11/9
I recently saw/heard three things which made me think very seriously about the kind art I not only respond to but the kind of art I want to make.
The Harvard Film Archive had a retrospective of films by Bruce Conner (1933-2008) which were some of the most amazing things I've ever seen. He used almost entirely found footage which he edited together to create films that were hilarious, haunting, breathtaking, sad and truly unforgettable. It's like he created his own visual language out of discarded images (educational films, newsreels, b-movies, industrial films, etc) to critique American culture.
William Christenberry's photographs (William Christenberry Photographs, 1961-2005) and talk at MassArt, while being different from Conner, have a somewhat similar sensibility. His interest in the vernacular architecture of Hale County, Alabama seems to mirror Conner's use of found materials. Both create art from what is discarded or overlooked. They find beauty (or in the case of Conner, humor and mystery as well) in things most people wouldn't notice. In Christenberry's work, it's a subtle beauty that stems from what he called his 'emotional involvement with vernacular architecture'. He also said you could always tell an artist who is in love with his subject. He clearly does and even though many of his photographs are made with an old Brownie camera, there is both beauty and elegance.
A few days later Gregory Crewdson spoke at MassArt and he went into great detail to describe how he makes his photographs. Working with a crew between 50 and 60 people, Crewdson makes constructed images that look like film stills. This often includes building sets, using smoke and rain machines, closing off streets, setting buildings on fire, making snow, hiring actors, etc etc. As he went on it seemed like his working process became more and more involved with not only more intricate stage sets, but massive amounts of digital post production. It felt as if it had nothing to do with photography and more to do with working with gadgets and props. Towards the end of his discussion he said he doesn't even like 'touching a camera' and that he wasn't interested in what his photographs mean. This felt like a total cop out because why would someone go to such lengths to produce these images if they weren't interested in the meaning of them (other than the obvious reality that he can sell them for lots of money)? I also felt that for all the dazzle in Crewdson's work (and technically they are pretty amazing) they leave me cold. Once I get past the technical part, there isn't much left. Just an anonymous woman sitting in a car at an intersection with the door open, for example. Wow.
For me Crewdson's work ended up feeling kind of vulgar. The idea of so much time and money being used (wasted?) to make something that is ultimately so unemotional. That when you strip away all the manufactured 'drama' you're left with but nothing but artifice. It's visual junk food. And compared with the powerful simplicity of Christenberry and Conner, the work of Crewdson feels even more empty. It seems like Crewdson has gotten so far away from actual photography and traditional image making, he's lost any connection to what he's trying to say. No wonder he doesn't want to talk about meaning.
The Harvard Film Archive had a retrospective of films by Bruce Conner (1933-2008) which were some of the most amazing things I've ever seen. He used almost entirely found footage which he edited together to create films that were hilarious, haunting, breathtaking, sad and truly unforgettable. It's like he created his own visual language out of discarded images (educational films, newsreels, b-movies, industrial films, etc) to critique American culture.
William Christenberry's photographs (William Christenberry Photographs, 1961-2005) and talk at MassArt, while being different from Conner, have a somewhat similar sensibility. His interest in the vernacular architecture of Hale County, Alabama seems to mirror Conner's use of found materials. Both create art from what is discarded or overlooked. They find beauty (or in the case of Conner, humor and mystery as well) in things most people wouldn't notice. In Christenberry's work, it's a subtle beauty that stems from what he called his 'emotional involvement with vernacular architecture'. He also said you could always tell an artist who is in love with his subject. He clearly does and even though many of his photographs are made with an old Brownie camera, there is both beauty and elegance.
