One of the Greatest Soliloquies of All Time


To all the ships at sea,

Life has certain rules and regulations. One of them is, “Never talk politics.” For the most part, I try to keep my beliefs and my opinions to myself. As of late, I find it extremely difficult to do that. I was brought up to believe that this is the greatest country in the world and that we have one of the longest standing republics in the history of man. We are certainly one of the most powerful countries. As of late, there seems to be a movement in a certain direction. A very small movement, but not very pleasant. After listening to several of the presidential debates, I could not sleep and watched Charlie Chaplin in “The Great Dictator”. This film and the final speech were done many years before I was even born, yet virtually every word that Chaplin wrote and spoke is applicable today in 2016. It’s as if it was written today, right now. Talk about a visionary! Talk about a great mind! My god, please read the speech! Please watch the film! I genuinely believe you will be moved in a very positive way. We need to be positive in everything we do. Throw off all the negativity. Discard the hate. Lose the disbelief. We are a great country, we have always been a great country, and will continue to be a great country. Less is more.


The Great Dictator’s Speech

I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be an emperor. That’s not my business. I don’t want to rule or conquer anyone. I should like to help everyone – if possible – Jew, Gentile – black man – white. We all want to help one another. Human beings are like that. We want to live by each other’s happiness – not by each other’s misery. We don’t want to hate and despise one another. In this world there is room for everyone. And the good earth is rich and can provide for everyone. The way of life can be free and beautiful, but we have lost the way.

Greed has poisoned men’s souls, has barricaded the world with hate, has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed. We have developed speed, but we have shut ourselves in. Machinery that gives abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge has made us cynical. Our cleverness, hard and unkind. We think too much and feel too little. More than machinery we need humanity. More than cleverness we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost….

!/images/photos/0000/0874/Great_Dictator_Pub_140-6_normal.jpg! The aeroplane and the radio have brought us closer together. The very nature of these inventions cries out for the goodness in men – cries out for universal brotherhood – for the unity of us all. Even now my voice is reaching millions throughout the world – millions of despairing men, women, and little children – victims of a system that makes men torture and imprison innocent people.

To those who can hear me, I say – do not despair. The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed – the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress. The hate of men will pass, and dictators die, and the power they took from the people will return to the people. And so long as men die, liberty will never perish. …..

Soldiers! don’t give yourselves to brutes – men who despise you – enslave you – who regiment your lives – tell you what to do – what to think and what to feel! Who drill you – diet you – treat you like cattle, use you as cannon fodder. Don’t give yourselves to these unnatural men – machine men with machine minds and machine hearts! You are not machines! You are not cattle! You are men! You have the love of humanity in your hearts! You don’t hate! Only the unloved hate – the unloved and the unnatural! Soldiers! Don’t fight for slavery! Fight for liberty!

In the 17th Chapter of St Luke it is written: “the Kingdom of God is within man” – not one man nor a group of men, but in all men! In you! You, the people have the power – the power to create machines. The power to create happiness! You, the people, have the power to make this life free and beautiful, to make this life a wonderful adventure.

Then – in the name of democracy – let us use that power – let us all unite. Let us fight for a new world – a decent world that will give men a chance to work – that will give youth a future and old age a security. By the promise of these things, brutes have risen to power. But they lie! They do not fulfil that promise. They never will!

Dictators free themselves but they enslave the people! Now let us fight to fulfil that promise! Let us fight to free the world – to do away with national barriers – to do away with greed, with hate and intolerance. Let us fight for a world of reason, a world where science and progress will lead to all men’s happiness. Soldiers! in the name of democracy, let us all unite!”

Happy Birthday Patty!


© Joe DiMaggio

Happy Birthday Pat!

I’d like to reach out to my dear friend Pat Nap. I have no idea why he didn’t call me and remind me that it was his birthday. And then you’ve got Ralph Brandofino. Hey Ralph! I could’ve put ten cents in the mail so that you could have called me about Pat’s birthday! Oh yeah, I have a computer so I should have known.. I guess I have a glitch in my computer. So a day or two late, Happy Birthday Pat. Love you man. Shared a few photos.


