Tobacco Farmer

I am thrilled to see my Tobacco Farmer heading to a warm home where everyone loves art! I am immensely  grateful to be represented by the Weston Gallery in Carmel-By-The-Sea CA USA This image was taken in 2016, the same year my bestseller book Cuba A Personal Journey 1989-2016 was published. That day, while returning to Havana from Camaguey on the rented jeep, my Cuban companion was Mayel Nuñez who is also my right hand man and my nephew,  whom I had known since he was a year old.

 We took a detour from the main highway and drove on a narrow dirt road where we saw a large group of  farmers who were on the field harvesting tobacco.  Before we got out of our vehicle the wind brought to us the dry sweet herbal smell of the leaves which reminded me of a spicy perfume my grandfather Francisco would splashed over his face during special occasions.

 There were rows and rows of waist height tobacco plants and each farmer would handle a different aisle. Each harvester would walk up and down the perfectly set up rows and would pick up as many leaves as they could and delicately placed it under their arms. Then once they had a great load each campesino would walked to an oxen pulled cart and place it on the back of the wagon then returned and walk up and down their aisle until another large bundle was collected. 

Once the harvest is done the soil must be prepared all over for next year’s crop while the guajiros would find other agricultural work so with their hands, sweat and hard work the earth can give birth to rice, beans, corn, wheat and other vegetables so each day Cuban can have food on their tables.

 From the side I kept observing their laborious monotonous effort and decided to take some images.

 Instead of using my Leica and black and white film I chose to work with color instead. Then I saw the strong presence of Ricardo Tamayo and followed him for a short while.  He was tall, blond under his hat, with a  tanned white face and rugged looks that reflected his long harvesting  years on the field while his ferocious large calloused hands, with long thick fingers and pearl like shining nails filled with tobacco particles under them, were as effective as any modern machine. 

At the end of his column he made a turn and worked on the other side of the row. It was during that  moment  when the harsh Caribbean sun took a break and hid under heavy dark clouds, then suddenly a narrow spot light landed  on the leaves below Ricardo’s chest and the textured green leaves became a saturated emerald color,  turning his profile into the perfect image of a proud conquering Roman soldier with his protective shield and beaten body on his way back home.

This image has become a special art piece for collectors. The first time this photo was acquired I phoned Mayel in Cuba and told him to track down Ricardo and bring him some well-deserved money. When my nephew brought him the cash I’d sent, the farmer couldn’t understand the gesture  for a few years of work would not had earned him that sum since the average salary in Cuba is $20 per month.

Tobacco Farmer

Lockdown Haunting Image

When I lived in Washington, DC I often experimented trying to create interesting images either within the camera, during the film processing, or inside the darkroom.

One of those images is this haunting capture which was created in the mid '90s at someone’s farm near a large, flowing river during a two-day trip in a small town in Virginia where a group of 30-40 friends gathered for a bbq, water adventures, and fun games.

Most of these folks were in the backyard playing ping-pong or other type of games, some were dancing as the sound of rock&roll music blasted from two large speakers, others were helping with the cooking and some were spread out and conversing while seating on folding plastic or metal chairs.

I had my Leica with me and even brought a special Polaroid camera along. But I was having too much fun and didn't take any photos until the last day there.

The day of my arrival, I had left my phone in my car so on my second day I decided to stroll down a fairly steep hill where I had parked the vehicle on the side of the road all the way down.

As I sauntered away from the gathering, I noticed this young lady standing by the screened backdoor, watching the world. It reminded me of a bird in a cage wanting to get out and fly away but it knew that it was impossible. The frozen way she stood there and how the light fell on her it made that moment seemed a bit surreal.

Then, I pulled the Polaroid camera and noticed that the light had changed and landed harshly on her eyes. I took two frames then she lowered her head, closed her eyes, and shot one last frame.

When I saw the eerie results on the small photo, I didn’t think much about it until a few days later when I was able to make a larger print from the negative. As the print was brought to life inside the darkroom, without any sense of foreboding, I felt emotionally disturbed. For all, I could see was an unimaginable dystopian world which in our lifetime, could have never become a reality. Sadly with our lives and the world in a lockdown purgatory, now this photograph became more dreadful.

Manuello Paganelli © 2020

At the Sahara Desert on a “Horse With No Name.”

December 27th, 1999 Near Al Mahbes and the Algerian border

It was my nine day in the Sahara desert where the air is as hot as a 4th of July in Chattanooga while the nights are shivering cold. Now after a few straight nights of sleeping under the sand I was praying for a much warmer evening where resting in a tent would be much comfortable and without any fear of a desert Hornet Viper snake or scorpions crawling my direction.
I stood at the highest sand dune fifty meters from our camp in Erg Chebbi and there was nothing between me and the hazy horizon but an open vast sea of reflecting sand, hills and a shallow valley of golden sand. Directly above, like a blurry and over exposed photograph, was the blistering sun nagging and laughing at us. My body and legs were aching from the rides on the camel’s mount while my face was sunburned, my mouth was sandy, my tongue was dried and my lips were parched. I was a man on fire.
I kept looking for life.. any life… a patch of lush green oasis with fresh water but it was all a fantasy for there were not birds, clouds, vegetation, lizards or animals except loneliness, sand storms, the smell of my own sweat and the unfriendly Algerian border 10 kilometers ahead. By then I had even forgotten what a shower was.
I was with a tough and friendly band of Bedouins. To them life is all about survival, and of the freedom of moving to their next spot with everything they ever owned on the back of their animals. The nine men had met me at the start of my journey through a friend of a friend of Casey Stenger the photography director at Men’s Journal magazine who had sent me there on a story of an Italian runner who got lost there in a race. Later I learned nobody knew who such a third man was. But all worked out well for the group received me with facial smiles and dark sparkling eyes. They dressed me up in a long white loose fitting desert tunic made of the wool of camel, and fitted on my head a 'kufiyya' which, for protection, had ends at each side to wrap around my neck, face and head. Then I was given a camel to ride which, in a felliniesque way I named “A Horse with No Name”. 

