12.26.2008
12.25.2008
12.20.2008
12.11.2008
Reflection on "Maine Industrial"
I'm satisfied with the results of my final project, but I can't say that I was happy to make them. It was difficult for me to go out into the field searching for beautiful, yet depressing industrial wastelands. Shooting became almost like a psychological battle, and I was relieved when it was over. This area of Maine is full of run-down industry of a past era, and I feel like people around here shut it out on a day to day basis simply to stay cheerful throughout the oppressively long winter. In the summer, the touristy areas get all the attention and, once again, the shabbier parts of Maine fall into the background. Focusing in on that side of the landscape taught me a lot about my own relationship with this state and how living here for the past couple of years has changed me. I don't know why I am attracted to these dystopian landscapes. They are lonely, unwanted, and forgotten places (I barely saw a single person the whole time I was shooting), yet I find a great peace in documenting them. My decision to shoot color slide film as opposed to digital capture was tied into this, I think. For me, film is more deliberate and a less hurried way of making pictures. I am glad to have had the opportunity to use it, and I think the cultural significance of the film format (Color slide 120mm, shot with twin-lens-reflex Rolleiflex) is integral to the mood and presentation of the series. The final project was truly the culmination of a semester's work in formulating an aesthetic and a subject-oriented approach.
Catch-Up
(Sorry, Meg)
There was only one photograph by Ansel Adams that I truly enjoyed looking at. It was a wide-angle landscape shot of the entire camp, with the Sierra Nevada (I think) mountains in the background. It was impersonal and did not have any detailed human figures in it. It was a stark contrast to most of the other shots, which seemed to be posed and artificially lit (at least the indoor ones). I had a really hard time buying into the image that Adams' photographs depicted of the internment camp. Lange's photographs, on the other hand, seemed to be a little more immediate (or at least less censored).
Comparing the two photographers' work made me realize how tenuous and frail a photographic truth can be. Before Lange's work had been uncovered at the National Archives, there was only the one, officially sanctioned body of work (Adams). The introduction of Lange's perspective throws the official portrait of the internment camp into a less stable position, but it's a little unsettling to think about how one photograph, unchallenged, can be easily accepted as truth.
Response to Elsbeth's Gleaning:
Sex + internet + digital photography = the biggest thing that no one talks about since never. I don't mean "big" as in "important." It is simply a vast issue that I think is a lot more complex than most people are willing or even bother to admit. This is especially relevant in art, where nude photography takes on a whole new light. Digitalization has transformed photographic images of nude bodies into a variety of meanings covering everything from commodity to liability. Pictures get "leaked" onto the internet. Things only leak from spaces of containment. Nudity is now contained, and when that fails, the result is something shameful. There is an accepted notion of failure and shame. I think that the cultural weight of pornography is directly connected to a growing fear of cameras. At least as far as the general public is concerned (the government is a whole other issue), cameras have come to represent an immediate threat to dignity. There is an intense fear that one will be "caught" by the photographic lens doing something shameful. Even in normal, public, everyday situations, the fear remains. I'm not saying that porn holds a negative influence on our culture, and I'm not saying affects us positively either. I think the most important issue here is that digital, internet pornography exists in a big way, and the silent treatment it's getting is causing some harmful attitudes towards photography in general.
12.04.2008
Carl Mydans
The photographs of Carl Mydans seem to me to be emblematic of the golden age of journalistic photography. I don't mean to say that there is a specific, accepted "golden age" for journalist photographers, but in my mind there is. I know that war photographers still exist, in great numbers and armed with all the latest gadgets and technology, but their methods and process seem so far removed from the immediacy and almost carefree nature of these photographs. In one of the websites, it mentions that Mydans would often send unprocessed film to the home office. That tells me that he was uninterested in seeing his results---he was just interested in getting there and somehow recording it.
I guess there's always that side of the war photographer that just wants to be there, in the action where all the adrenaline is. This quality of the war photographer mystique makes it difficult for me, sometimes, to fully support their efforts. Sometimes I feel like war photographers trivialize their subjects by almost using the camera as a free pass into the world's most exciting locales. Other times it doesn't bother me so much. Mydans' work is thoughtfully shot, so as to make for an interesting composition that tells a significant story, and I can't say that they aren't dramatic. The photographs he took during the 1948 Earthquake in Japan are filled with tension almost to the breaking point. There is one that I'm thinking of that shows a building in the process of falling over. This enormous moment, frozen in time, carries so much weight and suspense that I almost find it difficult to look at the photograph. Obviously, it's not a war photograph, but it carries the same problems involving sensationalism. I don't think Mydans' was a sensationalist, but it's hard not to allow yourself to be carried away by the drama and the history when looking at these.
