Alex Kendall Photography Blog

Babyface.

2010-07-24T19:14:00.001-04:00

Joellen and Geir

2009-10-11T12:17:00.016-04:00

Airshow, Chicago

2009-10-11T12:08:00.006-04:00

Beach at Dusk

2009-10-10T11:21:00.003-04:00

Dave and Shawn

2009-08-11T12:30:00.006-04:00

Chicago Nightsketches

2008-12-22T00:10:00.015-05:00

Night Sketches.

2008-11-10T23:08:00.006-05:00

The Botanical Gardens: The Decline.

2008-08-14T14:23:00.010-04:00

While my life is consumed by medicine and school work, the other part is consumed in transition and expansion. I recently treated myself to a visit to the Chicago Botanical Gardens, where I found and entire landscape undergoing the same.

Tourists flock to an amazing display and manicured feat of art when they visit the gardens during the summer. Crowds of brides and grooms waddle through exotic flowers, bushes and Japanese sculptures to look their best amongst natural beauty. After finally surviving Finals week in school, and missing out on historically warm weather that coincidentally fell on those specific testing days, I decided that my first hours of freedom would be spent in the Botanical Gardens with my gear. Murphy’s Law fell in my lap, and the temperatures dropped 30 degrees, and snow was predicted. I hopped the Metra, and arrived at the proper train station- dismayed at the fact that the usual trolly wasn’t running transportation today.

I walked the 2 miles necessary to get there- and braved the chilly breeze that swirled leaves around my scarf and hat. I was determined. Eventually, with the entrance just barely on the horizon, I felt the first rain drops nick my cheeks, and I knew this was not going to be working according to my plan- something Ive had to get used to a lot recently. Sheets of rain fell only minutes later as I took my first steps inside the Welcome Center, and I warmed my hands with a hot cup of coffee. Memories of my past visit there sat down with me, and I greeted them with a nod, knowing that they too wanted company and some warmth from the cup. Without many words to say , we all got up together after a spell, bundled up, and walked into the brisk chill of the air- now rainless, but only temporarily.

What I found was gardens upon gardens; damp and in a state of slow but inevitable change. Some flowers were still unseasonally in bloom, others shrunken and hugging the earth they would eventually return to. The once carefully controlled and handcrafted arena of plant arrangements were now returning to a more natural state - one that nature could only control. And it was it's own beauty. I was suddenly aware that I was the only one in the park with a camera admiring this process of decline and return. There were seas of brown and yellow occasionally spiked with a flare of red and violet. Once majestic plumes of petals now were took on the appearance of over-fired pottery shards, and melted glass.

I think these shots managed to capture a sketch of what I saw.

Travel to the City

2008-08-14T14:22:00.031-04:00

In my few travels throughout the Chicago and midwestern landcape thus far, Im taken aback by its extremes. This is the America that I have read about.

This is the America that international travelers are both attracted to, and revile in the same breath. The city is an amazing rush of contemporary architecture and history, and every building is a collosal finding. Along the riverway and Lake Michigan, the coast is towering with new geometrical contraptions that house thousands of residents. Layed out in an expansive patch work of sorts, Chicago is a bustling city knit together through small neighborhoods. Every weekend is cause for thousands to flock to various parts of the city simultaneously, and celebrate the sunshine. Gourmet, ethnic and city fast food combine with a heavy dose of roots in Blues, Gospel and contemporary World music to make everyday a celebration.

As a massive architectural and industrial city, it both glistens in the sunlight and growls in the poverty stricken districts. Oceans of Black folk flood the streets from the south, and primped bleach blonde college kids flock from the north. Polish and Spanish practically are the second language, as the immigration is constant; and typical blue collar workers up sport high eastern European cheekbones. This land of extremes seemed to make a patchwork of geography and ethnicity that I hadnt seen before.

Supersized people walk the streets in supersized clothes - amongst neon signs for fast food takeout. Working in the healthcare industry, I had always been acutely aware of obesity as an up-and-coming problem. However the proportions of this were different. East coasters religiously suck on their syrupy coffee, and shovel pastries and grease laden paddies into their bellies by the handful. But so far, my experience here seemed on a larger epidemic scale.

