Mr. Nuez,

I have been duped!  In 2001, you sold me what I was led to believe was a rare print of alley #3 (shot in 1993).

Now I see from your website blog that what I really possess is in fact an almost worthless copy of alley #43 (1998): easily the most reproduced image in the world, available on millions of postcards, t-shirts, and souvenir mugs !

As North America’s foremost collector of early 35 mm Nuez I am outraged !!!   All of London is laughing at me. But mark my words I will have the last laugh. You  will be hearing from my solicitor !  I intend to recuperate every last centime of the 20,000 swiss francs I paid you when we met in St. Moritz. You can keep your medium format 120 mm print. Maybe you could turn it into placemat or a tacky tote bag.

And don’t try to contact me directly. I have entrusted the resolution of this sordid affair to the firm of Blythe, Winterbottom, and Paisley.

Good day Sir,

Randall Grant, esq.

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Dear Mr Grant,

As the person responsible for what I had hoped would be a discreet fraud, I am now forced to fabricate some kind of elaborate excuse. 

After my dog ate the original 35mm slide, I fell into a deep funk. The Viennese doctors who studied my case made it clear my life was in jeapordy. The solution prescribed was to go back to the same location (now 6 yrs later) and reshoot the image. Had I not done this, the doctors would have beat me up, and I feared this. How could I disapoint them after all the money I had given them? Do you now see the predicament I was in??

Yours always,
Xavier Nuez

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Mr. Nuez,

explanation accepted. lawsuit withdrawn.

RG

_________________________

In case you haven’t figured it out, Randy is a close friend

Alley no. 106 – Stacked (2008, Mare Island, CA, 10:30pm)

She was tasked with writing a school paper on a particular image and photographer. She chose to write about Goast Pier (which was shot with another friend, Kathy). I thought she did a good job, so here’s her paper:

Alley no. 102 – Goast Pier (2008, San Francisco, CA, 11:30pm)

It’s still all clear to me the day Xavier sat down and told me the story about his latest photograph of Hunter’s Point. The sky was a dark grey, almost like a blank cement wall. The clouds hung low, hugging the city tightly.
Ever since he was a teenager, he’d find himself digging through restricted areas for hours, just to get the right shot. He’d climb over fences, venture under overpasses, anything to get that perfect shot. My friends and I thought we were the only ones who did these kinds of things until we befriended each other. But the stories he had up his sleeve were far more exciting than the ones I had to offer.
I couldn’t even explain how I felt when I first saw the photograph. There were endless details, your eyes always finding something new. The colors were so vibrant, the detail of the buildings so crisp, and sharp, it was unbelievable. So, I asked how it all went.
The moon was high, and the night was dark, as Xavier drove up to the abandoned district at about midnight. With the gravel crunching under his every step, he tried to be as quiet as possible while carrying the equipment he needed for the shot. He’d been waiting for this moment, and was quite excited to see such a great spot. I respect him for this, for the stories I heard about Hunter’s Point at night weren’t too pleasant. Hunter’s Point was one of the most dangerous crime-infested areas of San Francisco, the homeless and gang population was sky rocket high, but that didn’t stop him. He felt that no matter what, he needed to get this perfect shot, and nothing was going to get in his way.
Hunter’s Point was not the nicest area you could think of. The water surrounding the harbor was clear until about a foot off the coast, where oils and green materials stuck to the surface. The local refineries and industrial buildings producing gases that smelled of rotten eggs and fecal matter. But once you really dug into the abandoned buildings, and old shipyards, it was the most interesting place on the planet. So much history crammed in one little place. He set down his tripod, and loaded his Hasselblad with Kodak Ultra 120 millimeter film. With that, he began the twelve minute exposure, and kicked back. Everything around him was visually pleasing. It wasn’t going to be a very long twelve minutes because there were many things to look at, and question. For urban explorers like him and myself, this sight was the most beautiful thing on the planet. Whenever an abandoned area is open, we don’t even hesitate to go inside and explore.
Xavier focused on the area of the shot, the water was perfectly still, grasping onto the dock’s support poles. The railings were broken in half, some dangling over the water, the others flat on the dock. The part of the dock closest to Xavier looked like it was broken off, as if someone took a saw to it. The buildings on the left looked newer, and still operating. The lights shined bright, like stars in the sky, illuminating the abandoned building. The abandoned building had boarded up windows; the wood looking like it had taken a beating or two in the past. The wood across the surface appeared to be weak, and rotting. Both buildings were covered in graffiti, different colors used in each piece of art. The red tower lights from the airport blinked repeatedly in the background, signaling the planes to land in the correct spot. The tall skinny tower sticking out of the building looked as if it were being held up by four pieces of hair, almost as if it was pointless to even have the support lines there. The big wire framing on the dock looked like it was about to fall, the cement block on the verge of losing all support from below.
As the shutter close, Xavier got up, and began to pack his belongings. He put his camera back in his bag, and put it around his shoulder. Picking up his heavy tripod, he looked back at the scene. He smiled, he was quite satisfied with what he saw, and was very anxious to see the final result. Little did he know, he had just produced one of the world’s most amazing photographs.
I looked up from the photograph at Xavier. I still couldn’t get over how amazing it was. The water was a deep violet, and the sky a mixture of peach, dark blue, and purple. The reflection of the docks as red as blood in the water, and the color of the wood deeply saturated. Looking at this photo reminded me of what being an urban explorer was all about. It was about making a simple alley, or even the ugliest shacks in the middle of nowhere, look like art. This task was never impossible, as long as you took the picture just right. As an urban explorer, it’s my goal to show society how beautiful abandoned places just might be.