A few days later Gregory Crewdson spoke at MassArt and he went into great detail to describe how he makes his photographs. Working with a crew between 50 and 60 people, Crewdson makes constructed images that look like film stills. This often includes building sets, using smoke and rain machines, closing off streets, setting buildings on fire, making snow, hiring actors, etc etc. As he went on it seemed like his working process became more and more involved with not only more intricate stage sets, but massive amounts of digital post production. It felt as if it had nothing to do with photography and more to do with working with gadgets and props. Towards the end of his discussion he said he doesn't even like 'touching a camera' and that he wasn't interested in what his photographs mean. This felt like a total cop out because why would someone go to such lengths to produce these images if they weren't interested in the meaning of them (other than the obvious reality that he can sell them for lots of money)? I also felt that for all the dazzle in Crewdson's work (and technically they are pretty amazing) they leave me cold. Once I get past the technical part, there isn't much left. Just an anonymous woman sitting in a car at an intersection with the door open, for example. Wow.
For me Crewdson's work ended up feeling kind of vulgar. The idea of so much time and money being used (wasted?) to make something that is ultimately so unemotional. That when you strip away all the manufactured 'drama' you're left with but nothing but artifice. It's visual junk food. And compared with the powerful simplicity of Christenberry and Conner, the work of Crewdson feels even more empty. It seems like Crewdson has gotten so far away from actual photography and traditional image making, he's lost any connection to what he's trying to say. No wonder he doesn't want to talk about meaning.
10/6
One of the things I've heard over and over from certain faculty members is to 'get out of your comfort zone'. This has always bugged me and continues to do so because the assumption made by these people is that I/you/we are in fact 'in a comfort zone' or have been doing the same thing artistically over and over and over for years. We have never ever tried anything new. How would any of these people actually know what our respective comfort zones are? What also makes this cliche 'get out of your comfort zone' infuriating is that often these same faculty members have either been doing the same thing themselves for years or recommend other artists who have (Cindy Sherman, The Becher's etc).
They also seem to think that by simply using a new film or shooting color/b&w instead of what you're currently doing is the answer. For me, getting out of the so-called comfort zone is to do a different kind of photography than what you normally do. Not just change film and/or move to color but do something that makes you actually look at something new or have a different approach visually. If you continue to shoot the same kinds of things but just in black and white instead of color (or vice versa) how does that really change anything? You simply become proficient with another technique while doing the very same thing.
Right now I'm in the early stages of something that has made me as uncomfortable as I've ever been. I'm photographing total strangers on the street in the city where I live. That alone wouldn't be too difficult except in my case most of these people are new immigrants and many of them don't speak English or are initially skeptical as to why this white guy wants to take their photograph. So each time I want to take someone's portrait I have to ask their permission and explain why I'm doing what I'm doing. Every single time. It takes all my nerve to sometimes just leave the house, let alone approach total strangers. But, when I get permission and when these portraits work out well, it's an exhilarating experience. Worth every rejection and every uncomfortable moment along the way.
They also seem to think that by simply using a new film or shooting color/b&w instead of what you're currently doing is the answer. For me, getting out of the so-called comfort zone is to do a different kind of photography than what you normally do. Not just change film and/or move to color but do something that makes you actually look at something new or have a different approach visually. If you continue to shoot the same kinds of things but just in black and white instead of color (or vice versa) how does that really change anything? You simply become proficient with another technique while doing the very same thing.
Right now I'm in the early stages of something that has made me as uncomfortable as I've ever been. I'm photographing total strangers on the street in the city where I live. That alone wouldn't be too difficult except in my case most of these people are new immigrants and many of them don't speak English or are initially skeptical as to why this white guy wants to take their photograph. So each time I want to take someone's portrait I have to ask their permission and explain why I'm doing what I'm doing. Every single time. It takes all my nerve to sometimes just leave the house, let alone approach total strangers. But, when I get permission and when these portraits work out well, it's an exhilarating experience. Worth every rejection and every uncomfortable moment along the way.
