Over the past few years, I have moved further away from straight photography in my creative practice. Any follower of this blog will have known that I have taken various drastic departures in pursuit of image making. At the same time, I’ve struggled with the fact that a “photograph” by is intrinsically representational.
Regardless of whatever manipulation one does: with lens or camera choices, post exposure manipulation (both analog and digital) there are still the fingerprints of some direct representation of the world within the image. This continues to be a quandary for me to deal with creatively. I have been revolting against the stream of similarity of images on social media: the impermanence and banality of even the most technically proficient photographs. Interesting subject matter or interesting concepts represented in a straight photographic manner for one reason or another has lost its appeal to me.
And yet. As I wrestle with this paradox I am looking for a detente of sorts. One small step I have recently taken is to carry around a small point shoot some camera with me. Through my daily obligations and travels I’ve been snapping photos of anything that happens to catch my eye at a certain point. I try not overthink the relevance of the subject matter, nor the technical approach. At the same time I am creating straight still photographs of the world around me.
This week I developed two rolls of the film I shot and it is still curious to me that even the most throwaway images seem to possess some kind of extra power when locked forever in silver halide on a roll of film. What might become of these images? Nothing, most likely. However, spending an evening developing, then scanning and studying his images has served some form of emancipation from my internal struggles with the work I create. There is still something quite alluring about seeing 36 images lined up on a sheet of paper. This current practice of mine, resulting in a contact sheet to meditate upon, is well worth the time invested.
Portrait of the Artist in a Jungian mode
Another Trip around The Sun
Today is my birthday. 57 years ago I came out of the quiet unknown of the womb... of non-existence… of the great nothing, or maybe the great everything. I am a survivor, as you are as well. No matter your age or station in life, we are here, we have survived the trials and tribulations that life throws at us. Congratulations to you and to me.
This past year has been especially hard for me, and the ups and downs that inevitably come have challenged me in ways before unknown. If I believed in God (capital G) I would thank him for giving me the strength and wisdom to carry on. There are clearly other forces out there in the universe that push and pull energy around me, and through me, too. This energy mostly manifests itself in my art; my self-expression. I am grateful to have it. I might not be here without it.
Good things have come to me, mostly wrapped in love and honesty and when I am am open and receptive to it. When I am dark, it is hard for any light to shine through. I continue to do the work…inside and outside of myself. Even when it is hard, or when my lethargic self kicks any ambition to the curb… I strive. One small act a day. Something made from my heart, deep from within, manifesting it to a tangible reality. Mostly junk that piles up in my studio. Mistakes, short tangents, tests and trials and failures. Always failures. Gratitude for the failures.
I’ve been down a rabbit hole recently, listening to an audiobook by a Jungian psychologist and it is hitting me strongly. Second half of life shit is no joke. If you’ve been there (or are there now) you know what I’m talking about. If you are a younger person, scoff all you want at these words, as I would have if I read something this sappy (or heavy…or brutally honest) when I was a younger lad.
I’ll leave these thoughts here, and probably look at them again in a year or five or ten (god willing…small g) and probably laugh at myself for being so transparent, or so confused, or so on target. Until then, “Happy Birthday” to me.
Join the Union
Creatively, I consider myself a blue-collar artist. I did not go to a fancy art school or leverage a Yale MFA for the golden ticket into the art world. I make my art as part of my every day life. I sympathize with the every day workers specifically in the creative field. Right now there is a writer’s and an actor‘s strike in Hollywood, something that I personally support. In a larger sense, I am a supporter of unions protecting the rights of workers.
Recently, I joined a union myself. Not a worker’s union per se, though some might consider it an art workers union. I recently joined an online group, called the Union of International Mail Artists. This group has been active for decades, and centers on the sharing of artwork via the Postal Service. Their credo aligns perfectly with how I feel personally about my art. I believe in sharing freely and I really enjoy when art has no financial entanglements attached to it. The main activity of being a member of this group is finding mailing addresses of members on the UIOMA website and then sending these members artwork through the mail. It has been a satisfying endeavor so far for me, sending out my handmade postcards to strangers around the world. Perhaps even more satisfying is having random pieces of art show up in my mailbox on my front porch from time to time.
