Architect: Brazilian Isay Weinfeld: New York: The Jardim 527 West 27th St: The automated garage
I dreamed of something mythical: I imagined a woman running atop her toes through the Florida Everglades: Hundreds of white lily pads bent into the winds: Two little white arms embraced twenty-three black, white and red sixty-foot mangroves: Their “hats” adorned like women from the Gilded Age: Austere, poignant and necessary:
I imagined the girl’s eyes espying close ahead three dozen Amaryllis Dancing Queens: Close and near the Malaysian Reticulated Pythons swam ahead of the African Ball Pythons: The crocs’ eyes bulged below the surface: The denizens giggled just ahead: Equatorial currents had been spotted careening north: All eyes peaked into the Everglade’s sky: The end was insight:
One day I imagined the ruins of the ancients: My eyes fluttering among the flickering lights:The outmoded Kodak slide carousel hiccuped image after image: The end of...is near: The end is never here nor…: All that I knew may be vanishing: My eyes continued:
Architect: Isay Weinfeld: The 4 Seasons Restaurant: New York City
Henry Miller’s The Colossus of Maroussi nestles inside a tiny corner of my cerebrum: I find the comfort in an imagined parallel life: Miller stood before the Hellenic archipelago as one might imagine a fortuitous escape among gods not seen, not known: A man dreamed of discovering adventure and a life not told: Henry stepped forth: This man’s world was altered for every day following: Miller’s eyes like a camera’s, revealed in words, lives with my every breath:
As I slept through many nights, rewinding The Night of the Hunter over and over like an unmistakable scratch on an record album: Robert Mitchum’s “Harry Powell” character might have been seeking the good in evil: His character was saddled on a horse sitting atop a ridge in the daylight’s end: Darkness was ahead as he descended away from the light: In my imaginary fashion, I sat on on the horse’s rear: My mind was begging to return to the light I could breathe in: Cosmic alternate universes battled in plain sight: The beauty of hell upon us was almost too desirous: Director Charles Laughton and Cinematographer Stanley Cortez created the most beautiful hell: Cinema’s most beautiful black and white is my ode to eternal cinematic wonders:
Architect: Isay Weinfeld: A Room With a View: The Jardim: New York
Ideas appear: I feel the mind’s eyes of Francis Ford Coppola: Apocalypse Now’s Willard and Kurtz come to mind as I enter all cities and a city: I am equally desirous and delusional: A search for answers lifted its eyes before mine: Everything I manifest is embedded in memories of the past and future tenses: It is a whirlwind of visuals that never play tricks but allow me to see more than might be there: Every moment begins with a new a focal length: I define what I am measuring for: I reimagine every dream I have ever met: I reimagine every dream that became mine: I reimagine every way I have celebrated ways to see: Then there is the photography: The reimagining from fantasy to reality: The reimagining of what my camera’s framing could be: I understand what is in view: Willard and Kurtz may vanish in the moment: I then snap:
Silhouettes, reflections and chiaroscuros’ remain ahead: I enter new destinations: I enter into the darkness of light: I compose photographs: I am finally secure: My dreams became my companions: My eyes flex: I can see: I bring the heart of everything above into a simple matter of speaking:
All that I have imagined: Every written word, every cinematic film frame, has become embedded into a single capture: It is something I never realize until the secret moment appears: The moment is alone: My awakening eyes are alone: My life’s constant awakenings have sculpted the visions my eyes rest with, rely on:
The day in play: I planted two feet: I crossed town: I headed east and west: Two destinations held two separate experiences: I was pressed to find captures that feel the same but describe one intention: To explore possibilities:
Imagine to invoke Miller, and all the above play date cohorts into a single snap: Imagine to articulate in a bouquet of dreams how an architect might complete effortlessly the efforts of design: I have spent nearly a professional lifetime exploring each day not for the answer but a path: My armies of influential voices remain: Like Man Rays’ Fifty Faces of Juliet, my mind remembers reimagining all of my yesterdays.
Architect: Isay Weinfeld: The 4 Seasons Restaurant New York