LPV Magazine

The LPV Show: Episode 11 – Timothy Briner

2013-06-08T02:58:35Z

Timothy Briner in his studio, Flatbush, Brooklyn – May 24, 2013/©Bryan Formhals

Timothy Briner lives and works in Brooklyn, NY. He’s a member of POC.

There were tons and tons of photographs made during and after hurricane Sandy, but I think Briner’s photographs from Coney Island are some of the most interesting, nuanced and powerful. I took a trip to Flatbush to talk about Sandy, his series Gotham City and of course hustling as a freelance photographer. It was an interesting afternoon, especially picking up his daughter Molly from daycare. I’m not sure that’ll happen again on this podcast. Hope you enjoy!

You can listen to it directly through the player below or DOWNLOAD it. Subscribe through RSS or iTunes.

©Timothy Briner – From ‘Boonville’

©Timothy Briner – From ‘Portraits’

©Timothy Briner – From ‘Sandy’

The LPV Show – Episode 10: Amani Willett

2013-05-19T14:54:06Z

Photographs ©Amani Willett – From ‘Disquiet’

Amani Willett’s monograph “Disquiet” has just been published by Damiani. He was recently featured in the books Street Photography Now and New York: In Color and is a long-term member of the iN-PUBLiC collective of photographers. His pictures have been exhibited both nationally and internationally, and his work has been featured in such publications as American Photography, Newsweek and The New York Times. He holds an MFA from the School of Visual Art and currently lives and works in Brooklyn, NY.

I interviewed and featured Amani’s ‘Disquiet’ in Issue 5. The book was just released by Damiani and looks fantastic. I sat down with him last week in Prospect Park to talk about the book, editing, shooting street and his future projects, including ‘The Disappearance of Joseph Plummer’ which looks very interesting. Be sure to spend some time on his website. It’s very nicely done.

You can purchase Disquiet HERE.

(Note: This was the second time I attempted to record an interview outdoors. The first attempt didn’t go so well (Sorry Amy Lombard!) I think I’m ok with some ambient noise and sort of enjoy the “being in public” aspect to doing interviews but ultimately it might just be too distracting. All feedback welcome!)

You can listen to it directly through the player below or DOWNLOAD it. Subscribe through RSS or iTunes.

From ‘Disquiet’

From ‘‘The Disappearance of Joseph Plummer’

From ‘Street’

The Digest – May 12th, 2013

2013-05-13T00:51:17Z

“My siblings and I spent much of our childhoods traveling with our parents. They kept us in backpacks and kept us asking questions, opening up our sense of the grandeur and complexities of every community we encountered.” – Kitra Cahana

©Kitra Cahana – via ‘Joy, Compassion and Fulfillment: Kitra Cahana’s Spiritual Transformation’ [LightBox]

What do you do?

For my entire professional career I’ve always worked on side projects, whether it was ill-conceived screenplays or photography and publishing these days. I’m fortunate that my day job involves something I’m passionate about so it’s a little easier these days to explain what I do, but for many photographers, artists and younger people it’s a tough conversation. I got to thinking about this after reading an interesting article by Elizabeth Spiers in Medium:

Among the niceties and travails of meeting people for the first time, there’s no more loaded question than “What do you do?” I would almost prefer to respond to “What is your favorite sexual position?” or “How do you feel about your mother?” because people would be less likely to read into my answer. I have European friends who loathe the question because they think it’s coded language that only means one thing: How much money do you make? But that’s only part of it. It means that, and several other things. It can also mean: Is what you do significant? Do you have control over what you do? Where are you in the hierarchy of your company? Are you allowed to be creative in your job? Does your job give you status, professionally and personally? and so on.

Answering that question in photoland can be even more difficult, something I touched on with Carl Gunhouse in the latest podcast. As I’ve said in the past, my own photography is so entwined with LPV at this point that I feel it’s all apart of “what I do.” Spiers went on to use Tim Hetherington as an example:

There’s a danger in conflating work with self, even if work has consumed everything we do. In Sebastian Junger’s recent documentary on the late photographer and documentary filmmaker Tim Hetherington, Which Way to the Front Line?, Junger chronicles Hetherington’s work in West Africa, Afghanistan, and Misrata, Libya, where he was eventually killed. Hetherington did extremely important work, and in his documentary, Diary, he explores the tension between his life at home and his life in the field. Just before he left for Libya, he expressed reservations about continuing to work in conflict zones. It had cannibalized other parts of his life. He wanted to pursue a long-term relationship with his girlfriend. He wanted a family. He wanted to explore doing different kinds of work. But he decided to go back into the field one last time and didn’t come back.

It would be disingenuous to argue that Hetherington’s work wasn’t part of who he was, but as Junger’s documentary so beautifully illustrates, it wasn’t all there was of Tim Hetherington.

Producing good work has many benefits, and it certainly contributes to a stronger sense of identity and purpose. But fullness of self is about more than that. It’s about those ancillary but more direct questions: What are our interests? What are our values? Where did we come from, and where are we now? All of these things are qualities that can develop in tandem with work, but they’d probably develop even if we had a job and not a career.

Now, what if I ask “What do you do on the internet?” How do incorporate the internet into your photography? Whatever your feelings about the internet and how it impacts photography, it certainly seems to be a topic that stirs up strong opinions in people. I recently started using Flickr again because I felt it was a safer outlet to share random stuff. Is there a hierarchy? Personal website for your best, Tumblr/blog for the flow, Flickr for the archive, Twitter for the news chatter, Facebook to prove you still exist and say happy birthday to people you barely know. That’s probably a little simplistic but my point is that we can always use the tools in smarter ways. It’s something I think about often which is probably why I was so fascinated by Brad Troemel’s latest essay “Athletic Aesthetics:

Visual artists, poets, and musicians are releasing free content online faster than ever before. There is an athleticism to these aesthetic outpourings, with artists taking on the creative act as a way of exercising other muscle groups, bodybuilding a personal brand or self-mythology, a concept or a formal vocabulary. Images, music, and words become drips in a pool of art sweat, puddling online for all to view. The long-derided notion of the “masterpiece” has reached its logical antithesis with the aesthlete: a cultural producer who trumps craft and contemplative brooding with immediacy and rapid production.

I’m sure that essay will cause a few rage blackouts, but there’s plenty to think about. Or you could just skip it and not think about it. I do that sometimes. If you do read it, you’ll find this quote from Franco Berardi:

Today psychopathology reveals itself ever more clearly as a social epidemic and, more precisely, to be a socio-communicational one. If you want to survive you have to be competitive, and if you want to be competitive you must be connected, receive and process continuously an immense and growing amount of data. This provokes a constant attentive stress, a reduction of the time available for affectivity … If we bring this analysis to the internet we see two movements — the expansion of storage and the compression of time — making online work so stressful.

Can you relate?. I mean, I’m sure if you’re like me you often ask “what’s the point?” Why share anything? Why participate? What’s going on here? Perhaps thinking about it doesn’t do much good. It can be exhausting. Why not leave it to the experts like Jaron Lanier. I haven’t read his new book but I did read this excerpt in IO9 which made me realize that I probably should read the book.

The clamor for online attention only turns into money for a token minority of ordinary people, but there is another new, tiny class of people who always benefit. Those who keep the new ledgers, the giant computing services that model you, spy on you, and predict your actions, turn your life activities into the greatest fortunes in history. Those are concrete fortunes made of money.

If there’s a fortune to be made publishing an independent photography magazine, then I’m certainly doing something wrong. But it’s not really about that anyway, is it? Reviewing all these quotes is making me tired all over again so I’ll wrap it up with a few quotes from n 1′s essay “Cultural Revolution:’

Challenging art and radical thought, with no hope of a large audience truly susceptible to being challenged, slip easily into administering “provocativeness” to the jadedly unprovokable. The idea of an avant-garde leading a general charge becomes, as it has, impossible; the infantry of a would-be popular audience has deserted, and an officer corps with no troops merely redesigns its uniforms according to cycles of fashion. Squabbles over medals and rank take the place of what Gramsci called the war of position; cultural hegemony?—?a prevailing climate of opinion?—?is left, uncontested, to capitalism.

And then:

Young people might give up hopes of gainful employment through art or serious writing?—?without giving up the production or consumption of those things. Holding down uninspiring and ill-paid day-jobs, they would huddle together in select neighborhoods of big cities and devote their evenings and weekends to culture (and laundry, shopping, and cleaning). This doesn’t sound so bad; it sounds in fact like the cozily disappointed existence, streaked with fear of unemployment, of half the people we know.

Links of Note

The romance of narrative is perpetually at odds with reality,” Mr. Roth wrote. Despite this, many photographers “routinely submit the intrinsic factuality of the medium to the shaping and manipulation of storytelling. The ‘road trip,’ the ‘cycle of life,’ the ‘coming-of-age,’ ‘the war story’: all these are staples of photographic constructions. - “A White Road and an Ambiguous Narrative” [LENS]

©Ivan Sigal

…after two years taking pictures of Soviet and post-Soviet urban spaces and leisure facilities, he declared the project a failure: the images were uninspiring and his own narrative struck him as untruthful, contrived and oversimplified. So, he explained recently, he made a vow to himself: “First images, then ideas.” He would “photograph, learn, absorb, then go back to my work and look for patterns.