© Joe DiMaggio

commack-titans-1385 joe-pat-ralph-dylan-snaps


Bob Dylan The Noblemen

© Joe DiMaggio

Bob Dylan © Joe DiMaggio

Growing up in Greenwich Village I can’t imagine a better place.  You walk out the door and were able to go see & hear music by Peter, Paul & Mary, Phil Ochs. Hell, for 75 cents, for a cup of coffee, you could go see & hear Bob Dylan!  I would like to share this with you – JoAnne and I had breakfast with Harry Chapin one morning.  He was a nearby neighbor.  We both lived on the water in the Huntington/Centerport area.  Harry was a beautiful person. It wasn’t uncommon for him to work for very little with most of the proceeds going to his Children’s Fund.  During breakfast, the question of songwriters came up.  Harry excused himself ran into the other room and came back with the The Writings and Drawings of Bob Dylan and proceeded to give Mr. Zimmerman all the accolades he deserved.  I didn’t need Harry to tell me what a great writer Dylan was.  Article New York Times – Bob Dylan Wins Nobel Prize, Redefining Boundries of Literature

© Joe DiMaggio

© Joe DiMaggio

Harry Chapin & Son Josh © Joe DiMaggio

Harry Chapin & Son Josh © Joe DiMaggio


There’s No Crying in Baseball

To All the Ships At Sea

Every once in a while I think I can write.  At least my English professor the first year in college thought I could. I’m pretty sure it’s the only A I’ve gotten (well maybe also in history.)  Then along comes Mark Joseph, one hell of a great writer says the New York Times for sure.  He was on the best seller list.  The man loves baseball!   I’d like to share this piece he sent me the other day.



Adiós Pelota
Baseball withdrawal has been easier than ever this year. After the worst World Series in living memory, I’m scratching my head and wondering how the postseason fizzled. Every single one of my predictions was wrong, which is nothing new, but who could have predicted five errors by Detroit pitchers in five games to hand the series to the worst team ever to win the big banana. The poor TV ratings reflected the low quality of play in damn near freezing weather, and all I can say in favor of St. Louis is that they still have the best uniforms in the National League when they wear red hats and home whites. Why the Cards sometimes wear blue hats is beyond me. I’d like to see the Cards play the Nippon Ham Fighters who won the Japanese World Series. The Yankees and Mets, who could have staged a terrific subway series, both went bust because of injuries and lack of pitching, and the Twins finally ran out of gas. The result: zilch, double zilch and a bullshit pine tar controversy. Egad, what’s a fan to do? Winter ball. Mexico

On Saturday night, October 21, I saw the Venados – the Bucks – of Mazatlán play at home against Los Yaquis of Ciudad Obregón. In a beautiful little stadium jammed to overflowing with 14,000 fans, Mazatlán won 2-1 in a tight, errorless ball game that featured three outrageous calls by the umpires that favored the home team. My friend Larry Banner who lives in Mazatlán bought field level seats ($9) that put us next to the home dugout and behind a chain-link fence within spitting distance of first base. A Yaqui runner beat the throw by a step and the ump called him out. Another Yaqui runner was picked off and was clearly safe, but the ump called him out. And when a Mazatlán runner dashed home on a hit to the outfield, the beautiful throw from right field had him nailed but he was called safe. The visiting manager didn’t make a peep, leaving me to believe that everybody understood that when Mazatlán visits Obregón the calls would favor the home team there.