During my time at the desert my new friends shared the little they had to eat or drink. Their hospitality towards me could never be measure on a monetary terms and any offering of money, which I discovered fast, would had been taken as an insult. 
During most night, by the camp fire, they would pass hot Maghrebi mint tea, played a fiddle style instrument called rebab and a drum known as mihbaj, 
sang songs which I didnt understand and in an intimidating fashion , as if preparing for the battle field, danced with their sharp swords and well-designed shibriya
Daggers which goes back to the Ottoman empire. To the group those weapons are the difference of life and death.

During the festive dance they would place their weapons over their heads and each time would show their skills as they sliced off the air using various attacking strikes. The flames would cast their dancing shadows out of the circle until it disappeared in the darkness. A couple of times, during the early part of our trip, they signaled for me to join the memorable pleasure and each time I was a failure. They also tried to teach me how to use an embed gemstones short dagger and that too didn’t go well for I was afraid to either cut someone’s head off or most likely cut my own. 

One early morning I was woken up by gun shots so not knowing what was happening I carefully crawled and peaked through a hole on my tent and saw two of the men firing away from the camp. I came out from under my tent, walked over, and saw that they're firing well used rifles and aiming far away at the cure hide of a lamb that had been set up on a pole as their target. I watched quietly for a while then with gesture I asked for one of their rifles. Since I could not dance or properly use their long and short knives their eyes didn’t have much faith on me. But an old rifle was handed to me and I propped myself well, took aim held my breath and pulled the trigger. With the first shot they were quite surprised to discover that from that sizeable distance I could hit the target. They laughed and look at each other’s then look back at me and kept on laughing. I didn’t know the meaning of their joyful moment and to make sure they didn’t think, “that cant be true it must had been a lucky shot” I fired again with the same results, then they applauded, padded me on the back and shoulders... I smiled back and returned their carbine. With aplomb I headed to my tent and on the way there I left out a smile with the type of facial expression that could only revealed “good Lord!! I actually did that!”

The entire trip went well with them and I wanted to know what they were saying and what they were thinking. There was so much I wanted to share with these humble expressive nomads but I felt lost in their land, tradition and language.
The following day was similar to the one before except that earlier during the morning I heard the crying of a goat and follow the path to the suffering animal and when I got there saw where a young capra had just been killed. The animal was then gutted and cleaned out and the skin was set to dry. The sliced off pieces of meat were placed in a large oval clay container where vegetables and spices had been added then marinated. A couple hours later it was transferred into a 2 piece clay pot known as tajine and placed to cook under the sand. The simmering went on for hours as the irresistible aroma escape through the sand and drove me insane.

Darkness arrived, the meal was a feast, and after the taste of camel and sheep's meat for four days the goat was quite a treat and its flavor was so great that we could had been eating at a Michelin restaurant in Marseille. After much food and before the group started to play their instruments  
I stood up then with both of my hands out in front of my chest I drew half a circled over my belie then graciously bowed to my guest. With their eyes locked on me they raised their drinks, mainly tea and goat’s milk, above their shoulders and gave me a hearty laugh which very much became our own way of talking.

I walked away from the camp and with the burning fire on my back I went past the area where the meal had been prepared and cook, then through another space where the killing took place, which blood still covered the ground, and beyond where the tents had been setup which from there it lead me towards the rear where the camels stood as some rested on the ground. 
I am sure they smelled me first for the tall four legged friends were very vocal and some were burping, roaring while others made growling noises before they saw me. On the ground, I found A Horse With No Name and he was pleased to see me. I laid next to him, patted his head, told him some words of comfort and gave him a few grains & nuts which I had bought twelve days before in Casablanca. We chatted for a while then left my one hump friend behind and I marched much further until the sounds from the camp were muffled and found a spot to sit and observe it all. I decided to pee and stood up then sat back again and gazed at the camp as the celebration continue with my band of Bedouins brothers.
Everything was peaceful, far away from the world, or any chaos, deadlines and man-made technology. My eyes went up to the black sky but it was quite clear and it reminded me of a large black carpet plastered all over with white paint. It was a full clear bright night with the Milky Way and all the starts as my companions. Then I lowered my eyes and saw the ripples created by the wind on the sand and, aided by the bright stars, followed it all the way to the camp where there was a weak flickering flame dancing in the wind as a smaller group of men continued their show, while others had returned to their tents to prepared to sleep. 
Beyond our setting was the silent silhouetted landscape and, like a lonely pearl, the moon shone on its own and away from the glimmering stars… just hoovering low far away in the horizon at a fingers touch from God's hand. 

Manuello Paganelli © 2020 All Rights Reserved
Hasselblad 500 CM, 120 MM lens, Kodak 400 Tmax

This image is available at the Weston Gallery in Carmel-By-The-Sea and Obscura Gallery - Santa Fe NM It will be printed in various Hahnemühle archival photo papers.

Governor Andrew Cuomo is our Man!

Most of the work I did when I lived in the Washington, DC area centered on politics where clients would sent me to the White House, Congress or the Senate and now and then it would be an inspiring moment specially when I would photograph someone admirable.

So when TIME magazine sent me to photograph Andrew Cuomo I was all for it. At the time he was making his mark in politics and when your father was the late GREAT Mario Cuomo-well that is a mighty road to climb.

