border photography, el paso, Street Photography

1st OF THE 3rd

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Southside El Paso, February 27, 2024

Text and Photograph by Bruce Berman

Dodged the bullet again. Well, this time there is no ‘explainin’ it so it’s fair to say, a hand deflected the fatal bullet.
Another chance.
Haven’t been doing photography much–for myself–in recent years. Been teaching. 34 semesters and most days in between spent on working at it. Caught up with me. Every word that went out came out of somewhere, somewhere where ghosts dance, that place deep inside where who we are actually lives. I built that up for years. Can one afford to let it go, driveled out in a million repetitions? And, for what? On February 12 a bomb exploded in my chest during my first class of the day. I taught my way through the whole class while The Reaper toyed with me, as God stood by and watched me gamble. Idiot! Why would I think God would intervene for a fool?
It wasn’t my time it turns out. Not now. Not yet. Why? All the right pieces fell together on the timeline, miraculous people showed up, the traffic parted ways for Mary’s defacto EMS Hyundai, and colleague Darren, always quiet, protecting his genius, appeared. Navy man. He all but carried me to the car then went into the building and with the precision of a true leader, with his cellphone, assembled the “troops,” at the nearby hospital, the cardiac team. Mary battled noon traffic. I was in and out, almost gone. We got there and Dr. Miracle, Abdul, his Rock ‘n Roll med team, waiting, like a great band about to play the once in a lifetime anthem; Lights Out.

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border photography, Funk, Murals

RUNNING DOG

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Running Dog, El Paso, November 2023

Text and Photograph by Bruce Berman

I thought I was bringing “the border” into homes that knew it not.
I no longer think that.
I remember an acquaintance, at an exhibition I had, coming up to me after the show and talk and saying, “Now I really know the border and I’ve lived here all my life.”
I was flattered and felt great gratitude. After all, that was my intention in photography, to show and tell what others didn’t see or know.
He then said, I’d buy a photograph, but my wife just couldn’t see one that fit her new color scheme for our living room.
I didn’t know what to say. What could you say?
I understood that when he said he finally “knew the border,” he actually meant he finally could see how he could use what I saw and made for his own needs and wants.
¿Interesante, eh? It’s OK, but I hope for more.
I’ve come to know that most people overlay themselves on the border–maybe on all photography–and for them whatever is there is what is already embedded there, within them, no matter what the image shows.
So be it.
I look for coherence in what is incoherent and hope that someone–anyone–sees what I saw, felt what I felt, but most importantly, comes to know what I know from it.
I have have no expectations.

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1970s, Chicago, Culture

POLISH GYM SHOES 1971

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July 11, 2023 No Comments

Smoking Man, diner at State and Ohio Streets, Chicago, 1971

Photograph and Text by Bruce Berman

This was the very beginning of my career, when I first realized what I wanted to be … a photographer. Not much has changed since then. This is exactly the kind of photograph I like to make, the kind of experience I like to have. Me on the prowl, encountering a person on the fringe, direct eye contact. The only thing I do now that I did not do then is to get more info about a person, really get to know them. At that time, and for many many years afterwards, I was just satisfied with getting the photograph. As time has gone on I now realize that that is incomplete. It’s the photograph and the text that matter, so that the person photographed is honored, not just used. Maybe that reflects aging, learning the world is not all about me but about me being in the world, about respect for others, maybe just about being a real documentary photographer.
So, here I am, 42 years later and I don’t know who he is, where he was from, what the name of the diner was, what he did for a living, exactly when the date was, etc., i.e., the 5Ws that any journalist knows are essential.
A detail I never noticed before, is his shoes. Believe it or not they are meaningful to me. In my old south side neighborhood, these are the kind of shoes we’d buy every few years. They were our main shoes (except for dress shoes). These were the “better ones,” because they have finished leather. Ours were the exact same 10 lace model but a cheaper brand, and the leather on those was called “rough out.”
Why am I talking about shoes? 