I guess there's always that side of the war photographer that just wants to be there, in the action where all the adrenaline is. This quality of the war photographer mystique makes it difficult for me, sometimes, to fully support their efforts. Sometimes I feel like war photographers trivialize their subjects by almost using the camera as a free pass into the world's most exciting locales. Other times it doesn't bother me so much. Mydans' work is thoughtfully shot, so as to make for an interesting composition that tells a significant story, and I can't say that they aren't dramatic. The photographs he took during the 1948 Earthquake in Japan are filled with tension almost to the breaking point. There is one that I'm thinking of that shows a building in the process of falling over. This enormous moment, frozen in time, carries so much weight and suspense that I almost find it difficult to look at the photograph. Obviously, it's not a war photograph, but it carries the same problems involving sensationalism. I don't think Mydans' was a sensationalist, but it's hard not to allow yourself to be carried away by the drama and the history when looking at these.
11.23.2008
Self-Assessment: Dystopic Panorama
If I got one good thing out of this project, it was a skill set. After 20+ hours in front of a computer screen masking tiny chunks of sky from in between the girders of a crane (among other things), I now feel fairly confident in my photoshopping skills. I'm not saying I could do anything and everything with the program. I'm just saying that I've reached a level of confidence I'm pretty happy with.
As for the panorama itself, I guess I could take it or leave it. I think the photoshop perfectionism got to me toward the end, and what resulted was a formulaic composition that might have been found in a 17th century northern Renaissance alterpiece. The planes were overkill---a last minute addition at an obscenely late hour. I knew, even as I masked their vapor trails and oulined their pointy wings, that it was a mistake, and yet somehow I rode the perfectionist momentum towards mediocrity. I guess you could say I got another valuable lesson from this project: don't let photoshop second-guess your work for you! When you work in such detail, it's very easy to lose track of the work as a whole. Frankly, I was pretty disappointed with the tiny amount of ground that my photoshopping resulted in. Perhaps a dozen square inches out of a panorama that was 40 inches long. I have to admit: it looks pretty slick, but if I had to redo the assignment I would definitely go in a different direction.
As for the panorama itself, I guess I could take it or leave it. I think the photoshop perfectionism got to me toward the end, and what resulted was a formulaic composition that might have been found in a 17th century northern Renaissance alterpiece. The planes were overkill---a last minute addition at an obscenely late hour. I knew, even as I masked their vapor trails and oulined their pointy wings, that it was a mistake, and yet somehow I rode the perfectionist momentum towards mediocrity. I guess you could say I got another valuable lesson from this project: don't let photoshop second-guess your work for you! When you work in such detail, it's very easy to lose track of the work as a whole. Frankly, I was pretty disappointed with the tiny amount of ground that my photoshopping resulted in. Perhaps a dozen square inches out of a panorama that was 40 inches long. I have to admit: it looks pretty slick, but if I had to redo the assignment I would definitely go in a different direction.
11.19.2008
Baby Pictures
Baby pictures as "scientific evidence" (read: propaganda) to further the agenda of white supremacists---who knew? It really does sound ridiculous, but the chapter Elizabeth had us read for tomorrow's class seems to make a pretty good argument for their use as such. There were a few examples in that article that were unequivocally eugenicized, such as the homogenized family albums (with specific instructions on how to record the physical and mental development of your child from birth to age 18---at which point the eugenicists could then supposedly use the album to support their scientific hypotheses). However, the article didn't define what makes a racist album and what makes a normal one. Is the entire notion of a photo album racist? According to the article, that idea seems to be due to the popularization of albums in post-war magazines geared toward middle-class white women. Without that information though, what inherent properties of a photo-album support that argument? I was confused, or at least left with a few questions. It's true that albums carry with them a certain air of importance. Simply by dint of their physical nature, they are reserved for special occasions. Nobody flips through their own family album on a daily basis. The second article, by bell hooks, made a specific distinction between albums and framed photographs (which can be displayed at all times throughout the house). That article also made a case for childhood documentation as a preserver of familial history in the face of racial oppression. These two articles are dealing with the same topic (albeit in a different circumstance) and they take completely contradictory viewpoints.
Most of my baby pictures are safely tucked away in albums, far from public view. However, a few have made the transition to frame life. They sit on shelves or desks or what have you, but they don't get much more notice than the albums do. I think it ultimately boils down to the nature of your family, and how important images are to that group. Personally, I haven't had a picture taken of me in years (probably not since prom), and I occasionally lament the loss of these years toward posterity. Then I remember that my place in this world is next to nothing, and it doesn't seem so important any more. Concerning these two articles, I would ask: "No matter what the conceived point, how does this collection of photographs matter outside of this familial bond?" The answer, in almost every case, is that it matters not.
