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TOOK A FERRY RIDE YESTERDAY ACROSS THE 13TH LARGEST lake in the USofA–Lake Champlain-107 miles long, 14 miles at its widest–and purchased a new car. Didn’t mean to buy a new car, it was just kinda a spontaneous happenstance. In any event, all 3 of our cars are now sport-oriented–aka: so-called “drivers” vehicles–turbos.
Today is my birthday so this entry is on the brief side. I’ll be back in the more wordy mode in a few days.
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had dinner and breakfast at Chef Darrel’s Diner
stopped at a local farm to get some protein for a cookout
WE TOOK A SHORT DRIVE TO BLUE MOUNTAIN LAKE on Saturday for the opening of the Adirondack Lakes Art Center’s new facility–I have had 2 solo exhibitions at the old facility, Stayed overnight in one of their visiting artists cabins–that’s the wife posing on the steps of the cabin. The Center was running the No Octane Regatta-classic Adirondack boats-on the lake on Saturday.
A lot of my photography that is on the walls of our house are 4-picture composites of our various trips and travels like the one pictured in this entry. All of the pictures are presented as “snapshots”. That’s cuz that’s what you do–take snapshots– when you travel.
I also order 4x4 prints of most of the pictures–again, converted to “snapshots”–that I make when traveling and throw them in a box for safe keeping. These are the pictures that are most likely to survive after my passing from the planet. FYI, the template I use for the snapshot border is from a family snapshot of my grandparents.
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Faded glory.
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“I always thought good photos were like good jokes. If you have to explain it, it just isn’t that good.” ~ Anonymous
IF IT IS NOT OBVIOUS, LET ME NOTE THAT I RARELY caption or title my photographs, neither on this blog, in my photo books, nor in an exhibition. My primary reason for this omission was, coincidentally, explained in an essay by Lincoln Kirstein in the book Walker Evans ~ American Photographs–a reproduction, page by page / spread by spread–of Evans’ original book as published in 1938:
“The scheme of picture titles [left] only the page numbers as minimal distraction to the images …. Without the title’s immediate juxtaposition to the images, the viewer was obliged to fashion his or her own synopsis of the pictures’ content and form. This was another Evans’ impulse to purge all editorial comment from his work. Even his perfunctory titles were bare notations of place and date.”
I have always believed that, cuz the medium of photography is a visual art, words are not necessary. Some even believe that, if words are necessary, a photograph is a failure. That is a bit extreme but I believe a photograph should stand on its own visual merits. In addition, for what it’s worth, I also believe that “cutesy” captions / titles should be eradicated from the face of the earth.
All of the above written, my photo books and exhibition photographs are nevertheless always accompanied by an artist statement. The statements are written as a rather short and sweet synopsis of my picture making intent. Consider the artist statement for my An Adirondack Survey work:
“My photographs are visual analogues for the quality of my life, a private view of subject matter found in the commonplace realities of the Adirondacks. An Adirondack Survey, created as an engagement of personal vision rather than as a topographic documentary, illustrates my intent to animate, elucidate, and reveal a sense of beautiful strangeness. That is, not predictability (the opposite of cliche), but rather a kind of shock non-recognition hidden in plain sight within the quotidian landscape of the Adirondacks.”
In a very real sense, this statement, with a substitution of the title of any of my bodies of work in place of “An Adirondack Survey”, could be used as the artist statement for any of my bodies of work. I believe that to be true inasmuch as none of my bodies of work, with the exception of my Life Without the APA work, were undertaken to infer / connote any particular social / cultural commentary or intellectual concept; they exist as a simple visual statement from which a viewer may experience any reaction that suits their fancy.
That written, far be it from me to suggest with words what a viewer should experience when viewing my photographs.
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11 YEARS AGO I MADE POD PHOTO book titled The World At My Feet. In hindsight that title was a bit of a misnomer inasmuch as, while my picture making gaze was cast downward, neither my feet nor the ground / floor were integral to the photographs (with 2 exceptions). Retrospect suggests that a more appropriate title should been something like Looking Down, or, Eye Contact Down, or, Downward Gaze.
In any event, during the 11 years since the making of that photo book, I have made hundreds of downward gazing photographs, to include the 5 in this entry which were made over the last 2 days. And then there is the Eyes Downcast gallery on my work which, FYI, has not been updated for a few years. Update coming soon.
To be certain, I have never considered the photographs resulting from my downward gaze M.O. to be a body of work. However, I do believe that now is the time to round up the best of the bunch and make another photo book.
BONUS CONTENT:
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A TRIP TO NYC IS IN MY VERY NEAR future for the sole purpose of seeing the North American premiere of Constellation, the most comprehensive presentation–454 prints–of work by Diane Arbus. I must admit that I feel that viewing 454 prints replete with Diane Arbus subject content is an intimidating proposition. It might just require a 2-day viewing experience; day 1–a comprehensive walk-through to get a grasp of the scope and tenor of the collection, and, day 2–spend time engaging with some of the more captivating photographs. In any event, it should very interesting.