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American Highway, Culture, Humanity

GHOST

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Ghost, Exit Zero, Anthony, Texas, May 18, 2023

Text and Photograph by Bruce Berman

This is the first photograph I’ve taken in a long time that actually means anything to me.
I’ve been a photographer for fifty-five years. So that’s kind of a sad statement, eh?
I’ve been teaching photography at New Mexico State University for the past seventeen years. It takes its toll.
All the energy I ever put into my own work and the work of the work that allowed me to live off of it gradually but inevitably goes into inspiring others to do what I used to do.
Anyone that teaches can tell you there are some great students that make it all worth it. They’ll probably also tell you there are a plethora of others that didn’t treasure the gift you gave. It’s part of “the biz.” You roll with it.
I do think there comes a time, a rubicon, where your own creative desires become endangered. It’s not just the endless repetition about the mechanics, and the history and the nuances of doing photography, it’s also the endless drivel of academia, the business of being in a university, the committees that mean nothing to me personally, seemingly a bubble of detachment from reality, the occasional obscenity of human behavior, acting so massively vicious because, the stakes are so low. Politics are vicious and low. The feeling of irrelevance can be very high.

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el paso, Funk, Murals

LUCHADOR BATERIAS

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Luchador Baterias, Alameda Street, El Paso, Texas, 2022 ©Bruce Berman

Text and Photograph by Bruce Berman

Muralismo was a political art protest movement, strong the 1960s through the 2000s. Increasing, murals,. and mural artists are not only accepted throughout American communities, but, often, artists are sought out to create murals on businesses large and small.
Why not!
They’re powerful, colorful and add a touch of “the ‘hood,” to seemingly unhood establishments.

They reek of “Down With The People!”
There are a lot of artists out there and a lot of art schools producing a lot of artists.
More and more, in the actual ‘hood, murals are just commercial signs, sans political and cultural content.
Whatever! At least they aren’t plastic and mass produced, like so much else that has crept into our culture.
And, in the ‘hood, muralismo is still going on, with heart.

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Humanity, Identity, Science

CONNECTOME

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There are 100 billion neurons, connected by synapses in your brain.
The entirety of those connections make up the “connectome,” which many scientists think are the key to human identities.
Who knew?
One might ask, what if one of these neurons was changed/altered, would we be who we are now? Ten? A million? Would I be funnier if a mad Mega Scientist changed 107 of mine? Would everyone be nicer if 12,300 were altered in every baby? A world of nice nice. Would you want it?
What about not nice not nice? A world full of Don Rickles’?*
And, could all the IT Transhumanists do the changing? And what could they turn us into, should they acquire the skill to do so?
Why is this on the Border-Blog?
I dunno, the “border” has become kind of a bore. This isn’t!
Enjoy your day.

What’s next and who do you want to be?
Illustration: Cleveland Clinic

*https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Don_Rickles

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Africa, Guitar, Music

CALLIN” ME

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For almost twenty years photography has been my voice and the border has never stopped callin’ me.
Photography moves me still, but in conversation, more and more I’ve talkedf about my teaching job at New Mexico State University, as “passing the torch.”
I’m not sure, but maybe it’s been passed (and will continue to be).
I’ve been fretting fora few years about “what’s next?”
Right now, all I know is, if you aren’t feeling as good as these kids (on this video) or even something a little like it, it’s time to stop fretting and get the “next” going.
And I shall.
Two things are calling me and calling me hard these days and nights: Music (guitar… which doesn’t let me go to bed early or even late) and Africa ()which just won’t get out of my head).
Stay tuned, when Im know more I’ll let you know.



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Cars, Chicago, Culture

EDDIE’S CAR

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Eddie’s Car, Uptown Chicago (ChiTown Journal book), 1971, ©Bruce Berman

Photograph and text by Bruce Berman

Autumn 1971.
Eddie Geary got a new/old car.
He was scrounging the ‘hood looking for tires and rims. Not sure it ever got running.
I knew him for two years and the car never moved. The neighborhood never changed (until years later and the gentry came in, upped the equity and got rid of the Eddie Gearys).
Don’t know whatever happened to Eddie. Did he go back to Kentucky? Did he get up and out of the ghetto? Did he get a car of his dreams?
Don’t know. Wish I knew.
The photo series Uptown was more specifically about Appalachian migrants to Chiocago from Kentucky and Tennessee. It was my first documentary project. I wasn’t as good as the subject was, but I go my start. I just finished a book that contain the images. I’m lkooking for a publisher. It’as called the ChiTown Journal. Itr was my first “border ” project.
The border I refer to wasn’t a physical line but, actually, the line between immigrants to a foreign land and how their otherness, their language difference marginalizes them, leaves them open to exploitation and and makes them vulnerable to a social and lkegal system that does not favor them.