John Edwin Mason’s great ‘Tribute to David Goldblatt in PDN:’

Finally, Goldblatt and Evans also share a photographic sensibility. In both there is a sense of distance, of an analytical step backward, that, in Goldblatt’s case, never threatens to become disinterest. There is also, in both photographers, an instinct to make understated images that refuse to draw attention to themselves, images that are much more about the subject than about the man behind the lens.

A quote from Raphael Rubinstein I found by read “…I’m going to take to the air and get vertical an interview with Nick Faust:”

There is, however, an excellent corrective to tendentious, cherry-picked accounts. I would encourage anyone curious about retracing the tangled lines of recent art to spend a few hours paging through back issues of art magazines from 10 or 20 or 30 years ago. There you can glimpse the raw footage of art history in all its messy, contentious, inchoate glory. Appearing side by side are ads for shows of forgotten artists at high-profile galleries and ads for debuts of now-famous figures in long-defunct venues; page after page of exhibition reviews written in the moment, before meaning is frozen, and perhaps never read since but preserving within their columns of dense type a sentence or phrase that might forever change your sense of an artist’s work or of the period.

Amani Olu’s advice to recent MFA grads:

12. Look out for your artist friends.

13. Respect everyone, even the intern; you never know who will rise to power.

14. Do everything with grace. Just because someone is being a jerk does not mean you have to respond in kind.

15. If you are with an associate and you run into an acquaintance, always make an introduction. Otherwise, it is awkward for everyone.

16. Do not alienate people with unprofessional behavior. If you have no place to hang your hat, then how do you expect to show your work?

17. Stay in touch with the people who have supported your work in the past, especially in the early years. It is the right thing to do, and you never know when you will need their help in the future.

18. Be honest about what you want from people and your expectations.

19. Get it in writing.

20. Stay humble and hungry. To quote Sean Combs, “Treat every project like it was your first.

©Janna Ireland

When I moved to Los Angeles for graduate school in 2011, I began making photographs at my husband’s grandfather’s house in the San Fernando Valley. Once home to seven people, the large house is now inhabited by my husband’s grandfather alone. The ball machine on the tennis court is overrun with crickets. The pool is faithfully cleaned, but rarely receives swimmers. Many rooms have gone unchanged in the decade and a half since my husband’s grandmother died. Particularly intriguing to me is a suite of four now-unused rooms at the front of the house—an entryway, a parlor, a formal dining room, and a half-bath—all done up in shades of pink, still and well-dusted as period rooms in a museum. Filled with opulent furniture, silk flowers, and delicate figurines of porcelain and glass, they seem to me deliberately feminine rooms, designed for entertaining, not living. I made more photographs in that part of the house than any other. – Janna Ireland, The Spotless Mirror [via LENSCRATCH]

“SELF PUBLISHING: NO LONGER A VANITY AFFAIR” says NPAA:

What I say to people now is, you can make a book tonight,” says Gittins. “For less than the cost of a pizza, just make a book and get it back and see what you think. Do you like the paper? The printing? Don’t think of it as, “The Book,” think of it as a maquette. You can send that out to publishers, too. It may not be the be-all, end-all design, but it shows the work curated in a way that makes sense.

Missy Prince says:

I think photography and literature are both driven by the impulse to show something about life, to give our observations some kind of form. There was a time when I wanted to write. The desire isn’t so strong now, but I can see a connection between it and the role that photography plays in my life. Both involve imposing a narrative onto experience, noticing details, making connections, figuring out what is important or interesting about a situation and trying to put it into a form that makes you feel something. So much of the literature that moves me has a wandering theme. Stories from the road, people on the move, on the run, or looking for something, the recurrence of the familiar amid uncertainty and change. Such work is reflective of the spirit that made it. It carries the charge of life, always moving, always searching. My process is very much about wandering, being out in the world and coming back with pieces of a story that is hopefully held together by the thread of my own sensibility. I don’t know exactly what I will find when I set out, and that is the point. Photography, like writing, is a means of discovery, a filling in of (or working around) blanks, a fleshing out of ideas or feelings.

An old quote from Philip-Lorca diCorcia that I like:

Reality has become a parallel universe with photographers returning with different versions of what it truly looks like.

“Photography by Sid Kaplan, a Master Printer, Emerges From Obscurity:”

I was more interested in taking pictures, and most of the time, I just didn’t pursue it,” Sid, 75, said. “I don’t like that whole system. Besides, to publish a book you have to be able to schmooze, and I just don’t have the technique.

©Gloria Baker Feinstein

I think it’s safe to say we all have a fascination with the aging process – how our faces and bodies change over the years. That reason alone was sufficient for me to begin this process of updating the pictures from “The Space Between.” - Gloria Baker Feinstein via [LENSCRATCH]

The return of Jeffrey Ladd:

Much of what gets immediate attention in the book world I perceive as almost too well thought out or just extremely clever. It looks complete and well designed yet it leaves me wondering why I should ever pick it up twice. I sense almost a distrust of photography on the part of many bookmakers now. But I am also a self-described dinosaur. I want the pictures to make me fall under their spell when they are irreducible in form, not by the ideas laid upon them.

Paul Kopeikin says:

The works I show together don’t necessarily have anything in common, except for the fact that I find them significant,” he says. “It’s my little kingdom. One of my clients is on the committee of a museum, and other committee members were calling him crazy for buying outside of the zone they deemed safe. ‘Why’d you buy that?’ they’d demand. I told him what to say the next time they ask — and it’s the only answer I think is valid. ‘Because I like it.’

Life Lessons with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar:

…one of my favorite quotes is from the philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer: “Talent hits the target no one else can hit; genius hits the target no one else can see.” I think the key to seeing the target no one else can see is in being patient, waiting for it to appear so you can do the right thing, not just the expedient thing. Learning to wait is one of my greatest accomplishments as I’ve gotten older.

David Kasnic in RAW File:

I got into the idea of living your work, which was a really bad idea,” explains Kasnic. “I always thought that shooting party stuff was new and no one had done it. Then I went to Brooklyn and figured out everyone was doing it.

©Erika Huffman – via [Fraction Magazine Issue 50]

Jeff L. Rosenheim, curator, The MET:

After 25 years, the enthusiasm and excitement are still palpable when Rosenheim discusses his latest exhibition, and the future of the field. “I think we’re going to continue to have breakthroughs and new bodies of work,” he says. “I think there are photographers who are right before our eyes who we don’t even know about yet.

Ian MacKaye says:

I think that people are constantly thinking about capturing things that they’re not actually present for the moment they’re trying to capture. I’m quite sure of this. I think it’s insane how many pictures have to be taken these days. We have to realize there’s a level of documentation that’s just chatter, it’s noise, and beyond that, people who are truly documenting are going to have to find a way to puncture that.

Harvey Stein interviewed by Erik Kim:

One of my guiding principles has always been to photograph for myself, to please me, and not to play to the market. I want my work to be honest, real, genuine. If others appreciate it, great, that’s a nice bonus. The work rewards me, not the market place or other people’s opinions.

Bottom of the Page

“In 2005, author David Foster Wallace was asked to give the commencement address to the 2005 graduating class of Kenyon College. However, the resulting speech didn’t become widely known until 3 years later, after his tragic death. It is, without a doubt, some of the best life advice we’ve ever come across, and perhaps the most simple and elegant explanation of the real value of education. We made this video, built around an abridged version of the original audio recording, with the hopes that the core message of the speech could reach a wider audience who might not have otherwise been interested. However, we encourage everyone to seek out the full speech (because, in this case, the book is definitely better than the movie). -The Glossary”

The LPV Show – Episode 9: Carl Gunhouse

2013-05-10T12:06:57Z

Carl Gunhouse in his apartment, Greenpoint, Brooklyn – April 6th, 2013/©Bryan Formhals

Carl Gunhouse was born in 1976 in Boston, Massachusetts, but he spent his formative years in suburban New Jersey. Growing up, he developed a love/hate relationship with suburbia that led to the angst familiar to most suburban youth. With this unrest came the discovery of the anger and DIY ethics of hardcore punk rock. Yearning to be part of the hardcore scene, he started photographing bands, which began his love of photography.

To escape suburban New Jersey, Carl enrolled at Fordham University in New York City. While completing a BA in European History at Fordham, he discovered that photography could be something to pursue a career so he decided to simultaneously complete a BFA in Photography. After going on to earn his MA in American History from Fordham, Carl concentrated on street photography. In hopes of developing and refining his photography work, Carl completed his MFA in Photography at Yale University.

Since graduating, he has found a great deal of personal satisfaction teaching as an Adjunct at Montclair State University, Cooper Union, Marymount Manhattan College, and Nassau Community College. He has also gained some renown for his straightforward writing on photography for such web sites as Searching For the Light, Lay Flat, and American Suburb X. His photography has been shown nationally and internationally. As an artist, he has produced a body of landscape and portrait photographs by driving around the United States to expose the little visual bits of America that give voice to our shared history and experience. Carl currently lives and works in Brooklyn, NY.

