A new year...

Greetings to all…

So much time has passed, and I did not write.

I take notes, I keep track of my root-home in Wyoming, my second home in Belize, my friends in California (a very old home), New York, Hawaii, and Canada (more homes of different decades!) With all of that time and experience in the background, I come to another point of view (cinematically speaking).

I left the United States in 2004 and now see our world far beyond the "American Illusion." This is my second year living in Tehran, Iran; after several years in Belize, Central America photographing and painting about the Mayans; and half a year in Europe (especially Paris). Remember I lived in the Americanized version of Iran under the Shah some thirty years ago; and have returned to live in the Islamic Republic of Iran (and its ancient history) for a while.

It is a question of overlaying memories, the past with the present.

First of all, the Old America, the Good Old USA, where I grew up in small-town Wyoming. Dad worked at Standard Oil and Mom stayed home "keeping house" until I left for college. We had a huge vegetable garden and chickens; and Dad hunted every year for Antelope and Deer between fishing trips. World War II happened and my Grandparents came to live with us on the Tank Farm. My carpenter Grandfather helped build the all-important Air Force Base in Casper. My Dad supervised the oil supply for the refinery (fuel for the war effort).

Looking back, those times seem like a 1940's movie in brilliant Technicolor, but gently soft. This was a time before plastic and listening to the President on the radio; and visiting my Swedish-born other Grandfather with his war maps and newspapers, my Grandmother quilting and crocheting between cooking for all her grown children. Especially in those times, Grandmothers were the motivating heart of every extended family. Vacations were spent with ALL of the families in Yellowstone National Park or fried chicken cookouts on the mountain. Memories as distinct and yet warmly fuzzy as dream memories. Sort of a living illusion.

Now in Iran, most of the same people are here from 30 years ago. The old memories of bright-faced teenagers and young adults now have to overlay meeting grey haired or balding 50 plus year-olds (only the eyes are the same). We look at the old photos and laugh. The new generation born after the revolution in '79 have no memory of those days and the terrible war that followed. But now we see in every village and town and city district, large signs with pictures of each soldier that died in the Iran-Iraq War. Every community was touched with 10 or 20 or more of their boys lost. This is a hard reality that every Iranian sees every day.

Yet, in spite of those memories, I am greeted with warmth and love everywhere I go. And I see and hear the illusion of the Old America contrasted with the very tarnished image we see now in the ever-present news from across the borders, and across the oceans. The reality of western news at times reaches a true state of a different illusion. I am more focused on the very old art and architecture. I will work on my photographs to post some here.

(see my older blog post about the debates and election) .

More to follow. G