#bought a limited edition signed anniversary copy of a book i love that i never thought I'd have a change to buy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mitchellkuga · 8 years

Photo

Writing My Love Story at the Strand, New York’s Most Iconic Bookstore

Published by Condé Nast Traveler

A place where fantastical stories have the potential to come true.

When people find out I got married at The Strand Book Store, the typical response is “You got married in a bookstore?!” But the real shock is that I got married at all. Growing up in Hawaii, I never thought about marriage. Like boat shoes and taking IPAs very seriously, marriage was a thing for straight dudes. Plus I was low-key Buddhist, so what does “forever” mean anyway?

But one sleepless night, after four years of dating, Adam turned to me in bed. “I think we deserve the rights and protections that married people are afforded,” he said, looking me in my eyes. “I want to bury you.”

It was a proposal I couldn’t refuse.

Suddenly, we were tasked with planning a wedding, a life event most people are programmed to envision since childhood, and one that neither of us had previously considered. We waded through an infinite sea of scenarios, from a late-night function at a Brooklyn nightclub to a gazebo overlooking a Hawaiian waterfall. We were sure we wanted to spend our lives together. Far less clear was how we wanted to celebrate that decision.

After arguing about our different ideas, we toured the Strand’s rare book room. Located on the third floor, the handsome space sells limited-edition books by day, before transforming into an event space for book launches and private parties at night. On first glance, it managed to feel sacred but not pious, sentimental without being hokey, and utterly New York (aside from the fact that it was somehow reasonably priced). This is where we would get married, we decided, amongst friends and family and an $800 first edition of Ulysses.

Though gigantic—2.5 million books, both used and new, organized neatly across four sprawling floors—the Strand is still an independent, family-owned bookshop. It was founded in 1927 by a 25-year-old Lithuanian immigrant named Ben Bass, who borrowed $300 for a lease on a stretch of Fourth Avenue formerly known as “Book Row.” During the depression, he slept on a cot in the store’s basement. In 1957, Ben’s son moved the Strand to its current location, two blocks south of Union Square on the corner of 12th Street and Broadway. Of the 48 bookstores originally on Book Row, the Strand is the only one left standing. In the age of Amazon, its status as a literary cultural institution in the heart of New York City feels like a feat of magic.

So does finding love in this city, or planning a wedding for that matter. It’s not like there’s a template for a gay wedding in a bookstore between a Japanese writer from Hawaii and a Jewish artist from Toronto, a vastness that left us daunted, but also granted us permission to play. We mostly wanted to throw a party, one that reflected the contours of our relationship. So on the night of our fifth anniversary, in a room full of rare books, a friend sang Puccini’s “O mio babbino caro,” from the opera Gianni Schicchi; another read an original poem that referenced Michelle Branch lyrics, Corinthians, and Yoko Ono’s tweets; and another lip-synched Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You” in full-blown wedding drag, before DJing songs by The Pointer Sisters and TLC. We ditched a dress code, urging guests to come however they felt best, which meant I wore a second-hand Comme des Garçons jacket studded with black pom-poms and a white ginger lei. Dinner was a pile of pickled pineapple, spam musubi, dashi-soaked brisket, and a surprise 10:30 p.m. delivery from Williamsburg Pizza. Our friend Hector, a queer Buddhist with a Rubeus Hagrid-esque beard, officiated. Standing in front of an arch of balloons shaped like a chain, he started the ceremony by asking everyone to tie a red string around someone’s wrist, an imprint of a vow, both yours and ours. In other words, we all tied strands at the Strand. Everything feels fated, mutated into literary metaphor, if you think about it hard enough.

I first wandered into the Strand bookstore seven years before. I was 23, a recent transplant from Hawaii, aimless and alone. Like the glorious odor of a divey gay bar, I found the smell of the used books comforting. You know the one. Musky with notes of soil and discolored paper, fragrant with possibility.

