Sanctuary

It’s been a hard year so far, and I have not felt grounded at all. Death has come, from both near and far. Work provides a modicum of distraction, but when things get quiet, my mind wanders often through darkness. These days have brought me a deeper appreciation for my studio practice; it truly is my sanctuary. I also find the destruction, the burning, bleaching and taping of my photographs to be even more cathartic than it was in the past…as is expected I suppose.

Apropos, I’ve been listening to a lot of bleak music lately. Lou Reed has made a regular appearance on my playlist. I spent some time with his rather dour album, entitled “Magic and Loss” and though I was very familiar with the record, this time it struck much closer to home for me. I channeled some of his words and thoughts into my current artwork. I’m not sure of the value that these words may add to my images, but for now hanging on my studio wall. They are a reminder that pain does indeed wash into all of our lives, but that we must forge forward regardless.

2022: 37 Black Hole Sun

I often think about the status of the art of photography. Is it diminishing in value? Is it more ubiquitous, hence less important? Is it a means of expression that is less relevant than it once was? Has it been tarnished by its sheer omnipresence? Many of us who use this medium as a mode of expression probably wrestle with these questions. Yet, we continue to toil away at our craft, ignoring the change in the weather (metaphorically speaking.)

Daido Moriyama, a photographer I greatly admire, once released a body of work titled “Farewell Photography.” One could interpret the title as his own personal goodbye to the medium, and a look at the images from this series would certainly validate that opinion. Grainy, overly contrasty, scratched, water damaged and generally abused, the photographs felt like an extreme that could not be returned from. We know from history that Moriyama did indeed return from this precipice in his personal work, still photographing to this day. However, if we look at the title as a broader statement, I think its relevant to consider the idea of saying farewell to photography as something that still resonates today.

The image above is a film leader from a roll of 110 film I shot earlier this year. A simple, throwaway strip of film stock. But when I scanned it, I saw other things emerge. A sky, devoid of the brightness of the sun. Ab scorched landscape. The universe in a smattering of dust. An existential landscape. The end of straight, photographic representation? Is this even a photograph? It is a piece of film, exposed in a camera, and contextualized by my eye, my brain. Is it nothing or is it everything? Perhaps both? Is it a wrench thrown into the mechanisms of the forever churning, social media fueled, torrent of images? I’ll leave that for you to ponder.

2022: 16 Go south, go west

The desert awakens, and with that, it also beckons. Six hours in the car takes me from Albuquerque to Tucson. Similar places in ways, very different in others. I have grown accustomed to the desert, the unique dryness of the air, even in springtime, when things bloom, and the sweet smell of flowers is added to the mix. Sleeping under a blanket of stars with an early morning visit with Venus, and I am reminded how insignificant my personal troubles can be against this backdrop of the wider universe.

2022: 15. Get sick, get well, hang around a inkwell

I have been fortunate to have avoided the dreaded Covid over the past 2 plus years. I have also been fortunate to have been vaccinated and boostered. Due to my age, I received booster shot number four this week. With it came the expected cruddy feelings the following day. After shots two and three, I was pretty much down for the count the following day. Shot number four was no different. Body aches and extreme exhaustion were on the menu again. I made sure I had little work responsibilities for the day after, and spent most of the day in bed. I think I logged about 16 hours of sleep. Again, good fortune to be able to just stay in bed and sleep. There is an interesting element to this experience. Usually when one gets sick, one doesn’t know how bad or how long the illness will be. Add the unpredictability of the Covid pandemic to the mix and anxious days or weeks can easily follow. There is something very different when you know what to expect, having voluntarily introducing a small bit of disease into your system. Riding out the after effects was not pleasant at all, but the understanding that the pain and suffering would be finite made things much easier to process mentally. A surrender to the reality of the situation was comforting, as was a warm bed in a quiet house. Today, I feel almost back to normal. With the time to do nothing but rest came some time to sit quietly with my thoughts and ponder the plenty I have in my life, including the ability to get sick and then get well again.

2022: 11 Envy

Comparison. Success. Recognition. Validation. Awards. Rewards. Endorsement. Jealousy. Schadenfreude. Equity. Representation. Accolades. Envy. Wants. Desires. Needs. Love. Acceptance. What is enough?