I have a confession to make. I actually only understood about %50 of Carl’s art references but I laughed at all of them. It was an educational conversation. Where to even start? Topics include, learning from Tod Papageorge, Trevor Paglan is the best contemporary photographer, Alec Soth is finally coming into his own, the Chelsea photography scene, critical writing on the internet, AIPAD, street photography, staying inspired when there’s so much good stuff out there, not getting depressed about the internet, the internet is awesome and exciting, the photography ghetto, the Bushwick art scened, just making photographs, and a list of references I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to digest.

It’s always a great conversation when you can leave inspired and hopefully just a little smarter. Be sure to check out Carl’s reviews on his blog, his photographs on his site and of course his Tumblr.

Also, if you’re enjoying these podcasts, please consider a digital subscription. It’s $7.99 for the year and you’ll be entered into the end of the year photobook raffle. We also B&H and Amazon affiliate links you can use, which for those of you that don’t know gives us a small percentage on all purchases. It’s apart of the indie publishing mix these days.

You can listen to it directly through the player below or DOWNLOAD it. Subscribe through RSS or iTunes.

Photographs Carl Gunhouse

The LPV Show – Episode 8: Tom Starkweather

2013-05-10T01:23:41Z

Tom Starkweather in his room, Bushwick, Brooklyn – March 26th, 2013/©Bryan Formhals

I met Tom a few years ago at an opening at Lunasa, a small bar in the East Village. I started following his photography and over the years he has shown me a few of his maquettes, which he made by hand. I’ve always been impressed with his patience and dedication to the craft. He’s in no hurry and is one of those guys that you’ll probably always find roaming around the streets.

We had a good conversation at his apartment in Bushwick, although I did cringe at a few of my riffs. Recording these conversations has been a humbling and illuminating process. I’ve decided that I’m going to let them run mostly uninterrupted from now on and just let the conversation flow.

See more of Tom’s work on his website

You can listen to it directly through the player below or DOWNLOAD it. Subscribe through RSS or iTunes.

Photographs ©Tom Starkweather

The Digest – April 28th, 2013

2013-04-28T22:53:38Z

©Will Steacy

“The internet, for lack of a better metaphor, makes up the branches of the tree,” he says. “But newspapers have centuries-long traditions of being the roots of the tree. If the roots of tree rot and crumble the rest of the tree will fall with it.” – Will Steacy, “Philly Inquirer’s Hard Years Are Microcosm of Newspapers’ Long Goodbye” [Wired Raw File]

The bombing at the Boston Marathon has dominated coverage in the US the last two weeks and naturally photography played a very important role. It was almost too much to follow, but it did bring up some issues that we’re going to thinking about more in the future. The biggest concern for me is the way that Reddit and 4Chan used photography to hunt for suspects in plain view on the internet. Not surprisingly they pointed fingers at innocent people. There were condemnations but at this point I don’t see how this type of behavior can be curbed. I followed much of the news on Twitter and it was a disaster. The amount of misinformation flying around was ridiculous and worse, much of it was coming from supposed reputable outlets.

I’ve listened to a couple of podcasts with Dougla Rushkoff who has a new book out called “PRESENT SHOCK: When Everything Happens Now.” I haven’t read it yet, but I’m going to. It seems more relevant than ever.

Rushkoff identifies the five main ways we’re struggling, as well as how the best of us are thriving in the now:

Narrative collapse – the loss of linear stories and their replacement with both crass reality programming and highly intelligent post-narrative shows like The Simpsons. With no goals to justify journeys, we get the impatient impulsiveness of the Tea Party, as well as the unbearably patient presentism of the Occupy movement. The new path to sense-making is more like an open game than a story.

Digiphrenia – how technology lets us be in more than one place – and self – at the same time. Drone pilots suffer more burnout than real-world pilots, as they attempt to live in two worlds – home and battlefield – simultaneously. We all become overwhelmed until we learn to distinguish between data flows (like Twitter) that can only be dipped into, and data storage (like books and emails) that can be fully consumed.

Overwinding – trying to squish huge timescales into much smaller ones, like attempting to experience the catharsis of a well-crafted, five-act play in the random flash of a reality show; packing a year’s worth of retail sales expectations into a single Black Friday event – which only results in a fatal stampede; or – like the Real Housewives – freezing one’s age with Botox only to lose the ability to make facial expressions in the moment. Instead, we can “springload” time into things, like the “pop-up” hospital Israel sent to Tsunami-wrecked Japan.

Fractalnoia – making sense of our world entirely in the present tense, by drawing connections between things – sometimes inappropriately. The conspiracy theories of the web, the use of Big Data to predict the direction of entire populations, and the frantic effort of government to function with no “grand narrative.” But also the emerging skill of “pattern recognition” and the efforts of people to map the world as a set of relationships called TheBrain – a grandchild of McLuhan’s “global village”.

Apocalypto – the intolerance for presentism leads us to fantasize a grand finale. “Preppers” stock their underground shelters while the mainstream ponders a zombie apocalypse, all yearning for a simpler life devoid of pings, by any means necessary. Leading scientists – even outspoken atheists – prove they are not immune to the same apocalyptic religiosity in their depictions of “the singularity” and “emergence”, through which human evolution will surrender to that of pure information.

Links of Note

©Vitas Luckus

Meanwhile, Mr. Luckus grew into a lightning-rod figure in the region’s art scene, a man whose brutal honesty, seemingly boundless creativity and aggressive empathy had the power to both divide and inspire the bohemian community in which he lived. Socially, he was “brilliant at certain moments, impossible at others,” the journalist Herman Hoeneveld wrote in “The Hard Way,” a 1994 book of Mr. Luckus’s work. “He had a unique inspiring and stimulating effect on others, and would work for days on end with a minimum of sleep and alcohol. - Vitas Luckus, Once a Luminary of the Soviet Photography Scene [LENS]

Sean O’Hagan on “How photographers joined the self-publishing revolution:”

Having long since shaken off the kind of stigma that still attaches to, say, self-published fiction, the self-published photobook is currently a mini-phenomenon within the bigger thriving culture of photography book publishing. The wider context for this DIY approach is the availability of relatively cheap digital technology and the attendant rise of social media-led networking, which allows photographers to disseminate, market and sell their own books without recourse to the traditional artist-publisher relationship. […] In an age when the alternatives to mainstream publishing are increasingly affordable and creatively liberating, self-published photography in all its different forms may yet become the norm.

Peter van Agtmael on “Revisiting Memory and Preserving Legacy: Tim Hetherington and Chris Hondros:”

The portrait of the journalist as hero is at-once seductive and misleading; after all, as journalists, we’re trained to probe beyond the societal and self-created narratives. In the wake of a colleague’s death, objectivity can feel like an impossibility. As time passes, a more complex and nuanced reality can find space to slide into focus. As Christopher Anderson explained: “Tim was really smart and really talented but he was a real human being too. He was so opposed to this idea of photographer as myth. It was kind of an obsession with him. To know he was being made into a myth was totally contrary to who he was. Part of him would be appalled, part would be silently flattered, and as the professional story teller it would make sense to him.

PDN’s “5 Financial Steps To Launching A Photo Career”

I think it is good to have an out,” such as a part-time job, says photojournalist Michael Christopher Brown. “This also allows one to spend more time and energy taking pictures of things they are genuinely interested in or passionate about, as opposed to being a professional photographer, which is time consuming and draining on one’s creativity.

I am intrigued with other people’s photographic recording of their lives both for the generic quality they possess — the family and social rituals, studio portraits, vacation shots — and for the feeling of sadness and nostalgia that acquiring other people’s memories provokes in me. I feel somehow that it should be illegal to own them, yet since they are for sale it might as well be me who buys them. – Lisa Koken, ‘Sewn Found Photos’ [LENSCRATCH]

“Second Acts: Why “Rediscovered Artists” Are the Art Market’s New Darlings:”

We had a collector come in and ask about an artist we were showing,” said one art dealer who asked to remain anonymous. When the dealer told him the artist was close to 40, and had taken some time off before getting her MFA, the collector lost interest. “He thought she couldn’t be a true artist if she was starting so late in life.

“Adrian Fisk: Capturing the Fearlessness of the Youth:”

The beauty of digital cameras is that it costs nothing to take a picture, so shoot as much as you can. Like the athlete who runs every day, you need to do the same with taking photographs. There are lots of websites you can show your work and if you pursue it hard, have a talent, people will begin to notice your pictures. But it should be noted that never has the photography business been so tough as it is today. Right now it is going through a process in which all media is becoming digital and conventional magazines and newspapers simply don’t have the money to pay photographers. The market is flooded with young photographers all hoping to make a living from their hard work. This is not to put any aspiring photographers off the idea of trying to enter the professional photo world, it is simply to make it clear you are trying to break into an exceptionally tough business and it’s good to know this first and not be blinded by the romance of becoming a photographer. I am a firm believer that like anything in life, if you really believe you can do it, then you will do it.

