Father's Day with multiple fathers

Father’s Day has always made me a little uncomfortable although I should say from the git that I like fathers, I think fathers should be honored, and I’ve got nothing against Father’s Day. And if it’s your custom to gift a new tie, or little bags of golf tees (the Pride Golf Tee Co. sells a 70 count bag for $6.99 on line), or barbecue or gardening tools to the man you call Dad, Pop, Pa, or Papa, certainly don’t let anything I’m about to say here stand in your way. It’s only that my relationship to fathers in general is highly idiosyncratic, which means that come Father’s Day I’m always left feeling confused and a little bit anxious.

The trouble began when I was 7. My dad, or my “real dad,” as I later came to call him, died 3 months before of a sudden heart attack. I remember the awkwardness of my second grade teacher when it was time for the class to make cards. That was the year the second grade curriculum dictated we make paper doily portraits and glue them to construction paper. Even after I bluntly told the teacher my father was dead and there was no one for me to give the card to, Mrs. Englehart insisted I participate. “Don’t you have a grandfather or something you can give the card to?” she said, unhelpfully, as my mother and her own father were not on speaking terms. When it came time to select what color construction paper I was supposed to glue the doily on, I insisted on black, which already was my favorite color, but just happened, unbeknownst to me (after all, I was only 7) to be the international shade of mourning. The teacher was so flustered at my choice, she sent me to the principal’s office where I sat alone in a corner, reading “Mrs. Piggle Wiggle’s Magic,” so as not to upset the other children.

My mother acquired a boyfriend shortly after, and for the next few years I dutifully, even happily, gave Father’s Day gifts to the man I called Uncle Charlie. Charlie, better known in South Jersey as “Camp Cotton,” was an attorney who had an illustrious, if brief career after World War II in Nuremberg, where he was part of a judicial commission investigating war crimes. By the mid 1960’s his law practice was handling minor criminal cases and the occasional divorce; he spent much of his time as an outspoken civil rights proponent. I adored him since he was funny and irreverent and introduced me to clams on the half shell and horses at the Atlantic City Racetrack. He was a source of endless frustration to my mother who wanted to marry him; already married 3 times, he eluded her grasp. Finally she broke up with him and moved far away; for a few more years I continued to live with him and his untidy brood of children from all his previous marriages. For Father’s Day every year I gave him a fishing lure, some of which were quite beautiful, and something he always appreciated. Charlie had a grand collection of rods and reels, which he stored by leaning them up against the walls of the dining room in the rented ramshackle mansion on Atlantic Avenue where we lived. Besides TB racing, fishing was his passion. He had a boat, a cabin cruiser called the Merry Chip, which he kept in a slip at the Atlantic City Marina (now Harrahs). I spent many summer mornings on that boat, studying handicapping tip sheets for his afternoons at the track.

My mother married a man named Maurice one summer while I was at sleep away camp. She met him and dated him and married him in just under six weeks. That was the summer I was 13. Imagine our mutual surprise when we met. They didn’t stay married long enough for me to celebrate with him a Father’s Day. My mother blamed me for the failure of their union. In hindsight, she probably was correct.

A couple of years later she met a man named Martin and before they married, they dated a whole year. During the 3 years I lived with them in an apartment in Woodbury, N.J. over a dental office, the only thing Martin wanted for Father’s Day was a bottle of Four Roses, or, in a pinch, Mateus. He had terrible taste in booze. He was an alcoholic and would basically drink anything that contained alcohol and was wet; once, on a Sunday night when the liquor stores were closed, in desperation, he sucked down mouthwash. I was pretty mean to Martin although he was unfailingly nice to me. My mother at the time was in one of her suicidal, dish throwing, obscenity-laced phases. Just about anything could set her off, including Martin’s most mundane habits. He was a cigarette smoker and she loathed cigarettes; plus he didn’t much care for food, or going out, and she loved restaurants and a night of glamour. Even though I didn’t like him, I defended him to her. One of the best things he ever did was drive around with me when I got my learner's permit. The moment we got in the car, he strapped a sleep mask around his head. Eyes fully covered, he dozed for 40 minutes as I steered his Impala around town, never commenting, never criticizing. That was great.

This year for Father’s Day I will give the father of my son the gift of lunch out in Greenwich, possibly, or maybe New Canaan, at his favorite Indian restaurant. If he's in the mood, we may tarry awhile in the men's department at Ralph Lauren’s. I haven’t asked my son what he is giving his dad for Father's Day, only that it won’t be a lace paper doily on construction paper. Bless his heart; he’s way too old for that.

Discovering the Horses of Sable Island

Sable Island is a tiny body of land located approximately 190 miles off of the coast of Halifax, Nova Scotia.  For most of the year, to visit, and few do, a person must call ahead to find out if the airstrip is firm enough to land on, or if it is underwater. Nine or ten months out of the year, Sable Island is home to no more than 4 or 5 people who work for the Canadian Coast Guard’s weather station, although in the summer, with the Coast Guard’s permission only, the population swells with scientists and the occasional tourist – or photographer.

The climate on Sable Island is inhospitable. Not many species thrive save for the harbor and grey seals, and the Savannah sparrow and Arctic tern. And then there are the wild horses, protected now by the Canadian government.

Some call the Sable Island horses ponies because they are small, but in fact they are horses, hardy small equines who thrive in a tough environment.