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border photography, Culture, El Paso-Juárez

RED BUS

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The Red Bus, Paso del Norte International Bridge, El Paso/Juárez, 1989

Photograph and Text by Bruce Berman

The Old Red Bus ran back and forth over the Juárez International bridge for decades. The bus itself was from the late 1950s, a GM. First photo I ever took when I got to El Paso and started wandering around was of the Red Bus, on El Paso Street. I noticed the women, from 18 to late 40s, lined up. I came to know that they were “maids,” low wage women from Juárez that came over every day and served the Anglos of a neighborhood north of downtown. It was called Kern Place. At the end of the day -those that worked by the day and not the week- would walk south down the hill to “EL Centro,” get on the bus and go home, to Juárez
Generations of Anglo kids were raised by these “maids.” Tons of dishes were washed. Beds were made. Laundry was done. They watched the American culture and went home. Key word: Home. Theirs. Another world.
I shot that old photo in October 1975.

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Funk, New Mexico, Night

HATCH

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Tony Roma’s, Hatch, NM (SVNM/Small Village New Mexico Project),
March 2022 by Bruce Berman

Text and photography by Bruce Berman

The SVNM Project is a group documentary project done by the students (and professor) of the photojournalism program in the Journalism and Media Studies Department at the New Mexico State University (NMSU). The project is an ongoing project done over the past ten years.
It is a document of the Rio Grande river valley of southern New Mexico.

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American Highway, Texas, Women

Isabel Gilmore: Woman of the Empty Lands

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Isabel Gilmore, Salt Flat Cafe, Salt Flat, Texas, 1988

Story and photograph by Bruce Berman

There were people who grew up along two lane highways who had, at most, radios to connect them to the outer world. They lived in quietude. A car would occasionally pass on U.S. 62/180. Some would stop.
I stopped.
She put down her local paper (from Van Horn, I think it was). She made eggs, fried some hash browns and made toast. Everything she was and did was from a past time. These were moments of grace.
She was far from being a receding type, had lots of questions, and I think her main form of being informed was interviewing anyone who stopped at her cafe. She had been doing this for a long time and I think her parents did it before her.

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America, Cars, Oklahoma

CONFIDENT GUY

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Confident guy, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, 1974
by ©Bruce Berman

Vintage. Yeah that’s me now. Vintage.
I’ve spent the last six months digging out photos from “back when,” and designing, editing and assembling a book. It’s the second book we’re producing and is being published by. Border Blog Press.
Its called BACKLAND, a collection of photos and a few stories about my ramblings and image-making from 1975-2000.
I was gonna call it a “book about nothing,” but, as in all books, it started to have a life of its own and its become a book about something. Can’t wait for you -the world- to see it. Todd, above, is in there and a whole lot of other people and places.
It’s coming. I’ll be tooting my horn when it’s up and running.

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chihuahua, Culture, Juarez

JUAREZ LOVE

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Juárez, Tarahumara mama and kids, 2012

In the middle of the Cartel War, the Tarahumaras from the Sierra Mountains of northwest Chihuahua, México, still work the streets of Juárez, selling goods, doing services, and attempting to not blend into the fabric of the 3rd largest city in México, Ciudad Juárez, Chihuahua.
The Tarahumara Indians (self-named Rarámuri), are a tribe that inhabit the northwest of the State of Chihuahua in México.
Economic conditions through the late 20th century and early 21st, have forced a large part of the tribe to seek economic stability in the nearest major city, Juárez, México.
The Rarámuri try to retain their cultural identity in dress and custom, an uphill task in the sprawling northern city of Juárez.
For more on the Rarámuri see https://www.britannica.com/topic/Tarahumara

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American Highway, Ruins, Texas

DOORWAY TO NOWHERE

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Beautiful ruin, Tornillo, Texas, 2021

Photograph/Text by Bruce Berman

The difference between the ruins of 80 years ago and the ruins 80 years from now, is there won’t be any ruins 80 years from now. Nothing built now will endure and nowhere that it’s built will be left fallow.
Can you imagine a photographer, in 2101, stopping, putting up his/her tripod, waiting for the perfect light, on a 7 Eleven or a Carino’s or a McDonald’s that was built in 2021 or 2007 or even 1999?
It was bad to begin with! Flat. Textureless. Corporately linear and featureless. Purposeful mirthlessness.
Maybe on Mars.

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border photography, Discussion of Documentary Photography, el paso juarez border

HOPE: AN ILLUSTRATION

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Hope on the border (Illustration), El Paso-Juárez, 2021

Text/Photography by Bruce Berman

This is not a photograph. It is an “illustration.” It’s a “montage,” a form of photography that goes all the way back to the near beginnings of photography. The distinction between “illustration,” and “photograph,” is that the former is an idea and an opinion and the latter exploits photography’s main strength: believability.