“I am frequently asked by people who have not seen my work why I spend my life documenting one simple place like Decatur County, Georgia,” he wrote. “People confuse simple with small; they’re not the same thing.” – Paul Kwicki, “A Life Sold on Photography” [LENS]

Interview with Sean Stewart on ilovethatphoto.net:

I’ve fallen in love with photographs that occupy this gray area between mistake and ‘useful’ photography. I usually venture out with the intention of making a traditional photograph, either portrait or landscape that’s effective in telling a story or reaching an audience that can understand it. Instead, I often end up with images where the language is broken and the narrative is non-existent. By sequencing these one-offs, or mistakes, together in a series, it creates confusion (not intentionally), and elicits a response that is unlike the expected. For me, photo-journalism has the same problem. Photography is almost never factual, but it’s there as an aid our understanding of a fact.

Joerg Colberg, Reviews: After the Threshold by Sandi Haber Fifield:

Photography’s immediacy allows it to operate in pairs, triplets, or even larger groups. The larger the group, the trickier it gets – after all, the human brain does require a small amount of time to take in a single image. But that amount of time is small compared with how long it takes to take in a video, or listen to just enough of a piece of music to be moved by it. Two photographs next to each other thus manage to “speak” in ways that two videos or pieces of music never could. Use three of four photographs, and you get a little sequence that almost operates like a melody, a little line of music that hints at something larger, but that (potentially) triggers a reaction that results from something beyond the individual notes.

Christopher Schreck:

I just don’t think there’s any sense in shovelling sand against the tide. As far as my own work existing online, I think it’s important to have one central location – my website – where things are presented intentionally. I feel like I’m responsible for that much – beyond that, it’s really out of my hands. That lack of control can be a strange thing, for sure, but it can also be enlightening. Personally, I get something out of seeing how the content I produce can end up in these strange corners of the internet, in contexts I never could have predicted. It gives me a different perspective on what I do. I also think that observing how images function online can be instructive in understanding how people respond to art. If anything, it tends to refute the idea that a given work might ever have a ‘correct’ reading or stable meaning, which is something I’m very interested in.

“Alec Soth on Wandering, Storytelling and Robert Adams vs. Weegee:”

LBM Dispatches,” a series of short newspapers Soth and writer Brad Zeller are creating, which are published by Soth’s company Little Brown Mushroom, grew out of “the desire to be a suburban newspaper photographer,” Soth said. To create the newspapers, Soth and Zellar pick a place, then go and tell a story about that community. Quickly after they return from reporting trips, they print and release the newspapers. Soth noted his appreciation for the immediacy of publishing work so quickly, and for the processes of self-assigning and self-imposing deadlines.

©Jenn Ackerman

“Most of the time in winter you’re running from your car to the store,” Ms. Ackerman said. “You don’t stand in the middle of winter. You do that in summer. You stand and look at the sun, and that’s acceptable. There was a connection that I was able to make with people that were willing to do that.” – Jenn Ackerman, ‘Frozen in Place and Time’ [LENS]

Blake Andrews on Soth’s Portland Lecture:

Soth loves lists. His former business card is one long list, and I think he uses lists to guide his photo projects, not exactly as checklists but as rough guides. So he opened the lecture with a list. I think it was called Portland Lecture 4/19 or something similar, though I don’t remember exactly. There was The Eggleston Question. Robert Adams Vs. Weegee, John Cage and Ping Pong, Looking For Love, etc. There were about 15 items total but I could only write a few down before he was on to something else. Most of them remained unexplored. Each time someone asked a question it would trigger some brainstorm that he’d already considered. A folder on his desktop listed a few hundred of them roughly by topic. And inside each one were the bare bone graphics supporting a small train of thought. We’d watch him dig around through various files until he found the proper one, then launch into a 5 minute presentation. Adams/Weegee triggered one, as did Eggleston. We never got to John Cage and Ping Pong. For someone so focused on narrative, the lecture came off as something approaching the opposite. It took its structural cue from narrative’s enemy, Hyperlinking. That’s the form of the web and the trending structure of much creative content.

Romke Hoogwaerts:

In my essay I argue that, without discourse, art loses density. I set up the interview blog to begin with so that art online wasn’t just re-blogs, “likes” and comments, but had some real sentiment and context to feed the viewer’s imagination and understanding of the art. In the introduction I’m talking about art that rarely leaves the Internet, because it’s seen as inherently amateurish, valueless or net-kitschy. We can freely self-educate now and as a result there’s a wealth of brilliant artists online, getting next to no real exposure. They deserve it! Ultimately, this problem really gets me going; there’s so much to talk about that hasn’t entered contemporary art discourse yet.

Tom Griggs ‘On the Money Part II:’

While art institutions benefit from limiting the field, art photographers continue to search for ways in. The strategies used in the commercial market to stand out have begun to overlap with many current art photographer strategies for navigating the art market. The result is that fine art photography seems more blatantly a business than ever before, with similar dynamics to the commercial field and photographers employing similar strategies to stand out in the crowd. Flyers, leave-behinds, sleek websites, the right (i.e. expensive) gear for creating salable prints, and the co-ordination of fonts across publicity materials. We talk openly of our “brand.”

Bottom of the Page

The LPV Show – Episode 7: A Conversation With Natan Dvir

2013-05-03T01:35:06Z

Natan Dvir – Anastasia Photo, Lower East Side, April 2nd, 2013/©Bryan Formhals

Natan Dvir (b. 1972, Nahariya) is an Israeli photographer who focuses on the human aspects of political, social and cultural issues. He received his MBA from Tel Aviv University and his MFA in Photography from the School of Visual Arts (NY), after which he became a faculty member at the International Center for Photography (ICP). Natan is based in New York City and photographs around the world represented by Polaris Images agency and Anastasia Photo gallery.

Natan’s series ‘Coming Soon’ has been circulating widely around the web, from blogs to mainstream outlets. His solo show at Anastasia Photo debuted on March 15th and will close on May 19th. Be sure to check it out if you’re on the Lower East Side. We’ve been in touch over the years, so it was finely nice to sit down and chat about his work.

You can listen to it directly through the player below or DOWNLOAD it. Subscribe through RSS or iTunes.

©Natan Dvir From ‘Coming Soon’

©Natan Dvir From ‘Eighteen’

The Digest – April 14th, 2013

2013-04-14T22:41:45Z

©Marc Ansin

Uncle Charlie was my favorite uncle. He’s my godfather. My grandfather was a grade-A hood, hustling, pimping women, abusive. My mother got out, but Uncle Charlie never did. My mother made sure I had an education. I went to art school. In 1981, I started realizing that my uncle was an interesting person to take pictures of, and it became my family album. Charlie is fifty-one years old now and his life is a mess. He blames his kids, he blames his ex-wife, he blames my mother—he thinks he is the ultimate victim. I know enough about his life to know how he got there, but emotionally I can’t cut him any slack. I know it’s because he had an abusive childhood, but that doesn’t give you the right to fuck up your kids. Still, you know, I feel for him. He’ll always be my Uncle Charlie.” – Marc Ansin, CENTER AWARDS: Curator’s Choice Awards 1st Place [LENSCRATCH]

LPV Lately

It was nice to finally share Issue 6. Thanks to everyone that contributed, especially designer Wayne Bremser. We made a few last minute changes while he was on the road so we had to go back and forth a few times to get things straight, but we ended up getting it right I think. A big thanks to Blake Andrews and Mark Peter Drolet as well.

We’re offering subscriptions again this year, including a digital option, which is basically a tip jar. The money we raise will go primarily to paying writers, designers and editors. I’m also going to start commissioning a few features here and there. Look out for the first collaboration in Issue 7.

At the end of the year I’m going to raffle off three photobooks to those that subscribe. I have a few books in mind, but what I’ll probably do is head to Dashwood and see what I can dig up.

The podcast is rolling along and also taking up more of my LPV time. It’s been challenging to listen to myself as a host. Downright painful at times, but I’m learning. It’s been great getting some tips from friends obsessed with podcasts. It’s an interesting medium. What I appreciate most is that you have to invest some time to listen to them. It’s not like on the web where you can quickly browse an article.

I have three more to edit so I think I’m going to aim to release them bi-weekly on Fridays.

©Jeff Jacobson

Jeff Jacobson Interview on PDN

Very powerful interview (Part 1, Part II). I need to find a copy of Melting Point which Hin Chua recommended to me a few years ago. Most importantly though, I wish Jeff well in his battle with cancer. I can’t wait to get my hands on The Last Roll. Here are a few quotes I enjoyed:

I never know what I’m doing until I’m many years into a project. I always follow the pictures. The pictures tell me what I’m doing.

–

Because work that comes out of the documentary/photojournalism world is rooted in time and space, and work that comes out of the art world is often rooted in an idea that comes out of the photographer’s ego, and I’m less interested in that. There are certain photographers that are always exceptions to the rule, where they set stuff up and I think it’s wonderful, but not many. You know, I’ve almost never seen anything come out of the Yale School of Photography that remotely interests me. I just find it vacuous. I don’t think it’s very intelligent. I’m sorry.

–

But then that question of where do you stand becomes a much broader philosophical question. Where do you stand politically with your work? Where do you stand economically with your photography? Where do you stand in your life vis a vis photography? It’s a structure to help students very physically understand how to get to a picture. And a photograph is just a set of graphics. And I say, for the moment, forget about content, forget about subject matter, we’re just going to talk about photography in a graphic sense. Because when you boil it down, it’s a set of graphics on a piece of paper, or projected on a wall or on a computer screen, whatever. It’s not the world; it’s an abstraction of the world. But people don’t learn that. They think subject matter, subject matter, subject matter, and they never understand.