9/14
It's a little tricky coming to terms with trying to do a documentary type photo project (in this case street portraits in the city of Chelsea, MA where I live) since it seems that this kind of work is discouraged in MFA programs. That somehow, documentary work is no longer valid; especially portraiture. This goes against much of what I believe in, since so much photography now leaves me cold and so much portraiture feels contrived. the overly produced, highly stylized imagery that feels closer to commercial photography than art photography. It also feels cold and distant, and so often there seems to be no connection between the artist and subject. Where the people photographed appear more like specimens.
This contradicts a lot of the art that I have always responded to, especially photography. I recently saw the documentary film, 'Man on Wire' and it was fantastic. A simple film about the French high wire walker who walked between the twin towers in 1974. There was something incredibly powerful and moving in just seeing the still photographs of him up high between the towers or lying down on the wire. It gave me chills and made me realize, once again, how intensely interested I am in photographing the world around me. Other people can take care of the self portraits or the intimate portraits of family members, I want to go out and look at the unknown and the unfamiliar. I'm more interested in the real than in the conceptual. Todd Papageorge (director of Yale's graduate program in photography) addresses this by saying, 'there's a failure to understand how much richer in surprise and creative possibility the world is for photographers in comparison to their imagination'.
This contradicts a lot of the art that I have always responded to, especially photography. I recently saw the documentary film, 'Man on Wire' and it was fantastic. A simple film about the French high wire walker who walked between the twin towers in 1974. There was something incredibly powerful and moving in just seeing the still photographs of him up high between the towers or lying down on the wire. It gave me chills and made me realize, once again, how intensely interested I am in photographing the world around me. Other people can take care of the self portraits or the intimate portraits of family members, I want to go out and look at the unknown and the unfamiliar. I'm more interested in the real than in the conceptual. Todd Papageorge (director of Yale's graduate program in photography) addresses this by saying, 'there's a failure to understand how much richer in surprise and creative possibility the world is for photographers in comparison to their imagination'.
7/15
Marshall Crenshaw made a live recording a few years back called, "I've Suffered For My Art...Now It's Your Turn" to which I say, exactly.
Had a chance to see Chantal Akerman: Moving through Time and Space on the last day at MIT's List Visual Arts Center and it was really amazing. It was five film/video projects that she produced over two decades. A couple were just single projections of films and three were rooms with installations using numerous video monitors. I particularly liked 'Sud' (South) which was a film that dealt the death of James Byrd, Jr. in Jasper, Texas in 1996. He was an African-American man who was taken by three white men, tied to the back of a pick-up truck and dragged to death. Akerman's film has interviews with whites and blacks and then proceeds to show the three miles of road Byrd was dragged on. The shot is from the back of a vehicle and allows the viewer to imagine the horror Byrd went through as he was dragged to his death. It is one of the most powerful things I've ever seen. A portrait of violence like no other.
I also finished James Lord's 'A Giacometti Portrait'. In it Giacometti refers to things that he's working on as being 'en route'. I really liked that idea. The feeling that while we are working on something and it isn't finished, it's 'en route'. It sure feels better than, 'I started this thing and actually have NO idea where it's headed'. It also reminded me, unfortunately, of something George W. Bush said to Tony Blair. He once commented to Blair that 'the problem with the French is that they don't have a word for entrepreneur'. The scary thing was that he wasn't kidding. I wonder if they have a word for hors d'oeuvre or cul-de-sac?
Had a chance to see Chantal Akerman: Moving through Time and Space on the last day at MIT's List Visual Arts Center and it was really amazing. It was five film/video projects that she produced over two decades. A couple were just single projections of films and three were rooms with installations using numerous video monitors. I particularly liked 'Sud' (South) which was a film that dealt the death of James Byrd, Jr. in Jasper, Texas in 1996. He was an African-American man who was taken by three white men, tied to the back of a pick-up truck and dragged to death. Akerman's film has interviews with whites and blacks and then proceeds to show the three miles of road Byrd was dragged on. The shot is from the back of a vehicle and allows the viewer to imagine the horror Byrd went through as he was dragged to his death. It is one of the most powerful things I've ever seen. A portrait of violence like no other.
