"Is she calling out to you, Daddy?"

My mind was preoccupied with finding my misplaced wallet. I was in my studio at home, rooting through drawers, utterly lost in thought. It was yesterday morning, and I had ten things to do at the same time.

A sound suddenly froze me. It was a flute, distant and scratchy, a beautiful and haunting memory from my childhood. I recognized the musician immediately. It was my mother. She died two years ago.

Salish, my three-year-old daughter, had discovered an old tape recorder under a pile of books and pressed the play button. I had gathered the books from my mother’s apartment, but I never had the courage to look through them. She died suddenly and unexpectedly, and our relationship was unresolved. The pain of her death was too intense, so I shut it off.

“What is this, Daddy?” Salish asked as she saw my face go white.

“It’s my mommy. She played music.”

“Where is she?”

“She died, Salish.”

We sat quietly and listened to the music. My eyes began to tear up. Salish wasn’t looking at me. She was staring intensely at the wall.

“Is she calling out to you, Daddy?” she asked.

The question was like a kick in the stomach. Where did she hear that phrase?

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” I said.

“Is she sad, Daddy? Is she crying?”

“I don’t think so, Salish.”

“Is she in pain? Is she okay?” Her face was filled with compassion.

“I don’t think she’s in pain anymore, Salish.”

“Is she calling out to you, Daddy?” she repeated.

I was silent. We listened to the dreamy melody until the refrain ended.  “It’s time to go now, Daddy. We need to go.” We left the studio together, and Salish grabbed my hand. “I love you, Daddy,” she said.

Three hours later I was driving to work, the earlier event a distant memory. I was once again spending the day wrapped up in tomorrow’s irrelevancies. I looked at my phone and went numb as I saw the date.

It was my mother’s 70^th birthday.

I suddenly recalled a conversation I had with her long ago, as I was setting up her email account.

“What would you like your name to be?” I asked.

She thought for a minute. “Flutist at rest,” she said, smiling.

grandmother and granddaughter

Goodbye to the Man Who Changed My Life

Peter Workman, founder of Workman Publishing, died yesterday morning. I did not know him well- we had a casual acquaintance- but I will be forever indebted to him.

Two years ago, he gave me a chance when nobody else would. He saw opportunity where others saw obstacles.

His prescient staff came to him with a novel idea- a dance photography book set in everyday life. He had reservations, but he did not close the door, as many had before him. Whereas other publishers loved the photos but felt a book would not sell, Peter felt a book would sell because he loved the photos. So he put Dancers Among Us on his list, and in the process he added yet another best-selling title to his distinguished record of achievement.

How many other authors will have similar words of praise in the days ahead? How many dreamers were given an opportunity that had been so elusive, simply due to Peter's innate ability to see clearly through the fog that so often blinded his contemporaries? Countless, I imagine.

There is a famous expression to describe corporate ineptitude: "A fish rots from the head down." If this is true, then the converse must apply as well. The staff at Workman Publishing is brilliant, enthusiastic, and resolutely unpretentious. The offices bustle with creative energy and uninhibited optimism. I'm sure these adjectives will be used to describe Peter as well.

This was Peter's favorite photo from the book, and one he seriously considered using on the cover. As I look at it now, I see a woman ascending to the heavens, bringing with her the beauty and simplicity she enjoyed in life. Those left behind have the satisfaction of knowing that her influence on their lives will be lasting and powerful.

Thank you, Peter.

Night on the Town

A Dancers Among Us Fantasy

 Jason and Steve were too cute to be alone,

Too sexy to stay at home.

"We can't just watch another episode of Girls," they moaned.

"That show gets us all riled up!" they groaned.

"Let's go find some girls of our own!"

Christina, Abby and Sarah were too cute to be alone,

Too sexy to stay at home.

"We can't just watch another episode of Hung," they moaned.

"That show gets us all riled up!" they groaned.

"Let's go find some boys of our own!"

Like dogs sniffing for a scent,

The boys would not relent.

They hit twenty bars that night,

Before they saw a most magnificent sight:

Three sirens waiting with delight.