Most of my baby pictures are safely tucked away in albums, far from public view. However, a few have made the transition to frame life. They sit on shelves or desks or what have you, but they don't get much more notice than the albums do. I think it ultimately boils down to the nature of your family, and how important images are to that group. Personally, I haven't had a picture taken of me in years (probably not since prom), and I occasionally lament the loss of these years toward posterity. Then I remember that my place in this world is next to nothing, and it doesn't seem so important any more. Concerning these two articles, I would ask: "No matter what the conceived point, how does this collection of photographs matter outside of this familial bond?" The answer, in almost every case, is that it matters not.
11.15.2008
11.12.2008
Leni Riefenstahl
In response to the following:
http://arts.guardian.co.uk/pictures/0,,1267862,00.html
For me, Leni Riefenstahl has always been a very difficult persona to come to terms with, both artistically and historically. Her work has value in that it contains creativity, but it is her intentions that give me so much trouble. In high school, I wrote a research paper on the topic of National Socialist art and propaganda in Germany in the 1930s, and I have to admit that Leni Riefenstahl's films and photographs are probably the most creatively rich bodies of work to come out of that country in that decade. Most of everything else was either propaganda or trite amalgamations of earler art movements whose values were in line with the Party-endorsed cult of the volk. That does not mean Riefenstahl's work was completely unfettered. I have seen "Triumph of the Will," her 1935 documentary of a Nazi Party rally in Nuremberg, and it definitely treads the line between art and propaganda. At that point, it's all a matter of intention, and I cannot trust her post-war claims of ignorance. From the New Yorker article, she seems to have been something of an opportunist, if not exactly a sympathizer. Her personal relationship with the Hitler could not have been a bigger boon to her career. The production values of "Triumph of the Will" are incredibly high. For a documentary made in 1935, it exhibits a veritable wealth of camera angles and shots. Riefenstahl must have had a small army of camera operators and assistants to create such a grandiose work. No doubt Hitler planned to use her film as propaganda, but I still wonder as to Riefenstahl's own intentions.
11.10.2008
Annie Leibovitz
In response to: http://missgeeky.com/2008/01/29/annie-leibovitzs-disney-dream-portrait-series/
When I first glanced over the Disney ads, I said to myself, "Ok, another slick photoshop montage. Annie Leibovitz has finally caved." Then I took another look, and began to change my mind. Sure, the Disney shots are pure photoshop creations, but that's never really been the thing that bothers me about severely altered images. What bugs me is that people seem to think its ok to publish a crappy image, as long as it's been irradiated by the healing brush and the clone stamp. Leibovitz's Disney photographs are arranged so precisely that they could be paintings. I would say that they could even be stills from the films, but they're too precise for even that. They are hyper-real Disney archetypes. They're real enough for us jaded types who haven't felt the magic in years to actually get into it a little. Disney movies are familiar---so are celebrities. I won't go so far as to say that the photographs are clever per se, but I couldn't help but smile when I saw Beyoncé as Alice, or Baryshnikov as Peter Pan. By tossing two incredibly recognizable images together (the costume and the celebrity face inhabiting it), Leibovitz forces us to make a choice: is this really Prince Charming? Or is it actually David Beckham? Some would say it could be both. Some would have a hard time reconciling the two. Aside from being visually stunning, the photographs actually introduce an interesting dialogue between the notions of recognizability and celebrity. The two may be similar, but they (and their respective components of Leibovitz's pictures) are just different enough to introduce some tension into the mix.
When I first glanced over the Disney ads, I said to myself, "Ok, another slick photoshop montage. Annie Leibovitz has finally caved." Then I took another look, and began to change my mind. Sure, the Disney shots are pure photoshop creations, but that's never really been the thing that bothers me about severely altered images. What bugs me is that people seem to think its ok to publish a crappy image, as long as it's been irradiated by the healing brush and the clone stamp. Leibovitz's Disney photographs are arranged so precisely that they could be paintings. I would say that they could even be stills from the films, but they're too precise for even that. They are hyper-real Disney archetypes. They're real enough for us jaded types who haven't felt the magic in years to actually get into it a little. Disney movies are familiar---so are celebrities. I won't go so far as to say that the photographs are clever per se, but I couldn't help but smile when I saw Beyoncé as Alice, or Baryshnikov as Peter Pan. By tossing two incredibly recognizable images together (the costume and the celebrity face inhabiting it), Leibovitz forces us to make a choice: is this really Prince Charming? Or is it actually David Beckham? Some would say it could be both. Some would have a hard time reconciling the two. Aside from being visually stunning, the photographs actually introduce an interesting dialogue between the notions of recognizability and celebrity. The two may be similar, but they (and their respective components of Leibovitz's pictures) are just different enough to introduce some tension into the mix.
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