This was my first photo session with him. And having an Italian background, 4th of July or not, it all felt like a Saturday walk in the park. My crew and I arrived at his office three hours before the photo schedule time so we could set it all up, adjust the lights, do some polaroid samples and tweak the strobes a bit more and do some tests. That is the way it usually works. Then if we're ready to roll and did have extra time left, I would take my crew to a quick lunch. And when a photo gig was at the Hill, the crowd where we would chow was filled with the Who is Who in politics. It was easy to see top brass military officials or personnel or the reporters covering politics in DC, it also included the senators or congress men and women, from opposites teams, would laugh or talk to each other and act quite cordial-then an hour later they would be arguing for a new bill to pass.

During the set up, I decided not to use his office and instead had my crew set up in and adjacent narrow and long board room with a large window all the way at the back which let in a large amount of daylight in. I wanted to make him bigger than the room… I wanted to make him a leader and a man in control… I wanted him to be the Chairmen of the Board.

We knew that our shoot with Mr. Cuomo was right at 11am and it was going to be brief-in fact ten minutes-and I was ok with that since often with other subjects it can be less than five. At the time, the present governor of New York was the Assistant US Secretary of Housing, or HUD as is known, during the first term of President Bill Clinton. During Clinton’s 2nd term he took over the mantle and became the US Secretary of Housing.

That very first time while my crew was setting up at the meeting room I waited at his office looking around, checking books that he read or planned to read from his library, saw some mementos and a few photographs spread it around. On his desk there was a photo with his parents, sister and his younger brother Chris who was still in college.

Before the day of our photo session I knew that we had a few things in common such as Messina (Italy), our birthday are less than a month apart and both of our mums shared the same first name Matilda (Matilde). So I was ready to roll.

Shoot time arrived and Cuomo was brought in into the conference room, spotted my guys and me and walked over with his secretary and a PR person who did the introduction and addressed us as if to make sure everybody in the room heard it and understood that he was doing his job quite well and to the dot.

 “Now Paganelli remember Just five minutes as we agree with your magazine for Mr. Cuomo is very busy today” with a loud nervous tone the lanky PR person demanded.

I wasn’t going to argue with that, I got busy fast and did a couple more Polaroids test, which before the digital age that was a way to make sure everything was working and looking the way I envisioned it. I tossed a few Italian words and he replied in a fairly good Italian. By the time we did the Polaroids and fixed the lights properly a great chunk of the time was gone and that was when the PR nervous guys sounded the horn, “OK only five minutes… sorry but Mr. Cuomo is a very busy man.” I was so focus that I didn’t even heard him then one of my assistants said, “Pag did you hear that?”

I continued snapping more images when for a few seconds Andrew stretched his arms, took a big breath and with a warm smile, soft words came out  “Is great to have one of my own people photograph me… and just called me Andrew” There was integrity in his brown eyes and I took it as a great sign and if I was a gambler in Las Vegas I would had played cards with high confidence all night long.  But just when we’re sailing smooth and I was concentrated and didnt want to be disruted by anyone, but knew it was coming,  the nervous PR man cleared his throat and was about to launch his vocals when he was cut off by the Assistant US Secretary at HUD telling him that all was fine and that he could be late for his next appointment. Although I felt that I had what the magazine needed I wasn’t going to say no to that gift for long ago I learned from my father that when the meal is free don’t even ask, “what’s for lunch?”

Those ten minutes turned into an hour. Our conversation went to our parents, our background, part of his duty and his service he was providing to so many citizens.  I tried one more set up and he was warming up.

A couple years later Cuomo became head of HUD and I was able to photographed him a few more times. During one of our shoots together I discovered, from his lips, that he enjoyed working with me and whenever possible his assistant would mention my name to a magazine. 

In 1951 a fearful emotional movie, based on a short story by Harry Bates, was presented on the large Hollywood screen. The powerful film title had five words which back then nobody would had dreamed it could ever become reality at all. And today it isn’t a dream and in a  Biblical way it is indeed The Day the Earth Stood Still

A few days ago I was telling my wife that if the destiny of our planet could be decided with a single tennis match against an alien from another galaxy the man to save us would be Rafael Nadal for nobody plays and puts his heart into a match the way he does. 

Folks during this Corona Virus occasion is great to see, even if partially, a beacon of true shining and making our path & tribulation easier. I am really proud to have Andrew Cuomo, a brilliant & humble human being, on my corner. Sadly today we are facing a blinding darkness, with partial truths and hopes full of holes while politicians without morals or empathy play with us without the right to do so and then wash their hands without anybody at the top saying, “The Buck Stops Here” With confidence,  I can really place my  trust and the well-being of my family, my friends and the rest of our nation in the hands of Governor Andrew Cuomo.

On Location with The Great Romanian-Spanish Actor Florin Opritescu

This is another set up from the photo shoot I did a few months ago in Barcelona, Spain of my dear friend the talented Romanian actor @florin_opritescu. He has been living in Spain for almost 20 years and has become a talented movie/tv actor. In the USA you can see him on the great Spanish TV series Mar de plástico where his character is as bad as they come but in real life he is full of love and kindness. You can see him on Netflix too in the new movie Sarah’s Notebook o El Cuaderno de Sara. Also a very warm person and great ambassador for Spain’s 🇪cinema and especially for his beautiful country and Romanians all over. Sometimes a person must leave their own nation to become successful somewhere else. Bravo Florin!
Barcelona ,Spania ,un oras ce iubesc atata de mult!!!!
Aici este bunul meu prieten ,actor roman , Florin Opritescu
Locuieste in Spania de aproape 20 de ani si s-a transformat intr-un actor, de seriale si filme ,ocupat si talentat.
Pentru cei ce sunteti in USA il puteti vedea in al doilea sezon al serialului Mar de Plastico ,unde joaca rolul unui mafiot rau insa el in viata de zi cu zi e plin de dragoste si bunatate.
In curand o sa-l puteti vedea in filmul Caietul Sarei .
De asemenea e un bun ambasador al cinematografiei spaniole si in special al frumoasei lui tari si al romanilor de pretutindeni.
Cateodata o persoana trebuie sa plece din tara lui pt a deveni un om de succes in alta parte!!!
Bravo Florin!!!
Barcelona ,Espanha, uma cidade que amo muito.Aqui esta meu maravilloso amigo ,actor romeno Florin Opritescu
"Ele mora na Espanha faz uns 20 anos e ele chego a ser um actor de cine e tv ocupado y talentoso.Para os que vivem em USA ,vcs podem ver elle na segunda temporada da serie Mar de Plastico onde o seu personaje e um cara mal (mafioso del este) mais na vida real ele esta cheio de amor y bondade.
Logo vc-eis poden ver ele no filme El cuaderno de Sara.
Ele tb e uma persona muito cercana y un ambajador del cine Espanhol y sobre todo de a sua terra Romania y do todos os romenos onde fora que eles estan. As veces as personas tenh que salir du seus paises para llegar a ser exitoso en otros llares. 
@thestoatonline #furest #AdolfoDominuez#ManoloBlahnik #l