This is tornado ally. The weather here is extreme and constant. There are NO small rainspells- only violent cataclysmic events. Ominous clouds take on purples and blues hues- blacks and greens- threatening to burst at the seams when wandering above the city. Within the first month, there were several tornado warnings, touchdowns, and lightening storms. I was witness to a Microburst- an extremely focussed weather phenomenon equivalent to a bomb exploding above ground, sending 80 mile-an-hour winds in all directions without warning. I was attending a street crafts fair covering several blocks. One moment the sky was sunny, the next a small breeze picked up, and the following people were running for their lives; pottery shattering, metal scaffolding doubling over, people huddled in corners of buildings to escape flying debris. In its aftermath- the destruction seemed as if I were in Lebanon having survived a bombing raid. People laid in the streets, bleeding, in shock and despair- the fair was an unrecognizable mess of debris. The fire department and ambulances took away many victims, and the fair closed down shortly after. This was my welcoming committee.

In a visit south of the capital, again I landed in a foreign place. Walmart. TGIFridays, Taco Bell, Cracker Barrel. Diesel stops, Abandoned malls. God. Visiting in Effingham, IL, was an experience that seemed to further my stereotypes of this vulgar Americanism that unfortunately I was a part of. Surrounded by what seemed like hundreds of miles of corn in every direction- I was at the heart of Middle America.

My first clues to feeling far and away were that every 10 miles or so, there would be small advertisements for "gunssavelives.com" spread out in cornfields along the interstate. Similarly, about 60 miles out of the city, I seemed to lose contact with all urban radiostations of hiphop and spanish ranchero music. In their place- God became the new channel.

Arriving into what I understood was 'Effingham', which I thought would be more of a pronounced event- was more similar to pulling off the highway for a bathroom break. Effingham consisted of a supersized truckstop that gradually worked itself into the countryside of cute one level houses, and miles of farmland. Walmart stood in the middle- and like weeds, or a bad rash- around it sprung up dozens of fastfood chains, advertising like adult film shops. Some classier than others. Trucks constantly rumbled in off the highway like great animals as they downshifted into the diesel stations.On the horizon, stood a massive cross some several stories in height, able to be seen for miles around. It providing the beacon of light for those unsaved, and had a similar effect as placing a flag in unclaimed territory. This was God's country.

Mothers walked their children in the beautiful sunshine along quiet streets. Young greasy haired tattooed teenager's zigzagged through the streets on bicycles, with shirts untucked, and open for the world to see. The local mall was closed down, and the expansive parking lot was abandoned. What was life like here?

This middle America that I was so foreign to, seemed a perverse distortion of this American identity that I was familiar with. As an outsider, and albeit- as a city slicker- I became acutely aware that much like being ignorant to the world outside this country's borders, I was (somewhat) ignorant to the country within its borders. Effingham seemed a microcosm of this country's problems. The paradoxes and vulgarities were so apparent to me. Could anyone else see them from the inside?

Walmart was an American staple here. The irony that a store the size of a football arena, stacked with imported Chinese goods could bankrupt small family businesses would be the lifeline of so many people. To think that fast food was another- one that created epidemic proportions of obesity, cardiac disease, cancers, diabetes- and breaking our healthcare system- was accepted, needed, and fully integrated into the town. That miles of cornfields surrounding me were being converted to ethanol for the city's SUVs instead of food. That Pro-Gun advertising was fullforce here, when just in the last week the mayor of Chicago requested help from the National Guard due to an uncontrollable rash of gang violence. How did any of this make sense? Im still scratching my head.

So far the country here is beautiful in all of its shades and extremes. More than anything, I discovered my own roots and beliefs as a foreigner in a foreign land.

Notes on a Cadaver.

2008-08-14T13:46:00.017-04:00

Within the first few weeks of school, I managed to do some of my own personal studying of surgery.

Never use a can opener and talk on the phone at the same time.

