2022: 27 je suis

Sometimes I don’t consider myself as a “photographer” anymore. Yes, I primarily work in photo-based image making, but as far as “straight” photography goes…I have moved on. Yet I am uncomfortable disposing of the designation completely, and I feel that just calling myself an “artist” seems too general.

I have been going through a large body of work from a project that has taken over four years to shoot. I’ve been edit my selections via 4 x 6 prints. This has led to a preliminary layout for my next self-publishing project. Once that grouping was complete, I decided to take another pass at the “bleach, burn, scratch, cut and tape” process I started to utilize during the early days of the pandemic. This approach continues to interest me. It continues to surprise me. I get lost in the process, and never really know where it will all leading, image-wise.

Ultimately, I’m happy to consider anything I do as part of my creative practice and whatever label applies to me is secondary. Call me what you will.

2021:43 The White Plains

Those of you who know me won’t be surprised to hear that music means a lot to me. Music inspires my creative process. Music provides relief from stress, and helps me concentrate. Or it helps me escape. I’ve even dabbled in the world of music in past versions of myself. These days, I like to support musician friends with my photography and graphic design…when it’s a good fit for my work style, and when I get creative freedom. Recently, I was approached by my friend Otto Geist, an experimental musician who records under the name The White Plains. His music is very atmospheric, and cinematic. It sounds like soundtracks to movies that don’t yet exist. Otto asked me to create artwork for his new series of releases, and I was happy to oblige. His music is great for donning headphones, dimming the lights and taking a bit of a mental trip to someplace else. I encourage you to check out his work by clicking the album artwork below. Better yet, support the cause by making an affordable purchase on his Bandcamp page. Thank you, Otto for letting me do my thing to bring visuals to your sounds.

Cyan

Magenta

Yellow

Black

2021: 25 Hold Still, Keep Going

Emerging from the pandemic lockdown has been an interesting challenge. Finding balance between the slow, quiet (albeit fearful) days of 2020, compared to the now open, now traveling, now meeting and working face to face reality… it’s definitely caused me some consternation. I don’t want to lose what I gained, but I also don’t want to live in a shell, away from the world. Case in point, I flew on an airplane last week to the east coast. I attended a large family gathering. I drank and ate and laughed and cried…with other people. I also spent a day in NYC, riding the subway (!), hanging out in Washington Square Park (!), eating a pastry in my favorite Italian bakery (!), and then jumping on another flight back to New Mexico. A few months ago this would have seemed impossible. Yet, here I am. I realize how privileged I am to write these words, to have experienced everything I have just described. Also, how lucky I am just to be alive, to have survived, not only the past year and a half, but also the decades before. I have turned inwards so much, it was good to step outside and feel the world around me once again. I hope for the same for all of you, whether it’s next week or next year. We are here, now. We may hold still for a moment (or months or years) but ultimately, we keep going.

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2021: 13 Waxing and Waning

One of my challenges I make to myself, in order to keep out of the grip of the “big mutherfuckin’ sad” is stay engaged with my creativity. Shooting film certainly helps, and improv has been a life saver, for sure. But where to go when the unfamiliar starts to feel commonplace? Recently I decided to sign up for a six-week, online encaustic class. For those who don’t know, encaustic is a centuries old technique of melting wax and pigments, and then painting them onto a surface. In my case, I’ve been exploring the joys of laying wax on top of some of may photographic images. Hell, why not? I’ve already taken flame to my negatives and my prints, so it seems like a logical next step. It’s also a big leap out of my comfort zone. Back in college, I struggled through the painting classes that were part of my fine arts degree studies. Ever since, the idea of using brushes on any surface (besides painting the living room walls) has been foreign territory I’d chosen not to explore. However, the idea of trying something new with my photography proved to be too enticing to ignore, and I am convinced that I’ve made a good choice. It is liberating to brush melted wax onto a surface, then zap it with a heat gun, fusing the wax to the surface. There are myriad ways to manipulate the wax and the color further, and I’ve been trying many different approaches. Trust me, there have been many more failures than successes. But there is a sense of play at the root of this new direction that I find intoxicating. Or maybe it’s just that smell of melting wax that I love so much. It reminds me of the scent in the hallways of my college art department, as I scurried to the elevator to get up to the fourth floor darkroom, where I felt more comfortable than at an easel with my color theory professor chastising me. I sometime I wish I wasn’t so afraid of failure back then.

2020: 3 (Vulnerability)

Being an artist can be an ongoing emotional challenge. I’m not talking about the idea of the “tortured artist.” That trope has been proven false numerous times. I am thinking about the way we share our souls through our work. We open ourselves up to judgement, to criticism, to ridicule… but also to the possibility of connection with a viewer; an understanding; a sharing of our vision. At the root of all of this, I believe, is the idea of vulnerability.

If you were ever an art student, you most likely remember critiques. You’d pin your assignment on the wall and prepare for the judgement of the professor and your fellow students. These exercises, though necessary for our development, were often excruciating moments to withstand. There is an inherent contract being forged during these moments. I am baring myself in front of others. I am opening myself up to be possibly humiliated… or lauded. I am making myself vulnerable.

Anytime we share something personal, we are making ourselves vulnerable. We are making an emotional investment in our act, and trusting the recipient will be considerate, be objective, be supportive, be kind. Of course, judgement doesn’t always meet our hopes. It is often the opposite… cruel, dismissive, or insensitive.

My personal experience has been one of constant evolution. Like most young creators, I did not like being judged. Even if I though my work was good (this was rarely the case) I did not enjoy exposing myself to criticism. We are told to develop “thick skin” in these moments, but often, as artists, our sensitivity is the antithesis of this approach. It took me many years to build the confidence to share my photos with the world. Years ago, I started a Tumblr to share my photos, but I did it under an anonymous name. It was far easier to share when no one knows who you really are. Slowly, I shared the work with friends I could trust. And eventually, I developed the courage to post my work under my own name. It wasn’t until a bit more than six years ago that I built this website, where I could have a permanent home for my work, under the url with my own name.

The steps to submit work to exhibitions and publications came slowly, but with those attempts, came some needed validation for my work. And when I took the steps to self-publish, I was truly committing to my own vision with confidence. The fact that I now write entries like this on a weekly basis is evidence to myself that I’ve come so far. And the root of all of this is vulnerability. I somehow am able to muster the courage to put my thoughts and my images out into the world, knowing there will be some who will be dismissive or judge me harshly. But there are also a few people who this work resonates with… I know because you’ve reached out from time to time. I am grateful for that. And I value the opportunity to share my thoughts and my vision with the world in a place of quiet confidence. It’s been an ongoing process, but one I am proud of.