I also finished James Lord's 'A Giacometti Portrait'. In it Giacometti refers to things that he's working on as being 'en route'. I really liked that idea. The feeling that while we are working on something and it isn't finished, it's 'en route'. It sure feels better than, 'I started this thing and actually have NO idea where it's headed'. It also reminded me, unfortunately, of something George W. Bush said to Tony Blair. He once commented to Blair that 'the problem with the French is that they don't have a word for entrepreneur'. The scary thing was that he wasn't kidding. I wonder if they have a word for hors d'oeuvre or cul-de-sac?
3/15
I just finished reading Geoff Dyer's 'The Ongoing Moment' and I will say it was a treat; especially after 'On Photography' and 'About Looking'. What was most refreshing about it was that Dyer wasn't proclaiming to be an expert on photography and it wasn't filled with sweeping generalizations like some other works. He's just a guy writing about photos he's looked at and how there are different themes running through the work of some of photography's most important artists. How they often photograph the same motifs (road signs, hats, barber shops, empty rooms, doors, etc) and then somehow connecting them as if they had met (some had, but most of them never crossed paths). He does a wonderful job of breaking down and examining the work of Walker Evans, Andre Kertesz, Dorothea Lange, Paul Strand, Robert Frank and William Eggleston in a way that is fresh and provocative. He just tells you what he thinks, not some manifesto about what photography is or should be. Even though he admits to not owning a camera, he actually seems to LIKE photography.
He also writes a hilarious description of Eggleston's work, 'Eggleston's photographs look like the were taken by a Martian who lost the ticket for his flight home and ended up working at a gun shop in a small town near Memphis'. That alone is reason to read this book. He's also written one of the best fictional works about jazz called 'But Beautiful'.
He also writes a hilarious description of Eggleston's work, 'Eggleston's photographs look like the were taken by a Martian who lost the ticket for his flight home and ended up working at a gun shop in a small town near Memphis'. That alone is reason to read this book. He's also written one of the best fictional works about jazz called 'But Beautiful'.
2/12
I had a chance to see some art last Thursday as I went to the MFA in Boston for the first time since the residency. I decided to look at Contemporary Outlook: German Photography again and came away as unimpressed as I did when I saw it back in the summer. With the exception of a photo by Andreas Gursky and the usual by the Becher's, nothing stayed with me at all. It all felt academic and unemotional. Just because something is enormous doesn't mean it's interesting.
I also got a chance to view the SMFA Traveling Scholars show which featured six paintings by Laurel Sparks, which I enjoyed.
There was also a smaller show called Drawing a Broader Definition which was really cool. It had the obvious drawings on paper, but also drawings on ceramics and other art forms which incorporated drawing. I liked the idea of putting a number of different uses of drawing all together in one exhibit.
The best thing I saw was Rhythms of Modern Life: British Prints 1914-1939. A wonderful collection of posters, advertisements, linocuts etc that were just beautiful. I particularly liked the Futurist prints of factory workers and some others about World War 1 which were terrifying. If you've ever read any of Pat Barker's World War 1 trilogy (Regeneration, The Eye in the Door, The Ghost Road) you will never think of war, or World War 1 in the same way again.
The following day I had my eyes (instead of my head) examined and afterwards I ducked into the Fogg Museum. I particularly loved the sculptures in the Modern Art, 1865-1965 exhibit; especially Matisse's 'The Serf' and Brancusi"'s 'Caryatid II'. There were also tremendous pieces by Rothko, Ellsworth Kelly (I thought of Stuart), Miro, Franz Kline, Braque, Pollock and Alberto Burri.
In addition there was a small exhibit of Max Beckman paintings which were great.
I also got a chance to view the SMFA Traveling Scholars show which featured six paintings by Laurel Sparks, which I enjoyed.
