Little Girl’s all growed up! 🎉🎂🎊 Happy Birthday Olwyn ! So proud of who you are. Enjoy being Seventeen. Love you ❤️
Little Girl’s all growed up! 🎉🎂🎊 Happy Birthday Olwyn ! So proud of who you are. Enjoy being Seventeen. Love you ❤️
Little Girl’s all growed up! 🎉🎂🎊 Happy Birthday Olwyn ! So proud of who you are. Enjoy being Seventeen. Love you ❤️
Hey Kathleen, didja hear Apollo 13 And Terminator 2 both got picked to be in the National Film Registry yesterday? And that I was depicted getting semi-decapitated on The Simpsons? #tbt congrats to Ron Howard and Jim Cameron for making movies that made film history. Beyond honored to have been a part of them.
RIP Shane MacGowan🙏❤️🩹 I feel so lucky to have gotten to know the enigma himself. Self destructive as anyone I’ve ever known, and more brilliant than most can imagine. Infused with Spirits of all kinds, Alcohol, the Holy Ghost and the ghostly spirit of Federico Garcia Lorca. Punk poet for the ages. Shane shambled down from the mountainside behind us there, one dawn when Joe Strummer and I had camped out on set to escape the chaos of the fiesta surrounding our hotel in Almeria. Sergio Leone’s old sets, dubbed Little Hollywood for all the Spaghetti Westerns shot there. As the sun crept up over the Andalusian hillsides, painting the desert orange, down came Shane (still sporting his spurs and Mariachi outfit from filming the day before) prophetically proclaiming to us, down there in our #sleeping bags, “He’s out there! Garcia Lorca, mates! He’s out there! Shane was deeply superstitious about me reading gruesome passages from the bible during breaks in filming. The second shot, for those still reading, was one I took to capture his revulsion of the sacrilege my character represented. He would ward me off with the V as if holding a cross up to a vampire, muttering, “Preacher… Evil…”. (A la ‘get thee back Satan’). Once when the two of us wrapped early, a cab took us back to the hotel, and I got him to sing ‘And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda’. Brought me to tears, which I hid, looking out the cab’s window. He stopped just short of the end, suddenly embarrassed and vulnerable for singing to some guy in a taxi. I was shocked he had consented in the first place, and I’ll be forever grateful that he did. His voice was ragged and rough, but like the lyrics he wrote, he plumbed a depth of authenticity, that was pure and rare and will remain increasingly so as time passes. Glad we all had him for as long as we did, and have him with us still. Cheers, 🍻 to Shane MacGowan.
RIP Shane MacGowan🙏❤️🩹 I feel so lucky to have gotten to know the enigma himself. Self destructive as anyone I’ve ever known, and more brilliant than most can imagine. Infused with Spirits of all kinds, Alcohol, the Holy Ghost and the ghostly spirit of Federico Garcia Lorca. Punk poet for the ages. Shane shambled down from the mountainside behind us there, one dawn when Joe Strummer and I had camped out on set to escape the chaos of the fiesta surrounding our hotel in Almeria. Sergio Leone’s old sets, dubbed Little Hollywood for all the Spaghetti Westerns shot there. As the sun crept up over the Andalusian hillsides, painting the desert orange, down came Shane (still sporting his spurs and Mariachi outfit from filming the day before) prophetically proclaiming to us, down there in our #sleeping bags, “He’s out there! Garcia Lorca, mates! He’s out there! Shane was deeply superstitious about me reading gruesome passages from the bible during breaks in filming. The second shot, for those still reading, was one I took to capture his revulsion of the sacrilege my character represented. He would ward me off with the V as if holding a cross up to a vampire, muttering, “Preacher… Evil…”. (A la ‘get thee back Satan’). Once when the two of us wrapped early, a cab took us back to the hotel, and I got him to sing ‘And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda’. Brought me to tears, which I hid, looking out the cab’s window. He stopped just short of the end, suddenly embarrassed and vulnerable for singing to some guy in a taxi. I was shocked he had consented in the first place, and I’ll be forever grateful that he did. His voice was ragged and rough, but like the lyrics he wrote, he plumbed a depth of authenticity, that was pure and rare and will remain increasingly so as time passes. Glad we all had him for as long as we did, and have him with us still. Cheers, 🍻 to Shane MacGowan.
RIP Shane MacGowan🙏❤️🩹 I feel so lucky to have gotten to know the enigma himself. Self destructive as anyone I’ve ever known, and more brilliant than most can imagine. Infused with Spirits of all kinds, Alcohol, the Holy Ghost and the ghostly spirit of Federico Garcia Lorca. Punk poet for the ages. Shane shambled down from the mountainside behind us there, one dawn when Joe Strummer and I had camped out on set to escape the chaos of the fiesta surrounding our hotel in Almeria. Sergio Leone’s old sets, dubbed Little Hollywood for all the Spaghetti Westerns shot there. As the sun crept up over the Andalusian hillsides, painting the desert orange, down came Shane (still sporting his spurs and Mariachi outfit from filming the day before) prophetically proclaiming to us, down there in our #sleeping bags, “He’s out there! Garcia Lorca, mates! He’s out there! Shane was deeply superstitious about me reading gruesome passages from the bible during breaks in filming. The second shot, for those still reading, was one I took to capture his revulsion of the sacrilege my character represented. He would ward me off with the V as if holding a cross up to a vampire, muttering, “Preacher… Evil…”. (A la ‘get thee back Satan’). Once when the two of us wrapped early, a cab took us back to the hotel, and I got him to sing ‘And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda’. Brought me to tears, which I hid, looking out the cab’s window. He stopped just short of the end, suddenly embarrassed and vulnerable for singing to some guy in a taxi. I was shocked he had consented in the first place, and I’ll be forever grateful that he did. His voice was ragged and rough, but like the lyrics he wrote, he plumbed a depth of authenticity, that was pure and rare and will remain increasingly so as time passes. Glad we all had him for as long as we did, and have him with us still. Cheers, 🍻 to Shane MacGowan.
Driving in a Winter Wonderland out to the farm 🌲❤️
Driving in a Winter Wonderland out to the farm 🌲❤️
Driving in a Winter Wonderland out to the farm 🌲❤️
Driving in a Winter Wonderland out to the farm 🌲❤️
Standing in the river of time…
Standing in the river of time…
The shock of autumn on any given afternoon , as the light breaks through an otherwise gloomy day… still hits me hard (even being back east for five full falls now:)
The shock of autumn on any given afternoon , as the light breaks through an otherwise gloomy day… still hits me hard (even being back east for five full falls now:)
The shock of autumn on any given afternoon , as the light breaks through an otherwise gloomy day… still hits me hard (even being back east for five full falls now:)
The shock of autumn on any given afternoon , as the light breaks through an otherwise gloomy day… still hits me hard (even being back east for five full falls now:)
The shock of autumn on any given afternoon , as the light breaks through an otherwise gloomy day… still hits me hard (even being back east for five full falls now:)
The shock of autumn on any given afternoon , as the light breaks through an otherwise gloomy day… still hits me hard (even being back east for five full falls now:)
No filter but fog and reflection
No filter but fog and reflection
No filter but fog and reflection
No filter but fog and reflection
You can watch it for me or for Nic or the spectacular Glacier Park vistas of Montana… a meditation on the heart of darkness circa 1870.