Mazatlán is an extraordinarily polite city, and the fans were enthusiastic but not rowdy. Noisy, yes, insane, no, considering that before the game guys in yellow vests put buckets of ice and beer every few steps up the aisles in the stands. The Pacifico Brewery, which seems to own Mazatlán, owns the team, and perhaps the league, and you could get a beer by waving your hand, but you had to go to the concessions for a Coke. The baseball was AA at best, maybe good college ball, and no one on the field stood out as a major league talent. Each team in the Mexican Pacific Coast League is allowed 5 foreign players, although the Bucks have 6 (5 gringos and 1 Dominican) and if you wonder why a 32 year old American is playing for Mazatlán, maybe you should watch the film Major League again. The fans didn’t care. The uniforms said Mazatlán – and Pacifico and Señor Frogs and Coca-Cola and Bancomer and Mega, so much advertising they looked like soccer uniforms – but the best part was the end of the game when 2000 kids ran onto the field. The players hung around and signed autographs for 30 minutes until the lights went out to get everyone off the field. This was pure bush-league baseball in a bush-league town, a little time capsule with no million-dollar contracts, no hissy fits, no posturing, and no bullshit except for the umpires, at least on this night, when time stopped and it was 1953 again.

Mark Joseph is an American novelist. He is the author of To Kill the Potemkin, originally published in 1986. As a paperback, it spent four weeks on The New York Times bestseller list in July and August 1987.

He later published the novels Mexico 21 (1990), Typhoon (1991), Deadline Y2K (1999), and The Wild Card (2011).

Born in 1946 in Vallejo, California, he is a 1967 graduate of the University of California, Berkeley.

Baseball: An Obsession


© Joe DiMaggio

To all the ships at sea,

I’ve got some of the greatest friends in the world. Mark Joseph, who’s been on the New York Times Best Sellers list several times, is one of the finest writers of the last third of the century. He’s written Typhoon, To Kill the Potemkin, Mexico 21, and he has a new book coming out on which I am sworn to secrecy. I’ve read it and it is probably his best work. It’s a little known fact that mark has a very serious addiction, which is something that, thank god, I do not share with him (I have my own addictions, and unless you have a Ph.D. for psychology, I’m not going to tell you! But you could probably figure it out.) Mark is addicted to baseball. As a matter of fact, we’ve worked together on a few baseball articles for some magazines. We normally bet 25 cents on games, but because of his devotion and crazy passion for the San Francisco Giants, he’s kicked it up to 100 pesos. It’s all about the playoffs! Attached you’ll find a few notes that have been going back and forth on the internet- they’ll be self explanatory and if nothing else, you’ll appreciate his writing and the fun we have.

“I got one hundred pesos that say the Giants will beat the Cubs in the NLDS. Any takers?


Egad! I’m heading for the foreign currency exchange this morning to get a stack of 100 peso notes to pay you all off. But wait! There’s another game tonight. Oh, gnashing of teeth and wringing of hands. Is it basketball season yet?


The 2016 Giants

In the second half of the season, the Giants’ pitching has been brilliant, but their hitting disappeared. They lost more 1-0 games than I care to remember. They could score 12 runs against Arrieta on Monday, but they can’t sustain that kind of run production, not this team this year.  The truth is I never expected them to make the playoffs. It’s a long story, but it starts at third base with the departure of Pablo Sandoval last year. Panda was immensely popular with the fans who didn’t care if he was a fatso, but the Giants got the Red Sox to take him, but it left a hole in the lineup that a bunch of guys couldn’t fill. Then they found Matt Duffy in their own farm system and he was a hit, a gangly rookie that people quickly grew fond of. Apparently, the Giants players really loved this kid, and then in the middle of the season, with the Giants pitching faltering, they traded Duffy to Tampa Bay for Matt Moore. Now, Moore has been great, and he’s done more than expected, but the life went out of the the Giants offense with Duffy gone. It is clearly all weirdness under the direction of the baseball gods, but with Duffy gone, people now view the vaunted geniuses in the upper tiers of AT&T Park – Bobby Evans and Brian Sabean – as maybe not such geniuses after all.

So, making bets in Peso increments is a cruel joke on myself and all Giants fans. Even year? Even Steven, dude. The Dodgers were better, the Cubs were much better. Lots of people feel sorry for the Cubs, and for the good people of Chicago because they keep shooting one another, but as we used to say in the Foreign Legion, tant pis, mon ami. The Cubs will probaly sweep the Giants, but win the World Series? I’m waiting for the quintissential Bartman moment with the Cubs. I’ve been to Wrigley. It’s a dump, a loveable old dump, but a dump nonetheless. Lousy hotdogs, too.

