At The Last Moment

 

At the last moment

I was a neophyte visitor to Amsterdam, unknowing of the wiles of city life, much less that of a foreign port. I came with a group of forty men on a flying road tour but stayed aloof from the others, not wanting people to think me a tourist; so I spurned their invites to roam about the red-light district. I was better than that, I thought. Yet, like it or not, I was a tourist nonetheless.

I found out how much a tourist I was after leave-taking from my acquaintances. Wandering through the streets solo, I also wanted to try out a marijuana café, stopping into a tobacconist for a pipe and rolling papers.

Not far down the road I spied such an establishment and ventured inside. It was poorly lit, with serving counter to one side with a couple of stools, all occupied.

The men on the stools, and the counterman, all looked like the cast of a B-grade film about dirty, violent bikers.

At the bar’s end was a sign – in English – “More seating upstairs”. I was hesitant, realizing right then my hotel key, passport, money and all my identification was in a bright blue pouch hanging around my neck, yet I was about to make a step toward going upstairs.

At the last moment I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned.

Before me stood a tall, impeccably attired, muscular African man, hand outstretched, saying “You dropped your cell phone on the ground” and sure enough I had.

Just as quickly, in an soft spoken yet urgent tone, he said “What are you doing here? Get out. Get out of here NOW!’ and motioned me to follow him. Without any hesitation, I did and we both rushed down the street to civilization and safety.

The Stork Club, NYC in 2004

The Stork Club in 2004 / NYC / c.2004 - will brady 

 

Homage to William Burroughs

 

About this Site and Crediting of the work of others on this site

about this site

I was trained as a typesetter when everything was set from hot metal. It influenced my perspectives on design and composition, even how I look at the world. With the training came a belief that printers had an obligation to gather and report back information to the general population.

We were expected to foster critical thinking and expanding our collective knowledge base while encouraging human growth and consciousness.

Nowadays the equipment is a lot easier to 

from a Dover illustration "cut book"

handle, but the subject matter still as weighty . . . and printers - as well as other dispensers of information and ideas - still have every much a responsibility as ever , perhaps even more so (even it such is not practiced)

It's disappointing that so few entrusted with this charge even try to live up to it.

So it leaves the rest of us to continue these endeavors. 

This noted, you will find both re-posts and links to topics and articles that warrant review. as well as my own original works, be that images or writing.

image and article credits

I've made every effort to credit, cite and include links to images and words composed by others. The citation is always at the end of each entry on the blog. 

On some rare occasions, there will be images I came across but do not know the source [sources?] of an images. The Guide to Animal Tracks, one such example. 

If a non-attributed image is yours, please let me know and I will provide a credit and a link. 

The remaining images and illustrations are my own. 

My works are "Rights Reserved" which means ask about their use, if so desired. Please do not appropriate my images for your site, a book you may be writing, or for some ill-gotten gain. 

Ask about the work. Perhaps I'll let you use it. Until you ask, DON'T TOUCH! Thank you.

"Oracle"

"Oracle" / c. 2014 / will brady - $ 1000 USD
mix media found objects 22"(w) x 17"(h)  x 5"(d)

 

My second time in New York City

    My second time in New York City was the first time I’d seen it by myself.

On invitation of a stranger, I’d gone for a weekend of debauch but he was a no-show. I stayed anyway.

Inside Julius' Bar NYC c. 2018 will brady

It was the summer of 1967. I’d gone to get away from a convulsed, confused scenario living in a house of drag princesses and a heroin addicted male housemarm whose grandmother thought I was fourteen. Coming to NYC was a liberation though I did not yet know this.

That first time I strode out the Port Authority Bus Terminal doors, walked down Eighth Avenue searching for Greenwich Village, a place I’d long ago wanted to see.

I refused to look up or stare at tall buildings, not wanting to appear a rube. Instead I admired them from a distance, but I was in awe!

Crossing Thirty-Fourth Street, the Empire State Building, with its needle-like spire jutting into the sky, like a syringe taking in the atmosphere to imbue the city with life.

Going south, passing Fourteenth Street, the streets no longer on a grid, I knew I’d reached “The Village”.

Sauntering down Greenwich Avenue I found an eatery known as “Mama’s Chick-n-Rib” (infamous as a pick-up joint where boys and their admirers planned illicit assignations). Smug in my ability to find it, I went in and ordered lunch.

Inside it was impossible to discern the hunters from their prey; those coy young lads or the older men seeking them. One thing was sure, there were no innocents here.

I set my eyes on the cook, an elderly gent of maybe 35 years. He invited me to the Stonewall Inn. I said, “I’m only 17.”

“No matter; it’s a private club.”

That night turned out to be a collection of first times – but those are different stories.

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Imagined landscapes

c. 2020 will brady

c. 2019 will brady

 

At Blathcley and Clay

At Blatchley and Clay, New Haven CT / c. 2020 will brady