FYI, over the years I have made a few–very few–Arbus-like photographs. Strangely enough, most are of children. While my photos do not have the Arbus strange weirdness vibe, they are a bit on the quirky side.
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“Photography takes an instant out of time, altering life by holding it still.” ~ Dorothea Lange
“Taking pictures is savoring life intensely every hundredth of a second.” ~ Marc Riboud
“We are making photographs to understand what our lives mean to us.” ~ Ralph Hattersley
“Your photography is a record of your living, for anyone who really sees.” ~ Paul Strand
BEGINNING WITH THE VERY FIRST PHOTOGRAPH I ever made, I can truthfully write that I never made a photograph–personal as opposed to commercial–that was driven by the desire to convey a meaning. Over time, as I advanced in my pursuit of so-called Fine Art Photography, I pursued my picture making with the belief that photography is a visual art and therefore my picture making objective objective was/is to make photographs that are “interesting”–in some manner or another–to look at / view. Photographs that exhibit what something looks like when photographed in a manner in which I see it.
To be certain, an interesting photograph that incites an emotional reaction / feeling might also, concomitantly, incite word-thoughts which can be expressed verbally. That written, it is a commonly held belief that any emotional and/or word-thought reactions to a photograph are primarily influenced by what the viewer brings to the table– as Sontag wrote … “inexhaustible invitations to deduction, speculation, and fantasy”.
If a viewer of my work were to spectulate that my photographs left them with the meaning that beautiful / interesting form can be found in the most mundane of things, I would respond by stating that I am happy you feel that way.
All the above written, I can write that, re: my eye and sensibilities, I am comfortable with the fact that I know the answer to the question, What is a photograph? However, the question to which I do not have the definitive answer is, Why do I make photographs?
That is not to write that I have never thought about the why of it. In fact, I think about it every time I have to write an artist statement to accompany an exhibit or a photo book. Inevitably, such statements will refer to my attraction to the form I see in the quotidian world; a statement which is true as far as it goes and is almost always appropriate. Nevertheless ….
…. at this point in my life, let’s refer to it as late in life, with multiple thousands of photographs in my photo library, I am wrestling with the idea of; a) what do I do with all the photographs, posterity wise? and b) why have I made so many photographs?
Inasmuch as I have made photos nearly everyday over the last 25 years, it is no surprise that I make a lot of photographs. While some might think this activity is some sort of obsessive behavior, I attribute it to the fact that my eye and sensibilities are very sensitive to / aware of the seemingly everywhere form I see that can be photographically extracted from the everyday world. Inasmuch as I live my life with eyes wide open–literally + figuratively–it is almost like a sensory overload. The potential for picture making is nearly inexhaustible so I make a lot of photographs.
WARNING: Psychological mumbo-jumbo to follow.
Let me try to string together the quotes at the top of this entry…
Inasmuch as Photography takes an instant out of time, altering life by holding it still, it stands to reason that Taking pictures is savoring life intensely every hundredth of a second. Ya know, kinda like Evans’ delights of seeing; the defining of observation full and felt.
That written, I must confess that, when making a photograph, I can not write that I am savoring life at the picture-making moment inasmuch as I have never been able to stare at a blade of grass and see the secrets of the universe. That’s cuz, in part, time marches on. Fortunately, one of photography’s magic tricks is that it can “stop” time and with the production of a print that depicts that stoppage, the maker of the photograph–and possibly other viewers–can, indeed, savor the moment over and over.
Does anyone make photographs to understand what our lives mean to us? In all probability, some do–or try to–but, I do not. Nevertheless, it is quite possible that, buried deep in my subconscious, I am making photographs to understand / reassure myself that I am still alive. Not that I am clinging to life by a thread by any measure but, it’s a thought, albeit an unconscious one.
As for Strand’s notion that Your photography is a record of your living, for anyone who really sees, I suppose that, at least in my case, that’s true if he meant the word “living” to be a question of what gives a life a sense purpose, significance, and value; in pursuing knowledge, creating art, or experiencing profound moments of awe and connection.
Which is not to write that making photographs is my raison d'être but it is difficult to imagine what my life would be without it.
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“The photographer’s act is to see the outside world precisely, with intelligence as well as sensuous insight. This act of seeing sharpens the eye to an unprecedented acuteness. He often sees swiftly an entire scene that most people would pass by unnoticed.” ~ Berenice Abbott
ON MONDAY PAST I DROVE TO THE GROCERY STORE. THE photographs in this entry are some of things I saw along the way.
It should come as no surprise that, living as I do in the Adirondack Forest Preserve*–aka: the Adirondack PARK–I have made thousands of photographs of the landscape. Inasmuch as the Adirondack Forest Preserve–larger than the State of Vermont–is a mix of private and public land–public land is enshrined / protected in the NY State Constitution as forever world–my photographs of the place are a mixture of the “pure” nature world and scenes with evidence of humankind.