I’m gonna get the Mexican money on Monday, just in case.




Ernst Haas: A True Pioneer


© Ernst Haas

To all the ships at sea,

It’s Monday. You know what Monday is. When you look at Monday in Webster’s unabashed dictionary, you find out that everything that can go wrong will go wrong! I just completed a magnificent blog on the life and times of Ernst Haas, who relocated to the darkroom in the sky thirty years ago in September. Ernst truly motivated me and helped me find my voice. I genuinely believe whether you’re a photographer, a painter, a musician, a baseball player, or a writer, you are molded by all of your predecessors. Whether you know it or not, they affect what you do and how you do it. W. Eugene Smith taught me the power of black and white and what a true picture story is. John Zimmerman taught me, “Experiment. There are new photos out there, you have to find them and record them.” John Dominis taught me, “Less is more. You don’t have to machine gun whatever you are photographing to make a great photograph.” (John also told me, “If you ever use a 15mm lens on an assignment again, you’ll hear the words, ‘You’ll never work for this magazine again.'” – he was referring to Sports Illustrated.) I had the pleasure of working with all of these great photographers, and also assisting Smith. Which brings me to Ernst Haas, whom unfortunately I never had the pleasure of meeting. Early in my career his work thoroughly impressed me. He taught me that there are shutter speeds other than 1/1000 of a second and there are different ways of approaching action and motion photography. My friend Sam Garcia reminded me that the thirtieth anniversary of Ernst’s death was this past month. Here are a few words from Sam Garcia and Jay Maisel on the life and times of Ernst Haas. I’m working with a young photographer and decided to gift him a copy of The Creation by Ernst Haas in hopes that it would help him in his career.


“Sam Garcia

Sam Garcia was a Pro Markets Tech Rep for an international camera company for 37 years. Garcia has attended most major U.S. and international sporting events, including eight Olympics, and in cooperation with NASA has participated in training America’s space shuttle and International Space Station astronauts in the use of digital still camera equipment.

As a photographer, Sam worked on eight of the Day In The Life  book projects, including the New York Times bestseller A Day In The Life Of America  and the medically themed The Power To Heal. Assignments have taken him from the magnetic North Pole in the to the depths of a Spanish coal mine, with his work appearing in magazines as varied as Yankee, German GEO, Paris Match, and college textbooks. Garcia is an author and lecturer on photographic subjects, is qualified as an expert witness in photography at the federal-court level, and has participated in photo programs with most major educational facilities in the U.S. and locations as far afield as Moscow University.
One day I paid $35 for a photography book.

You need to put that money in perspective. I was living in a $15-a-week room in mid-town Los Angeles in the early 1970s. I had a $60-a week-job, and my pay went directly for rent, bus fare, and food. My entertainment was the Los Angeles County Art Museum free exhibits. I’d usually save the bus fare and walk the 30 minutes or so from my place.

And then one day I spent two weeks rent for a book.

I had looked through it the previous weekend and discovered what I thought were some of the most beautiful color photographs I’d ever seen, and I wanted to own it. The book, as you have probably guessed, was The Creation  by Ernst Haas.

It’s not true Haas invented color photography; it just seems no one really noticed it until his moody, evocative essays on New York, and later, Venice, appeared in LIFE magazine in the 1950s. Suddenly color was as thought provoking as black and white. Maybe better. Real, but ignored until Haas rubbed our eyes in it. Not the postcard colors of yellow vs. red vs. green vs. blue. Haas’ color crept out of Venetian shadows and stole through morning fog. Color that danced off the bright-work of Manhattan buildings in late afternoon. Color that delineated shape, and caressed texture, and gave substance to mood. Color so saturated you wanted to turn the page over to see if it had soaked through. His was color from the best dreams and memories.

