Special Announcement

Now that I have your attention, let me tell you what’s going to happen here at Pieceowork.com. Starting in October, Pieceowork.com will be the blog and news feed for my Etsy shop: JBH Vintage Handmade.

It’s taken me a long time to deal with things after my parents’ deaths. Pop left photos in all shapes, formats, and sizes. I have files of every slide taken between 1960 and 1983 when he retired and switched to totally digital. I’m offering downloads of some of these files for you to use. Pop was the first official photographer for the US Capitol architects’ office. As a professional, he could make vacation snaps look good–and he did.

The year before, Mom left sewing machines, fabric, pattern books, and a whole lot of things we didn’t know what to do with. I took what I could work with and looked at it for a while.

With JBH Vintage Handmade, you’ll get the opportunity to see and purchase some of the photographs as file downloads, prints, and his final project, photo-ceramics. Almost every photographs fits both the vintage and handmade categories.

I’m using Mom’s machine (not vintage, btw) and combining our stashes of 100% cotton fabrics (most of which ARE vintage) to offer a variety of small, useful objects: shopping bags that zip into their own pocket, jewelry pouches and rolls, fabric boxes and bowls. It’s a loving collaboration I call Random Acts of Fabric. The stash isn’t organized, so choices are made on the fly, the way I used to do any quilt project.

I hope you enjoy my offerings. This is where I tell some of the stories about the photographs and family memories.

It Depends

At first it was the light and the way the stained glass colors clung to the wooden banister of the staircase that drew me to this photograph of a Santa Fe church. The more I looked, though, the only thing I saw was the door. The more I looked at the door, I realized the irony of point of view. What you see depends solely on where you are.

It Depends

Santa Fe, 1974
copyright 2017, JBHalasz


She Waits…A New Pronoun Story

The last of the family’s 10,000 slides was scanned about a month ago. I start dealing with the prints and digital pictures next (my father was a professional photographer). Until I screw up the courage to put his work out as vintage images, I wander through my parents’ past, making up little stories.

She Waits

She stands ankle deep in the ocean, still in her Sunday clothes, waiting. She does not see the way he sees. She sees the heat curling up from the beach and relishes the cool water. She sees the crowd on the boardwalk and appreciates the emptiness of the pillars. She sees him and waits. Devotion is not competitive. Photography is, especially to make a living at it. She is a practical woman.

They have come from church, likely on their way to lunch on the boardwalk, when he sees something. She’s used to his visions, almost. She fell in love with an artist of sorts, an observer. Investigation, like the correct shutter speed, comes with the job.

1958, Cape May, NJ.

He holds the camera close and captures one moment after the next. Click, click, click. With one hand, he pulls a handkerchief from his back pocket to wipe the sea spray from the lens, then from his forehead. Click, click, click.

She holds her shoes in two fingers tucked into the crook of an elbow and waits, knowing she is competing with his camera and losing.

She sees the incoming tide and takes two steps back. Even in bare feet there is her dignity to consider. She also considers mentioning the tide to him, but she waits. It’s now a competition she can win.

Eventually the camera rests at his waist, taut at the ends of its leather neckband. He looks down. She has moved back another two steps, arms crossed, lips tighter than a new bathing suit. But she waits at surf’s edge. He’s balanced on an old telephone pole tamped into the shore as a breakwater to protect the new steel pier he’s just captured on film.

He doesn’t see her. He sees his new camera on his belly, his dress shoes, and the surf. He calculates, counts the space between waves, their relative height as they come up the beach to his perch, counts again, and hazards the turn toward shore to assess the consequences.

She is waiting. She smiles, raising an eyebrow in supplication. “What would you have me do?” says that curved brow. He smiles, counting the time until the surf retreats, tilts his head in response. “She is beautiful,” he thinks. “She will kill me if I ruin these shoes. No, she will make me wear them. That’s what she’ll do. She’ll make me wear ruined shoes.”

The sea becomes a skim around them. He holds out his arm toward her. She waits.

She calculates. He saved for months for that camera. The shoes, they are expendable, replaceable. She moves closer. They wait for the waves to retreat. She reaches her empty hand to his, and wishes for someone to capture this moment.

Never Leaving Home

So, I’ve done what lots of people dream of in their cubicles, the thing the pundits say is the new work economy. I work from home as a freelancer. On the one hand, it is nice to be able to roll out of bed, log in, and be at work. On the other hand, it is hard to know when I’m really working and when I’m goofing off.