This M.O. stands in direct contrast with the predominance of Adirondack picture making which emphasizes the landscape–featuring high peaks and large lakes–bathed in golden / dramatic light with absolutely no evidence of the hand of man. A school of landscape picture making that I call pretty calendar art. Which is not to write that the Adirondack landscape does not, on occasion, offer up some amazing Hudson River School-like apparitions. However, that written, the preponderance of daily life here in the Adirondacks is not a continuous stream of golden picture making moments.
That being the case, I prefer to photograph the landscape that most people would pass by unnoticed. Actually, the word “prefer” should, more accurately, be replaced by drawn or compelled. That cuz, photographing the landscape that most would pass by unnoticed is, quite honestly, what interests me the most. It is, in fact, the backdrop to my daily life and it has always been my belief that, if you can not embrace the everyday, what is the point of life / living?
But wait, I am not suggesting that I am, in the making of my photographs, advocating for the embrace of daily life. Some viewers of my work might glean a hint of that concept but, to be perfectly clear, the impulse that drives my picture making is that I like making and viewing photographs that exhibit a lot of visual energy, Consequently, I am drawn to referents that are chock full o’ visual information / detail and the Adirondack landscape delivers that in plentiful abundance.
Simply written, I have always thought that the standard picture making advice of simplify, simplify was a lot of malarkey. I mean, come on, are we to assume that those who view photographs are so simpleminded that our photographs must be dumbed down to the point that a kindergartener can “understand” them? Of course, on the other, the way I look at it (pun intended) is that there is very little to actually understand when looking at a photograph. It is a visual exercise not a intellectual one. Or, as Berenice Abbott wrote:
“People say they need to express their emotions. I’m sick of that. Photography doesn’t teach you to express your emotions, it teaches you to see.”
LINK > Sometimes it really pays off to photograph what interests you.
*FYI, there are approximately 100K permanent residents–spread out in 101 small towns and villages–in the Adirondacks. On the other hand, it hosts approximately 12 million visitors a year. The “park” is the largest publicly protected area in the contiguous United States, greater in size than Yellowstone, Everglades, Glacier, and Grand Canyon National Park combined.
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“I like ambiguity in a photograph. I like it when one is not certain of what one sees. When we do not know why the photographer has taken a picture, and when we do not know why [when] we are looking at it, all of a sudden, we discover something that we start seeing. I like this confusion.” ~ Saul Leiter
TAKE A MOMENT AND CONSIDER THE WORD ambiguity. Various dictionaries define in word in much the same way; a situation in which something has more than one possible meaning and may therefore cause confusion….the possibility of interpreting an expression in two or more distinct ways. All of the dictionary definitions of the word are, coincidentally, un-ambiguous.
re: “ambiguity in a photograph”: in a very real sense, all photographs are ambiguous inasmuch as it rather difficult, if not impossible, to impose / imbue a single, exact meaning in a photograph that will be interpreted by every viewer in exactly the same manner. In that regard I am in the same boat as Susan Sontag:
“Photographs, which cannot themselves explain anything, are inexhaustible invitations to deduction, speculation, and fantasy…. while photographs capture a specific moment, they don't provide the full context or explanation…”
There are those photographers who, in an attempt to eliminate any ambiguity–re: what their photograph(s) are about, try to make excruciatingly obvious what they are trying to convey. The worst offenders are usually nature / landscape photographers who generally imply a single meaning–ain’t nature grand. iMo, photographs that try to force / ram–down–one’s_throat a single meaning on their viewers are the worst photographs on the planet….most often, simple meaning for simple minds.
The best photographs?, you might ask. Consider this:
“I think about photographs as being full, or empty. You picture something in a frame and it's got lots of accounting going on in it--stones and buildings and trees and air--but that's not what fills up a frame. You fill up the frame with feelings, energy, discovery, and risk, and leave room enough for someone else to get in there.” ~ Joel Meyerowitz
iMo, if you want to “leave room enough for someone else to get in there” when making a photograph, be ambiguous. In a very real sense, create and cultivate curiosity.
In my picture making, I depict the form I see as found on the picture-making canvas of the quotidian world. That M.O. most often mystifies many viewers of my photographs as often attested to by the frequent comment, “Why did you–or, why would you–take a picture of that?” ASIDE the same question could be directed at Saul Leiter and his photographs in the book Colors END SIDE. The only answer I can give to that question is that “I have left enough room in the picture for you get in there and discover what the picture is about. And, hint, it is not about ‘that’.”
Some questioning viewers might eventually “get” what the photograph is about if I go on to explain that the photograph is about a visual sense of form I see when I impose a frame on a section of the real world. Others may not. What I hope some viewers might “learn” is that I see the world in a manner, most likely, different from how they see the world. And, projecting outward from that realization, that other photographers might also see the world in a different manner than they do–or, for that matter, different than I do. Perhaps they might even realize that that is what makes the world go ‘round, re: good photography wise.
So, all of the above written, like Leiter, I’m all in ambiguity / confusion wise. That is to write, in both my photographs and those made by others. And, I am especially pleased that there are photographers–to include many of the greats–with whom I share similar sensibilities but who, nevertheless, see the world in their own particular way.