I suppose I convinced myself buying The Creation  was an educational investment. I’d feast on the photographs and then dutifully glean the technical information from the pages in the back so I’d know exactly which lens and film to use to help me become a great photographer. It was an education, just not the one I’d expected. I learned about emotion, and feeling, and that somehow there was alchemy in the world that allowed its transmutation into a color photograph. Sure, I learned his tools, the cameras, and Kodachrome. But anybody can buy a magician’s top hat. It’s getting the rabbit out of it that’s hard to do.

Jump forward about 15 years, and to my own surprise I did in fact manage to move into, and along within, the photo business. And that journey had taken me across country to New York, where I had managed to become friends with several of the photographers, including Ernst, whose work I’d admired and envied those many years ago when I was trying to find a path forward.

The Creation  was at that point a photographic book icon of sorts. It set sales records and redefined the nature of photography in the arts, while also earning impressive credits for the quality of the printing. It was a defining work, and in the late 1980s was rewarded for that success by having a new, revised version reprinted to the same level of quality as the first edition.

One afternoon in May of 1986, I was visiting Ernst in his New York City apartment. We were doing that casual catching up that you do with friends when you haven’t seen them in a while. One of us mentioned the new printing, and I remember congratulating him on the accomplishment. Ernst rather suddenly sprang up from his seat, walked to a close bookshelf, and pulled out a copy of the new Creation. He then, while continuing to talk, sat back down, opened the book to one of the first pages, and started to sign it for me. I felt guilty. Had I been talking about the new printing in a way that seemed like I was asking for a copy? I would be horrified if that was the case. It’s simply not something I would ever do.

“Ernst, you don’t have to do that,” I said, probably a bit too forcefully. “You know I have a copy of the first edition,” I reminded him.

He looked at me slightly sideways, and asked in a clearly mock-hurt voice, “You don’t want it…?”

Of course I took it. I may have my ethical standards, but I’m not stupid.

Ernst knew I was a genuine fan of his work, and it was, I realized, a simply spontaneous gesture of generosity.

A bit later that summer, in August, I had one of the few great ideas I’ve ever had in my life. I’d been to the Museum of Modern Art’s exhibition “Vienna, 1900,” which featured Vienna’s designs, the city buildings, private homes, the city infrastructure, the style of that era, and additionally, in a connected exhibit space, a couple of its well known artists, Egon Schiele, and a personal favorite, Gustav Klimt.

I was so delighted by the exhibition that I wanted immediately to share it, so I invited Ernst, who was born in Vienna, and mutual friend Jay Maisel to go back with me. (I saw echoes of Ernst’s passion and elegance of vision in the paintings of Klimt particularly. I wanted to return, if only in a small way, some of the pleasure he had given me with his photographs over the years.)

I gleefully pointed out to Jay that this was not entirely selfless. “I think it will be great. We’ll walk around the museum with Ernst and let him tell us stories about Vienna from his childhood. What a great tour guide, with great art, I can’t wait.” And Jay agreed instantly to go — he knew a good plan when he heard one.

Ernst died of a stroke the day before we were to meet.

At the funeral home, when Jay saw me arrive, he came over, and the first thing he said to me was, “We should be at the museum.”

It was a nice service, and eventually there were eulogies, and articles, despair at the loss, discussions of his imagery, and his place in photographic history. But I’m not sure anyone has ever been able to express the uniqueness of a man whose art was the seamless blend of his life and his work.

I suggest, perhaps the longer lasting testament to his talent might even now be taking place in a bookstore, or a museum shop. I’d like to think somewhere out there another beauty-hungry kid is spending his or her rent money on The Creation  and dreaming their Kodachrome dreams.
Jay Maisel

After studying painting and graphic design at Cooper Union and Yale, Jay Maisel began his career in photography in 1954. While his portfolio includes the likes of Marilyn Monroe and Miles Davis, he is perhaps best known for capturing the light, color, and gesture found in every day life. This unique vision kept him busy for over 40 years shooting annual reports, magazine covers, jazz albums, advertising and more for an array of clients worldwide. Some of his commercial accomplishments include five Sports Illustrated swimsuit covers, the first two covers of New York Magazine, the cover of Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue  (the best-selling jazz album of all time), twelve years of advertising with United Technologies, and a litany of awards from such organizations as ICP, ASMP, ADC, PPA, and Cooper Union.

