise, you find a gallery of black and white photographs that look like they were taken in the late 50′s. And they’re all signed by the same guy: Beckerman.
You find yourself staring at one picture, bare trees in Central Park. It draws you in. And you are about to ask the price when the guy who you talked to approaches and tells you that he took the picture about ten years ago.
Wow. Pretty good. You’ve seen the shot before, but this one is really good. He holds it up so you can see it in the light of the potbelly stove – and now you are both glowing nicely. Instead of offering you wine and cheese, he asks if you’d like a slug of moonshine…
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