There are about 400 of them. They eat, breed, play, and die naturally, completely free of human interference. This was not always the case; the horses are believed to originally have arrived on the island thanks to shipwrecks centuries before, and until 1960, many were rounded up to be shipped off the island to work in the coal mines of Cape Breton until the Canadian government put that to a stop.

The Sable Island horses are quite attractive. Naturally stocky and muscular, their coats are mostly dark. As a completely protected and unmanaged population, few people have ever seen them, at least until 1994 when the fashion photographer Roberto Dutesco went to the island and photographed them, and exhibited his work in a gallery in New York. In 2005 the Nova Scotian photographer Paul Illsley took pictures of them, inspiring both a Canadian stamp and coin.

Drew Doggett, a New York City based photographer also trained in fashion photography, made a name for himself in the documentary and fine art world with his images of some of the planet’s most unique and isolated indigenous cultures. He has traveled to the most isolated parts of the Himalayas as well as Ethiopia. In June 2012 he spent two weeks on Sable Island, spending every day documenting the horses he found there. On Sunday, June 23^rd from 6:00 p.m. until 8:30 p.m., an exhibit of his photographs of the Sable Island horses will be on exhibit in Bedford at Historical Hall. The event is free and open to the public. The show is hosted by Anne Alexander and her husband Carl, Bedford residents and enthusiasts of Mr. Doggett’s work.

Mr. Doggett grew up riding casually a few times a year, and has a love of horses.

“I’ve always been fascinated and drawn to them,” he said in a recent telephone interview from Colorado where he was at work on another project. “On Sable Island I wanted to focus on their form and musculature and movement and examine their relationship with their landscape,” he said. “Sable Island is undergoing several changes as well as a national park. The process for me to get there was difficult. I had to apply and be approved and charter a plane to get there and deal with the weather in the region. The beauty and the treasure the islands have to offer are worth the trip.”

Mr. Doggett said he spent every day of his time there documenting the horses and picking a direction to walk. “The horses are completely unhindered and unmanaged,” he said. “You could walk for hours on end and not see one, and then suddenly see 90 horses.”

Sable Island, he said, is often called the ‘graveyard of the Atlantic’ due to its history of shipwreck. “Using the island’s rolling, shifting dunes and abundant fog as a canvas, I sought to uncover Sable’s singular treasures and to encounter these powerful animals on their own terms.” His exhibition, entitled, “Discovering the Wild Horses of Sable Island,” tells a story of power and beauty and wild equines. “The strength of these horses is evident in their form and in their movements,” Mr. Doggett said in his artist’s statement about the work. “Depicted in these photographs is the physicality of the horses as they relate to one another within their social hierarchy, but also the progress of time. The unhindered range these horses have over the landscape mirrors the dynamism of the island itself, which is constantly being carved out and reshaped by the wind. The resulting body of work, both intimate and expansive, captures the sometimes difficult realities of the island and offers a portrait of the relationship between these horses and the environment that supports them. Although the landscape is harsh — fresh water is scarce, and bone-chilling sea winds thwart the growth of any vegetation taller than dune grass — the wild horses of Sable Island have adapted to thrive in their unusual habitat. The only land mammals on Sable, they know no fear and have no predators. Entirely unmanaged and unimpeded by humans, the wild horses of Sable Island embody a unique freedom and independence.”

The exhibit presents 48 black & white or sepia toned images, archival pigment prints, signed by the artist. Prints 18x27 and larger are limited to an edition of 500 with 25 artists proofs subject to a tiered pricing structure with prices starting at $1,000. Sizes are customizable. Frame-ready open-edition prints are also available in 8x12 and 12x18 sizes.

The Alexanders have known Mr. Doggett for several years. One of Ms. Alexander’s close friends from college is married to Mr. Doggett’s older brother. “Drew invited my husband, Carl, and me to attend one of his photography openings in Soho last Fall,” Ms. Alexander said. “Although the evening highlighted his recent trip to Ethiopia, Drew also had several photographs previewing the horses of Sable Island. Needless to say- it was amazing! We have kept in touch and thought that Bedford would be a wonderful place to feature his Sable Island collection. As we are limited with art galleries in the area, Carl and I decided to "host" an evening at Historical Hall for Drew.  We are not "horse people" but have several friends that are and thought that we could help make that connection for him. We are collectors of his work, our favorite being one of his Sable Island Horses, and we look forward to acquiring more!” she said.

Mr. Doggett has visited Bedford on numerous occasions. “My wife and I have lunched at The Bedford Post. We’re very drawn to the beauty of the area. We love the wide open spaces and the charm,” he said. “I’m very much looking forward to meeting the community at the exhibit.”

Since 2009, Mr. Doggett has incorporated a philanthropic element into his artistic pursuits with Art Cares. Thanks to this non-profit project, proceeds from the book and fine art prints of Slow Road to China have already funded all operations at a health center in rural Nepal for a year.

In 2012, the Omo collection was accepted into the Smithsonian African Art Museum’s photographic archives. Mr. Doggett’s fine art photography is on display in buildings and private collections around the world, but for one special day in Bedford, it can be seen at Historic Hall.

“Discovering the Horses of Sable Island: An exhibition at Historic Hall” takes place on Sunday, June 23^rd from 6:00 p.m. to 8:30 p.m. The exhibition is free and open to the public.