After strolling, wide-eyed, from aisle to aisle—18 miles of books, as the slogan goes—I bought a copy of Michael Chabon’s The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. For the next month, I wrapped myself in the story of two Jewish cousins forging a creative life together in Boerum Hill, the small Brooklyn neighborhood where I happened to be crashing on a friend’s couch. I was thrilled to recognize the street names and guideposts that populated the book, a recognition that made this big new city feel a little bit smaller, and made forging my own creative life in Brooklyn feel a little more possible. As I struggled to piece together a life from that couch, I took the literary coincidence as a sign that I was exactly where I needed to be.

Throughout the years, the Strand became a rest stop, a meeting place, and a guiding light. It’s where I bought my grieving coworker The Year of Magical Thinking after her best friend died. Where I sourced Pema Chodron’s pocketbook during my Saturn return, cheered on friends at their book releases, and discovered queer writers like Jean Genet, James Baldwin, Eileen Myles, and Alexander Chee, who provided roadmaps in the dark. It’s where I purchased that emblem of New York bookishness, a Strand tote bag, which I see nearly every time I take the subway. There’s a reason those ubiquitous totes are such a popular souvenir for both locals and passersby—they are a comforting reminder that even the more improbable stories come true, even the ones about you.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Illustration by Tomi Um

0 notes

bhtum1595world · 7 years

Text

Glynn Griffiths my wonderful friend, a friend as close as a brother, my touchstone in all matters of life, has died. Glynn was 67 and leaves behind his beloved daughter Georgia and Annie his soulmate.

Glynn at my book launch in the Hoop and Grapes pub just off Fleet Street, London, May 2016

Glynn had just started out on the next stage of his eventful life. He had his sculpture studio in Cheltenham where he made so many of his impossible dreams involving mother-earth and man-made come to life.

Glynn Griffiths Art Exhibition at the Parabola Art Gallery, Cheltenham, England. Work by the artist Glynn Griffiths ( seen in blue shirt, long hair ).

He recently bought a campervan before buying ‘Haddie’ his beautiful house boat moored at Hebden Bridge. For the first time in many years he had his entire ‘Art Book’ collection out of packing cases and on shelves waiting to be read….in short Glynn was chilled out and happy.

Glynn Griffiths with his daughter Georgia at his Exhibition-Growth, ‘Gravity & Balance’ at The Horse Box Gallery, 50 Grosvenor Hill, London.

Glynn Griffiths Exhibition-Growth, ‘Gravity & Balance’ at The Horse Box Gallery, 50 Grosvenor Hill, London.

I knew Glynn for nearly 30 years since he came to this country from his native South Africa with his wife Annie back in the mid 1980’s. He came from Jagersfontein a small town in the Free State and trained as a photographer on the Cape Times. Although his yearning was for the Veldt of South Africa, he was a British subject, and proud of his family roots in South Wales.

Glynn in the Canary Wharf Indy offices in the 1990’s

Glynn was an established photographer of some note in SA and upon arriving in London he had little trouble getting photographic assignments from the British press based then in Fleet Street. He started ‘shifting’ for the London Evening Standard while living with Annie in a campervan parked up on the South Bank in the centre of London. Before long a photo editor recognised Glynn’s ‘artistic photographic’ talents and suggested that his style of photography would be more suited to the newly launched ‘Independent’ newspaper.

Glynn was taken aboard the fledgling ‘Indy’ first as a freelance and then onto the staff. He covered the usual gamut of assignments for a daily national newspaper: portraits, hard news, overseas stories and soft features.

Following the Kings Cross fire tragedy where over 30 people died Glynn made one his most definitive images of Kwasi Afari Minta, who was severely burnt but survived. The picture won Glynn a first prize in the prestigious World Press Photo Awards.