Copyrights ©, Author's Rights & Watermarks

Copyrights ©, Author's Rights & Watermarks

I decided to write this article to share a few important items I’ve learned across the years which have helped me plenty as a professional photographer and as a businessman.
Some may feel that none of this apply to them, but it does, for is about protecting our photos from any theft, the concept used to create our work and any unauthorized use which rightfully so we are entitled to be compensated. If any of us ends up in court and the judge sees that our image that was stolen and infringed upon didn’t have any watermarks he/she may feel that we actually don’t care much about our images and were not as diligent. I treat my images the same as when my children were small… keeping an eye on them and knowing where they were while protecting them.
Remember this, who Owns The © Rules
Copyright=© Applies to any artistic creation, painting, photos, writings, art work, music and TV shows.

Most of us got into photography or the creative field by different ways but the constant is that we all LOVE taking photos and MOST tend to give those wonderful creations away since they don’t have a clue of the value of their creation. Here I am not referring to prints given to family members etc. But more like a dentist telling his clients to come over and the doctor will take care of their mouths just for fun or a chef at a top 5 star restaurant telling folks come and eat for FREE.

With the arrival of digital cameras, apps and smart phones now everybody is a photographer or at least that is what many think since is much easier and less costly than worrying about film, processing, the waiting days or months before been able to see the results and of course the most important element should be the talent which, for a new generation, it doesn’t matter now we have cameras where people can check the back screen and keep shooting 20,000 more images until one looks ok, photoshop or the many apps turning images into a Caravaggio painting. It’s is as simple as point, shoot, post and VOILA I am too Cartier-Bresson.

But there is a lot more to do after the shutter was clicked and that comes with having a solid understanding of the importance of our photos. Sadly less than 5% of those people posting their work on-line or any SM, besides having 1,000 likes, have any knowledge of the real value of an image.

The best and most powerful tool we as artist have is the ownership of our © photos. The moment we snap the image automatically is ours unless it was done as a work-for-hired which in the photo industry is a dirty word for it will strip you out of your own soul. Work-for-Hired is when there is a contract between two parties and the photographer transfer his/her © or ownership to another person or entity.

Each time we place our creation on social media we are sharing it with thousands and perhaps millions of people all over the planet faster than the time we spent taking a shower. My advice to anyone posting images online or social media is to protect your images at all cost by attaching the photographer's name and © on your photos. And if any of you ever take a news worthy image or related to a high profile case by all means don’t place it online without a watermark. You want to be found, and if it doesn’t have your © and name and someone steals it, it can branch out like a wild fire and be use across the planet while others are making money out of your photo.

Some of you may say:
A. Why do it when is a stupid thing to do since anybody can steal it.
B. Anybody can erase/photoshop your watermark in seconds.
C. I’d never do that for it takes away from my beautiful photo, it looks ugly and viewers won’t like it.
D. A photo client may not like it...I don’t like it.
E. Is too much work going after those people later.

A photo with a © on it has an owner, a history and a home. As I wrote previously, unless the creator/photographer is doing any work for hired. If it comes to giving up your © make sure that a large amount is been paid, as in more than 20,000 € or 100,000 € , depending how unique the image is.

The best and most powerful tool we as artist have is the © which as I wrote is yours the moment you take the photo. But if you actually register your images with the copyrights office it goes even further. All you need to do is get online and go to the U.S. Copyright Office to register your work and you will have full legal protection from the moment you filed it, until the death of the artist plus 70 years later which will give your heirs plenty of time to capitalized on your idea, vison, creation, talent and hard work. A typical registration fee used to be 60€ for single images or as a bundled or photo story but that changed recently so make sure to read the new rules.
http://www.copyright.gov/forms/

When your images have been registered then you will have more teeth and protection from the law and most Intellectual Property attorney will help you without charging you anything upfront and payment is contingent until all is settled. Without first registering your image most attorneys, unless you pay them a hefty fees, will not represent you at all for you didn’t do your own work first, meaning it wasn’t that important for you.

If there is a clear proof that someone went to the labor of removing or cropping your ©, watermark, any metadata, your name or anything linking you as the rightful owner then you are entitled to compensation for statutory damages, attorneys fees against the infringers + attorney fees. The court will award any statutory damages and the artist doesn't even need to show any specific loss at all.

If the court finds that a person/client/company/magazine maliciously and willfully committed the infringement it can send the damages all the way to the sky up to 150,000€ per infringement which is not as common but it happens up to been rewarded millions. What is not uncommon is for an artist to be rewarded by the court 30,000-50,000€ per © abuses. So if ten (10) of your photos had been infringed upon that is a great chunk of cash.