–

I set out to do my own pictures, and fuck ‘em if they didn’t like it. And they didn’t like it, and they kicked my ass right out on the street. On a certain level I’m very thankful for Magnum because they really helped me understand that you can’t make pictures for anyone else but yourself. You’ve really got to follow your own beat.

©Brandon Thibodeaux - CENTER AWARDS: 2nd Place Gallerist’s Choice Awards [LENSCRATCH]

Links of Note

Wayne Bremser on Mary Ellen Mark’s Prom:

Every photograph of another person is, in weaker hands, an opportunity to humiliate the subject’s image. That has nothing to do with how the photograph was captured, or whether consent was given. When bad motivation exists, it only reveals the photographer. It never reveals anything about the subject, because it is only ever the subject’s image. I know nothing about the couple pictured above. The small miracle of photography is, in Mary Ellen Mark’s hands, images with very little context can generate compassion.

Larissa Archer on Winogrand at SFMOMA:

I’m wondering if even street photography can be trusted to tell us anything beyond what is in the photographer’s own heart at the moment—I wonder if it is in fact the most deceptive of all genres, for the very reason that it posits a certain objectivity, not rehearsed and posed but candid and full of accidents, an imprint of a reality that is out there for anyone and everyone to witness together. I wonder if, regardless of the literal elements of the scene, the tone an image takes on and expresses is due to the photographer’s own moods, his own prejudices, enthusiasms, “abortive sorrows and short-winded elations.” And then I wonder if this is in fact any less reliable than the notion that the images can say something objectively true about their over-arching subject (for instance, America) when that subject is itself so complex, many-sided, and open to a seemingly endless range of interpretations.

©Laia Abril - CENTER AWARDS: Project Launch Juror’s Choice [LENSCRATCH]

Louis C.K.:

There’s people that say: “It’s not fair. You have all that stuff.” I wasn’t born with it. It was a horrible process to get to this. It took me my whole life. If you’re new at this — and by “new at it,” I mean 15 years in, or even 20 — you’re just starting to get traction. Young musicians believe they should be able to throw a band together and be famous, and anything that’s in their way is unfair and evil. What are you, in your 20s, you picked up a guitar? Give it a minute.

Sarah Palmer:

I see this as a delicate balance – how to make the work personal in some ways, influenced and affected by one’s vision, without being narcissistic. I tell my students making conceptual artwork all the time: nobody cares about you – that is not inherently interesting. The work has to transcend the subject, whatever the subject is. It sounds harsh, I know, but there is so much work out there, one has to set oneself apart.

Thomas Ruff:

I think that when I see a good photograph I recognize it. When I was teaching at the art academy, however, I knew students who ran around with their digital cameras. They’d fill their memory cards with pictures, and they then had a problem deciding which image was good, which one was bad. I don’t know whether that was because they never learned how to make such a decision or whether they conceptually refused to make a decision. But for them it is a big problem to deal with the flood if images and to make decisions.

©Timothy Briner – Sandy [Fraction Magazine Issue 49]

When Hurricane Sandy hit, photographers and Instagrammers alike made pilgrimages to the disaster zone. Like many of these photographers, Briner headed straight for the storm, focusing on Brighton Beach and Coney Island, two of the neighborhoods that were hit hardest. What has made Timothy stand out, is that he not only photographed the architectural devastation, but spent significant periods of time with residents of these neighborhoods. While his own neighborhood in Ditmas Park was not hit as severely, it gave Briner a kinship to those living a few neighborhoods deeper into the storms path, and a responsibility to tell their stories. – Jon Feinstein

Thom Yorke:

I like the fact that I still don’t know what I’m doing. Honestly. I’ll go through whole phases of months where I haven’t got a clue. I regularly lose complete confidence in what I’m doing. In some ways, the nicest bit about the creative thing – the nicest bit about recording and writing is this sort of weird limbo in between scratching away, scratching away, nothing really happening, nothing really happening, and then something wants to be built and starts to get built. You just have to let it happen. And then it gets to the end and you look at it a few months later and go, “Huh, how did that happen?” It’s sort of a weird amnesia.

Blake Andrews ‘was there then:’

But for me date is even more important than name. With all art this is true, but especially with photography. Because time is integral to the form. Every photo is locked into a specific moment. If I show you a photo and tell you it was made last year you will understand it in a certain way. If I then say that it was actually made 50 years ago, your interpretation may change radically.

Kramer O’Neill:

Let this be a lesson, young folks. You need not have any curiosity, anything to say, or even much photographic ability (and you certainly needn’t be competent at processing): just have a gimmick, something that seems novel and can be explained in one paragraph for Wired or Buzzfeed. [Bonus points if your gimmick involves a lot of neat-sounding technology that captivates/confuses baby boomers.] People who “like photography” actually like reading stories about how photos are made more than they “like” photos. So give them a novel story, that’s all you need.

©Geoffrey Ellis - via ‘Someone I know’

Tom Griggs ‘On the Money’:

While I don’t think that these issues are new, I do believe that these new models and trends in photography – particularly in distribution – have reduced our medium. They have had a homogenizing effect, limiting participation and putting a premium on access to the limited number of faces at the gates of entry and to publishing and exhibiting. These trends have eliminated views from photographers not able to surpass the equipment gap, get an MFA, survive post-graduation, and pay for networking. They have had the result of a more simplified collective vision: less can make work, a narrower range of work is distributed, and I think an argument could be made that it also affects HOW work is made. If the stakes are high, less adventurous work will be made to ensure some degree of reception to it once the necessary payments have been made for access to the right eyes.

Michael Mack:

Very simply, a great book is something where the quality of the work and the quality of the ideas are sufficiently intelligent to be specifically applied to a book form. My biggest problem with most photography books is that they’re simply catalogues of images. They don’t necessarily need to exist as a book; in most cases it is vanity for the projects to end in a book. To me, the greatest books are the ones in which the relationship between the ideas, the images and the form are brought together to become a work in itself. When it becomes a distinct element of the artist’s practice. When the book is the piece.

Bottom of the Page

Legendary anti-war photographer and author of Viet Nam Inc, Philip Jones Griffiths, gives the interview of a lifetime only 48 hours before he died in at his home in London on March 19, 2008. With a voice impassioned by courage and enriched by his legacy of love for people and for taking real pictures of real people, Philip imparts his final words of wisdom on the subject of photography and sexuality.

Rare interviews with iconic photographers and people who loved him bring the most eloquent and clear headed anti-war photographer back to life. This movie is an hommage to being real in a time when documentary photography has fallen off the pedestal. This is the way and these are the words that matter. – Donna Ferrato, ‘The Magnificent One: Philip Jones Griffiths’

The LPV Show – Episode 6: A Conversation With Mikael Kennedy

2013-04-11T23:45:16Z

Mikael Kennedy – Greenpoint, Brooklyn, March 27th, 2013/©Bryan Formhals

Mikael Kennedy is a photographer living and working in New York City. He is the author of the internationally acclaimed Polaroid travel blog Passport to Trespass and his Polaroid work is represented by the Peter Hay Halpert Fine Art Gallery of New York City and are part of the permanent collection at the Museum of Fine Arts in Houston, TX as well as in private collections nationwide. Kennedy’s photographs have appeared in The New Yorker, Nylon, Dazed & Confused, Blown (UK), Cosmoplotian, WWD,GQ.com, Esquire.com, TimeMagazine.com, Newsweek.com, Vison Magazine (Bejieng), American Short Fiction & Maine Magazine. He won ‘Cover of the Year’ in Munich last year at the 2011 BCP Awards for EB Magazine featuring a photograph from his series ‘The Odysseus’.

Each time I’ve met up with Mikael it’s been memorable. I have a small collection of his books sitting next to my desk and I always pick them up when I need a change of pace. His photographs take me on the road and slow life down. It’s a good place to visit, especially living in New York. In these episode we discussed the road, shooting Polaroids, Tumblr and Mike Brodie.

You can listen to it directly through the player below or DOWNLOAD it. Subscribe through RSS or iTunes.

Photographs ©Mikael Kennedy

Issue 6 – Letter from the Editor

2013-04-10T01:27:37Z

“…in a world where photographic images are ubiquitous a photography magazine can seem redundant if not irrelevant.” – Jed Perl, The New Republic, February 14th, 2013

What is the purpose of a photography magazine? After I read that quote from Jed Perl in his review of the re-launched Aperture, I knew this was a question I wanted to try to answer for myself. I’ve written four versions of this article, each one in a different tone and with a different conclusion. In one version I was sure that there was no purpose and concluded that I should just shut down LPV and be done with it. That feeling didn’t last long, but it’s always in the back of my mind.

There are numerous photography magazines out there these days. Some old, some new, some analogue, some digital. Photography is as popular as ever, or so the links on Twitter tell me. Aperture, FOAM, The British Journal of Photography and PDN all do an exceptional job of keeping readers current on trends, ideas, technology and innovative new photography. But can they cover everything? I think that’s doubtful given the current state of photography. There’s just too much out there. But that’s why we have blogs, and Tumblr and independent magazines.