After laughing in one minute, and screaming in the next, I bundled up my bleeding fingers. Gathering myself, and printing out my health insurance information, I walked down to the main streets and hailed a taxi. It was difficult manipulating the ATM buttons to get cash for the cab without leaving DNA evidence on the floor AND the touchscreen. Red was oozing through the shirt I used to clamp off the laceration. What unnecessary drama. An eight o’clock visit to the local ER, eleven stitches and three hours later, I tried to sleep for my first Anatomy exam. On the hand.

Dusk.

2008-08-14T12:42:00.009-04:00

Ben and Amanda

2008-08-14T11:37:00.013-04:00

My Big Brother got married in rural Vermont, some 4 hours north of Boston. The setting was beautiful rolling pastures, a camp ground. All the extended family gathered for the hot humid day, and ate well- Kareoke was the name of the game at night. It was great to get out of the city, into the quiet landscape to find family time with people I hadnt seen in WAY too long. Here are a few shots!

Motor Ally: Southloop.

2008-08-12T14:23:00.005-04:00

Jenny & Tom

2008-07-21T18:17:00.048-04:00

Visiting Burlington, VT for me is like heading home. I flew out from Chicago to see my older brother get married this passed weekend, and found myself lost amongst cow pastures and rolling mountains. He and Amanda decided to be as original, creative and as themselves as possible.

They had a Quaker-style wedding with 60 of their closest family members. For details of the stiflingly hot and humid day: It was officiated by one of their best friends- set in a cow pasture with a stream downhill for swimming, a nighttime firepit for Smores, and organic Vermont food specifically from the surrounding farm.

Jenny and Tom were at my Brother's wedding in Burlington, Vermont, and decided to hop in the bushes at the last second for some great lighting. Here are a few snapshots of Jenny 8 months pregnant.

My new backyard.

2008-06-17T23:17:00.009-04:00

Chicago.

I arrived in Chicago about a week ago, and already I can't imagine leaving. The sights, sounds and events are so much the life of the Midwest. Im in love with my new beach (!!!) about four blocks away from my house, and taken aback at the expanse of Lake Michigan. Dramatic thunderstorms have been the talk of the town here, as many commuters from up north in Wisconsin and the like are dealing with unheard of downpours and flooding.

For the first time since my early childhood, I get to be mesmerized and kept awake at night with howling winds, torrential downpours, and twisting purple skies.

Sudan In Flux. Impressions Part II

2008-06-17T18:53:00.029-04:00

Earlier this year, I was featured in Cultural Survival about my travels and impressions in Sudan.

This is a wonderful publication that I recommend everyone to read, dedicated to indigenous rights and contemporary issues. My editor, Mark, was a wonderful jolly fellow, excited at the prospect of a photessay about the Habbessab people in north-central Sudan. Below is the pre-edit writings and cover photo of Sudan in Flux.

Enjoy.

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“Ya Habibi!” I was tackled, and lifted my off my feet in a bearhug embrace. I hadn’t seen Helima in seven years, and she hadn’t changed a bit. Barging through the house door with her seventy year old wirey frame; she was our archaeological expedition’s care-taker and surrogate grandmother. Her grin spread from cheek to cheek, and her eyes ablaze with excitment.

Neither one of us could speak the other’s language, but our smiles said all. Helima’s central African roots defined her dark aging figure and singing personality. Wrapped in neon designs and bubbling with energy and laughter, she was the Sudan I remembered. Within minutes, I was on a motor bike speeding towards her shanty home for dinner.

I was home.

As the son of an archaeologist who has spent a lifetime excavating ancient Nubia, I began another season of digging in the desert with my father. This was the second time in seven years I had visited Sudan, a tarnished country, known for its barbaric violence and chronic war. Yet there was no conflict to be found in my immediate surroundings, only a creeping modernization that was changing the very landscape.

