rest
There’s something to this technique that I really like. A softness and gentleness.
It evokes and suggests.
A person makes a space. Existing.
Meaning emerges from the shadows and its collaboration with the light. One light. The light.
Skin is a surface that is our limit. Where we sense the world. Where it senses us.
Interaction.
But the image carves a space from the everyday and stands out as distinct from it.
dark
This is an outtake from a series I did a couple of weeks ago after my appendectomy. It seemed important to document it artistically, at least a bit. So I worked on developing some ideas that I’ve explored a bit before, using light and mirrors and an unusual point-of-view.
What I’m looking for is to express the mystery that the world is. Each of us is a body, a place where we exist. Mostly we take it for granted; but then something inside messes up and we are aware of it in a new way. Things that are normally just there in the background assume prominence. We feel new things; we suspect they are a greeting from mortality. In that, we are probably correct. There is a fragility to being that we usually overlook and when it begins to look at us directly new thoughts emerge.
Aesthetically, it sometimes surprises me how light emerges in my work. Especially in works like this, chiaroscuro takes on an importance that is very unusual in art today. While I am consciously, and unconsciously, pushing some boundaries, with the body and with expression, the fact that I am reminded of Rembrandt and other art of that era in what I do adds a certain depth that I think is fascinating.
When I showed my pick from this shoot (not this exact image) to my group, they were basically speechless. They were moved, but could not find words to express their thoughts. To me, that’s a good response. The true response to art is only in and through art. Words can hint at what is expressed in the image, but the meaning can only be sensed, where the eye and the mind touch the distinctness that is the image.
Well, after how many years, I’ve had a photo appear on Explore at Flickr. That’s something, I guess. But why this photo, over so many other photos I’ve posted over the years, is rather inscrutable.
It’s also maybe dangerous that I’ve learned about this direct sharing from Flickr to my blog. But it can give me a way to highlight some of the great photographers I follow there.
One of the most creative photographic artists I know is Chris Friel. His work pushes the boundary of perception and time in evocative ways. Working both with the figure, as here, and with landscape there is always a wonderful mystery in his work.
Via Flickr:
FINAL SET
Little Rock sky
About a month ago, I went to Little Rock for a conference. The conference was fine, but I took as much time as I could to wander around downtown Little Rock looking for photos. For the most part, I felt pretty good about it. There was some nice decay and interesting things to be found. At the same time, it was dull and empty in a weird way that doesn’t seem to exist here in Madison, although maybe it does somewhere in Milwaukee. There are probably social and economic reasons for this, but I’ll ignore going into that for now.
On Sunday, while waiting to head to the airport, I took one last wander and found the photo above. Mainly, I liked how the clouds were giving the buildings a background. Maybe it’s not among the best of the photos I made there, but a week or so ago, I happened to get the original edition of Stephen Shore’s Uncommon places (1982) from the library and what did I see, but this building, from a slightly different angle and 40 years ago. Amazing! Still, it was a very synchronistic moment for me, because here was a literal echo in my work of the work of one of my inspirations as a photographer.
Stephen Shore. West Fourth Street, Little Rock, Arkansas , October 5, 1974.
This is something I never do consciously — I try to see through my own eyes when I’m making photos. But part of what I see is undoubtedly influenced by what I study and think about and observe. I have always been intrigued by Shore’s work, in large part, I think, because on first glance it feels so ordinary; and yet, there is always subtle structuring going on that takes a while to unravel consciously. This is the element of Shore that I think many photographers miss when they try to make this sort of photo.
This next one is maybe more consciously in Shore’s style, made just little while later and a few blocks from the first.
Little Rock parking
Here, I was very conscious of aligning the trees and utility poles and finding the POV that worked best for this photo. In particular, I think the slope of the parking lot pulls subtly against all the verticals to good effect. In addition, the light is clear and yet muted; sort of glistening on the asphalt and yet dull on darker forms. Even the little grouping of poles with the capitol dome at the left makes an interesting little micro-composition.
Making photographs is a rather contemplative discipline. It requires a trusting reliance on intuition and the subconscious when working, combined with clear reflection on the aesthetic and technical issues when not directly involved with making photos.
Sometimes I wonder why someone of as few words as me actually decided to start a blog. What did I expect? or want from it? or think it would do for me? At any rate, I’ve made it past 60 posts now, for whatever that’s worth. It would be nice to have some feedback or interaction occasionally. But it’s at least a sort of journal, which is ok, in itself.