Something Francis Hodgson recently wrote struck a chord:

One of the pleasing things about being interested in photographs is that it is really perfectly OK to admit to not knowing even important groups of pictures. In a narrower specialism, say in craft pottery or in modern literary fiction or in contemporary dance, it’s embarrassing to miss first-rate stuff. In photography you can even turn the whole argument around: far from being embarrassing to have missed something, it may be that to live only with those pictures that have good kudos in your particular neck of the photographic woods is to be limited, to lack curiosity and openness.

That’s something to think about. I know I need to discover a more diverse range of photography perspectives, but it can be tough in the daily information stream. Sometimes you get caught up in a current and it becomes difficult to take the time to look around. My hunch is that there’s plenty of interesting things happening beyond my field of vision.

So, where does LPV fit into the equation? I don’t know for sure. I’ve stopped thinking about it and have decided to embrace the uncertainty. The process is continuously inspiring and challenging, so I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon. LPV was born out of the connections I made with other photographers on the internet and continues to evolve because of these connections. Creating these connections and then sharing them with others is the most fulfilling aspect of the process. I never really know what’s going to be in an upcoming issue. I’ve allowed serendipity and the connections I’ve created to guide me to the work I want to publish. I look, I ask friends, I think about it. Gravity brings it all together.

Welcome to LPV 6.

You can view the issue in the viewer below, buy individual issues on MagCloud, or download the PDF for FREE.

Or you can subscribe!

$99 – 2013 Print Subscription

Includes all four print issues, delivered right to your door, just like any other magazine! Plus, you’ll be eligible for our end of the year photobook raffle, where we’ll be giving away three books.

United States, Canada and the UK only!

$7.99 – 2013 Digital Subscription

Do you enjoy the features we’re providing? Is The Digest a must read? Do you depend on our Twitter for good articles? Well, now you can throw us a few dollars to help support our editorial efforts. Yep, this is your chance to say you appreciate what we’re doing….but you can’t afford to fork over the cash for a print subscription. Don’t worry, if you don’t pay, we still like you! We’re in the same boat. We all have to make choices about what we pay for and what we consume for free. Here’s your chance to tell us how much you appreciate our efforts. Plus, you’ll be eligible for the photobook raffle at the end of the year. We think it’s a stellar deal.

$149.99 – 2013 Deep Pockets Subscription

Do you have more disposable income than the average chump photographer? Or maybe you want support independent publishing by throwing us a few extra dollars. Well, with this subscription you’ll get all four print issues, will be eligible for the end of the year photobook raffle, plus you’ll receive a very nice, personalized email from me, publisher Bryan Formhals. And hey, I’ll probably throw you a promotional tweet if we get along, or if you live in NYC, I’ll buy you a beer and talk your ear off about photography.

Issue 6

By LPV Magazine in LPV Magazine

84 pages, published 4/6/2013

Featuring Tony Fouhse, Sand Haber Fifield, Melissa Cantanese, Mark Peter Drolet, Kitai Kazuo, Luigi Ghirri, Daniel Coburn, Lisa Lindvay

After the Threshold by Sandi Haber Fifield

2013-04-07T20:43:36Z

“Sandi Haber Fifield’s photographs float on the colors of memory, mood, feeling, and suggestion. They combine the indistinctness of memory with the imperfections of photography to produce elusive, incomplete reconstructions of times, events, and sentiments at the far reaches of perception.”—Vicki Goldberg

Last November I was invited to review portfolios at PhotoNola in New Orleans. It was exciting to get out of New York to view interesting photography. It was something I needed, and of course, It also provided a new avenue for discovering photography and stories to publish in the magazine.

By the second day, I’d seen an impressive series of projects and met some interesting photographers that I’m sure I’ll collaborate with in the future. It was inspiring to be around passionate people dedicated to their photography.

The constant conversations and exchanging of ideas kept my mind swirling. I was starting to get mentally exhausted by the time Sandi Haber Fifield sat down across from me. With her was the dummy for her latest book After the Threshold (Kehrer Verlag).

We chatted for a minute and then I sat silently as she flipped through the book. I was quickly transfixed, intently focussing on the photographs that were flickering before my eyes. The photographs were sequenced in a series of four, sometimes three per page. So each time she flipped it was like looking at a new puzzle, or short story. I watched attentively, studying the way the images played off against each other. It was a real photographic treat.

When she finished I didn’t have much to say. I mustered up a few words of admiration but beyond that I couldn’t find anything to say. The first rush of seeing a good photobook is a wonderful feeling. The work resonated with me so strongly that my mind began racing, flooded with questions and ideas.

“How has diaristic photography evolved in the internet age? Are more photographers digging into their archives to re-interpret their photography? How are photographers using sequencing and multiple photographs to communicate their ideas? Do we focus too much attention on single images?”

The flashes of inspiration were coming quickly. It made me want to get to work. It’s impossible to know when you’ll encounter something that will crystallize ideas floating around in your head and force you to ask new questions. That’s what happened when I encountered After the Threshold. It was the right series of photographs at the right time. Another reviewer might have shrugged them off, but for me, they opened a creative door.

Sandi and I chatted for a few more minutes, and then she and the photographs were gone.

—

In the months after encountering After the Threshold, I managed to finish editing my first book, Genesee Ave. It changed the way I think about photography. Editing and sequencing are how you unlock the potential from a series of photographs. It’s an aspect of photography that I knew was critically important, but it wasn’t until after I did it myself that I realized how challenging it was to do in an interesting way. You have to make so many small decisions to assure the whole is unified body of photographs.

Sandi’s book and sequencing were consistently on my mind. We exchanged emails and planned a feature for the magazine but I couldn’t figure out the right questions I wanted to ask her. I started to feel that reading her words might change that visceral feeling I had about the book. I wanted it to remain a mystery. I was imagining the book in my head and after seeing some of the spreads I knew it would be one of those books that I look at over and over again for a few months.

A few weeks before the scheduled publication date for Issue 6, Sandi mailed me a review copy of the book. It was thrilling to hold it in my hands and look at the completed version. It’s a beautifully made object.

And this time I was able to page through it at my own pace. I could put it down and return to it a day later. I could live with the photographs for a few weeks. It’s strange how your view of a book changes once you own it. The photographs you live with are the most important.

With each viewing I started to learn more hints about the version of Sandi’s life she wants to show us through her photography. The version I view is serene, calm and meditative. We jump through her travels and daily life. The seasons change, sometimes in the same sequence of photographs. We catch glimpses of the people in her life but we’re never certain about the relationship. They are visually in harmony with the rest of her subject matter.

I laugh when she comes across the odd street scene. It’s not a big deal. It’s something that happens when you have a camera with you. A single photograph is never allowed to stand out. They all have their proper place as equals. Each turn of the book introduces a new story or memory. You want to stop and take a closer look but when you try the moment is gone.

Luck, 2012

White Sun, 2011

Sunday Morning, 2012

Montauk Blue, 2011

Improbable Night, 2012

Pained Smile, 2012

Hannah, 2012

Dreaming in Blue, 2012

“My work is born of collisions and alignments. I gather images from experiences exceptional and mundane, intentional and spontaneous. A visit to the Louvre might find its place alongside a glance through my kitchen window. I work from an inventory of images created and collected over time and am always looking for the small parts that make the whole. Through the process of combining disparate moments of vision, formal connections reveal themselves and suggest the reassuring possibility of meaning and order in the apparent randomness of experience.”

On the social web, the stream has become the default analogy for the way we view new information. Those of us that spend too much time on Tumblr have grown accustom to the seemingly random photographs that scroll through our dashboards.

Something I’ve been paying closer attention to is the diaristic way many photographers are using Tumblr. It can be fascinating to watch them work out their visual ideas in their stream over a series of months. It’s like breaking down a crucial aspect of their editing process. It might be good enough for the stream, but is it good enough for the portfolio or for the book?

It’s a critical editing question. What photographs do you choose to show, and where?

From one perspective, I view ‘After The Threshold’ as a stream. The subject matter of the photographs jumps around but the sequencing always demands that we view a series of photographs together. Meaning is created through this precision sequencing.

On the web, sequencing often doesn’t matter. It’s the bites, and the killer photographs, that gain traction, but this really isn’t a very interesting way to view photography, and I think most reasonable people in photoland understand this by now.

But there is something intriguing about the concept of the stream, and I think ‘After the Threshold’ is a good example of a photographer that either consciously, or unconsciously is engaging the way we consume photograph on the web.

After viewing the book several times now, I’m left wondering about the pace at which I page through it. I’ve been browsing through like I’d view a Tumblr. It’s a brisk pace. But the process of turning the pages slows me down enough to linger on the photographs. It’s almost perfect.

I pause long enough to reflect but not long enough to get bogged down. I’m still not sure why it resonates with me so strongly. When I think I have the right words, I turn the page and they suddenly slip my mind. I’m lost in the photography, and that’s a great feeling.

After the Threshold.

Photographs by Sandi Haber Fifield.

Text by Vicki Goldberg.

Kehrer Verlag, Heidelberg, 2013.

80 pp., 100 color illustrations, 11¾x9½”.

