Sunday, February 15, 2009

a punk...

I have come home and l'm looking through the window...
I am looking back into a world gone forever. Thinking of a time that
will never return. A book of photographs is looking at me. 25 years
of looking for the right road. Postcards from everywhere. If there
are any answers. I have lost them.
-Robert Frank

I am scrapbooking, a hundred or more paintings, finding
their images and stories. Bear with me...

It started so many years ago now. I was a punk, my head and
body almost transcluscent. It was my first year at college and
l was listening to Joe Cocker. English 101 and we were told to do
a presentation - on anything. I decided l would do a piece on the
homeless, men on the streets. So one morning l borrowed a cheap
plastic camera and headed downtown (calgary) on my "excalibur".
Yes my ten speed was called excalibur, a canadian tire special,
gold in color, and l felt like a knight.

It was was wintery cold, minus something, l bought a styrofoam coffee
and just stood on the street and waited.
Eye contact, cigarettes, l offered him a sip of my coffee. He was short, spoke
with an accent and his name was Meitro. I spent the day with Meitro, we had
bus station sandwiches and we walked and walked. He showed me the bins behind
safeway, lots of broccoli, not so green. He constantly checked telephone and
newspaper slots for spare coin. He showed me where to go and what to do.
Our day together was slow, meandering, and gentle. When l left Meitro that day,
l was filled with such joy, l had survived the round table.


And so it went...My second year of college and l spent it taking pictures of people
on the street. I can't describe the feeliing, l was scared, l had butterflys in my
stomach, l was excited. Those feelings when you know you are truly alive.

I photographed everyone, l was on a binge, l bathed in it. I pimped my smokes
for hints of conversation. I was champagne in a bucket.

I was still a punk, l was still transcluscent, but...

I started to question myself.

Afraid to die alone, afraid to die unloved.
Maybe l needed to care and to be cared.

When we are no longer children, we are already dead.

I have to go climb scaffold for two weeks, till then...
Check A Painter's Room, a sacred celebration.
and passion of earth; The Waxing Moon


Truck Stop Rewrite said...

a trust
that time
at times
thru the
their lives
and deaths.

a gift
to you (us).

to witness
and record
ken flett.

thank you.

Stephen Dell'Aria said...

What a journey. Excellent photographs. Good to see someone point the camera away from the flowers and beautiful vistas seen here in this blog community and give us a portion of ourselves.

fucoid said...

"a punk"... but a precocious little bugger

Dave King said...

I know that feeling you drscribed -
From when I was a child; before I died.

Pierre Raby said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
CathM said...

This is a wonderful collection of images and words. You capture the beauty of ‘experience and age’ in this journey! Thanks for sharing!

der bildverlust said...

beautiful story

Cherie/ Butterfly Dreamer said...

These photos are so fucking fantatstic. I loved them.

Renee said...

These are brilliant.

I love the references to Canadian Tire, a bike, a punk, school paper. Just a regular Canadian teen who was not regular at all.

Thank you I loved looking into these faces.

Hope you and the family are all well.

Love Renee xoxoxo

kenflett said...

Thank you so much Rob, it was so nice that you took the time to write those lovely words.

Thanks Pierre, your words mean alot, as does your blog.

And thank you Stephen, l'll have to dig out my collection of orangepink sunsets to show you. :)

And you, the pirate fucoid, a precocious thank you.

Dave, i doubt very much that your child has gone.

Thanks for visiting again CathM.

der bildverlust, thank you.

...and the butterfly that hangs with fisherman, thanks for coming by.

Thank you Renee, i enjoyed reading what you wrote.

I'm sorry it took me so long to post all of your comments (was away) but it sure is nice to read and to have you all stop by. thank you

Pierre Raby said...

Beautiful post Ken - your blogging act is a piece of art by itself. I'm falling in love with your stories,
thanks for opening your heat and soul to the world. Also, thanks for the mention of mine, you are so generous!
A great evening-day-week from the other part of the North.

Every Photo Tells A Story said...

Welcome back, Ken. I'm in love with your photographic style. There's just something about all your pictures that I can't put into words, but you do have a certain point of view that I've come across very rarely.

P.S. Love that drawing of the knot, and the note " When pulling the knot taut, do so gently."

kenflett said...

Thank you very much photo N. Such a wonderful comment.
Yes, knots are ...well, l guess they kindof speak of life.

Faith said...

I have been to visit before and have been so in awe of your work that I didn't leave a comment.

Your photos are incredible. And the way you tie the history into them -- I just love it all.

Thank you also for the kind comment on my blog a while back. It meant a lot to me.

kenflett said...

Thank you Faith. What wonderful things you said. I really appreciate that.

Renee said...

Now Ken when you hear I have died, hopefully a million years from now, you make sure you wail and moan because I want people to miss me.


kenflett said...

i don't usually wail renee, nor moan, but for you, a million years from now, be my pleasure.