My current gig has specific parameters but my highly-honed Puritan work ethic (does anyone actually know what the Puritans thought about work? probably not. I suspect they were just as disenchanted as lots of us.) keeps me online many more hours than they are willing to pay me for. Sometimes those hours are spent waiting for the distant smell of someone’s hair catching fire, or worse yet, just waiting for anything to happen.

Since grade school, I’ve been one of those people who gets an assignment and does an assignment. So, my assigned work is done and I’m spending time waiting for the esoteric part of the job title — project manager — to kick in. It never fails to kick in. It does tend to wait until I’m ready to log off and go downstairs to clean out the litter boxes or do laundry.

All this waiting and wanting to do my job keeps me locked in the house. Inherently, this isn’t a bad thing. I’m not fond of people en masse. Listening to the guy humming to songs on the other side of the cubicle wall, being subject to every virus on the east coast by dint of a door-free work environment, overhearing the woes and discoveries of all an sundry…while it can be entertaining (well, minus the virus thing), it doesn’t help the actual work. Problem is, without all those distractions, I can get my work done faster. So, here I sit. Waiting for someone a hundred twenty-five miles away to sneeze.

Time to work on those stories I’ve let sit. Time to write more stories. Time to catch up on my reading. Time to get out of the house.


All the Appliances

Mushrooms were on sale; never a small enticement. Further down the aisle, leeks and parsnips. Visions of soup danced in my head. It is still soup weather in my world where the local Department of Public Works came through to clear out the cul-de-sac again yesterday, nearly a week after the blizzard dropped two feet there so our recyclables could be claimed without more loss of mailboxes.

Plans changed when stew meat was on sale and a small package jumped into my cart. This morning the thought of all that chopping became another chore, then I remembered my new food processor. My 30-year old one died from a broken bowl.

With the veggies sliced, I plugged in the next appliance to brown the meat. The veggies went into the pressure cooker. I even managed to open a bottle of red to add. The house smells of stew instead of cats. It’s a good thing.

Later I will pull out Mom’s Kitchen-Aid mixer to make peanut butter and jelly cookies for the Moms and kids who use the church on Wednesday. I like my appliances. I should use them more often. Thanks, mushrooms!



Looking Around

Just got the call that the last of the family slides are ready for me to pick up from the photo processor after being scanned. I have had roughly 10,000 slides scanned in the last six months. The photo processing shop loves me. You have to understand, my father was a professional photographer. I have custody of almost 60 years’ worth of slides ranging from weddings (Who has their wedding photos done as slides? It was a thing back in the 1970’s I guess.) to commissioned multi-projector programs (also a thing before PowerPoint) to the horrific holiday family photos from the late 1950’s and ‘60’s. In between there were the vacation slides.

Preparing for his favorite thing, when he had hair.

Why did I have the slides scanned? Because Pop could make the view from the campground look amazing. Fortunately for us, our vacation photos rarely included us. I have landscapes from trips to Alaska, Hawaii, the Canadian Rockies, the Outer Banks, assorted amusement parks, scout and church programs, and weekend fishing excursions.

Not all of the pictures are great. My favorites are the rejects, and there were trays labelled just that. These unfit-for-presentation photos show Pop’s interest in tinkering with light, motion, and texture. It shows a tiny bit of his process. He used a manual technique of bracketing shots to ensure the best exposure. I have what seems like dozens of the same shot, but they aren’t, if you look closely.

And that’s the main reason I had so many slides scanned. Each of these photos shows me part of Pop: his love for Mom, fishing, and making photographs. As for the first, if Mom was along for the ride, Pop took her picture. She was a striking woman before we all came along…and for a long time after until dementia took the spark from her eyes. She could read anywhere, dressed simply but fashionably, and was up for whatever we tossed her way: cooking over a campfire, ice fishing, roller coasters. Thank God Pop captured it all because I wasn’t paying attention.

The other reason I had the slides scanned is to share Pop’s vision. My hope is that at least a few photos are worthy of stock use. As vintage images, un-retouched or altered other than by scanning, I want to put some of his photographs out for others to use. I’ll find out shortly if it’s a delusion or not. I’m submitting now to see if they will be accepted. If so, I’ll let you know.