The Cathedral of the Homeless Saint

Faith.

The belief in the existence of a truth we cannot truly know. 
Paradox tumbling from the sky like rain… again.
 
I believe in Faith, which is to say that I believe in belief.
 
But I am not a religious man, at least not in the general sense. I do not believe in the idea of an omnipotent and jealous being watching over me. I do not believe for even one minute that we were “born in sin” or in the idea that we must somehow atone for being born in the first place. I believe that Heaven and Hell are opposite sides of the same coin, and that perspective is everything.
 
I believe that for better or for worse, we are the architects of our lives, and these lives are what we continually make of them.
 
I believe in Faith.
 
The artist Laurie Anderson once spoke of walking and falling. The idea that with each step, we fall forward slightly and then catch ourselves from falling. We do this over and over - and this is what we call walking.
 
The act of falling forward and Faith that we will catch ourselves from falling… we are motionless without it. Perhaps a lack of Faith equals paralysis.
 
I have no idea what so captivates the subject of this photograph. She sits in this bus shelter with her belongings as more than one bus passes her by. And she does not move except for the lifting of a finger to turn a page. I assume that she is holding a Bible, though the book has no outer markings. 
 
It is old and worn.

Her garments and outsized crucifix are out of context. Perfectly normal within the confines of some great church, but on this evening street, it seems as though she has wandered onto the wrong set in a movie studio.

She does not belong here.
 
My muse is homeless, and perhaps that is the falling.
Immersed in this tattered and torn book, perhaps within she will catch herself from falling.
 
Faith.

God Must Be A Boogie Man

GOD MUST BE A BOOGIE MAN | © PRESTON LEWIS THOMAS

This man, homeless and finding slumber in perhaps one of the few places that gave him comfort, the entrance to a church.

For me, this circumstance juxtaposed with the words carved in stone, God Is Love, seemed ironic and cruel,
and instantly brought these haunting lyrics about the great, and troubled Charles Mingus to mind:

“He is three
One’s in the middle so unmoved
Waiting
To show what he sees
To the other two
To the one attacking so afraid
And the one that keeps trying to love and trust
And getting himself betrayed
In the plan, oh…
The divine plan
God must be a Boogie Man… ”
–Joni Mitchell, God Must Be a Boogie Man

Slice of Life on 63rd Street

A SLICE OF LIFE ON EAST 63RD STREET | © PRESTON LEWIS THOMAS

They hang out on the corner of 63rd and Drexel next to an abandoned lot, waiting. The gas station across the street has an automated car wash, and they’re hoping that some of the customers will want their vehicles properly dried, and maybe a little tire dressing.

I get it.
It’s the Hustle.
They’re livin’ for the city.

In fact, I notice several cars parked diagonally in front of the lot and a mix of brothers and sisters tending to these vehicles. There isn’t a set price. There’s no service menu. Customers pretty much pay what they want.

One lady tells me, “When they come out the car wash, they cars still be wet. They have they own towels and Armor All and stuff. I mean, at least we ain’t out here tryin’ to rob or shoot nobody…”

Another adds, “I usually ask for three or four dollars, but you know, I’ll take whatever…”

I do know.
Sometimes, I’ll take “whatever”.

The conversation quickly pivots to what kind of photographer I am and one of the ladies asks whether or not I’ve ever photographed a naked woman on a couch.

I find the last part of that oddly specific, but I answer:
“Freelance”
“Yes.”

A slice of life.