Jonathan Makiri

My brother and I traveled cross country late last year when I moved back to California from DC. We were driven by a chauffer named Chad…no, no, no, we were driven by a desire to avoid interstates at all possible costs. Three main reasons: 1) to take our time (3 weeks), 2) to eat glorious food (avoiding the vortex of fast food on our lovely federally funded highways) and 3) to see America (the real America that President Obama refers to when he takes on that southern twang and the end of his speeches that he has no business owning).

We also made a pact not to discuss our route unless it involved the state we were in at the time or a bordering state; that way we didn’t lock ourselves into any preconceived destinations that would clog our minds and have us focused on future events and not the present. We had no smart phones, no GPS and didn’t buy a map until we got to Mississippi (and then we lost it in Louisiana).

Our lack of preparation led to some inconveniences for sure and a few tiffs arose because we were going the wrong way more than once (thanks Austin!). But all along the way, in each place we visited, we were rewarded with randomness and culture and nice folks that make America so fun to say. It’s right there off the highway, just a few miles in… like: the greatest thrift store known to man in Truth or Consequences, or really dumb armadillos in Lake Fausse, or teenagers on ATV’s wanting you to buy them christmas tree cookies in Bowater, or Barney and his toilet seat museum in San Antonio, or riverboat gambling (and losing really really badly) in Vicksburg, or meeting a Swede metalhead named Bob in Lafayette, or helping a girl find her lost dog at 4 in the morning in Nashville, or watching hanging street lights swaying in the wind in Memphis, or listening to Zydeco late at night in Louisiana, or having to do chores at your hostel (Patrick had to dust the library hahahahhaha) in Memphis, or having the best hot tamale/blueberry pancakes/cajun crab/pickled quail eggs/meat and 3/sweet tea/duck tacos/spicy fried chicken/bbq spaghetti/cucumber and chile popsicle in your life, or coming to the conclusion that Miller Lite isn’t that bad at 6 am in San Antonio, or being spooked by the most relentless and brave long tailed pocket mouse at the Salton Sea, or running around an abandoned mine and screaming like 7-year old girls on Signal Mountain, or discovering the Tom Cruise movie Legend(WTF??? how have I never seen or heard of this movie???) in Asheville, or having a 60-year old bus boy tell you to stop picking on your brother in Nashville, or watching your brother pridefully finish of a menudo he is not enjoying AT ALL in San Antonio, or climbing trees with your brother, or doing the walk of shame with your brother, or having your brother beside you for the lonely crossing of west Texas…

Such a blast. So many warm and generous people along the way. Diversity like nowhere else I’ve ever been. Sharing thoughts  and memories with my kid brother. Such a gift.

Thanks for looking.

Jonathan

Spent an amazing week of learning and growing at the Missouri Photo Workshop in Clinton, Missouri last week. 38 photographers from around the world descended on a town of 10,000 to document what life is like for Clintonians.

Here are some of my orphans of life in Clinton that did not make it into my story. I will post my story soon along with photos of some of the beautiful participants in the workshop.

Thanks for looking.

Jonathan

Mom came out for a visit and we headed south for a little Carolinas getaway. Traveling with mom is not a chore, but a treat. She wants to stop every 3o minutes for snacks, points out every Starbucks we pass, bargains with motel clerks like no other and talks to EVERYBODY she passes on the street. She’s hilarious. I’m sure that I see things with her that I would not see on my own. She even got me to do a bus tour, something I always refuse to do (it was really enjoyable actually).

North and South Carolina did not disappoint. Hospitality, good weather, lush trees everywhere you look and damn good food.

Too short a trip for sure.

Thanks for looking.

Jonathan

Georgia Ave NW, DC

Thanks for looking.

Jonathan

I usually decline meetings at Starbucks because I can not stand it when I am forced to eavesdrop on other peoples’ interviews, coffee dates or ‘business’ meetings at the Buck. And why is that said people talk so loud in these scenarios? It’s like they want to be heard by everyone in the establishment. I just don’t get it. Plus I like to support local coffee houses when I can. Yay me.

(SIDE NOTE: If I was ever interviewing for a job and my interviewer asked to have it at Starbucks I would just decline the interview on the spot. Pet peeve for sure.)

Anyway, I had a meeting at Starbucks today because it was easy, convenient and we were short on time. I arrived 15 minutes early like I always do and instead of doing my habitual 2 or 3 laps around the block to pass the time I grabbed a seat at the window. In that seat I got a glorious little rectangle to myself of DC commuters heading home for the everning. One little 1/8 of a block where folks were on the move to a more important place.

God, people are beautiful! I feel like I can hear what they’re thinking.

Thanks for looking.

Jonathan

I love New York. An original statement, I know. I want to move to New York. A trend setter, I’m not.

The usual impediments have stopped me from exercising the latter: money and money. Deep down though I think I just might be scared; scared of being in the greatest ant farm known to man and no matter what tantalizing thing I might be experiencing, I know that simultaneously I’m also missing out on 5,000 other ridiculously cool things. That doesn’t sit well with me and I’m aware it’s overly negative and very anti-Tolle.  Sorry mom.

