The Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome is home field for the Twins, Vikings, and the Minnesota Golden Gophers football team, as well as dozens of other local youth and high school sporting events and Minneapolis community activities. On Saturday, Sept. 30, 2006, the stadium hosted three important athletic events (two Twins vs. White Sox games that sealed the baseball playoff race, and a Minnesota vs. Michigan college football showdown) all within 29 hours. In between all of that action, with the Twin Cities Marathon surrounding the M (as the dome is referred to), the grounds crew worked through the day and night transforming the 60-million-cubic-foot multi-use arena back and forth between baseball field and football stadium.
Just over 3 hours after the game-ending ground out in the Twins vs. White Sox game, a 17-man crew broke down, dug up, transported, cleaned up, painted, installed, and finished the athletic metamorphosis before the kick-off of the Gophers vs. Wolverines match-up with the Little Brown Jug at stake. In addition to #1-ranked Michigan's win, the final stats for the weekend included: 40 hits, 15 runs, 3 errors, 42 points, 142,206 paid attendees, 26.2 miles, 8,182 runners, and the Twins winning the AL Central division by a single game.
Project photographed for ESPN the Magazine.
The Surreal Line is a series of images taken from an ongoing project, documenting moments of chance on the London Underground where static billboards and posters coalesce with the world around them.
I'm interested in how these advertisements, specifically designed for delivering one message, can have that story completely hijacked -- often by the mere framing of a window -- creating an entirely new context. Commuters, who are somewhat static, withdrawn, and locked in their own private routines, are oblivious to these momentary collisions. I'm fascinated by these chance encounters, and needless to say I gave up reading on the tube after my first trip on the surreal line.
When we work as a group, we choose a subject and take pictures together, obtaining very different and personal results. We do not want to convey a message: no pity, no sadness, nothing at all. The only unifying feature must be the printing of the pictures in order to have a final homogeneous work.
These pictures, shot on film in black and white, have an undeniable nightmarish quality, but there is a touching and almost tender quality to the portraits of these doomed creatures.]]> Andrea L. Casiraghi, Christian Lunghi, Gianni Romano, Cristina Scalabrini, Domenico ScorsettiIn winter afternoons, thousands of birds, attracted by the warmth of the Refinery, start a dance that lasts until dusk. They arrive, converge, take warmth, and fly away. Two magical hours, a time to admire the strange relationship between Nature and men: a synergy that, sometimes, is possible.
The interplay between the flock and the refinery create delicate abstractions that contrast beautifully with the hard industrial shapes.]]> Massimo CristaldiIn Westernized cultures today, there is a generation that is growing up without the knowledge of what it is to be disconnected. The world in which we are growing up is always on. We are continuously plugged in, and linked up. We take this technology for granted. Not because we are ungrateful, but because we simply don’t know a world without it.
From our earliest memories, there has always been a way to connect with others, whether it is Myspace, Facebook, cell phones, e-mail, or instant messenger. And now, with the Internet, instant messaging, and e-mail in our pocket, right there with our phones, we can always feel as if we are part of a greater whole. These devices grace us with the ability to instantly connect to others, and at the same time, they isolate us from those with whom we are connected. They allow for great freedom, yet so often, we are chained to them. They have become part of who we are and how we identify ourselves. These devices ordain us with a wealth of knowledge and communication that would have been unbelievable a generation ago. More and more, we are bathed in a silent, soft, and heavenly blue glow. It is as if we carry divinity in our pockets and purses.
This two-story building was for sale by landlord's son in 2004. His father had passed away in 1992, and he was keeping the flat untouched. Like the family albums being sold at second-hand dealer, privacy of a man thins here.
From the abandoned dishes in the sink to the dated and dusty crockery on the shelves, Metehan has captured the ineffable sadness of a place where the spirit of a person remains, barely, in the everyday possessions they left behind.]]> Metehan OzcanThe series represents the urban landscapes of Tokyo, a city where nameless streets follow no urban plan. In the country of high technology, the place where many sophisticated digital cameras are made, I have decided to return to simplicity, to low tech. I have used a Holga, a simple plastic box that has very basic functions. This camera allows accidents to happen and leaves chance a place in the photographic results.
By using a double exposure while shooting, I have created new urban landscapes. The result, mysterious and chaotic, describes the Tokyo spirit, leaving the spectator confused and overwhelmed just like I felt while wandering the streets of Tokyo.
[to explain]...the reasons for the varied styles and subjects and the seemingly disjointedness of it all, I'd like to use a quote by the writer George Saunders, from his book In Persuasion Nation, as follows:
"What America is, to me, is a guy doesn't want to buy, you let him not buy, you respect his not buying. A guy has a crazy notion different from your crazy notion, you pat him on the back and say, Hey pal, nice crazy notion, let's go have a beer. America, to me, should be shouting all the time, a bunch of shouting voices, most of them wrong, some of them nuts, but please, not just one droning glamorous reasonable voice."
For me, that last line is the statement for this work.
These are some Polaroid Emulsion Lifts from a recent project exploring what happens in parts of the landscape where nature is creeping back into areas that have been destroyed/built on/neglected by humans. I love areas of landscape that on first glance are not immediately beautiful but on closer inspection reveal a previously hidden attraction. I used Polaroid Film for these images because I like the unpredictable nature the medium, in that every pack of film could have a different hue or slight imperfections. These characteristics have been exaggerated by the Polaroid Emulsion Lift process (removal of the emulsion membrane from the backing paper and transferral onto a different surface where it can be manipulated and moved about) and the delicateness of the end result mirrors the scenes in the images.