How is this for our protection: (b) REMOVAL OR ALTERATION OF COPYRIGHT MANAGEMENT INFORMATION. Section 1202 of the U.S. Copyright Act makes it illegal for anybody to remove the watermark from your image so that it can hide or obscure the illegal usage. The monetary fines start at no less than 3,000€ all the way to 25,000€ + + attorneys' fees & any damages per any infringement.

Who Is causing the Damage & Illegal Usage of our Images:

1. If is a Mum&Pop small biz or a young student chances are that they didn't know much about how © actually works and they probably thought that is ok to grab it and use it. To folks like that is best to send a strong cease and desist letter and educate them as how their wrong doing, even if done quite innocently, is affecting and causing you financial damage. You will see how fast they poo and get it resolve without going any further. (Take screen shoot for proof)

2. If the abuse is been done by a large company, adv agency or a magazine, then right away take a screen shoot of the web page showing how they had been using your image and also as a proof for it maybe there today but deleted from their website next day. If possible try to find out how long it has been there. Then find the proper contact at their PR/HR/Communication/AD/DirofPH dept and send a serious letter mentioning that your work is © and registered as well and that the letter requires an immediate cease and desist for their illegal usage and that a failure to remove it would substantially improves your case for showing willful infringement and potential statutory damages rise from 30,000€ for unwillingly ALL THE WAY TO 150,000€ for a “HAHAHAHA we knew we were stealing your work but didn’t know you were that smart.” Also include the amount of compensation you feel entitled too. If you are not sure how much to charge then contact a local pro photographer or any professional business organization, or an online photo network of professionals and ask for tips. But honestly, once the infringer is a top company or high profile person at get an I.P. attorney for is not that simply to navigated and you have a strong case with much $$$$ to gain.

3. If your work was stolen and is been use on a blog, you can send a note and a bill. Personally, if the blog doesn’t have much following and zero advs I treat it as a Mum&Pop shop and do send them a note asking how take it down, also how they obtained and why they felt entitled to grab it. If is not removed in one day a bill is send afterwards. You can also find out who is hosting their website so they can take your violated images right away. If the service provider doesn't remove or block the abuser or do anything at all then you can go after them too but most likely they will listen and act fast.

Remember this, A photo Used Is A Photo Pay For.

And don't steal photos off the web/SM/magazines. Otherwise you can get greedy and play the lottery but the law is against you. Don't whine if you get caught

Manuello Paganelli © May 16, 2018
Los Angeles CA

'A wound that remains raw'

Great story on CNN of the 50th anniversary of the death of Martin Luther King Jr and his close friends Rev. Jesse Jackson and civil rights leader Andrew Young who were present when he was assassinated on April 4, 1968 at The Lorraine Motel in Memphis.

After I became an editorial photographer I was able to meet and photographed these civil rights legends.

I am also proud to say that those college kids, with both men in the photo, are students from my former college, now Southern Adventist University, which I attended in Tennessee.

I was not living in the USA in 1968. But in 1977 I was and there is another Memphis story with its own "king."

During the summer of 1977 I took a science class in Memphis, TN. On August 16th, 1977, a day after my class was over I boarded a packet Greyhound bus heading east to Chattanooga, TN.
Without any warning, less than a mile before the city limit, the bus driver pulled over, got out of his seat and with tears flowing out of his eyes was facing us.
We didn't understand his strange behavior or the meaning of it until he softly spoke with a painful face, "The King just died."
Been a foreigner and still learning English I must have been the only clueless person in the bus and all I could think was, " There are no kings or queens in the USA." So I asked my fellow passenger, who was also crying like the rest, who was the king.
"Elvis just died" came the fast replied.
Then I cried too, not for Elvis or all the kings and queens from the past... it felt like a funeral and I couldn't have been the only person with a dried face.

CNN goo.gl/ojL75W

Photo by Andrea Morales ©

My Short Time with Powerful and Charismatic Singer Peter Gabriel

A great blast from the past!! A few weeks after the song Games Without Frontier came out in '86, along with "In Your Eyes" a tasty gig came my way. My vibrating beeper suddenly woke up, which back then meant a client was trying to reach me for a photo shoot or someone wanted to buy coke from their dealer if that was their scheme.

Then the same client rang my phone before I could check the number on the beeper. I grabbed the receiver placed it on my ear and this client said "hey are you free for the next few days... how about going to Philadelphia and spend a couple of days with Peter Gabriel." It was the early stage of my photography career and to me it sounded as if someone called me saying on flashing capital letters, "Dude you just won the LOTTO!! Caaaaan youuu DIG iiiit?"

ZOOM ZOOM and there I was in the City of Brotherly Love hanging out with Peter.
During our brief time together I discovered many great things about this cerebral artist, his love for humanity, his strong belief for current issues and his unyielding passion for politics which he perfectly and harmoniously blended with his musical talent. A genuine genius and social justice warrior.
Our last day together Peter pulled out a couple wrist bands. At that point he placed one on my right wrist next to my watch then I copycat his moved. He called it "friendship bracelets” and told me to make a wish at that moment, not to take it off and that when nature took its toll on it not to be sad, to let it go and the wish would happen. There wasn't much for me to say then and I kept moving my head up and down.

Years went by and true to my word I never took it off and it stayed on my wrist until it literally felt apart. I didn't want it to disappear at all ... I even shed tears when finally it was swallowed by my trashcan and by then I couldn’t even remember what the original wish had been.

I really get attached to things, or so I have been told... who knows it could be my ADHD. But that lost felt almost the same as when I found out that daddy and mum were Santa.
Where ever you are #petergrabriel I send you love and wish you well my friend.

Photographer's Camera Kicked by Rock Singer Josh Homme

Today I read something that happened almost two weeks ago which occurred during a Queens of the Stone Age concert when a video clip shows its frontman Josh Homme striking the camera of  photographer Chelsea Lauren which ended up also kicking her on the head. 

