Providence, Redux, or, Photography Fail

While I was idly weekending, eating, and drinking in Providence the other week, Rebecca and I decided to spend the cold but sunny Saturday afternoon following the farmer's market touring the town on foot and visiting the local shops and businesses. In such a quaint atmosphere filled with unique and curious characters, I was fully prepared to photographically document the beautiful and interesting wares and images we stumbled across; however, I quickly learned the Providence proprietors were less than pleased with my photographic pursuits, peremptorily demanding that I cease and desist.

Above is the large and laughably droll bulldog that stood silent, panting guard at the store front of a high end sex shop; we did not enter, but I now wish that we had, so I could have captured a better portrait of this endearing creature, unencumbered by the shadows and reflections of my over-sized Cole Haan bag.

The navy and white large floral pattern of this skirt made me even more desperately for summer; I hope to return to Providence then, dally along the beach, indulge in some lobster rolls, wear pristine white skirts, and carry a vintage camel wicker purse with lucite handles and detailing. This fantasy is quite sartorially fleshed out.

I liked the dainty beading along the collar of this sweater set; the color scheme reminds me of daffodils, which always bloomed in the gardens along my parents' front porch stoop, regardless of the wanton neglect and active abuse inflected upon them by my parents and the outdoor rompings of neighborhood children.

This full length cream and navy wool coat, vintage from the 1970s, was absolutely beautiful. The shop was well curated, with many beautiful bags and clothing pieces I was excited to explore, document, potentially buy or at least consider buying, though it was not as well priced as it could have been for the area. Soon after taking this photograph, as I was examining a pair of brightly colored woven flats, I was accosted by a wizened old woman, wizened not by extreme age or the elements but by a callous bitterness, a stale and stained white not unlike what I always imagine when I envision William Butler Yeats' poetic character Crazy Jane: flat breasts, sagging jowls, cruel eyes. She barked at me, wanting to know why I was photographing in her store and what I intended to use the images for; I explained that I was visiting a friend, visiting a new town, and was trying to have some fun on my weekend trip. She continued to eye me coolly like a coiled serpent, clearly not believing that I had no malcontent, no nefarious use for my one single image.

I was so repulsed by her attitude, and the general condescension that permeated the air from her northeast small town hipster faux-artiste employees, Rebecca and I immediately left, not wanting to remain in their sour presence or even contemplate supporting their business, though their merchandise could have possibly cajoled and convinced us otherwise, as it was a great selection. I do not recommend stopping in here for a visit.

This plastic mixing bowl and measuring cup set, found at a contemporary knick-knack store, reminded me of my own sunset chromatic Tupperware measuring cups. The bowls had a Pyrex design to them, without the price, though also without the nice weight and sturdiness.

Great moustaches mug, featuring such thinkers, philosophers, artists, and writers as Mark Twain, Nietzsche, Salvador Dali, and Edgar Allen Poe; also featured, Frida Kahlo's eyebrows. I had to pick this one up for the filmmaker, and he was absolutely tickled. It is his new favorite tea mug.

A display of beetles is really a rather useful and beautiful thing.

Luxury candles, on display at a local perfume, make-up, and high end lingerie boutique; once again, as the proprietor realized I was documenting wares, saw the opportunity of my stealing her shop design, lay out, merchandising strategy, and overall ambiance through visual documentation, adopting her entrepreneurial strategy, and opening a new perfume, make-up, and high end lingerie boutique, with slightly reduced prices compared to the current Providence market value, right across the street, thereby demolishing her local monopoly and razing her revenues in one foul swoop, so she slinked over in her tall heels and black dress, and kindly asked I not take any more pictures.

Apparently, this display sneakily got captured as well; mostly, I liked the bright colors. This little shop, again, well curated with amazing and exotic perfumes, soaps, lotions, very sexy and dainty lady ware, however, in a town filled with starving graduate students and hipster artistes and organic hemp cloth-wearing hippies, Rebecca and I could not imagine how she manages to stay open.

Apparently, if you are a sea-faring fisherman, temporarily taking to land and docking in Providence merely for stocking up on supplies and the company of women, or if you are a bow tie and tight pants wearing heterosexual male graduate student at within the Brown University Department of English, Captain Seaweeds is the place to grab an affordable brew; I believe all dignities are checked at the door.