Hello friends, I am proud to share my newest art project with you today. My fascination with photographic images has always run parallel with my love of moving images. To that end, over the past year or so, I have been exploring an archive of public domain movies. I have been photographing the source material, and then manipulating the images, creating a final quadtych. Each moment of the film becomes a departure point for me to apply my own narrative via dialogue subtitles. The aesthetic of foreign cinema, specifically the French New Wave has heavily influenced my creation of this body of work. Each individual card is meant to be a singular piece, but by sharing the set in a unbound manner I invite the viewer to create their own sequence of images. Perhaps a new story will result every time the cards are rearranged. This project is a "cinema of my dreams" and I am happy to share it with you today. Each set is 23 cards, with a bellyband, housed in a DVD case, featuring custom cover art, front and back. Signed and numbered. Cost is $25 plus shipping (US and Canada Only) Click on the button below to go to my online store!
Jetty Jacks and Futility
Along the Rio Grande in Albuquerque is the wild, wooded bosque. This buffer of land has traditionally acted as a flood zone, at the mercy of the rainfall and erosion that naturally occurs in these parts. Decades ago, an anti-flooding scheme was developed by the Army Corps of Engineers; an attempt to create some kind of defense to the whims of nature. Thus, much of the bosque is littered with these oversized steel and wire objects, known locally, affectionately as “jetty jacks.” There is an official name for them, I’m sure. I prefer the colloquial name, though. They acts as a sort of found sculpture for hikers and bikers along the river. They also remind me of something you might see along the front lines of a war zone ( in my mind it would be WW2, but I’m guess the war in Ukraine might be relevant as well.) The attempt to have the banks of the river conform to this kind of control may seem futile. Another thing that seems futile is my ongoing attempt at trying to create a good photograph of these jetty jacks. I’ve attempted dozens of times, and each time I fail to capture the essence of these metal beasts that dot the landscape near the river. I have yet to find a way to capture the scale, the geometry, the complexity and the oddity of these objects in their environment. I tried again today, while out on a (hopeful) mood shifting walk; see attempt above. Maybe this white whale will elude me forever. I’m sure to keep trying nonetheless, even if it is just an exercise in futility.
2022: 8 Gratitude
Every once in a while, I am reminded of the good things in my life. It has been harder to do so after the past couple of years, for sure, but this week afforded me time to reflect. I am lucky to live in relative comfort, in a supportive relationship, with friends and (decent) health and no real “wants” as far as the basics of human life are concerned. Especially having carved out a creative life that fulfills and challenges me on a daly basis.
This past weekend, my amazing wife performed a solo concerto with the Santa Fe Symphony, and as I sat in the audience, I was reminded how special she is, and how good our life can be. We both have made choices to pursue our creative endeavors, often at the expense of more traditional societal choices and paths. But the rewards of the things we are able to do are so much worth it. Living an artistic life, with all of its ups and downs, is something I value deeply. The choice not to have children has also allowed us to pursue our creative journeys with more freedom and flexibility than others, and that, too is something I am keenly aware of and value deeply.
This week, aside from attending the symphony performance, I also worked on a new self-publishing project, recorded and edited my next podcast episode, and had two satisfying sessions with my improv team. I know that life throws curveballs all the time. health and wealth and stability are precious and precarious. But for this week, at least, I am able to feel satisfaction and gratitude. I wish the same for all of you, in whatever shape or form that might take. Thank you for being along for the ride.
2021: 48 Saul Leiter
I watched “In No Great Hurry: 13 Lessons in Life With Saul Leiter,” by the British filmmaker Tomas Leach this week. It is a wonderful film, at times amusing and at times very sad. The idea that a master photographer can live a quiet life in New York City should be comforting, I suppose. But I also was struck by seeing an aging, lonely Leiter sifting through the detritus of his life, and my heart hurt when I realized that here was a great artist, living…not so much in obscurity, but in anonymity. Saul Leiter, who died in 2013, brought color to a genre that was deeply entrenched in monochrome in the 1950s. His eye gravitated towards subtle abstraction, which I find curious, considering the chaos and complexity of the “real world” on display in the streets of New York. Maybe the fact that Leiter was also a painter has something to do with this.
Those of us deeply immersed in the world of photography probably hold our “heroes” in high regard, and we expect them to perhaps live a life that we might envy. Yet watching Leiter sitting alone, surrounded by his life work, stacked in old film boxes and gathering dust, it made me wonder what becomes of the even less recognized artists out there. What becomes of all the work they (and I) create through their lives? Maybe never destined for a book or a museum show, but instead sitting in piles in an office or studio. What treasures will go undiscovered, or under appreciated?