As a man and photographer let me say from the go, that kicking anybody anywhere is wrong. From the video it shows Mr Homme kicking Ms. Lauren's camera, which is disgusting, then got worse since her camera also hit her face which sent her to the hospital. I dont think that race, gender, or whatever could be add to this has anything to do with any of what went down. By reading the article and comments I discovered that the singer also kicked male photographers as well but none of that matters for what he did was wrong. Obviously he was in the zone, probably high on something, and acting like a lunatic like many bands do and probably didn’t know what he was doing even if it was the erroneous thing to do. If I had been the singer/band I would issue an apology right away, which he did when most celebs never do, I would replace her camera if it was broken and pay any medical bills due. I would also invite Ms. Lauren to be at my next concert with all expenses paid, plane/hotel, and to have full front/backstage/anywhere access from the moment the bus arrived until it leaves with the band. And of course I would make sure not to kick anybody again.

Too many terrible things done mostly by men has been coming down the pipe and I am glad that is been put on display specially by the moving force of strong and courageous women who had been abused and denigrated for too many years until they say "BASTA" and from there it gave birth to "MeToo" as a rallying cry to fight back any sexual abuses. Let's also keep in mind that not all men are equal, not all men are pigs and not everything is done with evil intentions for the sake of assaulting and disparaging any person due to their gender. Mistakes do happen and a direct conversation and an apology should suffice instead of yelling then pointing the finger at an innocent person. There is too much drama going on specially here in the USA and is getting to the point that even an innocuous handshake or a hug from a friend, a colleague, a teacher or a coach could be construed the wrong way. All it takes is an instigator to install the wrong counsel in someone’s head and to make it worse for all. But the painful reality is that most of these women are telling the truth. For a few of them vindication finally is arriving but at a terrible price while the stories of many more have been shoved to the side.

After reading my blog a long time dear friend wrote me and educated with some facts which I was oblivious to it. Is difficult to fathom that 1 our of every 6 women in the USA as been a victim of an attempted or completed rape in her lifetime. With sadness and pain I also discovered that my friend, who is very strong and can stand on her own, was raped when she was 4 years old. What sick influential person goes around acting like an animal while destroying the life and future of young girls or for that matter of any age?

All these new revelations is also making it difficult for men of great character and integrity for it have placed them on the edge and afraid that any wrong move can be construe the wrong way.

How difficult will be for people of great intention to work with others, be a mentor, a coach, become friends or date in the future? Most couple meet at their work places so if Joe ask Liza out and she said no, like it happens in real life, then a few weeks later Joe asked her again, like most men do when pursuing a girl they like, then she can easily go to her boss and say, “I can’t sleep now and due to the stress cant eat either for Joe had asked me twice about going out and I said no already.” Next day Joe is fired and send home.

Who in here hasn’t asked a man or a woman out and was turned down. Then later you see that couple dating and one of them saying, “She/he kept asking me out and I kept saying no. I was even getting flowers each week then finally we went to supper and the rest is history.” That is how humanity functions and the same goes for the rest of the animal kingdom. This new social behavior happening in the USA is troubling and accusations on the wrong person, even if the percentage is low, could continue which for others may lead to isolation and sitting most of the time behind a computer instead of been part of the human race and enjoy life.

Lets reflect and try not to jump so easily into the bandwagon, with arms and missiles ready to launch, and to loose all the respect for someone we admire without checking out all the details or who the accused really is or worse without given that person the benefit that him/her could be totally innocent yet once that line is crossed we had destroyed someone based on hearsay and emotions or worse someone else pushing us to go that slippery road. 

Miguel Bezos the Cuban Father and force Behind Amazon Jeff Bezos

I found this Wonderful and inspiring story of Miguel Bezos the Cuban father and the man behind the success of the richest man on the planet Jeff Bezos! The founder and genius behind Amazon. Another example of the strong will, hard working style and success of Cubans everywhere. It doesn't matter where anybody comes from into the USA or if you don't speak the language. And just like Miguel I sure didn't speak it either. Is all about becoming part of the grain and flowing positively until one day we wake up dreaming in English. Is about going after something we love with unlimited passion and a strong belief that can push off beyond the limits until is done right. Nothing comes easy and sitting, thinking and waiting won't take us anywhere at all so get off your rear end and make it happen and in the process be kind and help others to become better people, and lets teach children to respect women the same way they do with their mum and sisters. So proud of my Cuban roots.

http://americanhistory.si.edu/family-voices/individuals/miguel-bezos

Photo by Bezos Family Foundation

Vicolo Stretto Ristorante in Taormina Sicilia

If you travel to Taormina in Sicily then Vicolo Stretto Ristorante is a fantastic place to dine. The restaurant is a Michelin star paradise for food lovers and you will be welcome by its warm and charismatic chef owner Massimo. He may surprise you with a nice glass of Sicilian wine, prosecco or a exquisite appetizer. 

Just like Massimo the staff was very friendly and on top of everything, the service was excellent and the atmosphere was like an old Hollywood movie with its refine taste. 

For any sea food or meat lovers this place will get your attention fast. Everything is made as if you were at home with your parents, fresh and tasty and so is the various sauce use on the pasta or the main courses. From the outdoors patio where we were sitting we clearly could see Mt Etna in the background. By the time we were with our 2nd course we were quite full. I would give you some recommendations of dishes to order but honestly everything was impeccable.

To find the place may require a good map, GPS or a few questions along the way. The stairs to climb up are very narrow so you will need a little maneuvering. From several locals I spoke with we were told that it was perhaps the best restaurant in Taormina and after we left I could not agree more. I can't wait to return to Vicolo Stretto again and see my new friend chef Massimo.