Will be released on April 16th

Book signing at AIPAD Park Avenue Armory

Park Avenue & 66th St Saturday, April 6th, 11:30-1:00

RWFA Booth #117

Exhibition opens at Rick Wester Fine Art

New Address: 526 West 26th St., Suite 417

May 2nd – June 15th

Opening reception: Thurs, May 2nd 6-8

©Sandi Haber Fifield and are courtesy Rick Wester Fine Art.

Dive Dark Dream Slow by Melissa Catanese

2013-04-07T17:09:52Z

“Photographer and bookseller Melissa Catanese has been editing the vast photography collection of Peter J. Cohen, a celebrated trove of more than 20,000 vernacular and found anonymous photographs from the early to mid-twentieth century. Gathered from flea markets, dealers and Ebay, these prints have been acquired, exhibited and included in a range of major museum publications. In organizing the archive into a series of thematic catalogues, she has pursued an alternate reading of the collection, drifting away from simple typology into something more personal, intuitive and openly poetic. Her magical new artist’s book, Dive Dark Dream Slow, is rooted in the mystery and delight of the “found” image and the “snapshot” aesthetic, but pushes beyond the nostalgic surface of these pictures and reimagines them as luminous transmissions of anxious sensuality. Through a series of abandoned visual clues, from the sepia-infused shadow of a little girl running along a beach to silhouettes of a group of distant figures pausing upon a steep and snowy hill, a dreamlike journey is evoked. Like an album of pop songs about a girl (or a civilization) hovering on the verge of transformation, the book cycles through overlapping themes and counter-themes–moon and ocean; violence and tenderness; innocence and experience; masks and nakedness–that sparkle with deep psychic longing and apocalyptic comedy.” – Dive Dark Dream Slow - The Ice Plant, October 2012

Melissa Catanese lives in Pittsburgh and is the founder of Spaces Corners, an artist-run photobook gallery opened in October 2011.

Interview by Bryan Formhals

When did you first become interested in vernacular photography and working with archives? One of the first photography books I bought was Evidence, and it’s still one of my favorites. Was that one of the books you used as inspiration? Were there others?

My interest in vernacular photography began to really grow when I started working with Peter Cohen’s collection and until then, I didn’t have much interest in it, and certainly not within my own photographic pursuits. Although Evidence was definitely an early influence, I was drawn more to what happened when those images were removed from their original contexts. What really inspired me about this work was the simple pleasure of getting lost in those elusive images and the mysterious associations that arose from the edit and sequence. This experience has certainly shaped the way I began to put together my own photographs. As far as other books go, I’m always hunting for new books that inspire me, but the book that stands out the most during this time was The Mushroom Collector by Jason Fulford. I found the process of trying to ‘decode’ this work really engaging. In general, Fulford’s books are so playful and clever. I also revisited Floh by Tacita Dean. I think I was trying to figure out what I was doing and how it was different.

How difficult was it to find a ‘narrative’ and I use ‘narrative’ very loosely there. For me, the challenge with this type of work or working any large body of work is that there a literally endless different avenues you can pursue in an edit. Did you ever think you were creating a sequence that too obscure and abstract? Or did you find yourself gravitating MORE toward that direction?

I do gravitate to elliptical and abstract ‘narratives’, looking for pictures that are somehow incomplete and mysterious. It usually begins on a subconscious level and I try to let the pictures guide me. I’ll have a really simple visual idea, mood or atmosphere in mind and that’s the foundation for the ‘narrative’. If I didn’t use these abstract elements as a base, then there’s no doubt the sequence would have turned out much differently. An important part of the process is defining the tone and then playing around with the patterns that emerge. A lot of trial and error takes place and a lot of time is spent looking and moving pictures around – searching for the chord that you’re hoping to hit.

It’s strange how at times it seems as if the photographs are sequencing themselves. I’m curious about how you put an edit together. Do you just start with a pile of photographs and then start putting the puzzle together? Do you start the beginning? Or the end?

There are usually two or three photographs that I’ve been looking at for a while. Sometimes they are orphans from an earlier edit that I keep going back to. Thinking on those key photos is what helps determine the foundation. I’m usually guided by a few simple visual cues, like a color or a pattern, or something that I find beautiful in the content. Once a basic edit is compiled, usually in a stack of photographs, I’ll start the sequence. I work in small edits of three to five photographs. Threading those groups together, I sequence forward from the beginning and backward from the end and sometimes I start in the middle, working outward. But it’s always in a line. I’ll leave spaces where I feel there’s a natural break. I like to flip the ‘beginning’ with the ‘end’ once I’m close to completion. When I feel good about the sequence I’ve started, I start working in InDesign and depending on where I am in the edit, I’ll either import the images as a line on one long page or I’ll begin a book with many pages.

How does working with other people’s photographs as an editor impact the way you make photographs?

I think about this in reverse actually. My interest in making photographs and editing from my own archive has always been the driving force. When I edited Dive Dark Dream Slow, it was really important that the mood felt like an extension of work from my photographs and initially, when I started the project, I intended to include some of them as well. They’re inherently different ‘genres’ I guess, but I wanted to experiment with the possibilities. If I considered my snapshots as raw material that I would later build something from, then what happens if I try to do the same thing from this massive vernacular archive? I was told once that the hardest part of editing is the ability to remove your ‘self’ from the pictures, to create enough emotional distance from the work where you could see objectively. I think about this a lot when I’m looking at pictures and editing. But I’m not entirely sure if its ever really possible, no matter who the author is, and I’m not sure I would ever really want to do that anyway.

That’s very interesting about trying to remove yourself from the pictures. The dogma is that photographers are the worst editors of their work, but I question that to some degree. I’m probably wrong! I think with some or maybe most fine art photography, the edit is the vision, if that makes any sense. I don’t think I really started to evolve as a photographer until I really started to get my hands dirty in the editing process. It’s very difficult because you have no other option but to make choices: Yes, this photograph! Yes, these ten photographs! Once you start doing that, you begin to understand more clearly what you’re doing which I think helps you immensely when you’re out making photographs.

It does make sense to me that the edit is the ‘vision’ and I would completely agree. It’s become so easy to make pictures and accumulate huge archives that it’s interesting to see how others organize and edit their work. I think because it’s so common for people to have this challenge of figuring out how to manage hundreds of photos at once, they’re beginning to really appreciate the invisible art of editing now more than ever. There’s also a lot more dialogue about these concerns – in many online magazines like LPV and with publications out like Aperture’s The Photobook Review.

I do think it’s an interesting time to talk about editing. I know it can probably seem hermetic to outsiders but I’ve found most photographers get excited when they can talk about it because editing opens up creative doors. With the ease of self-publishing it feels like we’re living through a period of great experimentation. Of course, only time will tell if that’s true or not. It could also be a great period of homogenization. The way the internet brings people together often means we’re all looking at very similar work. Do you look at much photography on the web? How do you balance your consumption between online and offline? What are some of the aspects of the web that you find problematic for photography?

I spend a lot of time on social media, like Tumblr and Facebook, and I enjoy it, but it’s often hard to break out of the voyeurism of it all and actually participate in the dialogue. Everything online moves really fast and adapting to this constant recycling of images and ideas takes visual dexterity and can be exhausting. It doesn’t feel totally natural or fluid yet. This is why it’s nice to take refuge in a book.

You founded Spaces Corners in Pittsburgh, which you call “an artist-run photobook gallery and project space.” I’m also interested in how people describe their activities these days because most of us are engaged with the medium on multiple levels. It’s hard these days to narrowly define people. What made you want to open up Spaces Corners? How has the reception been in Pittsburgh?

We love our city, but there’s nothing like Spaces Corners here. We saw this as an opportunity to fill a void, cultivate local curiosity, and maintain some international resonance. We wanted our experience as artists to reflect our approach to curating the shop, but we also wanted to be able to integrate our own work. We’re constantly evolving and redefining ourselves which I think is an important part of the learning process. Right now, we’re in the early stages of beginning a small publishing program. Nothing Changes If Nothing Changes by Ed Panar was printed here in Pittsburgh in January and is our first experiment with this. We have a pretty small local audience and a growing online community, but all-in-all support has been overwhelming and a source of great energy for us.

Dive Dark Dream Slow

88 pages, hardcover, 7.5′ x 9.25′
57 photographs
The Ice Plant, October 2012

Instax by Faulkner Short

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Edit by Blake Andrews

la familia abrazada #18: Daniel Coburn, Mark Peter Drolet, Lisa Lindvay

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When it comes to family, it can be said that one often chooses to photograph what is in front of them as much as possible. Can you tell us what is in front of you in these images?

©Daniel Coburn

I am interested in vernacular photography and the family photo album. The images in the family photo album assembled by my parents provide a glossy facade, disguising occasions of substance abuse, suicide, and domestic violence that are deeply rooted in my family history. In “Next of Kin” I create a series of photographs that supplement my existing family album. These images are made to investigate the tragedies that have happened during this generational, cyclical pattern of domestic trauma.

I photograph my family as I direct them through a series of brief performances. So the photographs that you see in “Next of Kin” are not documents. I am not interested in the photograph as a vessel of truth or evidence. The resulting images represent a tangible manifestation of my own memories, experiences and my understanding of the generations that came before. They are a colored self-portrait of myself and my family. They are way of reconciling the past.