There was also a smaller show called Drawing a Broader Definition which was really cool. It had the obvious drawings on paper, but also drawings on ceramics and other art forms which incorporated drawing. I liked the idea of putting a number of different uses of drawing all together in one exhibit.
The best thing I saw was Rhythms of Modern Life: British Prints 1914-1939. A wonderful collection of posters, advertisements, linocuts etc that were just beautiful. I particularly liked the Futurist prints of factory workers and some others about World War 1 which were terrifying. If you've ever read any of Pat Barker's World War 1 trilogy (Regeneration, The Eye in the Door, The Ghost Road) you will never think of war, or World War 1 in the same way again.
The following day I had my eyes (instead of my head) examined and afterwards I ducked into the Fogg Museum. I particularly loved the sculptures in the Modern Art, 1865-1965 exhibit; especially Matisse's 'The Serf' and Brancusi"'s 'Caryatid II'. There were also tremendous pieces by Rothko, Ellsworth Kelly (I thought of Stuart), Miro, Franz Kline, Braque, Pollock and Alberto Burri.
In addition there was a small exhibit of Max Beckman paintings which were great.
2/4
There was an interesting piece in the NY Times last Sunday (1/27) about a lost cache of negatives from photographer Robert Capa that had been found by someone in Mexico City. They had been been hidden in cardboard suitcases, but were presumed lost when Capa fled Europe for America in 1939. It was the contents of his Paris darkroom and apparently contains thousands of negatives shot during the Spanish Civil War. They had gone from Paris to Marseille to Mexico City where they were held by a Mexican general and diplomat.
What's amazing is that although they've been lost for over 50 years and were stored in flimsy cardboard valises, they are, apparently, in excellent condition. Curators at the International Center of Photography (ICP) in New York are working to catalogue the 3,500 negatives. I'm looking forward to see what they've found since although I've appreciated Capa's work, there was never that much to look at (he died in 1954 in Vietnam).
That discovery reminds me of a recording of the Thelonious Monk Quartet w/ John Coltrane that was found a few years ago. A live recording from Carnegie Hall in 1957 was found at the Library of Congress in 2005. No one had ever heard the recording, and although the pairing of Monk and Coltrane was legendary, they left behind very little recorded material. The performance was released as Thelonious Monk Quartet w/John Coltrane at Carnegie Hall in 2005 and was immediately picked as one of the best jazz records of the year. It's fantastic.
What's amazing is that although they've been lost for over 50 years and were stored in flimsy cardboard valises, they are, apparently, in excellent condition. Curators at the International Center of Photography (ICP) in New York are working to catalogue the 3,500 negatives. I'm looking forward to see what they've found since although I've appreciated Capa's work, there was never that much to look at (he died in 1954 in Vietnam).
That discovery reminds me of a recording of the Thelonious Monk Quartet w/ John Coltrane that was found a few years ago. A live recording from Carnegie Hall in 1957 was found at the Library of Congress in 2005. No one had ever heard the recording, and although the pairing of Monk and Coltrane was legendary, they left behind very little recorded material. The performance was released as Thelonious Monk Quartet w/John Coltrane at Carnegie Hall in 2005 and was immediately picked as one of the best jazz records of the year. It's fantastic.
1/25
Saw an incredible documentary last night on PBS about the playwright Eugene O'Neil. I had photographed a number of his plays back when I was doing theatrical production photography so I was familiar with some of his work, but knew little about his personal life. He grew up in a tragic, wildly dysfunctional family in Connecticut and only became a playwright after traveling the world as a seaman and then nearly drinking himself to death afterwards in NYC.
He was immediately successful as a playwright and managed to win three Pulitzer prizes and the Nobel Prize BEFORE he wrote his three greatest works (The Iceman Cometh, Long Days Journey Into Night and Moon for the Misbegotten). All the while suffering from depression and physical ailments that made it difficult to write. He won another Pulitzer posthumously for Long Days Journey Into Night.
