goodbye sleep, hello inspiration

This blog will likely lurch in an entirely new direction given the arrival Jack Felix Milverton on Mother's Day just passed, as the paternal instincts are now in overdrive and the photos are flying thick and fast. But before I get stereotypical in my slavish devotion to the little progeny, I wanted to take a breath and look over some of the photos I've taken for clients in the past couple of years, just to remind me what I saw before fatherhood arrived in all its noisy, messy grandeur. Reviewing the galleries, this is one of my favorites simply because the conversion to monochrome worked so wonderfully. The playfulness of the pose reminds me of how much fun I had during the shoot, and I love the little bloke's hands on his father's shaved head. Hopefully I'll be able to produce some similarly neat photos of our own fella.

ZONA MACO 2011: return of the art show

The past few days saw the return of the Zona Mexico Arte Contemporaneo exhibition, one of my favorite events of the year. Galleries from Europe, the US, and Latin America show artists' works that, as you would expect, range from the glorious to the truly puzzling. This year there seemed to be so many interesting reactions from the people - mostly young - viewing the works that I found more to photograph among the audience than what was on the walls. Although that was pretty special too. To see the full spread of pics, click here to be taken to the Flickr gallery.

street kamikaze

I've always been a cycling fan, and one of my great laments in moving to Mexico City from Washington DC was that I was forsaking a great riding locale for one that barely grasped the concept. Mexico City has made some strides toward rectifying this, with new bike lanes springing up and bike rental shacks now spread around the city, but naturally it will take some time for the millions of ordinary commuters to adjust to sharing the roads with the likes of us soft-shelled cyclists. So, up until the past week, I'd resigned myself to taking the road bike down to a former auto racetrack in the south, where the only real daredevil moments come from dodging the influx of roller bladers and pram pushers once the day warmed up.

But a recent visit to the new Common People store in a gorgeously-restored mansion in Polanco has led to a new era of bone-headed risk-taking on the mean streets of the capital. There in the lobby was a conglomeration of black metal tubes, two tiny tires, and a saddle collectively known as a Strida 5.0. It's a British import that has won fans and detractors the world over for its looks and its ride. Being a bit of a design junky, it was love at first sight and within a couple of days a model was residing in our home. Its unusually high riding position - reminiscent of a Penny Farthing - makes for an entirely different center of gravity and so it's far more maneuverable and heck of a lot more comfortable than a standard pushie.

A couple of hours of riding this matt black future museum piece have taught me a few things: it can't be ridden fast; it's no good for jumping gutters; it has the temperament of a rodeo bull; and it may be the most surprising, zen-inspiring bike I've ever ridden. You don't get tired or stiff from huddling over the bars as you might on a road bike. The perforated disc brakes are sure and responsive. It turns on a dime, so navigating the traffic - either wheeled or pedestrian - is a doddle. And the lack of speed means you simply can't rush, so you may as well soak up the sights. Add to this mix the fact that it folds in seconds into a compact package and you've got a bike you can slip into a cafe without attention, or stuff in a bag and take with you anywhere. Tomorrow, the camera will come along into Chapultepec Park, so let's see what this different vantage will lead to.

view from 88 orchard

A glorious faux Spring day in New York City today and Sylvie and I hauled our cold-riddled selves out of The Thompson Hotel for a late lunch at 88 Orchard, a routinely spectacular cafe in the lowest east side. Out past the jars of vegan choco chip peanut butter cookies and flyers for numerous causes was an apartment building that fascinated me. What caught my eye were the fire escapes, which had beautiful and ornate designs in their ironwork railings but it's doubtful I could have done them justice with an eye clouded by lack of sleep and the haze of a seemingly intractable cold. But what also caught me was that the day itself - a balmy 66 degrees F - had brought out the vibrancy of the city again like a Spring rain on a flower bed. The locals all looked Vogue (pick any month, any year and it will apply. The styles are simply that diverse), the streets suddenly more spacious, and the colors practically bursting forth after a brutal winter. Tomorrow, the winter will return with a vengeance (temp back to mid-20s with a high near 40) but for now, I loved the little glimpse of Spring, when people look up without furrowed brows and a curse on their lips.

when the sun shone

The horrific flooding in my home state of Queensland was an appalling tragedy to endure from a distance, and the many tales of courage by what the press likes to call ordinary Australians were uplifting but still couldn't obscure the sorrow many families will confront so early in the new year. At the same time, in Brazil, the death toll from flooding passed 340, and yet the coverage didn't seem anywhere near as complete as that from Australia, sadly. But if there is one thing both nations have in common it's the color, spirit and confidence of their people and there will be better times again for both, we know. Watching the remarkable photos on Facebook from friends in Brisbane, chronicling the astounding rise of the Brisbane River (thanks Marius Jansen), it made me terribly homesick for southeast Queensland, where I spent my years at school and university. And so, I flipped back through my pictures of a trip there during 2010 and found a clutch that sort of summed up the material things that I miss so much and that trigger homesickness in a second. (I don't need to elaborate on how much I miss my Mum and brother there, I'll get all misty and fill the blog with typos). All the pics were taken at a pub (or across from it) in Kingscliff and while this is indeed New South Wales, the lines blur at the border and it's all Gold Coast to me. Burger, beer, coffee, and boards. That's home.

rive gauche glam

Paris, St. Germaine des Pres. We've been holed up in our own neck of the woods in Paris for three weeks but finally ventured across the Seine to revisit the fabulous Rive Gauche. When lounging comfortably in your own arrondissement, you can forget about the flashy, tourist-filled parts of the city and it's fun to dive back and ogle at the window displays and stroll through the little alleys. This display caught my eye because of the style of design as well as the elegant simplicity of the arrangement, with the "bows" so diligently aligned.

riding the rails

One of the benefits being a repeat visitor to Miami is the chance to explore some off-the-path places that are probably unknown to your typical South Beach dweller. Take the Gold Coast Railroad Museum in the city's south. When I got there, a busload of eight year olds was dutifully absorbing the usual field trip instructions on how not to demolish a public resource while I slipped past to check out the many carriages and engines in repose around the sprawling site. It actually used to be a base for airships toward the end of WWII but it was demolished by a monster hurricane in September 1945. Just how big this storm was can be seen in the massive concrete columns that tower over the Museum gift shop. They used to be supports for a hanger whose size just boggles the imagination. When it came down, it crushed the airships and planes inside, and the demolition was so complete that the Navy (thanks for the correction anonymous, but why so serious?) simply shuttered the entire base.

But today, it's home to a range of locomotives, diesel engines, and passenger and freight cars of the golden eras of rail, including the precursor to Air Force One, the presidential rail car. My personal favorite however was the California Zephyr, which was a shiny steel tube of art deco brilliance with an observation deck on top that afforded the well-heeled traveler glorious views of the mountains and valleys on its run between Chicago and San Francisco fifty years ago. Wandering through the stately cabins and lounges, you can positively feel the Mad Men aura and martini glamor. But for this selection of photos, I went with the sort of polar opposite. Many of the trains and railway cars in the Museum sit outside awaiting restoration, which naturally depends on whatever funds the place can scrape up. So, the ravages of Miami's climate are taking quite a toll on them and for me, I love that the fading colors of their original lives are being replaced by new color schemes of rust, flaking paint, and exposed metal and wood. It was unexpected inspiration.