]]> Caroline HancoxPolaroid cameras are magical. In my pocket, I carry a medium-format, single lens reflex camera that folds flat. It never needs batteries because they are in the film pack–each new cartridge provides 10 sheets of film and the power to develop them. When I press the red button on my 30 year-old SX-70, a sonar wave is sent out from the camera to measure the distance to my subject. As the bounced wave returns to the camera, the auto-focus adjusts the lens within a fraction of a second. Next, sophisticated electronics calculate the amount of light needed to properly expose the picture and the aperture and shutter-speed are set. The fresnel lens that had been redirecting the light to the viewfinder, flips up to reveal a mirror on its undersurface. This mirror reflects the incoming light downward onto the film. Once the film is exposed, it is ejected from the front of the camera. As it exits, it is squeezed through two rollers that spread the developing chemicals from their storage pod at the base of the photo. They move the acidic paste over the silver crystals like a rolling pin flattening dough. Polaroid integral film is made up of 13 different layers. These layers regulate the chemicals that create full-color photograph from just three different dyes. After the photo is outside the camera, the developing image is protected by a temporarily opaque timing layer that prevents over-exposure. The dissolution of that shield slowly reveals the underlying picture. Like the moment it captures, each Polaroid photo is unique. There are no negatives and no memory cards. When I carry my Polaroid, I can transform the ethereal into the tangible. That is magic.
Grant has a sharp eye for detail, form, and color, and his work shows the brilliance that exists in the everyday, hidden in plain sight. From now until the end of May, you can see more of his work displayed at the Design Commission's gallery in Seattle.]]> Grant HamiltonJust before arriving in Sanzhi, there’s an interesting site hugging the shoreline - an abandoned hotel/apartment complex that looks like somewhere ET might call home. I first heard about this a couple of years ago, but it was only recently that I was able to get out there.
Accounts vary on the origins of this complex, and indeed, as to whether it was meant to be a hotel development or a housing development. Apparently, it was constructed in the 1960s and included/was to include a dam to protect it against sea surges, floors and stairs made of marble and a small amusement park. The site was commissioned by the government and local firms and there is no named architect. Local papers at the time reported that there were numerous accidents during construction which caused the death of some workers. As news of these accidents spread, no one wanted to go there, even to visit, and the project was subsequently abandoned. The ghosts of those who died in vain are said to still linger there, unremembered and unable to pass on. The complex was left in its unfinished state because no amount of redevelopment will bring people to the area due to superstitions about ghosts, and it can’t be demolished because destroying the homes of spirits and lost souls is taboo in Asian culture.
When I was there, I met four young university students who were passing by and stopped for a look. They didn’t want to get too close to the buildings for fear that the ghosts would take them. They told me there was “heavy evil” in the buildings.
Shooting aerial photography during the daytime had its own difficulties, you are strapped tightly into a harness leaning out of the helicopter, shouting directions through the headsets to the pilot. Its often pretty windy in the cabin, and with the constant movement of the aircraft around the skies and the vibration caused by the rotor-blades, it's not particularly conducive to an easy workload.
Having said that, the views you can get are truly awe inspiring.
If shooting in the day can be difficult, night and the lack of light causes its own set of problems, but overcoming them is half the fun and the results can be stunning.
My engagement in this project is a very personal one; I am a third generation to Holocaust survivors whose Jewish upbringing was influenced by our private memory of the Holocaust.
In many ways, I think the Berlin memorial challenges the perception of how to commemorate the Holocaust and raises mixed and troubling feelings and thoughts.
Through this project I try to find answers to a few disquieting questions: What emotions and behaviors does this unique social space awaken in different social groups and ages, the various possibilities of interaction and dialogue that can take place, how does the past, present and future connect with each other, and finally how does this outstanding monument interact with the daily life.
The camera reveals a unique combination of disquieting scenes such as children playing hide and seek between the 2711 pillars and the more conventional “memorial” etiquette of quiet contemplation.
In the summer of 2007, I began shooting a body of work surrounding the coal industry in Appalachia. What began as an interest in the modern coal mining process known as mountaintop removal, quickly evolved into an extensive survey of the social, political, and perhaps most importantly, cultural implications of extracting coal from Appalachian Mountains. What I found over the course of the trip was that these coal-mining processes had quickly developed into one of the most destructive and pervasive forms of modern industry in the world.
Coal, the number one energy-based resource domestically, is responsible for mass environmental destruction, and some, if not most of the United States would agree that it's a necessary sacrifice. The issue's complexities clearly go above and beyond this apparently less-than-polemical "sacrifice," but manifests itself perhaps most potently as a human cost...a cost often associated with contemporary global economics, yet not often addressed critically.
Appalachian culture is historically defined through coal practices and an unfair public misconception about its people. In reality, I found communities preserving culturally rich legacies while either embracing or vehemently opposing processes like mountaintop removal. Of course, there are many that did not fit this neat polarization, but the ideological and economical battle is being waged ferociously in the mountains.
As for my approach, I somewhat reluctantly embraced the histories of my medium, and set out to essentially make a social documentary narrative heavily influenced by contemporary critical thinking about visual culture, the influence of the image in the West, and the strong historical influence of the landscape. My goal is to build a narrative out of context...and then more context. After all, I consider this body of work to be art about a political issue, not political art. My hopes are that the viewer will eventually look at the group of photographs as a complex series of potential contingencies, much like the issue being dealt with.