“Crowd at Coney Island, July 1940” © Weegee; image courtesy of the Whitney Museum of American Art, New York
Worth A Thousand Words: Weegee
After over a year of social isolation and staying home, I have recently been feeling the pendulum swing of emotion and desire. Between the desire to get back out into the world (safely vaccinated) and the fear and anxiety of being out around people again. I think I’ve gotten used to my routine of working from home, and the prospect of being part of a large crowd… or even a small one, honestly... is filling me with trepidation. It is in that spirit that I want to take a deep exploration into this historic photograph by the enigma known as Weegee. His real name was Arthur Fellig, but as his self-aggrandizement of adding “The Famous” to his pseudonym was some indication: this was an artist with an ego. Ego was most likely part of what made him a noteworthy photographer in New York of the 1930s – 1950s. Famously shooting at night, and making the crime and violence of the “Big City” his signature subject matter, it is quite the surprise that this particular image above fits into his oeuvre at all. But not only does it fit, it encapsulates so much of New York life in general, and is a perfect vehicle to explore America society in the year before World War II.
Let’s take an overview look at this photograph. It is a summer day, obviously, and the beach is indeed packed. Claustrophobically so, in fact. Coney Island holds a near mythical place in the American mythos, and it perhaps because of this particular image that we have some idea of how it earns that standing. An escape for the masses since the early 20th century, Coney Island was the resort for the “everyman”. While the posh of the past (and present) could afford a retreat to more exclusive resorts, Coney Island was just a subway ticket token away for millions of New Yorkers. This image was created in July of 1940, and if we consider the world, the country, and the city at that time, we came see an overwhelming mass of humanity united in many ways. Also reflective of social and economic stratification that hung over America, as it crawled out of the Great Depression and slowly marched into a world war.
I find it interesting that a huge section of the crowd is actually looking at the camera. I’ve read that Weegee was shouting at the crowd and dancing to get their attention, in order to get large amounts of people to face him for the photograph. I think this adds to the power of the resulting image. You can scan the crowd and examine numerous faces, as opposed to more anonymous bodies engaged in their own personal worlds. We get to study faces, people of all shapes and sizes (but mostly shades of pale skin it should be noted.) Some eyes being shielded by the sun with hands and arms. Some behind sunglasses or the odd hat here and there. Swimsuits of all varieties. Smiles and quizzical looks. Bodies packed in the frame like sardines (a subtitle I’ve seen attached to this image in numerous places.) The crowd stretches off into the distance, completely obscuring the horizon, save for the amusement pier and rides that skirt the upper edge of the frame. The haze (I imagine it as a mix of heat, airborne sweat, pollution and ocean spray) that rides off the right upper edge of the image leads the viewer to believe that there are hundreds more people beyond what we can see.
There are many remarkable things to ponder in this photograph. Through the eyes of a 21st Century, Covid-19 viewer, I find it hard to even image such a scene existing in the present day. Any image that features a crowd of this size (such as looking at pre-pandemic concert or sporting event footage or photos) brings up a gut reaction of anxiety and fear and a general feeling of vulnerability in me. I also think about the actual times that Weegee worked in. In many ways his imagery helped define how collective consciousness accepts what New York looked and felt like back them. The visual of such a working class crowd, overcrowding the easily-accessed beach on a hot, summer afternoon bears a whiff of rose-colored nostalgia, while also making that location seem unpleasant and uninviting to an introvert such as myself. It also speaks to the state of America at that particular time. Slowly emerging from the Great Depression, but economically still hobbled, this kind of day trip getaway was the best that a working class family could hope for. Also in mind, I think about the impending world war brewing on the other side of the Atlantic. The same waters these folks are enjoying in this photo might very well be a future, final resting place for more than a few of them, just a few years later. The innocence presented (at first glance) ultimately gives way to a feeling of darkness to my eyes while I ponder the future of every person who appears within Weegee’s frame. Considering that this photo is now over 80 years old, it is safe to assume that a vast majority of the people in this crowd are now dead and gone. A day of release, of joy, of flirting, of fighting, of drinking and swimming and playing and loving and crying… gone forever but for this photograph.
Weegee went on the be most well-known for his images of crime, murder, fires and such. But what also lurked behind most of his images was the idea that was first presented by earlier photographers such as Lewis Hine and Jacob Riis. We are shown “how the other half lives.” And though Weegee generally showed these lives through a sensationalistic lenses, I still feel a sense of empathy in many of his images. This Coney Island photo is not an indictment of the folks who crowded the beach that day. If anything, it is a celebration of the dignity of the masses, those who made up (and continue to make up) the true fabric and diversity of New York City. The world shown in this 1940 photo might still feel relevant and relatable to many people who might be heading to Coney Island this summer, freed from lock down and isolation, looking for their day in the sun.
footnote: Years later, this image graced the album cover of George Michael, Listen Without Prejudice Vol. 1.
2021:19 Batting Practice
Practice makes perfect. This is a statement that at its foundation, is based on a lie. There is no perfection, at least when it comes to human pursuits. Try as we might, we never quite reach perfection. Sometimes we miss the bull’s-eye by a fraction of an inch, sometimes we missed the target completely. Yet, we strive. We reach for the golden ring, even though it is ultimately just out of touch.
I’ve been thinking about the idea of practice quite a bit lately. This blog is part of the weekly practice of mine. Recently I started a daily writing practice, which I begin every day with. Filling one small page with whatever is on the top of my head at that particular moment. I find it helps to have the ritual, regardless of the results. Making art, shooting photographs, performing improv, these all demand constant practice. With constant practice, comes nearly constant struggle, constant frustration, constant shortcomings. Sometimes things end up feeling like a complete failure. But even these moments are critical, and end up being valuable.