Se viaggiate a Taormina in Sicilia allora Vicolo Stretto Ristorante è un posto fantastico per mangiare. Il ristorante è un paradiso della stella
Michelin per gli amanti del cibo e sarete accolti dal proprietario e chef Massimo. Lui e molto caldo e carismatico. Anche lui ti può anche sorprendere
 con un bel bicchiere di vino siciliano, prosecco o un antipasto squisito. Proprio come Massimo il personale è molto cordiale e in cima a tutto, il servizio era eccellente e l'atmosfera e l'ambiente era come un vecchio
film magico di Hollywood con il suo sapore raffinato. Per tutti gli amanti del mare o degli amanti della carne questo posto otterrà la vostra attenzione veloce. Tutto è fatto come se fossi a casa con
i tuoi genitori, fresco e gustoso e così è il diverso uso della salsa sulla pasta o sul corso principale. Dalla terrazza all'aperto dove eravamo seduti
potevamo vedere in fondo il Monte Etna. Nel momento in cui siamo stati con il nostro secondo piatto eravamo abbastanza pieno. Vi darò alcune
raccomandazioni di piatti da ordinare ma onestamente tutto era impeccabile. Per trovare il luogo può richiedere una buona mappa, GPS o alcune domande lungo la strada. Le scale da salire sono molto strette e perciò
avrete bisogno di una piccola manovra. Da diverse persone locali che ho parlato mi hanno detto che era forse il miglior ristorante di Taormina e dopo
che siamo partiti non potevo più accosentire. Non vedo l'ora di tornare nuovamente a Vicolo Stretto e vedere il mio nuovo caro amico il grande chef
Massimo.

Shooting A Cuban Funeral That Went Wrong

Let me start by saying: You can always say no to your Priest. The story sounded simple "just travel to Cuba for a piece we want to do on this priest who is considered a 'rebel' by the Castro regime." The word "rebel" is actually what you'd think of Castro, Che Guevara, rebels of the American Revolution, The Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, James Dean, Mohamed Ali... but a Cuban priest? This was 1995 and it turned out that a bit of news had filtered out of Cuba that in the small town of Palma Soriano Father Jose Conrado on his Sunday masses was serving a few more "spiritual blessings" besides the Holy wine and the bread. He was also speaking about the freedom of a person, human rights and fulminating against Castro's regime. All this form of "free speeches" sadly had been controlled & censured in communist Cuba since the triumph of the revolution in 1959. Its most salient effect was scrapping on the surface of the disenchanted philosophy of the Cuban leadership. The magazine wanted me there in a dash. I made a few calls to the Cuban Interest session in Washington, DC, which serves as an "embassy" since there are not really diplomatic relations between the two countries. I was told "drop by tomorrow before 11am and you will get your visa." Usually getting a visa is more complex and it takes time but after the many visits down to the island some connections were built and now it came handy. Two days later I was flying from Wash DC to Miami. Then another plane to the Dominican Republic so I could catch a plane to either Havana or Santiago de Cuba. The small town where the priest serve God and his flock was closer to Santiago de Cuba so instead I flew there. It was an old Russian plane and when the engine roared to life it reminded me more of an old truck than a flying vessel. From the plane's air vents I could actually see the coldness coming out or the way you see your breath when you blow out into the cold night. I didn't want to put any fears on my air travel thoughts.. but the uneasy "I seeee..." crept into my head. The lady next to me was praying in Spanish and I wanted to ask ask her to pray for me too. It turned out that the trip was perfect and the landing was a much anticipate pleasure.

In Santiago I met Jorge Luis, a local person, who had served as my assistant and my guide in previous trips. Everybody in Cuba wants to be your guide. And after my many trips to Cuba I knew the place better than most Cubans including this one. Is very difficult and costly for Cubans to travel across their beautiful land and most of them don't have the resources or the cars. We hopped into his old 1956 white and blue Chevy and took off. After a few hours on the road and inside this ample heavy steel cage my body was aching from the rattling metal walls, the shattering of the piston, the crunching of the transmission and the puffing of the old engine. Each mile was like the final "puff puff" yet this old Detroit beauty kept on rocking while I wished for some comfort. The window was totally open yet all we got was a hot blast of air. The sun was still high, sweat dropped down from our faces like a leaking faucet and baked our skin on low setting. We could actually see it turning into the color of a Tennessee Apple. After kilometers and kilometers of serpentine roads and castigating the tires through isolated villages we arrived to Palma Soriano a couple hours before the sun disappeared behind the mountains. The town is small and rest high up in the mountains and sits on the banks of the Cauto River. The winds blows in a friendly way and refreshing air pumps into your lungs and caress your face in a relaxing way.

This zone is fertile land and produce lots of coffee, Cacao, sugar cane, maize which makes it a a strong commercial agriculture venue to the rest of the island. I got out of my car, did some stretching and crossed the street to ask for directions and like all over Cuba the towns people have friendly faces and inquisitive eyes eager to know "what are you doing here with those cameras." We went straight to Father's Conrado home which was next to the cathedral. He was a youthful, dulcet typed of man that had been eating well and for sure there wasn't anything turgid about him. His bright eyes and round face reminded me of those Hollywood character actors that their only job is to make the audience laugh and to make the movie less dramatic. I spent a few days shooting him but this is what will always stay in my mind. One of the town matriarch who was past her 90's had passed away and a painful void was left. Her funeral was happening the following day or the day of my departure. Father Conrado approached me just after lunch and told me about this lady and what a pillar of woman she had been for the community. He supplicated to me that it would be great if I could come to the wake and take some photos. I should had say no right away but a photographer can't say no specially when a man of God is asking you. Her family was all for it and welcome me. Again I couldn't say not to that either and that was my 2nd mistake.

