Seeing Things

The beautiful muted color palette of the rotting, decaying leaf were what first attracted me. It was only much later that I noticed the butterfly shape. Was that reading somehow operating at a subconscious level in my brainpan as I framed up and clicked the shutter? Some would say, yes. Moi, I tend to think it was just a happy accident? And I'm good with happy accidents.

Art or Archeology?

I've heard it said that architecture, or let's say the built environment, is one of the main visual manifestations of cultural forces. Seems like a pretty solid argument to me. And I suppose photography is one of the best tools in our quiver to interrogate the built environment in order to explore these cultural forces. The close relationship between culture and the built environment is undoubtedly why so many photographers are drawn to making images of architectural subjects. These cultural forces draw us in like moths to a flame. A critical question, in my view, is whether we approach the work as archeologists or artists.

Sticker Shock

On my recent trip to NYC, I stumbled upon a large show of contemporary photography at the Phillips Collection in midtown. It was like a small tour of the medium’s history from the 1930s until the present. Just enough work was on display — right below my threshold for visual overload. That is one of the great things about NYC, the random encounters with wonderful art. I’m glad they have these public viewings prior to the auction, it was inspiring and I came back the next day for a second look. Not that I could afford to bid on much. The prices ranged from around $1000 for the work of a little known artist to an estimated quarter million for a Cindy Sherman. The Dubuffet on the second floor was not for sale, just part of the decor of the place.

Tasting notes: iPhone.

Tofu and radishes...

Sometimes it takes a decade for me to cross an item off my bucket list. It probably makes sense to start picking up the pace a little bit to avoid a mad rush at the end. For whatever reason, I have always wanted to make tofu at home, but I've just never gotten around to trying. I even bought a very detailed book about the craft. Well, this past weekend, through a confluence of mysterious forces, I finally got around to making a batch of homemade tofu. And, I am glad I did. It was really straightforward (far easier than reading about it, actually) and the results were delicious.

Here is an image of my chunk of tofu floating in its water bath. I like the pattern that the cheesecloth imparts to the surface of the tofu because it reminds me of other kinds of cheese I've made. Who knew that tofu could be so photogenic?

Hold the mayo

I think it is probably a pretty good idea to chill with your old images every so often. We all love to push forward, which totally makes sense. I'm just suggesting that we make time once in a while to check in and see how our former selves are doing, is all. Of course, in order to be able to do that, we need to resist the impulse to burn all our old negatives whenever we are in a bad mood. Keep some hidden away at the bottom of an old box somewhere hard to get to. Years later, you'll be glad you did that. 

And when you do go back for a peek, if you're lucky, you will find a real gem that you previously overlooked for one reason or another. Other times you'll wonder what the hell you were doing putting a star filter on your lens. That kind of thing.

Here is an image I made back in the day on a trip to South Carolina. For some reason now lost to time, I put this one in the 'maybe' folder. Was the subject matter just a little too hackneyed? Was the arrangement of the branches just a tad off? I can't recall, but now, I like the image just fine. I am okay with the composition and I'm not the least bit angry with any of the trees for not having branches organized in a certain preconceived manner.

Layers of meaning

A variety of advanced imaging techniques have been developed by scholars to assist in the study of historical palimpsests. It has been possible to decipher important documents, to discover that certain manuscripts had been written over with liturgical texts rather than being burned, and the like.

In a similar vein, sometimes it is just simpler to repurpose an old or ugly building rather than tearing it down. As a result, architectural palimpsests abound in the modern urban landscape. Might photography be a useful tool for artists to begin to understand these elements of their built environment?

If well seen, images of architectural palimpsests can make interesting abstract compositions in their own right. If done really well, perhaps the viewer is also invited to create an accompanying narrative that leads to some new understanding on their part?

Is nostalgia always such a bad thing?

I've always tended to think that nostalgia is for idiots, and although I still have a real aversion to it, this year, as the days get shorter and we brace for the long, dark winter ahead, I find myself going through my old negatives and lingering on images that move me a little in that direction. 

Is this the first sign of some age-related mental decay, or is it something more benign, like simply wanting to think that things ultimately will get back to normal? I have a feeling it is the latter, which is kind of okay, I think. That being said, when I was younger, I probably would have burned the nostalgia-provoking negatives just to be on the safe side. So maybe there is a kind of decay going on after all. 

Giacometti people

With Fall already upon us and Winter rapidly approaching, the sun is much lower in the sky, elongating the shadows in the afternoon when we walk. Generally, I find it preferable not to walk alone, and I am lucky to have two companions with me on most days, my wife and a camera. It helps a lot if your human accomplice practices Tai Chi while you look for compositions in the landscape. That way, no one gets too bored, and you can encourage each other to keep up a decent tempo when you are moving forward.

I think we look like Giacometti people, like winter trees after their leaves have fallen to the ground. Over the course of a few weeks last Fall, I took a whole series images like this, chose the better ones, and made a dozen or so copies of a zine to give away to family and friends. They probably just tucked their copies away somewhere -- hopefully to be rediscovered many years hence. I have my fingers crossed that their future surprise will bring back fond memories.