Kwasi Afari Minta

In 1988, he covered the Clapham rail crash close to his then home in south London where 35 passengers died. His powerful picture was the first to cover the entire front page of the paper, Glynn had well and truly arrived and made his mark. He became known for his quiet observational intelligent photography and was trusted to make ‘something’ from nothing. In October 1989, he was sent to cover the San Francisco earthquake where over 60 died and thousands were injured. During just a matter of hours on the ground he produced a fine coverage resulting in a front-page news picture and a back-page photo spread.

Glynn covered the transitional elections in Namibia and South Africa. He spent time on Mount Athos communing with the monks and making a fine set of quiet contemplative images there but perhaps Glynn’s most recognised and almost certainly his most favoured photograph was of Nelson Mandela at his final election rally in Cape Town during the first all-race South African elections in April 1994.

Nelson Mandela photographed by Glynn and published by Gerry Brakus in The New Statesmen in 2013

Glynn was one of the sweetest most charming of men in the tough world of news photography. He made friends with most that he met…I have never heard a bad word against the man, few can be as well liked in our business.

Glynn Griffiths on the left, with on the back row, David Sandison, myself Brian Harris, Mykel Nicolaou, and Guy Simpson and Lauries Lewis in front…photographed by my son Jacob S. Harris at the Kalamzoo Club in London.

Photograph of Glynn with his Independent Newspaper photographer friends at one of our London based memory lane evenings. L-R: Back row unknown, Nick Turpin, John Voos, Glynn Griffiths,member of the band,Craig Easton in glasses. Front row: Laurie Lewis, Brian Harris, David Sandison, Kay Richardson, Guy Simpson and Tom Pilston…photographic selfie made by precariously balancing my very expensive Leica M9 on a wine bottle.

A charming quiet evening in an Italian eatery in Camden, London with Laurie Lewis on left, Glynn Griffiths, Guy Simpson and John Voos…I’m behind the camera

Glynn and John Voos catching up at yet another photographers night out in London

Independent Newspaper Foreign Desk 30th Anniversary Party at The Frontline Club, Paddington, London. 6 October 2016

A collection of photographs showing Glynn top left at the 30th Indy Foreign desk bash at the Frontline Club, with David Sandison at my book launch, at a gallery gig in east London where Glynn showed off his major piece made from nails and scorched wood and meetin’ and greetin’ at yet another opening…

After leaving the Indy in the late 1990’s to once again pursue a freelance career Glynn took up freelance picture editing and left London with his family to live in Cheltenham.

Glynn Griffiths Art Exhibition at the Parabola Art Gallery, Cheltenham, England. Work by the artist Glynn Griffiths

Specimen 1101, Beech, polypropylene rod, pyrographic markings at the Parabola Art Gallery, Cheltenham, England. Work by the artist Glynn Griffiths

Glynn Griffiths Art Exhibition at the Parabola Art Gallery, Cheltenham, England.

Glynn became frustrated with the limitations as to what he could achieve visually just by using a camera…photography per se began to bore him, photography was merely the means to an end and the end became the motive for Glynn’s next endeavour.

In his early 60’s Glynn went back to school…to Wimbledon College of Arts where he studied for an MA in Sculpture. His work involving ‘mother nature and handmade product’ was challenging to the uninitiated. His references were the deserts of his homeland in South Africa, he was excited about dry bones, a feather, a scrap of wood or iron weathered by the elements which he used in assembly’s contrasting with Perspex, cable ties, nails and hardware bought from his local store.

He sold several pieces, one piece made to order for a client in America and more through various galleries in London and Cheltenham. In the mid 2000’s he was awarded the Clifford Chance prize and exhibited in their Canary Wharf offices receiving much praise for the scope of his work.

Glynn Griffiths Exhibition-Growth, ‘Gravity & Balance’ at The Horse Box Gallery, 50 Grosvenor Hill, London.

Glynn Griffiths with his daughter Georgia at his Exhibition-Growth, ‘Gravity & Balance’ at The Horse Box Gallery, 50 Grosvenor Hill, London.