There is a subversive anti-establishment streak that permeates this group that appeals to my own small version of fighting the system. Sometimes finding like-minded people out there in the world is all a person needs to be reminded that they are not alone, and that they are on the right path.
The union forever!
(My) Art and Money Don't Mix
I’ve been treading lightly in regards to selling my work. The truth is, most people don’t buy art. They don’t value art. They don’t see a place for art in their homes, in their lives. Money for rent, for a car, for food, for health insurance, for a vacation, for drugs… all on the list way ahead of art. Still, we live in this god forsaken capitalist society, where everything (and everyone) has a price tag. To be an artist in this environment is a challenge. To keep the dirty concept of money out of my art has been a struggle. I don’t make might art to make money. I’ll do it anyway. But… material costs money. Internet and websites cost money. My studio (a luxury, I know) costs money. Hanging a show costs money. Prints and frames and promotion cost money. Again, sales of artwork are few and far between. And yet… I can’t deny that it is nice to make a sale every now and then. It is validation, for sure. Someone likes your work enough to pay for it. To hang it in their home. To live with it. I don’t want to be motivated be profit, or greed, or even breaking even. But somedays (like today) it is hard. Hard to justify making work to sell. Hoping to move a few framed photos. The adage that “nobody cares about your work” still is a tough thing to hear and every now and then, you get a stiff reminder of the truth in the statement. I have been working on adjusting my attitude towards “selling” and I am trying to divorce myself completely from the expectation of getting money for something that comes from so deep inside of my soul. The art vs. commerce dilemma is nothing new, but it’s jarring when the sludge of money creeps into my process. How do you feel?
Manifesto
A few months back I wrote up a list of my creative beliefs. These were relevant only to me, and only for that given moment. The more I sat with the list, and let it gestate, the more I liked it as a sort of ad hoc manifesto. You know, all the great movements seem to have a manifesto. Karl Marx had his; Martin Luther nailed his to the church door. The Situationists, the Dadaists… hell, even my therapist helped me focus on a Dharma code…a spiritual, intention focussing manifesto, so to speak.
I have this current manifesto stuck to my studio wall, and also have it as my laptop wallpaper, so I look at it on a regular basis. I incorporated different influences; some from improv, some from my therapy, some from my art studies, and some from my rage and depression (if I’m being 100% transparent, which I am…)
I thought I’d share it here, in hopes that it pushes you, dear reader, to consider your own creative, personal, expressive values.
Some thoughts on each:
“Inactivity is not laziness.” There is great value in doing nothing, and if given the time and space, to do nothing for as long as possible.
“Destruction is creation.” I cribbed this from Picasso, thought I think it is a biblical idiom originally. It really rings true for me, especially in regards to my art practice over the past couple of years.
“Give things away.” Sharing my thoughts, my words, my blog, my podcast, my zines, my photos is an integral part of my interaction with my muse and with my world.
“Expect no reward.” Money, fame, and validation are all fine and good, but I try to create (and to live) with no expectations of profit, monetary or otherwise.
“Expect no audience.” No one gives a shit about you and your artwork. Make it anyway.
“Make boredom valuable.” Much of life is underwhelming, if not outright mind-numbing drudgery. Use this reality as fodder for thinking of things to create.
“Make something every day.” Take a photo, write a note, sing a song, bake a loaf of bread. One creative act a day keeps the wolves at bay.
“Remain curious.” Hard to be bored when there is wonder all around you.
“Say ‘Yes, and…’’ ” As in improv, so in life. Agree and add to other ideas. Saying “no” ends all potential immediately.
“Be the ‘you’ the world needs.” A bit woo woo, a bit snowflakey, but I don’t care. You were born, you’ll die. Be the best version of yourself you can be.
“Live until you die.” Like they say in Shawshank Redemption…. Didn’t realize it was a Stephen King quote.