Alley no. 74 – TC’s Speakeasy (2005, Ypsilanti, MI)

Here is the TC story…

My regular watering hole in 2005 is TC’s Speakeasy in Ypsilanti, MI. It’s a classic dive with a large cast of regular characters, and I love the place. I’ve been going every Monday to their open mike for a year.  At 3am, I stagger out with my friend Eric, aka Satchel Jones, a very talented Monday night folk singer. We’re on the hunt for alleys as we walk around this crusty old town. We lug my heavy equipment around for an hour, walking down alleys, up fire escapes, and over garbage.

I spot an intriguing awning and stare at it for a few minutes. “Nah, lets keep going,” I say to Eric and we keep walking. Then I say “just a sec,” and I go back for a second look; the awning is stirring something inside me. “Let’s set up,” I say. The exposure is long (in fact, star streaks are visible in the sky), and I add the blue light under the awning with my lighting.

“Hey X,” says Eric, “this is fucking TC’s – it’s the back door!”

“What? You’re kidding!”

I get a warm feeling inside; what a fitting tribute.

(thanks to my friend and master web designer Ernesto Aparicio)

As it was, the text was a little distracting if you wanted to focus on the images, and it interfered with the size of picture I could show. But of course I wanted keep the text, since it is integral to the whole picture.

Now you can have your cake, and eat it too (whatever that means …)

There are two slide shows per series, one with large images and no text; the other with smaller images and text. Mix and match…

And as before, the slide shows begin with my most recent images.

Here’s a typical scene in a Spanish Flamenco bar

And here are some of the photos from our shoot.

…and my wife Pam, who performs belly dancing… also shot yesterday.

This was shot in 1985, on a happy family vacation in Cape Cod, MA. I call it “Friends”

But this is the craziest cat I’ve ever had, Frankie. And I’m talking evil-crazy. One day I’m stirring from my sleep - I was in college at the time. I open one eye and see Frankie sitting 12 inches away on my bed, staring at me with that demented look he had. I start getting nervous, but I stick to the staring contest. Finally I blink and Frankie charges towards me, towards my eye, mouth open with his little fangs showing. And his teeth wrap around my eye socket!! In the alarm and chaos I grab him and fling him across the room where he runs away.

A few weeks later I have a party and one of my friends, Mike, takes a liking to Frankie. I explain that he’s cracked, but Mike doesn’t care. He even indicates he would take him home if I wanted. I give him my blessing, and so off Frankie went, to a new home, and to new people to terrorize.

I give you… Frankie:

In San Diego I stayed with an old friend, Nancy and her family. Her younger sister Ingrid Bouchard is my oldest friend. We met in Kindergarten and became close friends at age 10, remaining close friends ever since. She lives in Montreal, where she’s happily married with kids. In our teens and twenties, we had our share of adventures… among other things, she’s one of the many friends I would drag into alleys at night, just to look at them and experience their raw energy. She never once found this odd.

Speaking of energy… Here are some of the many hundreds (thousands??) of wind turbines you see driving through California’s Central Valley. I shot these this morning.