Since he stopped taking on commercial work in the late ’90s, Jay has continued to focus on his personal work. He has developed a reputation as a giving and inspiring teacher as a result of extensive lecturing and photography workshops throughout the country. He also continues to sell prints, which can be found in private, corporate, and museum collections.
Ernst was very much of an enigma—friendly, warm, and giving, yet private and solitary. He was, to me, a mysterious entity. Full of love for all humanity, yet a little part of himself seemed impervious to examination or inspection. And that was all well and good.

I looked upon him with great awe. He was, out of all of us, the one guy who inspired.

I was tickled by his complete innocence on every business level. When I discussed him with other photographers, I found that they too were astonished with his work and amazed at his cavalier attitude toward business or money.  The phrase that kept coming up was, “Thank god that god takes care of Ernst.”

He would ask me business questions the way I would ask him photographic questions. At one point in a discussion about a difficult client, I asked him, “Well what does the paperwork say?” And god bless him, he looked at me with that sweet innocence he had and said, “Paperwork? I have no paperwork.” I was vexed and said, “You must have some paperwork, how else would you get paid?”

He said very seriously and quietly, “When I need money, I tell them and they send me a check.”

I asked a client of mine why they didn’t use Ernst more often. He said, “I’m afraid he might see a butterfly on the way to the assignment. That would be the end of my job.”

This was unfair because Ernst was very professional in his commercial work. One day we were talking about a job he just finished and I said, “Did you shoot stuff your way, for yourself?”

He didn’t actually do it, but I kind of felt him patting me on the head like a child, and he said, “No, I find if I do it my way, they always like their way better.”

The enigma of Ernst was that he was so damn good and you could never figure it out. What was the secret? How did he do it? I spoke to people who had gone to his lectures and taken his classes and they were unanimous in their praise.

“He’s wonderful.”

“He’s inspiring.”

“You’ll never be the same.”

But what did he say?

Nobody could be articulate and specific about what he said. So I went to his lecture up in Maine (I always fall asleep at lectures). I listened and dozed intermittently. Ernst noticed my closed eyes. (Did I mention that he had a wicked sense of humor?) He started directing questions at me, and my wife, L.A., would dig an elbow into my ribs and I’d wake up and start playing catch-up ball.

I totally regret that I never took a class with him, but I went to a number of his talks. To this day I’m inarticulate in remembering any specifics. But this I know—he was inspiring.

He never spoke of anything technical. He spoke of warmth and love and humanity. He was profound and poetic. He was completely honest and was modest.

He was the mentor I never had and like everyone else, I loved him.”


Arnie’s Army: Who Will We Follow Now?

© Joe DiMaggio

© Joe DiMaggio

To all the ships at sea,

Arnold Palmer, one of the greatest human beings put on this earth. Great golfer, great friend, great smile, great humanitarian. There isn’t a person in the world that could have a bad word on the great Arnold Palmer. Here’s a photo I took of him with John Hemmer. A sad day for the planet. And if you’re like me, you can have an Arnold Palmer (sometimes, I add Vodka to it).

Fun #2

© Joe DiMaggio

© Joe DiMaggio

To all the ships at sea,

On August 20th, I did a blog about fun. And to be quite honest, it was a short, concise, and to the point blog. Unfortunately, I think that I did not accomplish what I really wanted to accomplish.

I would imagine that most people that are going to read my blog do not have the power to control the stock market, United States government (or any government for that matter), and certainly not the weather. You come to realize that there is very little that we as human beings can really control, apart from trying to control our own destiny. I believe one of Frank Sinatra’s lyrics goes, “If you can make it in New York, you can make it anywhere,” and both JoAnne and I have been competing in the New York marketplace for over four decades. Okay, maybe five decades. Sometimes we get so wrapped up in what a client needs, what an art buyer needs, what a gallery owner needs, and so wrapped up in the stress and the pressure that both society and ourselves put on us, and so wrapped up in the competition with our peer group that at the end of the day we’re drained.

