Dad & Son Cleaners

From the terrace of the Cleveland Clinic you can see the skyline of Cleveland, the coast of Lake Erie, and the roofs of homes that form part of East Cleveland.

East Cleveland from the Cleveland Clinic

Many of the homes show remarkable architecture and telltale signs of a once prosperous neighborhood. Sadly, many abandoned houses and empty lots suggest some recent urban decay and blight. Still, families continue to live in East Cleveland and nestled into the middle of this community are many businesses, including Dad and Son Laundry. During a recent trip to Cleveland, I found myself driving through the East Cleveland and noticed a unique sign for a laundry. As I was taking a picture, I saw a customer exit and asked him if he knew how old the sign was. He kindly replied that he had no idea, but the owner was inside. That is when I met Earl Halsell, the second-generation owner of Dad & Son Cleaners. .While photographing Earl, he talked about how the store has been in the family for two generations, 56 years. The first store was located nearby for 12 years before relocating to the present spot 44 years ago. While Earl was once the “Son” of Dad & Son, he is now the “Dad” and his “Son”, Jeff, is the Son. As I wrote his email so I could send him pictures, he spelled his last name and I asked him about the pronunciation, as the first “l” is silent. This seemingly simple question prompted Earl to tell an amazing story. A few years ago, Earl was surfing the web for relatives who shared his last name. He located one Halsell in Texas and gave him a call. After a brief introduction, Earl suggested that they may be related, to which the other Halsell replied, “Well, I don’t know. You sound black.” Early told him, “Why yes I am.” The other Halsell simply replied, “Well, I’m white.” To untangle this issue, the two Halsell men continued talking and it became clear that their names were joined through a somewhat common history. In short, Earl’s great-grandfather was a slave to the other Halsell family in Louisiana. Their conversation continued and at a certain point Earl found himself invited to the Halsell Family Reunion. Earl and family attended the 200+ reunion and connected with this newly found extended family that included one couple from Japan. Plans are being made to locate the Halsell descendants in England and Earl will be included at that reunion as well. In the meantime, he’s back at work at Dad & Son Cleaners.

Earl, “Dad”

Dad & Son

The Maze

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The Maze is an “inn” situated in a favela with a monthly jazz scene.

http://jazzrio.com/en/

Jazz at The Maze

The location adds to the persona as tourists can say that they stayed in or went out in a favela.  This concept has several positive impacts on the immediate area, such as breaking barriers, letting the world know that not all favelas (shantytowns) are dangerous and crime-ridden, still it is not an idyllic situation. To visit The Maze, you first make your way to the bottom of a long and steep hill. Options to ascend include walking (45 minutes), van  (10-15 minutes) or moto-taxi (5 minutes). Once you get to the top, you are deposited at the opening of the favela and quickly greeted by residents who are doing what they do, hanging out, enjoying the weather, drinking beer at corner bars.  A guide, wearing a bright vest with “The Maze” written on it, will walk you the 400m or so through cramped alleyways to the entrance of The Maze.

Only one path leads to The Maze

Bob, the owner of The Maze, is a British ex-pat who created the concept and has spent many years getting the The Maze established.    For tourists who want to have a good time, listen to good jazz, and say that they were in a favela, The Maze succeeds.

Bob

Hanging loose at The Maze

For tourists who want to experience a favela, it does nothing of the sort.  The price of admission and the cost of drinks easily exceeds the average spending abilities of residents of the very favela where The Maze sits.  As an indication, the monthly minimum wage is around $300 (US).  A night at the maze, including admission, a few beers, and maybe food can run you upwards of $50-100.

A bartender dedicated to “mixed” drinks, no beer.