2022: 6 Follow Up

Last week on my blog post, I asked if anyone could figure out how I made the photo I shared. What camera, what film what method did I use to create the “stitched” image above. A few intrepid readers got close (Mr. Atkins, in particular.) So, in the interest in full disclosure…I used my iPhone with a swanky app that simulates a bevy of old film cameras. This sharing was an exercise for myself: to see how the method, the process of making a photo impacts how it is perceived by a viewer. I also wanted to challenge my own biases about film vs digital vs iPhone photography. I am working hard this year to NOT GIVE A FUCK about the semantics and the dogma of image making. Do I like the picture? Do others like it? Does it matter? Does it matter how it was made? Do the answers to these questions mean anything to anyone? Probably not. I work hard to create images that do”something.” But that something doesn’t have to be earth shaking, transformative or revolutionary. They could be mundane. They could be entertaining to me and only me. They could be failures…digital ephemera that will float way within a few minutes of being shared. Dust in the wind, so to speak. This transience can be depressing, or it can be liberating. I choose the latter.

2022: 5 A Stitch in time

Does it matter what camera I used to create this image? This is a serious question. I’ll leave the tech information a secret right now. Just curious… do any readers know how I made this image? I’d like to hear if you could crack the code. A thorough follow up will occur, based on your thoughts. Feel free to comment.

2021:47 In Purgatory

A quiet, long holiday weekend in the mountains of Colorado. Quiet, cold, some snow. A hot tub and sauna and plenty of attitude adjusters. Purgatory isn’t so bad, when caught between heaven and hell.

2021: 45 Proof

Thanks to my ongoing obsession with Austin Kleon, I purchased a rubber stamp this week. My idea was to get something I could use to mark my working photos. Especially since my Japan photo book completely sold out this week, I wanted to try to reappropriate the proof prints in some way. I went to a local shop near my studio, and the next day I had my “PROOF” rubber stamp.

It’s a curious word, proof. Photographers or printers use it to denote a working version of a print; something not intended to be the final work to be seen, shared or sold. However, the word also has there, nicer, broader meanings and uses. Evidence for one. A photo, in many ways, is proof, isn’t it? Evidence that I was somewhere, I saw this thing, and I documented it photographically, thus providing proof of… what? It’s existence? My existence? All of this and more?

I then started to think about proof in an even broader sense. The rubber stamp could be used to validate, to empower, to prop up, to sway a viewer. The bold red ink, the all caps san serif typeface, set in 42pt Helvetica Bold; it’s screams of validation. Of existence. PROOF.

I think I’ll be using this stamp much more than I originally intended.

Sage words from Dante.

2021:39 Why?

I just returned from a short road trip to the desert outside of Tuscon, Arizona. I was working on a long-term project, shooting the mighty saguaro cacti. The early fall days provided great light, and the nights were cool enough that a sleeping bag was welcome. I fell asleep to the sounds of coyotes yipping away in the distance. Not a bad trip at all.

So that is the reason ”why” I took the trip. On the way out and back, I of course shot the obligatory “road trip” photos. Somewhere into hour number 7 of the drive home, I went into deep thought mode. Why did I take these photos of old signs, rest stops, etc? Why? Really. We all do it, to some extent. Is it ruin porn? Is it a trope? Is it a cliche? This subject matter is like photographic catnip. Yet there is no good reason for me to take these photos. No good reason to share them, either. But I’m doing both. Why? Is there poetry in decay? Is there a feeling of superiority of not living in a place like this? Newsflash: I do live in a place like this. I’m a sucker for rust and dirt and sun bleached hues. I admit that. Folks come from far and wide to see and shoot these scenes. I don’t take my proximity for granted. But I really don’t know why I continue to take these kinds of photos.

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

I rail against the sameness I see on social media. I get frustrated by the perfection of digital image making. I shoot pinhole cameras, or use a busted lens to free myself of the obligation of the perfect, pristine image. And yet… and yet, I use my posh new iPhone to capture the same eye candy that any other novelty seeking photographer would capture. I don’t know why I do it, but I do it. My phone and my hard drive are filled with these kinds of images. I don’t think they’ll ever amount to anything other than taking up digital storage space. But I still take these pictures. I can blame Walker Evans, or William Eggleston for this trend, but I still choose take part. So here I share, guilty as charged. Don’t ask me why.

---

Postscript: found this great snippet of Henry Wessel Jr. that adds some fuel to my fire…