Whenever I’m in New York I try to dive into the thick of it but usually find myself on the outside looking in. I’m ok with that. I’m a natural observer, a people watching savant. I can see this in my photos from a trip I made last weekend to NYC — I’m pulled back, at a distance, detached from my subjects like I was a few years ago in Istanbul. A definite visitor. Between work and socializing I was out walking, looking around for New Yorkers doing their thing. No agenda, no destination. A walking movie really. Maybe this desire to catch other people’s experiences feeds the need I feel to experience everything? Hhhhhmmmmm…….

So, now I daydream about one day experiencing New York as an actor in the play instead of just an observer. A healthy balance of that and my week-end de l’observance could be nice.

Thanks for looking.

Jonathan

Eight years ago today my mother should have died. During a hail storm, while descending Half Dome’s cables in Yosemite, she slipped and fell 80 feet, landing on a small ledge. Without the ledge my mom would have fallen to her death thousands of feet below. My then 16-year old brother watched the whole thing happen.

Getting off the phone with my father when he broke the news to me, I had one overriding emotion: anger. Having been to Half Dome a few times myself, I had told her not to do the cables.

She survived and life continued doing what it does.

She spent six months in hospital with injuries and infections—vertebrae, steel rods, Paxil. Three months in Modesto in IC and three months in 95 degree Van Nuys in a nursing home surrounded by elders nearing death. I remember a patient calling for her daughter “Elaine! Elaine! Elaine!” for hours on end. I remember yelling at a doctor (spit flying out of my mouth) who got my mom’s medication wrong. I remember feeling guilt when I got tacos not five minutes after a visit with my mother.

She was uninsured. My parents were in the middle of a divorce. She weighed less than 90 pounds and her skin was translucent.

My father juggled what he could: work, money, lawyers, visits, fear. My brother was alone in a pretty house in the prime of high school. I was getting drunk with my friends in Hollywood. It sucked, it hurt and we horded it within us.

Sympathetic yet formulaic well wishes bothered me. She was never going to be the same.

She was damaged both physically and psychologically. It hurt watching her unease when loving friends spoke to her (unknowingly) in baby voices. She needed constant approval. She looked 20 years older. She was no longer the rock. Our relationship turned into a protection of her ego.

The pain felt like nothing. Why wasn’t I grateful?

Over years my mother improved. She regained physical strength, returned to her independent self and mothered exceptionally well. She grew again from unreal depths. She was mom again.

With such good fortune, a second life for my beautiful mother, you would think I would have realized my blessing and reinvented myself as the good son— all loving, all the time.

Nope, I was still angry. Very angry. Many times, I was short with my mom, hard on my mom and mean to my mom. I could be a dick (still can from time to time).

For years I had intermittently thought about life without her and it scared me even though it did not happen. It still scares me.

Five years after the accident we had processed barely anything and my brother felt the same. We were an open family, freely talked but we never could penetrate what we all had been through. My brother and I couldn’t understand how nonchalant my mother could be about the whole experience.

She should have been gone but she wasn’t.

So what did we do about it? We went back to Yosemite to talk about it: me, my mom, my brother, Half Dome and my camera—yep, my fucking camera—the selfish photog student strikes again! I’d never shot video in my life, I had no idea what I was doing and I thought it would be a good idea to document it all on film! Brilliant!

You know what? It helped a lot. It gave us a platform to talk freely and openly, detached from the response of the loved one in front of you—a few minutes to explore your thoughts, think about them and share them calmly. It was beautiful, eye opening and healing. It didn’t solve everything, didn’t solve anything really, but it lifted a dead weight that had been pressing down ever so slightly for too long. We listened to each other in a new way.

The film stinks. I was still in school and it’s technically awful (horrible non-Ken Burns key-framing, narration, transitions and audio). If I ever want another freelance gig I probably shouldn’t post it here publicly…but I have to.

It is for my mother who is so ridiculously strong and human, who reminds me each time I talk to her that improving myself is always an option and that love is something we can’t live with out.

It is for my little brother, whom I still carry guilt for not being a better brother through those difficult times.

And to my father who has taught me more than anyone what it means to be loyal and good even when it is not the easy option.

Thanks for looking (and listening).

Jonathan

Puppy and pigeons off Polk Street.

The moon was bigger than normal on Saturday night – 14% bigger than  normal I guess. I went down to the Mall (like everyone else) to try and get a good shot and was flummoxed by all the visual impediments along the horizon — the moon was supposed to be it’s biggest just at moon rise. The Mall was a bad choice.

Anyway, I zigzagged and fumbled with two bags and a tripod around government buildings for about an hour, trying to get at least one good shot to send home to the kids. Even though the moon looked just like it always does, I’m pretty happy with this one:

Was assigned to go shoot a space capsule on display at preparations for a Tesla party down the road from NPR. The poor little capsule, Dragon, looked like an ignored burnt marshmallow in the corner of this tent where 50 or so workers set up lights, a stage and tables for the upcoming party. I was thinking the thing deserved a bit more respect.  I did my best to show him (it’s a ‘him’, I don’t care what anybody says) some love despite the tough shooting situation.

The story is here: http://www.npr.org/blogs/pictureshow/2011/02/11/133662988/back-from-space-the-dragon-hits-d-c

I’ll share more photos soon.

Thanks for looking.

Jonathan