Liquid courage is the name

For what you do when you got no game.

And with three girls and just two boys,

Even the coolest guys would lose their poise.

The girls were willing to wait around

For the boys to buy another round.

It was getting late and nobody looked better,

The only other dude at the bar was wearing a fraternity sweater.

The boys said little, and that was smart.

They didn't have the skill to melt a woman's heart.

Their bodies were great and their bearded faces pretty,

So who cares if their stories weren't very witty.

At least they would pay for a cab ride through the city!

www.dancersamongus.com

Dancers Abby Silva Gavezzoli, Christina Ilisije, Sarah Braverman, Steven Vaughn and Jason Macdonald of Parsons Dance

Lighting by Broncolor

Honoring the Heroes Who Save Lives

This photo, titled "Saving Lives", is featured in the WORKING chapter of Dancers Among Us.

My friend Kevin Ban is a doctor at Beth Israel Medical Center in Boston, and last year he got me access to their Emergency Department. Welcoming me with open arms were volunteers, nurses, residents and security personnel. I hoped to create an image that would honor their heroic work.

Fortunately, it was a slow night in the ER. I asked the staff for a triage room, a bunch of residents in scrubs, a heart monitor and a defibrillator. They made the room look completely authentic, down to the mess on the floor, the activity around the patient, and the placement of the defibrillators on his chest. 

"You want blood? There should be lots of blood on the floor!"

I drew the line at blood.

Jim Hennessey, a local photographer who was along for the ride, was kind enough to volunteer for heart failure. Duncan Lyle was a dancer with Boston Ballet who was about to move to American Ballet Theatre in New York City, so I allowed myself to dream- maybe he could do the impossible and jump high enough to seemingly levitate over the patient like a guardian angel.

Sometimes dreams come true. 

This Simply BLOWS MY MIND!

I received this stunning email last week. I am humbled and inspired by Amy Oestreicher's story. Please take the time to read this letter and watch her Today Show segment. It will put everything in perspective.

Dear Mr. Matter,

I never anticipated that a casual browse through my local Barnes & Nobles would lead to such a beautiful discovery. Your book Dancers Among Us caught my eye, as I am a dancer myself. I sat down with the book of photographs and inspiring writing, and I couldn’t put it down. I was actually brought to tears by the sheer beauty of every moment you captured. You were able to bring the most mundane activities to life, set our everyday routines to music, and bring such joy to my day.

Every time I visited that bookstore, I found myself drawn to the same aisle, the same shelf, the same book. Your photographs stayed in my head like a melody and I couldn’t stop looking at each page. Finally, I decided to buy the book – I had to have it for myself, but also, a book so special needs to be shared with someone you love – it is too good of a book to keep all to yourself. I purchased it and couldn’t wait to share it with my parents.

That night, I excitedly brought your book to dinner – wrapped in tissue paper and packed with a card explaining all that your book meant to me and everything I hoped it would bring them as well. My mother – very intrigued – took the book and flipped to the back to read about the photographer. I never expected what was to follow.

“Amy! You know who this is?”
“I don’t know – who?”
“Jordan Matter! He did your headshots when you were 17!”

I put my fork down and took a closer look. We immediately looked up your website and recognized you as my old headshot photographer. But those headshots meant so much more to me than just something to be stapled to the back of my resume. Those pictures were my last reminder of a life that seems so very far away, a life of innocence, joy, and carefree youth.

You took those headshots in the Cloisters in January 2005. It was a chilly day but the sun was shining so brightly and the light captured my eyes so beautifully. I was 17 and got many auditions and roles with those headshots. In April 2005, those pictures suddenly became a keepsake for my parents to hold onto to maintain hope. On April 25th 2005, my senior year of high school, I abruptly developed a blood clot and fell into a coma for months. When I awoke, I was told that I had no stomach anymore, I couldn’t eat or drink, and no one knew when or if I would ever be able to again. I was not surgically reconnected for another three years. Countless doctors, seven hospitals, and 27 surgeries later, I stand here, strong and vital, full of life, grateful to be here, but very tried and tested. I do feel like I was abruptly pulled out of my adolescence, thrown to the wolves, and placed in a completely alternate life. I never was able to go to college, and have missed out on many opportunities and things I once aspired to as a naïve teenager.

