anita nowacka photography

it was an early morning and this was not his first drag.

signs of home.

i think, they were arguing, but i don't really know.

everything was illuminated, except for his left headlight.

the man's step was similar to the pigeon's step. was he as free as that pigeon, i wonder.
pioneer square. seattle.

she said, they were only lovers. but i saw in his eyes that he loved her.
coffee house in seattle. spring 2006.

i belong to two worlds, one of them smells like strong, freshly made coffee. the other one carries salty and cool breeze from the ocean.
i am lucky and i often forget.

after being part of a feb.15th,2003 antiwar protest in seattle, i was an attentive waitress that nite,passing white napkins to customers as they were peace doves.

on march 20th, 2003, i was out to dinner in a trendy mexican joint in denver. the dining room was busy. there was a line at the door. food and drinks in frosted glasses were delivered quickly to tables.

huge, suspended television screens were beaming with explosions. the english subtitles read:"the invasion on iraq has begun". the music in the restaurant was carnival like. the ancient land of babylon was on fire. the waiter told me that enchiladas were excellent that nite.

i wanted to focus on his pained face. i focused on that shoe instead. what was i to say, if our eyes met?

he layed his beautiful body on god's chessboard.i wonder what was god's next move.

he sat there for a long time. i saw him from my window.he was there for hours.i went downstairs and took the image.

he hangs out near broadway. a lot. i was finished with my job. it was a saturday, warm evening. he just appeared by the fence while i dealt with a heavy gear, packing it in the car. i took the camera out of the suitcase, asked for the shot. his pose was nice, still, with a good steady gaze into my lens. one day, i will find out his name.

seattle. busy downtown on a summer saturday afternoon.

sharon said: "when i was homeless, i used to live under the bridge".i commented:"it is kind of cool to say: i lived under the bridge". she looked at me, took a drag, exhaled and said:"it is kind of cool, but it is not a good thing".

she added: "the 5pm is the worst time when you are homeless. everyone is having dinner and you are just sitting in the field, all alone".

sharon likes to roll "drum" tobacco. "american spirit" is ok sometimes, but too bitter for her.

two roman like columns, city in the foreground with its countless buildings and a working crane. in the midst of it, a man sleeping on the ground. grey blanket over him. i photographed and walked away towards downtown and its morning life.

a simple portrait.

foggy morning. early. i was heading home. i don't know where he was going.

when he woke up, i handed him a dollar. he was surprised.

it was a short cigarette break. he was a line cook and the lunch shift was busy. missoula.

his body language said he was tired.

his pizza had everything on it and lots of black olives. missoula.

he was preocupied with tieing his "new" shoes. i passed by a garbage can. his very old shoes were on top of it.

the night was falling. the caned chili was cold. the doors were closed.

"club mantra" welcomes all.

early morning. sunday. pioneer square.white coffee cup- tipped. someone's body in a state of half-sleep, tipped like the white coffee cup.

quiet neighborhood. a man laying down. in a distance, and coming closer,a loud siren. i make my first exposure.fire truck arrives. firemen come out. i make the second exposure and they make an eye contact with me. man laying down raises his arm upon questioning.i make my third exposure and fireman makes another eye contact with me. time to go then.

"waiting, waiting, waiting... waiting for you to come along, waiting for you to hear my song".

jim morrison

broadway garage. his sax carried loud and strong.

jerry's home is around greenlake. he said, he didn't miss his old days, when he had a lot. now, he owns few things, like his crystal ball.

"i like my life now, but the loneliness is a bitch though..."

jerry.

city market fair. she said, they travel through the country and work odd jobs. he said that people take photos of them and seldom give a buck.

pouring his beer, he didn't see me.

gas station. i heard him say: "spare a change?" i kept walking and i heard him again: " you can't even do that!". after i paid for fuel, i put a dollar in the guitar case. he brightened and started playing.

he didn't say much. he gets his coffee from starbucks. he is a regular there.

i photographed him from my car, window down. when i got out, he said: "what if your legs were all fucked up, huh?!"

eastlake afternoon traffic rolling. his body by the building, ragdoll like, his head with a slight twist of amazement. i still think: "penny for his thoughts".

may 1st. 2006. seattle
"day without immigrants"
"estimates of the number of demonstrators ranged as high as 65.000".
the seattle times

for millions, it was a hopeful day.

i was relieved, as he was.... he didn't look at me, when i photographed him. maybe, he just didn't care.

warm, spring day. the tree casting shadows on the "transistor man", coins by his side and his hat in a perfect position.after i photographed him, i returned to take a look again. someone was already there, sitting down nearby. i asked, if he was ok, pointing at the man on the ground. the guy said:"yes, he is ok".

park near broadway. he was sleeping on top of the hill. his bundles around him and worn out shoes with holes. in front of him large vase with water. i decided to let him be, not photograph him at all, even though that vase was unusual. i sat down on lower part of the hill and started reading. he came over quite quickly and asked me, if i smoked. he gave me his tobacco to roll. we sat and smoked. he asked me, if i had a boyfriend. i said i was a lesbian and we kept smoking. i asked, if i could photograph him. he said: "sure". curly, pretty, grey hair. eyes blue and "quick". they changed focus all the time. he said, his name was mark. i used almost all his matches to lite my cigarette. only one was left. before i took off, i said i would be back with matches. he asked, if he could come home with me and eat. i went to broadway, got a roll and a book of matches. when i came back, he was sleeping again. i said: "mark". he took the roll and started eating fast. i put the book of matches on the grass. he said: "thank you".

spring sunday, arborethum park. a woman resting on her side, things folded under her head. she was facing the blossoming tree. she had a beach chair with her. it was a calm sunday afternoon and there were white petals on woman's shoe soles.