I arrived at the wake a bit past 7pm and it was dark outside already. I entered a large room were the crowd was cramp for space and it was so hot that you couldn't tell the tears from the sweat. I had to fight my way across this wide reception area into the direction of a smaller room that sat all the way in the back on the right hand side as I walked in. I could had bet my savings that most town folks were here tonight. As I crawled my way forward on both sides of me I could see sets of large open windows. Outside on the street looking into the packed waiting room were the wet sad eyes of the rest of the town. In a very quiet way I finally entered the small room. Father Conrado and members of the family were already standing around the open casket. Slowly I pulled out of my bag my quiet Leica M6 camera. I started snapping images but the light was as bad as a burned light bulb. I had to get closer and my next choice was to grab a chair. I placed the chair next to the wooden open box, climbed up and I could see the ghostly sleeping old leathered face... then continued taking some images. The light didn't get better and I decided to use a flash. From my chair and looking down I clicked several times.. No flash. I tried again and was saying, "flash flash please break down any other given time but no now." Still no POPS and no lights. I leaned over towards the casket and try to shake the camera some hoping that the flash would engage and actually fire. It was then that all went wrong. It all seemed like a very slow film or the way all motion freezes and ,"good lord what am I doing here. ANYWHERE ELSE BUT HERE." As I shook the camera one more time the flash came sailing off the camera and felt down in flipping motions, or the way an Olympic diver would do it, and with a muffled sound rested inside the open casket and next to this lady's head. Once it landed there, in a very out of this world experience from a TWILIGHT episode, the flash decided to POP!! POP!! POP!! Three fast over exposed bright light were illuminating the dead woman's face in a very spooky way. I was in a trance and so were the people standing around the body.

In this very awkward eerie moment father Conrado, calmly and like a man that had seeing it all, placed his hand inside the coffin and removed the flash and handed to me. In my very confused moment I wanted to tell Padre Conrado, "Please keep the flash as a gift" but my thoughts and my words were out of sync. He continued praying and I lowered myself from the chair unto the flat concrete ground and walked out of the room while this surreal moment reminded in my head. Outside and away from the heat and the crowd the cool evening breezed greeted me and then.. FINALLY ... I knew I should had say no...

My First Trip To Barcelona

This photo of my precious Spanish friend was taken decades ago during my first trip to Barcelona. When I think of La Movida in Spain, in such an artistic, and dynamic city, her bright face full of freckles and powerful green eyes stayed stamped on me like a favorite old song. Her name had vanished from my memory the same way the colors had faded from this Kodachrome and wherever she maybe I pray she is doing well.

I was lost and on my way to the Miro Museum the day I met her. From a distance I discovered that she was heading my direction with the early sun rays engulfing her back. Looking at her from my angle the back light was adding a candlelight warm glow to her slim tall body and hair.  Nervously, as she got closer, I asked her for directions to the museum and to my surprised she graciously decided to take me there. It was a 40 minutes walk and once there we hugged, double kiss and said goodbye but not before she wrote her name and phone number on a piece of paper. From then on each day she was showing me the beauty of her city and its surrounding. My trip to Barcelona was so special that I ended up staying for over a month instead of  two weeks.

After the terrible attack in Barcelona sad sweet memories started crawling their way inside of me and flew me back to peaceful Spain and its romantic Mediterranean sea. Those impressions of Barcelona lead me to write this. 

I was quite fortunate that I wasn't around documenting any world atrocities or wars like WW2, Vietnam or any similar situation. The closest I ever got to a battlefield was attending a few Civil Wars reenactment when I live in Tennessee and Virginia.

For the past few months, and specially the last two days, observing the state of our nation and our world from a front row seat, have left me with many questions continued by empty answers, uncertainty and angst. 

We have a president that lacks the temperament, honesty, social and political acumen required to lead us ahead while offering us comforting and inspiring words just as the sky is turning black. Instead we get an array of Twitts at 3 am.

A true leader must rise to the occasion and guide all citizens equally while protecting not only our nation but also our dignity, well being and mind.

Instead we are left with the presence of the unknown while guessing and hoping for the best as our nation and the world is in flames.

Then opposite shores of the Atlantic I think of Europe and converse often with far away family members and friends wishing to feel better but when we say goodbye we are all left with a gut-wrenching feeling that keeps growing and holding tight.

I would love if we could return to the time before the invasion of Iraq when most world leaders told us, "leave them alone." Instead the USA opened the Gates of Hell which allowed all type of terrorists to attack innocent civilians at will while creating a painful photograph that keeps coloring with blood the streets of Barcelona, Madrid, Nice, Paris, London, Stockholm, Brussels and reaching out to other countries. It also created a vacuum allowing hundreds of thousands displaced Muslims to flee their war torn destroyed countries while reaching European shores.

I just wish there was a formula to finally close those gates of hell and once again have some peace. 

Pugilist Roman "Chocolatito" Gonzalez

Nicaraguan boxer Roman "Chocolatito" Gonzalez only stands 5'3" but once inside the ring this pint-sized dynamo turns into a powerful and ferocious bull.

He has been described as the best boxer on his division and for almost two years 2015-2017 he was ranked by The Ring magazine as the best boxer in the world. His fighting record is 46-1 and his first career lost came this past March.

He is one of those rare quiet pugilist, as in the mold of a Humprey Bogard or Clint Eastswood character, and prefers doing the talk with his fighting gloves. He is also a great role models for may children across the world and is a wonderful ambassador for the sports of boxing.

China Women Workforce

Many women in China work the fields and take care of the farm while their husbands go to factories or other towns for jobs. But for the past few years women in China are leaving the safety and tranquility of their farms searching for other jobs done by men in China... jobs which are normally done in other nations by men.

Now women in China represents 47% of the workforce and they work just as hard as men yet they only make around 60% of what male workers get. In most wealthy countries men also make more than women. If a woman is doing the same job as well as the next man then she should get pay equally.