Located some 350 km north of Khartoum, the Bayuda Desert is a sea of living sand dunes. The great Paleolithic Mount Jebel Al-Meragh, the site of our excavation, looms to the West. Spending a humbling 8 weeks in this desolate moonscape allowed me to meet, interview and begin to understand Sudan’s northern agricultural people. Descending from thousands of years of intermarriage, these farmers are a proud and unassuming people. Despite meager earnings and a rapid desertification of their land, their hospitality is constant and overwhelming.

Twenty one camels walked in unison, heading to the Hawawiri well several kilometers away. Their owners, two brothers Muhammed Ali and Abdullah approached our excavation site with proud strides.

“Salaaaam Aliekum!” He called arm outstretched in a song like voice. Like clockwork, myself included, all of our workmen raised their hands to him in response,

“Aliekum Al-Salaaam”. The response was less energetic, as these workers were city-folk, and I assumed they regarded our new desert family as country bumpkins.

Muhammed lived 2 kilometers off to the east in a small ramshackle mudbrick house typical of the region. In the mornings, amidst shovels of hot sand, we’d see his camels sauntering single file through the desert towards the watering hole in the distance. Some thirty minutes later, both he and his four year old son would be in lazy persuit with a herd of goats. This was his life. He’d stop by almost daily to chitchat about his family, and the changing living conditions.

Hawawir is a group name of some seven different subsets of people in this part of the Bayuda desert. Brothers Muhammed and Abdullah belonged to the subgroup Habassab, which according to several elders, descended from the north some 13-14 generations ago. Finding their present land unoccupied, they settled around ancient wells, and began settlements that have lasted until the present. Living sometimes up to 10 kilometers apart, family members retain a close knit group claiming territory around common wells to feed their livestalk. They spend a majority of their day tending to their herds and farms, and rely on each other in times of drought or famine. The Wadi, or valley, floods from June to September, providing beans, millet and vegetables. Otherwise, they raise camel and goats to sell in the local markets, some 3 km north in the off season. With many children and grandchildren close by, they rarely have more than the clothes on their back Despite his initial cheery grin and Sudanese hospitality, the reality of his situation eventually broke through. He approached myself and my father.

“Can I have your sweater?” Muhammed was direct, pointing to the heavy cloth on my chest. His slender boney face beemed at us at the mid day sun. It was unseasonable chilly, and last night I could see my breath in the kerosene light. His white jelabiya shirt was tattered and stained by months of use. It was his only clothing.

“My son can’t sleep at night, and we are cold. I don’t have anything to keep me warm”. After digging up all of the extra clothing possible between us, he approached us again the next day. We could only offer food and company to our Habassab neighbor, and despite his tired situation, he always declined out of pride. Over the next six weeks, he and his small family spent many hours with us, excited at our new faces, and dismayed that we couldn’t ease their situation much. Always with a huge smile of crooked teeth, he told us of his increasingly difficult existence in the desert. Bayuda seasons brought searing heat, frigid cold, floods and sandstorms, all of which had been more extreme in the past few years. Coupled with a two year drought, the Bayuda’s new highway had diverted much local traffic away from his home. This led to less trade, and more distances to travel for resources.

Both archaic and an artform, travel through the Bayuda has always been by foot, camel or car. Following previous tracks and landmarks through mountains and valleys has been a method used for hundreds if not thousands of years by desert settlers. This allowed for continual contact, trade, and inclusion of the desert tribes with others. Different tribes from many regions of the desert intermingled, and it became possible to pass down family farmland from one generation from the next. Life was about to change irreversibly. Ten years ago, asphalt began pouring onto the hot sand of the Bayuda and Nubian desert, carving out a new commerce route from the capital to the northern cataracts of the Nile. With the building of Sudan’s first major highway electricity, and the introduction of electricity, commerce from north to south became easier. It cut through some family territory, and moved significantly away from others. Dependent on the older path for trade, the nomads were suddenly isolated from the world and essentially left behind, needing to travel massive distances in order to find human contact. To compound the problem, drought and desertification ion recent years have led to crop failure and decreasing food supplies. Family units and land began to fracture, and the highway became the new lifeline. Small truck stops and nontraditional highway settlements have resulted in the desert nomads adapting to a changing reality.