Another adage is that we learn from our mistakes. And this might not always be true, but if we’re lucky, we do sometimes learn lessons from our mistakes. That’s why practice is so critical. Especially when it’s a daily practice.Because sometimes, the right thought… the right word… the right photograph… presents itself through this practice. But more often than not, I am faced with what I call a “near miss.” And sometimes a complete swing and a miss.
Which brings to mind the idea of batting practice. This is a reference to baseball, but I’m sure it applies to other sports, and other pursuits in general. If we think about the best hitters in the history of baseball, their batting average is somewhere between .300 and .400. This basically means that even the greatest players did not get a hit six or seven times out of every 10 times they stepped up to the plate. And these are the best of the best. You could be a professional baseball player and maybe bat around .250 and be considered a pretty good player. Meaning you’re only getting on base one out of every four times at bat. For us mere mortals, our batting average, I’m sure, is even lower. And you can apply this to any pursuit; professional, amateur, hobby, art.
As you know I shoot a lot of film. I know it’s been said generally that if you have one winning frame per roll of film, one keeper, you’re doing pretty well as a photographer. One out of 36 frames. That’s not a very good batting average. Now think about the luxury of shooting digital, and having no real limit on the number of pictures you can take. The ability to delete immediately the photos that you consider failures. I think it’s really important, to keep the bad pictures, to keep the failures. To fight against your low batting average. To scrape and struggle and work hard to try to improve your batting average, a few percentage points at a time. Some games you may strike out every time you step up to the plate. Sometimes you may hit a home run. But every time at the plate is part of playing the game.
As a footnote to this post, I find it ironic that my first attempt at writing this entry was a complete failure on my part. I inadvertently forgot to save my first draft as I was typing, and lost everything I had written. A swing and a miss.
2020:51 (On Returning)
You can go to the ends of the world, in pursuit of the exotic, the unique, the visually fascinating. Or you could stay close to home, and return to the same places over and over again. Each will yield inspiration. Each will yield satisfaction. But they will also provide different feelings. Like the rush of a new love vs. the deep emotional connection of a long-term relationship. The former is fleeting; the latter can last indefinitely.
2020: 25 (Talk About The Passion)
Photography has been a constant companion for many years. It started innocently enough with my first walk into a high school darkroom. Now it is an integral part of my life. It has been a hobby, an amateur pursuit, a release, a means of expression and a crutch through tough times. It has been a fleeting lover, a long-lost friend, a confidant. It has gone away but always comes back. It stays with me and goes places only I seem to go…so I guess I’m never really alone if I have a camera in my hand.
I have thought a lot lately about the professional vs. amateur approach to photography. I have dabbled in shooting commercial work; just enough to scare me a way from it, honestly. I have had my work exhibited and published. I have sold prints, books and zines. So I’m not quite sure what column that puts me in. I most often consider myself a “passionate” photographer. I do it strictly out of my passion for creating. I am constantly thinking of different ways of getting my work out in the world, connecting with other like-minded souls. I listen, read, watch so much photo-related content. It never gets boring. It is often inspiring.
I love the look of photos in print. I love the feel of paper with images printed on them. I love the fresh smell of ink when I receive a zine from a friend. I love leafing through a classic photo book from my library… it’s like spending time with an old friend. I love discovering work by photographers I’ve never heard of, whether they are young, new talent, or an old master, unknown to me until today.
When I think back on the harder moments in my life, and it has always been photography that has helped me cope.
Call it what you will.
I call it passion.
A contact sheet from a test roll shot through my recently purchase Pentax K1000. Nothing particularly amazing in these frames, but in the interest of supporting the premise of this post, I’m sharing it… failures and all.
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.
2019: 31 (Grateful)
There’s a quote by Kurt Vonnegut that I try to keep in mind… “If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.” It’s a reminder that we all need to stop and recognize the sweet things in life, right in the moment. There is much pain and sadness in life, and in the world right now, so I am even more aware of savoring the good things that come to me. Yesterday was one of those times for me. After two years of working on a collaborative project, the fruits of our labor were finally shared with the world. “The River, The Ocean, The Sea” exhibition is now on view at the Open Space Visitor’s Center in Albuquerque, NM, until September 29th. Below are some great photos of the opening by my photo pal, Dan Shaffer.
I am particularly grateful for the support of my friends through this entire project. Many people stepped up to contribute to the GoFundMe campaign, and that financial support helped offset the cost of printing and framing the exhibition. I was beyond thrilled to see so many of these same folks show up at the opening yesterday, along with many other people who spent time viewing the work. I am so, so grateful for such wonderful friends in my life. Thank you all.
Also, thank you to the great staff at the Open Space Gallery for giving me a venue to share the work. Thank you to KRQE for doing a nice story about the show on their broadcast yesterday.
Thank you to Clarke Conde and the Weekly Alibi for putting me on their front cover and running a wonderful interview. Thank you especially to my collaborators Fabio Miguel Roque and Hean Kuan Ong for sharing your vision with me. I am so proud of what we accomplished together.
“If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.”