However, despite being hooked up and plugged into beeping machines, having tubes and bags and other appliances stuck to me, and being a medical guinea pig for years, I managed to star in two musicals, start a chocolate business, a food blog, learn yoga and karate, teach nursery school, and maintain joy in my every day life no matter how bleak the circumstances were. I recently just wrote, directed and performed in my own one-woman show “Gutless & Grateful: A Musical Feast” which ran at the Triad Theatre in NYC, which tells of my medical adventures. Like your photographs, I have managed to find the “dance” in the every day – I have even found the “dance” and music, light and hope in the dark, dismal hopeless times.

I believe that you can’t survive without hope, art, and laughter to get you through. I believe that life is a dance – we are constantly balancing priorities and dancing with fear, risk, danger, adventure, and dreams. Maybe this is why your photographs touched me so deeply. I would not be alive today if I didn’t dance my way through my obstacles as gracefully as I could – sometimes not so gracefully, but I felt the music in it either way. My spirit has kept me here and fighting, dancing all the way through.

I have used your headshots even to this day – thankfully I still look young even though I’m 25! But more importantly, I cling to your headshots with a desperate longing. They are my main connection to the world I once knew, I world that I feel was stolen from me, that I can never get back. When I can’t find the light in my eyes, I see it in your headshots and I find solace and relief.

I have just been accepted into Hampshire College early decision and I am going to attend – God willing – next fall. I might be 25 but I still deserve an education, and life still deserves to go on for me. I have offers to revive my one-woman show at other theatres, because the message of hope, perseverence and determination inspired many people. I am trying to move on from a chaotic eight years, and my medical journey is still not over as I recover from a disastrous three surgery blow I had in November. But my spirit is strong as ever and I will get beyond this.

I feel as though I was meant to find your book at Barnes & Nobles, that I was meant to keep coming back to it day after day. It has added to my fire of resilience, and served as a reminder that in order to get through this, I must dance through it. I must be another dancer among us.

I hope when I am ready to start auditioning again, you are able to do my headshots again. In the meantime, thank you for the beauty and the hope.

All my best,
Amy Oestreicher

 

Watch Amy's inspiring interview on the Today Show here:

Dancers Among Us Valentine's Day E-Cards

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Slaughterhouse at Night

The stench hits you before you reach Greeley, CO, and when you arrive in town it’s overpowering. It’s the smell of animal slaughter. 

I was in Greeley for a photography job, and to my delight I met Monte Black- a fifty-year-old cowboy turned dancer from Wyoming. We went for a late night drive, and we discovered smoke emanating from behind the fortressed gates of the slaughterhouse. 

I needed to get closer, so we walked right up to the barbed wire fence, ignoring the "No Trespassing" sign. We had to work quickly before security arrived. Monte started improvising.

This last pose struck a cord with me. Monte looked like a rancher reaching through the ashes of the suffering animals towards Heaven, begging for forgiveness. Now we just had to wait for the smoke to thicken. We didn't wait long.

As Monte held his pose, I watched the putrid smoke create beauty around him. I’ve shot in many conditions over the years, and nothing has compared to the penetrating odor of death. If I close my eyes, I can still taste it in my mouth. 

After ten minutes, we got the image that was selected for the "Grieving" chapter of Dancers Among Us: 

As quickly as it came, the smoke disappeared. 

I went back to my hotel and took a thirty minute shower, but there is no soap that cleans where the smell was trapped- beneath my skin. 

The next day I was still mournful, so I decided to capture another melancholy photo. I asked Monte and his wife, Christy (also a dancer), to bring their baby to a desolate train yard. I wanted an image of a mother struggling to remain strong despite many setbacks. Monte played the role of the disconnected husband. 

Sometimes the process is painful but the result is thrilling. That's how I feel about these images. Thank you to Monte, Christy, and Pamela Bob (my friend and collaborator) for helping me tell these sad stories with dignity.