It was fascinating to see such incredible work harvested from such a tormented life, but it was also painful to have a sense of how much he suffered as a result of his childhood.
I'm not sure if I could ever be as singleminded as he (he basically did nothing but write to the exclusion of almost everything else, and he left his second wife and young family without ever saying goodbye.), but it does gives you an idea of how much dedication is needed to produce great art. The film left me with much to contemplate in the upcoming months.
He was immediately successful as a playwright and managed to win three Pulitzer prizes and the Nobel Prize BEFORE he wrote his three greatest works (The Iceman Cometh, Long Days Journey Into Night and Moon for the Misbegotten). All the while suffering from depression and physical ailments that made it difficult to write. He won another Pulitzer posthumously for Long Days Journey Into Night.
It was fascinating to see such incredible work harvested from such a tormented life, but it was also painful to have a sense of how much he suffered as a result of his childhood.
I'm not sure if I could ever be as singleminded as he (he basically did nothing but write to the exclusion of almost everything else, and he left his second wife and young family without ever saying goodbye.), but it does gives you an idea of how much dedication is needed to produce great art. The film left me with much to contemplate in the upcoming months.
Monday 1/21
Spent the last week catching my breath and trying to process all the information from the residency. I did manage to read most of 'On Photography', which I had read almost 25 years ago. I had forgotten a lot of it, but it still packs a punch. I agree with a lot of what Sontag writes, but some of it feels too academic. There are also a ton of sweeping generalizations that can be a bit tiresome. I can't help but wonder why someone spent so much time studying something she seems to have contempt for. Like she's fascinated and disappointed by photography at the same time.
I also had a chance to see three short documentary films by Chris Marker. He was written about in the readings for the Considering the Documentary seminar and Constanze mentioned him in her lectures. Apparently his films rarely get to the U.S. so it was a nice opportunity to see them screened locally. They were at MIT. I liked two of the three very much. 'Three Cheers for the Whale' was interesting in the way it was put together as it used mostly paintings and what felt like woodcuts or drawings of whaling with a voice-over and then suddenly shifted to actual footage of whales being killed and cut up. It's quite shocking. It also clear that Marker is disgusted by countries that continue whaling. I appreciate his point of view even if it feels heavyhanded. At least he's got an opinion.
'The Sixth Side of the Pentagon' was of the 1967 Vietnam War protest and march on the Pentagon in Washington DC. I had heard and read of this event (Mailer's 'The Armies of the Night') and had seen news footage, but this was completely different. Marker was right in the middle of the protest, photographing as he walked. It feels much more urgent than traditional news footage and you get a sense of what it must have felt like to be part of this event. I like the fact that he is politically engaged as a filmmaker and not just an observer. It's a short film, but very powerful.
I also had a chance to see three short documentary films by Chris Marker. He was written about in the readings for the Considering the Documentary seminar and Constanze mentioned him in her lectures. Apparently his films rarely get to the U.S. so it was a nice opportunity to see them screened locally. They were at MIT. I liked two of the three very much. 'Three Cheers for the Whale' was interesting in the way it was put together as it used mostly paintings and what felt like woodcuts or drawings of whaling with a voice-over and then suddenly shifted to actual footage of whales being killed and cut up. It's quite shocking. It also clear that Marker is disgusted by countries that continue whaling. I appreciate his point of view even if it feels heavyhanded. At least he's got an opinion.
'The Sixth Side of the Pentagon' was of the 1967 Vietnam War protest and march on the Pentagon in Washington DC. I had heard and read of this event (Mailer's 'The Armies of the Night') and had seen news footage, but this was completely different. Marker was right in the middle of the protest, photographing as he walked. It feels much more urgent than traditional news footage and you get a sense of what it must have felt like to be part of this event. I like the fact that he is politically engaged as a filmmaker and not just an observer. It's a short film, but very powerful.
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