feel free to snag this image for yourself…
The Allure of the Film Aesthetic
For as long as I have loved photography, there has always been something extra special about film. Not just the process of shooting film, instead, something more elemental. Very simply, I like the “look” of film. I like the frame borders, the sprocket holes, the type and numbers along the edges, the grain, the eventual scratches and fingerprints. The film aesthetic is something I play with in my work. I like to exaggerate the unique characteristics of film, especially pushing grain and contrast beyond the limits of acceptability. As I’ve ventured further away from straight photography, it is the intrinsic visual look of film that keeps me grounded in the medium. I have recently been exposing film in a motion picture camera, then utilizing the multiple frames as an opportunity to tell a different kind of story; short narratives through a sequence of images. I really enjoy making the choice of which frames to highlight from a longer strip of film. This attraction has now led to me sourcing 16mm film reels from Ebay. One reel was in pretty bad shape when it arrived this week. Warped, scratched and moldy; yet intact enough to allow me to play freely with the footage. So much to discover and ponder on this film. The anonymous, family home movie reel shows various locations; most likely highlights of a family vacation. The frames feature men and women in dress that looks like it is from the 1930s or 1940s. I wonder, who are these people? They are surely dead by now. How did this random reel of film travel from its original owner, through years of storage and neglect, to wind up for sale online in 2023, and somehow appearing in front of me under such randomly stumbled upon circumstances? I guess my attraction to the film aesthetic has created yet another divergent path for me to wander down. What discoveries await?
Upon Returning
I am taking tentative steps back into life after a challenging couple of weeks. Regular readers of this blog will notice that I tapered off a bit from the weekly posting towards then end of 2022. I have decided to continue a more sporadic posting for the time being. The weekly writing practice is less necessary for my thought process, I have found. The constant work that goes into my podcast, and my daily journaling feels like it is enough to keep me engaged in the “life of the mind.” I certainly have enough work on the horizon to make the blog section of this website a less than regular outlet. Yet, I refuse to let it go dormant completely. I think I’ll post when I have something relevant to say. Sometimes the strongest statements are made by saying as little as possible.
Rest In Peace, Mom
My mother passed away suddenly on January 1, 2023. I was lucky to be able to book a flight back to New Jersey quickly enough the day before to be with her in the hospital when she passed. It is astonishing how quickly things can happen. One day they are here, the next day they are gone. I know I am fortunate to have had her in my life for so long. 81 is not young, but in these days, it’s not exactly old either. Nonetheless, I spent a long week with my family, making arrangements and laying her to rest. These days to come will be hard, I’m sure. For today, I will rest as well, thinking about the woman who brought me into this world, with love and affection. I will miss you, Mom.
2022:33 Here Is My Proof
PROOF
I’ve always enjoyed sharing my work freely with the world. What you give is what you get. I use the word “proof” in a general way; this work is proof that I am alive, proof that I see the world this way, proof of concept, proof to myself, proof to you, proof of love, proof of mortality, proof of my senses, proof that generosity is its own reward. I make these cards by hand and leave them for strangers at a special place. Maybe you’ll get one for yourself.
2022: 30 Pinteresting
Friends and followers of this blog probably know that I have mixed feelings (at best) towards Instagram. I’ve been struggling with the vapid nature of the selfie-centric platform ever since I jumped on board, and have had a strong hate / love relationship with it ever since. My disdain grew stronger once I left Facebook late last year. Maybe having one less social media platform made the ‘gram warts show even more obviously to me.
I have yet to depart from Instagram, and try to reconcile the fact that I still use it, mostly to communicate with my circle of creative friends. I also see it as a way to promote my podcast, for better or for worse. But I really wanted an alternative, something like Tumblr, back in the early 20-teens, when it really felt like a creative platform, before the bots took it over. Another aging hipster I know told me he found an alternative, and I decided to give it a try. Lo and behold… Pinterest.
I had originally dismissed Pinterest as a platform for crafty Moms and fashion / interior design wannabe Millennials. I don’t even know how I formed that bias in my mind, but that’s how I perceived the platform. Instead, I have discovered (albeit very late to the party) that Pinterest is a great way to find visual inspiration, and it satisfies my need to scroll through eye candy on my iPhone. What it does not do is fill me with contempt, with envy, and with feelings of insecurity. I have no skin in the Pinterest game. I don’t use it to go fishing for “likes” or instant validation. Instead, I see a parade of imagery, not just from random creators but from great artists I already know and love. Case in point, my feed is currently heavy in Robert Rauschenberg, Sigmar Polke, Robert Frank and Brice Marden. These names alone keep me inspired, and the tangential images that populate my feed feature visually connected content that has pulled my down numerous rabbit holes of discovery.
Might I suggest that you also give it a try? It might make the eventual Instagram plug pulling much less painful and probably more satisfying.