Winter is a slow time for me anyway, photographically. I’m not interested in the aesthetics of snow, and winter, in general, for the most part. I have no interest in fighting with gear in the cold. Tramping through snow doesn’t really attract me any more. So getting out there takes some need, I guess. And since I haven’t even made 100 photos since the beginning of the year, a couple of weeks ago I forced myself to go out and find something, anything. There’s a prairie conservancy park here that I go to sometimes, so I stopped there. Mainly I was looking for natural things that I could combine with body images in Photoshop. What I took mostly doesn’t stand on its own, as a result, but I’ve played around with some of them a bit. Although I haven’t quite found what I was looking for yet, it’s been good to keep up the Photoshop skills that I have and learn a few new ones.
One thing I do in the winter is reading. I’ve read some very interesting things, some of which it might be good to write about here, at some point. It’s been very helpful in shaping some ideas that I have for projects and general aesthetic positions. I’ve started to use Evernote as a sort of journal and notebook to store and develop ideas. My main accomplishment, however, is that, after about a year of working at it, I finished Proust’s In search of lost time. It was my second time through it and it made more sense than at first. It’s such a universe of its own that you really need to just plow through it the first time for the general plot, etc. Then, approaching it again, you can begin to savor the writing and the ideas.
In particular, Proust says that the artist has two lives: the public one and our inner life as an artist. Our public life is just a distraction, since it keeps us from doing our art. It is as an artist that we are able to recover time and bring that exploration back into the world at large. The coming of age as an artist of the narrator is the main plot line of the book. It’s aggravating to follow his distractions and dead ends, but the novel is the result. While it’s not strictly an autobiography, it’s striking how some elements do echo Proust’s life and much of the inner monologue must also reflect his mind, as well.
I still feel that I’m stuck at a boundary, myself, though. The photo above maybe is a metaphor for that. I can see through to where I want to be, but something still stands in the way of getting there. For Proust’s narrator, as a writer, most of what he needed to do to accomplish his goal was to shut himself up in a room and write. As a photographer, my need to find collaborators for the ideas I want to explore adds an extra dimension to the solitude of being an artist. As a person of few words and little sociality, this presents what seems an insurmountable difficulty. I remain open to suggestions and offers.
circle
Lately, I haven’t been taking many photos. But I have been using the time to work on my website. I’ve neglected it too much in the time that I’ve had it and I feel like I need to get it to the point where it actually can generate some interest in my work. As it is, there’s only a trickle of visitors. So I’m trying to add more content and work on arranging it effectively. There are so many themes that I work in, it’s quite hard to develop categorization that makes sense. So, I’m plugging away at it. I’m open to comments and feedback.
What photography I’ve done recently has been more experimenting with body effect, using myself as model. I’m not particularly committed to selfies, but it does help work out techniques. This one has some good movement.
dispersion
Continuing with my explorations of in-camera texture effects. There’s something fascinating about layering as an element of setting up a photo. It adds a certain amount of chance into the equation. And that’s all for the good.
Being personal, too, is increasingly important. It seems that when there is a bodily presence in my work there is a better response from viewers. Something about skin gets into people’s heads and they react. Especially when there is also some level of abstraction to make it difficult to grasp quickly.
The photo becomes its own reality; separate, or distinct, from the everyday, humdrum world. A trace of an interiority, mysterious, luminous.
hand
Making art is a personal thing.
It emerges from trust in your intuition.
Making personal art is not easy. What is easy is making images that everyone has seen before; we do it unconsciously, because to some extent that is the normative way of seeing. Looking inward to intuit what you feel about what is in front of you is the goal.
Emotion is catalyzed into the work. Divorced, then, from your consciousness and set into the world of objects, where it becomes a work of art. It lives apart from the humdrum world, complete in its energy, evocativeness, power.
Making art is humbling; our personal vision takes us where it will and we follow. Open. Accepting. Grateful.
still life
Is this photo confusing?
Certainly, it doesn’t seem that way to me. It’s a moody still life — a moldering apple, a little sprig of raspberries, a green leaf, and a dried up reddish flower. They’re seen from a low angle in dim light, although with nice highlights — overall it is nicely lit. The focus is a small plane centered a little right and above the center of the apple; so most of the photo is varying amounts of bokeh. Behind, the background is an indistinct bluish gray. The objects are sitting on a reflective surface, which adds some reflective underlighting and emphasizes the sheen of the photo.
Aesthetically, it’s kind of in the style of an old Dutch still life from the early 18th century. Perhaps there’s a touch of mannerism in the moody light and the overripeness of the objects.
At the same time, it aims to undercut normative expectations for such a scene.The decaying items are treated as if they were in the prime of their ripeness, with rich light and a classical sort of arrangement. There is an overall sheen that works to counteract all the decay of the objects presented; especially the glowing light of the lower left corner, which gives the photo a hyperreality not usually found in a work depicting decaying objects.
It is purposely unsettling. In subtle ways.
So why is it so hard for others to understand?
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