Back to that foto of the other day, the third one down here that maybe baffled you . . . made you wonder if it got dropped in by error? Well, it was taken at Coney Island last summer, the place I usually depict as here or in fotos like the one below,
It’s just a kid . . . I thought . . . . But this is Coney Island, where the inappropriate is appropriate, a fantasy land where rules are attenuated, or even temporarily suspended, where you’re supposed to see things differently if only for a few hours.
The invisible tiger was stalking me,
marks . . . scumbling on the
shield canvas. . . . yes, canvas held by my assistant. Eureka!
You must be thinking . . . what on earth is this all about? Simple: today I turn 59, and Coney Island . . . and these 6-month-old fotos from Coney Island . . . is my way to celebrate it. I’m surging forward into a place I’ve never been, and hoping to create order and grace from angst and doubt. And “Coney Island” after all is the anglicized version of “konijn eilandt,” konijn being rabbit, and since–in honor of the year of the rabbit— I could find NO record of a vessel passing through the harbor here EVER with a name like rabbit or hare or bunny . . . . this is the best I can do.
And that summer’s ritual of trespassing lines of convention . . . that one cannot be repeated. I imagined I talked with the freak the other day as he was taking my order at the coffee shop.
All but the first three fotos by Faith.