It is difficult to weigh the costs and benefits for the Habassab, and other tribes buried deep in the Bayuda. Modernization and Progress show no mercy, and the result usually involves a gradual erosion of traditional culture, territory and family. These nomads are the forgotten residents of the Sudanese desert. Amidst declining resources, gradual desertification, and the pull of low wage city jobs, these traditional people are struggling to maintain their traditional economy and culture. With the northern progression of highways, electrical lines, and a burgeoning globalized economy, indigenous Sudanese culture is in flux, and a new history of the Habassab is in the making.

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The Stateroom.

2007-11-10T12:53:00.004-05:00

Here are a few of the fantastic photos I managed to get while with Mike and Co. A complete cast of characters that didn't flinch with a camera in their presence.

The location itself was stunning, with highrise windows and towering ceilings. The evening light made for a fantastic backdrop to the party. Mike and Gina were all smiles, with family from all over Mass and New York visiting.

PORTFOLIO 2007

Alex Kendall Photog...

By Alex Kendall

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Agnes & Fugi

2007-11-10T10:04:00.005-05:00

Over the summer, I was asked to document Agnes and Fugi getting hitched. This was a unique wedding, as these two were married in a long Catholic ceremony with drumming and dance troupes . Over two hundred Ugandan-Bostonians showed up including family from over seas to celebrate.

Chris and Sara: Old State House

2007-10-09T21:26:00.014-04:00

"I barely remember how to put this stuff on"

Sara opened up a newly purchased package of make up, and looked at it intently with her sister Shannon. " Feel free to shoot away", she waved her hands blindly to the inside of the bathroom that she was in. As she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, I pounced at the invitation.

Sara had contacted me several weeks before to plan for a small family wedding of her and her fiance, Chris. A bit nervous with steadily growing numbers of invitations, she reserved The Old State House as the location of choice.

"Im just used to always being behind the lens",
she told me several time as we first met. Sara noted a loose schedule of events, and we decided Id meet up with her at her house in the early afternoon to begin the day.

After prepping with family and pets, we taxi'ed it to the Old State House, and met up with all sides. Rings exchanged, we headed to the Boston Gardens and posed Paparazzi Style. These two were great to work with!

Father and Son.

2007-08-19T19:57:00.005-04:00

These pictures were taken in Kerima, Sudan- about 400km north of the capital, Khartoum. Jebel Barkal, or 'Mystic Mountain' has been the site of my father's archaeological excavations for the last 25 years, and in that time, Ive traveled and worked with him twice.

The top picture you can see myself and him sitting at the base of this 'Jebel', or sandstone mountain. This picture was taken maybe 30 minutes past dusk- with a full moon up above.

The day was blotted out due to seasonal sandstorms, and night always brought a clear and calm night.

A Night in the North End

2007-07-26T18:27:00.002-04:00

I showed up at 4pm in the heart of the North End- a compact Italian neighborhood, filled with people that had been there for generations after generations. This in itself was a rarity for me because I was only used to the outershell of what I knew as the Italian section of Boston.

I was on my feet running from bride's triple-decker, to the church in a limo with the extended family. Everyone was worried about time and place. Despite the emotion, and time constraint- each person had wonderful hospitality, and was wonderful about working with me when needed.

The ceremony itself was bilingual- spoken in Spanish and English- and with interludes of singing and prayer. I felt my job turned from taking the traditional wedding picts to documenting a quickly unravelling story.

The Site. Helima & Abdullah.

2007-07-19T19:55:00.008-04:00

Sudan's Faces. Impressions part I

2007-07-17T10:44:00.023-04:00

Chris and Ani

2007-07-12T10:06:00.003-04:00

Its been a busy summer thus far! I headed out to California for shooting a wedding (Ani & Chris!). Ive got to say that those Armenians know how to get down. The pictures have turned out great, (slideshow at the bottom)

I have to say that Burbank, California was beautiful, and the guests were the life of the party. I got the chance to meet with all generations of the Sikes' and Boghossians, and had fun jumping around the crowd with my camera.