In the mid 2000’s when both Glynn and myself were going through our own personal crisis we both talked our problems through with long conversations as he commuted by motorway from Cheltenham to London…I called them our M4 chats. We started a photo-exchange where once a week we would make a photograph, print it and write something on the print about our thoughts for that day. We kept this going for over two years and I have over 100 original Glynn Griffiths photographs and drawings all signed and annotated…some of my most precious possessions.

I asked Glynn to help me photo edit my auto-biographical book in 2014-5. We spent several days in the cold of my garage going through hundreds of proof prints before getting my selection down from and unmanageable 2000 images to an almost manageable 3-400 photographs.

Glynn editing down the thousands of images to a manageable 400 plus for my book…we finally got it down to less than 200.

Some months later myself Glynn and designer Professor Phil Cleaver spent many 18 hour days and nights moving images and words around on screen and in hard copy before finishing my project at the printers. Not a bad word was said, not an argument, just complete calm…without Glynn I would still be shuffling my work about completely lost in the confusion of editing.

Glynn and ‘pooch’ editing Brian Harris’s book ’…and then the Prime Minister hit me…’ with Professor Phil Cleaver of et-al Design

Glynn at Geoff Neal Printers in Feltham, west London checking the print quality

Glynn had many who loved him: fellow photographers, editors, photo editors, his family and friends in South Africa, his drinking pals in Cheltenham, Glynn was not a drinker – preferring a half pint of beer or a glass of red wine with some good conversation and fine home cooking

Glynn Griffiths enjoying our wonderful Lasagne and several bottles of Montepulciano at our home in Thaxted…watched by his new best friend, Thelma

Glynn mellowing in our home with Thelma…the other cat

…Glynn was the arch polymath, he was a photographer, an artist, a sculptor, a cartoonist, a photo editor

Some of Glynn’s wonderfully dry wit showing through in his cartoons

…he could mend things and make things… only a month ago producing a fantastic sculptural piece consisting of a hill of bicycles that occupied a roundabout in Cheltenham to celebrate a Round Britain Cycle Race.

Glynn was just so many things…he was in fact a renaissance man through and through, with his ‘hippy’ clothes and ponytail, his grey beard and funny hat.

Striking a pose as W.G. Grace

Only a couple of weeks back he came down from Hebden Bridge in his motorhome to help me celebrate my 65th birthday in Southend-on-Sea with my partner Nikki and my son Jacob. We enjoyed the ‘best fish and chips in the world’ and walked the ‘prom’…we enjoyed the penny arcades and Glynn was happy.

Glynn with Nikki, myself and my son Jacob in Southend-on-Sea for my 65th birthday…on the prom prom prom…and in the penny arcades…September 2017

He followed us home to Thaxted and we spent the night putting some red wine away and the world to rights…in the morning I cooked breakfast, bacon, toast, eggs and baked beans. Glynn asked me why I stored my tins of baked beans upside down in the store cupboard. I replied that if the tins were upside down in store, when you opened them the beans were at the lid end and they all came out in one hit rather than having the hunt the last of the beans out with a spoon. He thought that was one of the most wonderful of ideas and in his last text to me a few days later he thanked Nikki and I for our hospitality but most of all he thanked us for showing him how to store his baked beans, he said it’s always wonderful to learn something new at 67!!

On the morning of the 16th of September I helped Glynn pack up his campervan with a case of Adnams Claret and a couple of large A2 size photographic prints from me to him as a present for all his hard work on my book. He said he was finally going to get around to reading it now he had the space and time. He drove out of the car park in Thaxted en route to the Tate Britain in London where he could park up for the weekend for free…and that was the last time I saw him.

My dear friend Glynn, I will miss you so much but I am privileged to have known you…you lovely gentle guy. RIP.

My friend Glynn Glynn Griffiths my wonderful friend, a friend as close as a brother, my touchstone in all matters of life, has died.

0 notes