The contrast doesn’t stop there.  Once you are in The Maze, while you do enjoy a cool atmosphere, a great view of Guanabara Bay, after you stop looking into the homes of favelados below you, and generally good jazz, things begin to look odd.  For example, the color of the skin of the people dealing with you, from the cashier to the bartenders, is much lighter than the color of the skin of the staff cleaning and getting dirty dishes.  The Maze advertises its location in a favela as a drawing point and one would think that racial and social integration would be honored. Sadly not. You won’t see one person who lives in the favela sitting back enjoying the music, you won’t see one favelado as a frontman for The Maze.  No, they’re kept out and kept at bay from the tourists who are “guided” to The Maze.

Artwork

Regardless of the social impact of The Maze, it is an interesting place.  The evening we visited, the jazz was very good and only slightly interrupted by the sound of flash grenades and gunshots as the local SWAT team conducted a simulated invasion of the favela.  The art on the walls, the layout, the whole scene is nothing short of unique.  The people who visit seem to be a mix of foreign tourists and middle to upper class Brazilians.

People

The band

Still, having spent countless hours in a larger and more dangerous favela, I understand all too well how and why social boundaries are drawn and I regret that The Maze cannot find a groove in which a more egalitarian clientele can be established.  After all, isn’t music about celebrating the human condition and shouldn’t it be accessible to all, especially those living under, above, or across from the source? “If I should ever die, God forbid, let this be my epitaph:
THE ONLY PROOF HE NEEDED
FOR THE EXISTENCE OF GOD
WAS MUSIC” 
― Kurt Vonnegut”

People

Public display of jazz-infused affection

As we left on the night we visited, an older woman was standing in her doorway about 50m from The Maze.  I said hello and then asked her what she thought of The Maze, she replied “It’s okay.  It created a couple of jobs, but otherwise I don’t think about it.”  I asked her about the music once a month to which she replied, “Yeah, those are long, noisy nights, but people are well behaved and we tolerate it.  What else can we do?” In general, I’m glad to have visited and will probably visit again, but will maybe stop for a beer at a local-owned bar on the way to and/from The Maze.

Waiting for the moto down the hill

Matrix, São Paulo, Brazil

The day before my recent trip to Brazil, I had dinner and drinks with an artist friend.  This is the same artist friend who has been pushing me to think beyond my interest in images taken “after dark” as a simple exercise in where and how people gather, and consider the deeper motivations for this project.

I’m still thinking.

To help me in the process I returned to Matrix, located in Vila Madalena, a neighborhood that hosts a mix of bohemian and upper class bars in the mass of buildings that form São Paulo.

Matrix persists in provoking the thoughts of what draws me to create images of life after most people are tucked into their beds.  It’s not my insomnia, or my jet lag.  It’s not my love of nightlife.

Perhaps it’s related to my interest in watching a side of life that is witnessed by only a handful of people.

What was it about Matrix that drew me in?

Why did I want to return to Matrix and explore its intestines?

What was it about the fact that there are only five or six tables, a dance floor that is completely black, save for a few laser lights, that motivates me to stand around and take pictures?

Was it listening to The Smiths, Nirvana, the Rolling Stones, and Patty Smith?

Why was the billiard room there at all and why in the back of the bar?

By the end of the night I was no closer to an answer to the question of what draws me to photograph life “after dark”.

Perhaps it is simply the odd notion that there is something to be said for witnessing people find a commonality among the senses that can only be found in bars and music clubs, breaking down barriers and opening themselves to just being.

Perhaps.  I’m still thinking.

People

People.

Cook in Times Square, 2000

Photographing people can be one of the most exciting moments of a photographer’s experience.  The detached enjoyment of having a long lens to capture a candid photo becomes banal compared to the experience of approaching a complete stranger, maybe with no means of communicating except by the sight of the camera, and engage with that fellow human to capture their image.  It’s this simple interaction between two humans for one moment and one selfish purpose that becomes addicting thanks to the adrenaline rush that comes with photographing people in a very intimate way.  There is also a strange solitude in photographing a person close up, as if nobody can intrude on that moment that has been agreed to by the two of you.  The irony of this intimacy and solitude is the raw desire to share these images and people with others.