So, what’s wrong with this picture? In retrospect, everything is wrong with this picture. The time has come to take the years of experience as a working photographer and just. Have. Fun. Have fun with whatever camera you use, whatever lens you use, any place that you go to make a photograph. You dont have to go to Beijing or Venice – you can go three blocks from home. You can go in your own backyard and generate great photos just for the fun of it! No stress, no pressure. Unadulterated fun. If you come to our studio or to the learning center, you’ll have an opportunity to  see and go into the private suite, which was originally supposed to be a VIP suite to have a cigar and some brandy, listen to some great music, and just kick back. It was a good idea, but I don’t smoke cigars and I don’t need an excuse to drink brandy. It’s been converted into a place to store some of our archival work. When I look at the work that was printed in the 70s, whether they are a dye transfer or a great c-print, the cost of each one of the 16x20s or the 20x24s were in excess of $400-$1,100 per print. Suffice it to say, we’re talking absolute telephone numbers.

Okay, where am I going with this?  There’s nothing like the excitement and the fun of going out and generating a photograph, looking at the back of the LCD screen, and loving what you see then putting it into your computer and it comes alive. The next logical step is to make a display print. I seriously recommend a large print. It’s the final step in the photographic process. I had the pleasure to watch Eisenstaedt spend a half an hour in the Life lab making three or four work prints before he’d make his final print to send to the editors at Life Magazine. It was a thing of beauty. And with the red light glancing off of his eyes, you could see he was having fun! There are few of us that still have the ability and wherewithal to go into a wet dark room.

To all the ships at sea, please have fun, fun, and some more fun. Life is too short. Go out and have some fun. The camera will bring you a tremendous amount of satisfaction and pleasure. And fun!

Joe D.

© Joe DiMaggio

© Joe DiMaggio

© Joe DiMaggio

© Joe DiMaggio

© Joe DiMaggio

© Joe DiMaggio

Looking Forward to a New Year

© White Gallery

© White Gallery

To all the ships at sea,

Well, all good things must come to an end. The Wheeler-Kalish-DiMaggio show at the White Gallery has come to an end. A great end, but an end nonetheless. From my vantage point, the ability to share a gallery with two amazing artists was a wonderful experience.  It was an awful lot of fun and extremely rewarding on many different levels with the two gallery owners, Tino and Susan, as well. Dennis, myself, and JoAnne, along with Tino and Susan, entered into this experiment with an open mind and like many things in my life and my career I came away learning something. Ninety-nine percent of the time it’s positivity, and in this particular case everything was positive. Great venue, show, people, support, and communication- what else could you ask for? To say nothing of the fact that all three of us artists had substantial sales of our work. I’m having a lunch tomorrow with Dennis and JoAnne and we are looking forward to our next show together. Life is good, sky is blue, the clouds are white. I continue to learn a little bit more about life everyday. So please pick up your cameras and go out and make some fine photos.

P.S. It’s free, and all the great things in life are free!

Hope to see you on the road,

Joe D.


© Joe DiMaggio

© JoAnne Kalish

© JoAnne Kalish

© Joe DiMaggio

© Joe DiMaggio

Fall Foliage Workshop: Saturday, October 15th & Sunday, October 23rd

© Joe DiMaggion

© Joe DiMaggio

As I mentioned in the previous blog, we will be doing a really great workshop on two consecutive weekends. I will be heading the one taking place on Saturday, October 15th and JoAnne Kalish will be heading the one taking place on Sunday, October 23rd. So, people that want to go on a Sunday can go to one and people who want to go on a Saturday can go, back to back. The fall is an exceptionally great time not only for its fall colors but, depending on the weather conditions, the water falls that will turn into slalom races for our sports kayaks. Combination of sports action and definitive landscape work. It’s all up to Mother Nature.

© Joe DiMaggio

© Joe DiMaggio

© Joe DiMaggio

© Joe DiMaggio

© Joe DiMaggio

© Joe DiMaggio