a report from the studio

I spend most of my days in my studio. This is the benefit of remote working. As long as my laptop is open, emails rolling in, numerous Zoom meeting, etc… I am “on the clock.” The advantage of having all of my art supplies readily available is a blessing and a curse. My studio space resembles my brain in many ways. Sometimes I need to turn it off, which in this case means randomly pulling “work in progress” off the walls, so I can stop thinking about THE WORK for at least a little while. The upside of working in this environment is that I can dabbler with an idea at anytime, and garner quick results, via Lightroom and my decent Canon printer. Case in point, I got a bug up my ass yesterday about my ongoing boredom with “straight” photography. At the same time, complete abstraction seems too easy sometimes, or just a plain, self-indulgent mess other times. The problem (not really a problem) with photography in general is that it seems so intrinsically tied to the real world (broad generalization, I know.) Somehow, someway, reality need to peek it’s head into the camera, and onto the subsequent print, or else it drifts into something else, something (primarily) non-photographic. I’ve taken to shooting through prisms lately (as seen last year in full effect in Paris) and I think what I like about the approach (when it works…and often it doesn’t…) is that it breaks just enough from reality, and falls into the territory of “uniqueness.” Reflections and transparency wielded in a barely controllable manner, with a heavy helping of serendipity. It reaps non-repeatable results, for sure. Images that are only by me, for better or for worse. Even dabbling in the studio becomes a journey into unknown territory, and as the above image can attest, sometime the results are magic.

Treasure From Trash

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From time to time, I spend a few hours in a community darkroom here in Albuquerque. Though it open to “select” members of the community, the nicest thing about it is that when I book time there, I have the entire darkroom to myself. No fighting over when to turn on the lights, and I can use multiple enlargers at the same time. I like to experiment with expired papers, odd exposure techniques, and often times, found negatives.

One a recent visit, I found some “failed” film on the ground, stuffed in the corner of the darkroom, covered in dust and dirt. A few rolls that someone had obviously loaded incorrectly into the developing tank, it had chemical marks, streaks, and plenty of evidence that the film stuck to itself during the processing. The creator obviously discarded the film, seeing no value in it. On the other hand, I find these kinds of mishaps intriguing. I sometime distress my film intentionally to get the kinds of random results that this artist clearly distanced themselves from. I rolled up the forgotten film and brought it back to my studio. I eventually got around to scanning it an manipulating it in Lightroom. I like the unrestricted chance to play with this film, allowing for panoramic abstractions that are more about the medium itself than the need for any recognizable image. I love the results. I suppose I should give credit to my anonymous collaborator. One person’s trash is another’s treasure, indeed.

Making Contact

 Over the past few years, I have moved further away from straight photography in my creative practice. Any follower of this blog will have known that I have taken various drastic departures in pursuit of image making. At the same time, I’ve struggled with the fact that a “photograph” by is intrinsically representational.

Regardless of whatever manipulation one does: with lens or camera choices, post exposure manipulation (both analog and digital) there are still the fingerprints of some direct representation of the world within the image. This continues to be a quandary for me to deal with creatively. I have been revolting against the stream of similarity of images on social media: the impermanence and banality of even the most technically proficient photographs. Interesting subject matter or interesting concepts represented in a straight photographic manner for one reason or another has lost its appeal to me.

And yet. As I wrestle with this paradox I am looking for a detente of sorts. One small step I have recently taken is to carry around a small point shoot some camera with me. Through my daily obligations and travels I’ve been snapping photos of anything that happens to catch my eye at a certain point. I try not overthink the relevance of the subject matter, nor the technical approach. At the same time I am creating straight still photographs of the world around me.

This week I developed two rolls of the film I shot and it is still curious to me that even the most throwaway images seem to possess some kind of extra power when locked forever in silver halide on a roll of film. What might become of these images? Nothing, most likely. However, spending an evening developing, then scanning and studying his images has served some form of emancipation from my internal struggles with the work I create. There is still something quite alluring about seeing 36 images lined up on a sheet of paper. This current practice of mine, resulting in a contact sheet to meditate upon, is well worth the time invested.

2021: 34 Minor = Major

"A sequence of photographs is like a cinema of stills. The time and space between photographs is filled by the beholder … The spring-tight line between reality and photograph has been stretched relentlessly, but it has not been broken. … abstractions of nature have not left the world of appearances; for to do so is to break the camera's strongest point-its authenticity." - Minor White

I’ve been doing a deep dive into the work of Minor White this week. He was a major figure in 20th Century fine art photography, but oddly, he seems to have fallen off the radar somewhat nowadays. Perhaps if you were required to watch a short video about him before you get to your latest camera review video on YouTube, White would garner more interest. He certainly deserves it.

Minor White was part of the circle that brought legacy to the art of photography in the mid 20th century. He was a pal of Ansel Adams (I won’t hold that against him) and Paul Strand, and was heavily influenced by Alfred Stieglitz, both in style and in his theoretical approach to image making. He was the first editor of Aperture Magazine, a pillar of the art form since its inception. He was also one of the first photographers to consider the importance of sequencing his work. In fact, much of his body of work has been presented in groupings entitled: “Sequence…”

His photos ran the gamut from landscape and structures, very much in the style of his friend Ansel. However, it seems that only after he suffered some health issues, which precipitated an embrace of Eastern philosophy, that his work took a stronger turn toward abstraction and expressionism. Though close ups of ice formations and peeling paint might seem a cliche or trope nowadays, Minor White was one of the first to explore this subject matter with his camera. When one considers the prominence of the hand-held camera and burgeoning “street” aesthetic that was gaining ground when he was producing this kind of work, White should be commended for going against the grain, in a sense.

There are plenty of examples of this master’s work out there on the internet, though I do suggest trying to track down his photos in book form. They really do reward the viewer when seen in a more tangible format. The time gazing at a Minor White abstraction in a hardbound photo book is a short, meditative escape from the present world. Your moment of Zen awaits.