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Tech, Techno-Depression

THREE YEARS FIVE MONTHS EIGHT DAYS LOST!

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Tear drops by ©Man Ray, 1930

Text by Bruce Berman

Dear Border-Blog reader/viewer.
You will notice there is a three and a half year gap from March 18, 2016 to October 12, 2020.
I have not been lazy. Frustrated? Yes. Bummed? At times. Optimistic? Of course.
Last August we had a malware attack. I maintain and post on five different websites, this one being the grandaddy of them all. Each had to be shut down, suspended and pronto! The entire host’s hard drives would be infected if the site stayed up.
So, we shut it down.
I’ve missed it a lot.

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Economics, el paso

NIGHT

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Gas: $1.81. July 2020.
Gas: $2.97. May 2021.
What happened?
Duh.
UPDATE: March 10, 2022
Gas: $4.20.
What happened?
Same thing that happened from 2008-2016. You figure it out.
Duh.

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Chicago, Family, Photography

UNCANCELLATION

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Cancellation #93, Mom’s Kodak film, Chicago, 1950s

I once did an entire series of photographs called “Cancellations.”
It started because one day I was looking at a stack of shipping boxes of my photographs that I had sent to various galleries and museums (pre Internet) that had been summarily rejected. Thanks. No thanks, return to sender. There were a lot of stamps on those heavy boxes. The post office cancellations were ruthless, slashing, colorful. It’s like the post office knew I was unworthy, as well. I half jokingly wondered if the galleries hadn’t done it themselves.
I got lucky here and there, exhibited them for awhile. Dallas. Houston. Cologne, Germany. The art world thought they had found a new star. I knew I was a fraud.

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el paso juarez border, New Horizons, Teaching

ANOTHER DAY OTRO PESO

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Zoomed-out, desk, window south, El Paso, Texas (Juárez, México in b’grd)., May 18, 2021

End of a semester. End of an era. My smiling mask of self confidence, of confidence-projecting, of being reassuring has wound down to a needle tip. Sat at this desk for 14 months, rising to the occasion of teaching remotely. Three semesters of little grey rectangles talking with me and me with them.
They rose to the challenge and so have I.
And I’m fried!

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New Mexico, Photo of the Week, Virgin of Guadalupe

IRRIGATION AMOR

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Amor for the irrigation ditch, Mesilla Valley, October 2020



Amor is where you find it.
The Mesilla Valley is known for its high quality cotton production, its incomparable Chile and, increasingly, its huge pecan orchards with a winery thrown in here and there.
The valley straddles the path of Camino Real, the Royal Road of the Spaniards, as they marched to the north, conquering (and being defeated, notably by the fierce and excellent cavalry of the Comanches of the Empire of the Comancheria).

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American Highway, Native America, Photo of the Week

PHEW! WE’RE BACK!

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THIS SITE HAS BEEN DOWN FOR TWO MONTHS. WE’RE BACK. THE SITE WAS SUSPENDED AND IT TOOK THIS LONG TO RESTORE IT TO TOTAL BUG-FREE HEALTH. TO BE HONEST THERE HAS BEEN VERY LITTLE “ME.” THE BORDER BLOG WEBMASTER, MANNY RIVERA, FOUGHT THE MALWARE FORCES OF EVIL… AND AS HE ALWAYS DOES, BROUGHT US BACK TO LIFE.
SO GLAD WE’RE HERE. SO GLAD YOU’RE HERE.

1951 Ford hood, Navajo Reservation, Utah, 1974

So here we are, searching for borders again. It’s been a long time since I began this photo journey in 1968. First there was the “border” of Appalachians in Chicago.
Then there was the Five Nations of Oklahoma and the last refuge of the Buffalo in southwest Oklahoma.
Eventually I found my way to El Paso/Juárez. That one’s took thirty-five years plus.
And now?
Not sure. Usually I have wandered into my “forward.” Been stuck lately, taking care of business, being a professor, thinking, living in the old paradigm.
I suspect it’ll be that way again. I’ll bumble into the “next.”
I just mentioned -above- all the stuff that’s in the rearview mirror.
Looking out, over the hood… well you have to get the car into first gear first.
It’s coming.
Stay tuned. The Border Blog is back.
So am I.

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