Tango couple, Buenos Aires, 2005

Kurdish shoeshine boy, Istanbul, 1993

Street artist, Sao Paulo, 2009

Talking in the park, Seoul, 2010

Salesgirl, Rio de Janeiro, 2012

“the kiss”, Tokyo, 2010

Shepard, Bulgaria, 2001

Dominos, Jamaica, 2010

Man and stairs, Lisbon, 2009

No idea, New Jersey, 2012

Boy on the train, Rio de Janeiro, 2006

Recoleta, Buenos Aires, 2008

Gypsy, Italy, 2000

Homeless boy, Sao Paulo, 2004

Woman and dog, Lisbon, 2009

Monk, Bulgaria, 2005

Musician, Salta, Argentina, 2005

Banana plantation manager, Belize, 1993

Students, Rio de Janeiro, 2008

Taxi driver, Turkey, 2008

Guide, Morocco, 1992

Men talking, Portugal, 2009

Father and daughter, Seoul, 2010

Japanese comedian, Tokyo, 2010

Girl in Lapa, Rio de Janeiro, 2008

Harijuku, Tokyo, 2010

Antique store owner, Rio de Janeiro, 2005

Pernambucano, Sao Paulo, 2009

Street musician, Buenos Aires, 2005

“the kiss”, Rio de Janeiro, 2005

Golden Gai, Tokyo, 2010

Friends in Lapa, Rio de Janeiro, 2009

Woman in Golden Gai, Tokyo, 2010

Lapa, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

Rio de Janeiro is affectionately called the “cidade maravilhosa”, the marvelous city.   Of course, Rio is most famous for her beaches, Christ the Redeemer, and carnaval.  What really makes Rio a “marvelous” city is a neighborhood in the center  that is sleepy if not a bit dangerous during the day, but when the sun sets, people descend from all parts of the city for food, music, and dancing.  This is Lapa.

Lapa from the bonde.

Lapa sits at the base of a small mountain that is home to the neighborhood Santa Teresa, a mix of bohemian homes and shantytowns.  As Lapa extends into the historic center it envelopes rundown buildings and the famous arches on which the now defunct train, “o bonde”, that used to run from the cathedral all the way to the top of Santa Teresa.  Often deserted during the day, Lapa becomes a throbbing web of humanity as dark falls on Rio.  People from all parts of Santa Teresa (the upper, middle, and lower class), the wealthy students from Leblon, random tourists, and any number of entrepreneurs hoping to cash in by selling beer from coolers, drinks from makeshift bars, or street music, come together to celebrate….what?  Music?  Night? Humanity? Lapa?  It doesn’t matter.

Rio Scenarium

Samba under the arcos of Lapa

Music in Lapa

Boy sleeping in corner of bar

Woman in Lapa

Band in Lapa

Samba in Lapa

Dancing in Lapa

Small business in Lapa

Life in Lapa

Arcos of Lapa

Couple in Lapa

Dancing in Lapa

Woman under arcos of Lapa

 

Motoboys of Rocinha

The shantytowns that surround Rio de Janeiro have been built upon the sides of mountains, creating long and narrow streets and alleys leading to homes and businesses.  Of the 300,000 residents in Rocinha, located between wealthy Leblon and the suburb Barra, many rely on motorcycle taxis to take them up and down the hills, some of which stretch more than three quarters of a mile and rise more than 2000m in elevation.

Rocinha

The business of “motoboys” is common in the urban areas of Brazil as the motorcycles can cut through mind-numbing traffic jams with relative ease.  In Rocinha, relying on motoboys to get to and from the lower parts of the favela where public transport takes people to work is essential to save time and energy.  As an outgrowth of the difficulties of living in an urban favela, motoboys represent the dynamic life of a favela, some of which are simply areas of abject poverty, but many, like Rocinha, are communities bonded through common struggles including rampant drug businesses, gang warfare, frequent invasions by police, open sewage, uncollected garbage, and social marginalization.  This project is an attempt to illustrate the dynamics of life in Rocinha from the perspective of a motoboy.