Daniel Coburn

In all honesty, on most days I am simply not sure what exactly it is that is in front of me—which is great because photographing my children is a challenging act. The camera is always around, and in time I have come to recognize that two things are usually happening: on the one hand I am trying to organically capture whatever it they are presenting me with, but it seems that I am also attempting to nail down a purely aesthetic and subjective vision of childhood moments. Perhaps these attempts are based on my own recalled memories, but the fact is that the overlap between myself as a young fellow and myself as a father cannot be discarded.

Benjamin, James and Harrison are my worthiest subjects and I do my best to turn the camera on them with closeness and simplicity. Photographs of our journeys and moments become a cumulative inventory of sentimental ideals, and ultimately they become my contribution to our family and the value of home.

Mark Peter Drolet

©Lisa Lindvay

My parents divorced when I was very young and my father raised me. As a little girl I would sit in the bathroom with him as he shaved, watching in awe as he carefully glided the razor across his face. No matter how gentle my father was he would always nick himself and a drop of blood would surface. But this sight did not alarm me; I knew that a tiny piece of tissue would be enough to mend his wound.

I began making images of my father, two half-brothers and half-sister five years ago when I moved away from my family for the first time to attend graduate school. At this time my mother’s mental illness took control of her and our family began to unravel. I felt an urgency to be at home. Making these images was a reason for me to go home, they were my way of understanding the complexities of the situation.

The images are glimpses into the lives of my family members and our homes. They depict our history and provide insight into our future. The images are of private moments shared between my father, sister, brothers, and myself. I am not interested in photographing the grand moments of their life, but rather the small details of their everyday. The images reveal the strength of my family’s bond as we come to terms with my mother’s mental illness and our ever-changing family dynamic. The images picture the experiences of my siblings as they transition into adulthood and my father’s struggles to hold everything together.

Lisa Lindvay

Edited by Mark Peter Drolet

Live Through This by Tony Fouhse & Stephanie MacDonald

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Steph in her room, New Glasgow, June 19, 2011

“Live Through This” tells the story of drug addict Stephanie MacDonald’s struggle to get clean. Typically a topic for documentary photographers pursuing reportage through candid shots, This project instead relies mostly on collaborative portraits, in which Tony Fouhse enlists MacDonald to sometimes mimic the conventions of documentary and anthropological photography. The images of MacDonald, like the world she inhabits, are both banal and extraordinary, conveying psychological, and sometimes physiological, states with an affecting economy of detail. The inclusion of medical documents and text by MacDonald, both written on scraps of paper and from later emails, provides the viewer with a broken and incomplete narrative that nonetheless directs our comprehension of Fouhse’s disturbing but sympathetic photographs. – STRAYLIGHT Press

Live Through This
Softcover, 9×9 inches, 72 pages,
Published by STRAYLIGHT Press

tonyfoto.com

Left: Steph injecting heroin, November 2, 2010; Right: Steph in her room, November 19, 2010

I discovered your work through Pete Brook of Prions Photography. I believe it was tweet about drool. Naturally I dug in and learned about Stephanie and your project. I was skeptical at first. I’m a tad cynical when it comes drug addiction stories, but I hooked you up on my RSS and started following along. After a few weeks, I began to look forward to your Sunday posts. And soon after that, I started to get hooked on Stefanie’s story. Your passion and transparency drew me into the story and the work. I’m sure many people have had a similar experience.

I suppose I’m getting to a question about your blog. How important a role did it play in telling the story? Why did you choose to share the story and project in progress, rather than waiting until it was done? Is this an approach you see yourself repeating in the future?

Yes, well I thought long and hard about blogging about our “project” (in quotation marks because it’s not really the right word, but I don’t know what else to call it).

First, you’d have to know Stephanie. Obviously I would never blog about what went on between us without her consent. And one of the things that initially attracted me to her was her unwavering honesty. And not only honesty, but her transparency and her courage, not to mention her fatalism (which seems to me to be a common trait of most of the addicts I know, fatalism).

We had many, many talks about whether what we were doing should be made public in a serialized way. I was much more worried about it that she was. I didn’t want to turn what we were doing into a reality show and I didn’t want to jeopardize her safety in any way, either on the street amongst her peers or with the police (who, after a while, were following the blog).

It seemed to me that what was going on here was a perfect use of “new” media, if you want to call blogging a new media. Here was this story that progressed, took twists and turns, was visually appealing and very close to one of the subtexts of my work (the morals and ethics of working with certain subject matter).

I thought that by blogging about it, and by me being as honest about what I was feeling and going through as Steph was, it could shine a light on the processes we, Steph and I, were involved in.

Regarding whether I’d do something like this again. . . .certainly. Given the right circumstances.

One thing the weekly blogging did for LIVE THROUGH THIS was it made the final edit of the book extremely difficult. I came to realize that blogging once a week about something, as it is unfolding, is very different from assembling an edit and sequence for a book. The blog contains all sorts of side stories, banalities that seemed important at the time, videos, navel gazing and so on. Plus it’s really, really long.These are things that serialization can support and is actually good at. I wanted the book, on the other hand, to tell the story mostly through portraiture, with a much greater economy of detail.

I see the blog and the book as related, but completely different. And I believe that that’s fine. They are, after all, different media.

Basement, December 17, 2010

That’s interesting that the police started following along, but also terrifying.

I think one of the big mistakes that people have made in the social media age is that they try to create the same experience online as they would in a book. For me, it just simply doesn’t work that way. When I view a project on a website I can handle about 25 photographs and that’s about it. I tend to view books quickly but will come back to them frequently, sometimes just opening them up randomly.

I think the edit in the book is brilliant. There’s no artifice to it. It’s lean, direct and gets the viewer from point A to point B smoothly. There’s no bullshit. It’s impossible not to have compassion for Stephanie as you turn the pages. But the real beauty for me is that there’s no pity. She doesn’t seem to pity herself and you certainly don’t pity her. It’s almost darwinian in a weird way. She’s struggling for her life and you’re there to help her. Nothing more really.

Your relationship has to be very complicated. The impression I come away with is that you’ve created a life time bond. There’s no turning back.

I certainly leaned a lot about social media’s strengths by blogging this thing. Problem is. . . .how often does such a compelling narrative, ongoing and evolving, present itself? This project was very different from, say, going to Ohio, meeting various people, photographing them and telling their stories and posting as you go along. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.) But in a case like that there is rarely any actual progression to the “story”, so the serialization of the trip on social media seems somehow less necessary.

Thanks for your kind words about the edit of the book. What you said was just about my aim with that. These days there’s a trend in photobooks to tell the story in a very elliptical way, using allusion more that actual description. I believe that there is a trace of this approach in LIVE THROUGH THIS. . . almost all context has been stripped away, most of the fotos are of Steph standing against more or less plain backgrounds. But there is no denying that even these simple portraits, given the loaded subject matter and Steph’s openness, are quite descriptive. And the story is fleshed out by the shots of her notes and medical documents and the inclusion of Steph’s words. The idea was to be straightforward but not too “documentary”. The story is told, mostly, through Steph’s body.

Interesting, too, what you say about me not having pity for Steph. I didn’t. That’s not to say that I didn’t have compassion and understanding. But in my mind Steph and I are more alike than we are different, so where can pity enter? And, yes, our relationship was (and remains) intense and complicated, not to mention maddening.

Steph in my studio, March 11, 2011

“The story is told, mostly, through Steph’s body.”

And that body is very hard to look at. It’s hard not be judgmental. Or worse, simply gawk at the horror. I wonder how aware she was of her physical plight. Or did the addiction basically make her blind to what was going on?

What’s interesting as well is that hope is symbolized in the way her body began to heal itself. For me, this makes the book something very visceral. You feel it in your gut. There isn’t much space for intellectual meandering.

I was talking to Steph the other day, she told me she had just been to the hospital for some stomach flu thing and proceeded to fill me in, in great detail, about just what came out of her body then. We laughed because one of the things about her was that, when she was a junkie, she was always squeezing some weird shit or effluvium out of her body. Drugs, man.

And this is one of the things Steph wrote about her body:

And at first i was thinking it was cool until i seen the photos and seen how grosse i looked and just thought that if people that started this drug could see theese photos maybe could change their minds a bit…

We both knew that if she got in to and completed rehab her body would change and we made a point, from time to time, of just taking pretty plain shots of her body, as a record, more than anything.

But when you are a junkie it’s very hard to separate what your body looks like from the general vibe and look and feel and juju of the stress of your life. It didn’t take much to show that because, like I say, Steph was willing to be open and honest and she can’t help but be transparent.

But you’re right when you say that the addiction really changes an addicts perspective about body image and stuff like that.

Steph’s walking around weight when she was an addict was about 105 pounds, when they operated on her she weighed 88 pounds and 4 months later, when I went to visit her in Nova Scotia she weighed (a correct) 125 pounds.

I’m astounded by how quickly her body (and her face) changed during those 3 weeks she stayed at my house and kicked heroin.

Emergency waiting room, March 22, 2011

I’m curious. Now that she’s kicked heroin, how does she view herself? I’m guessing that her identity for the last few years has been associated with her addiction. There probably wasn’t much room in her life for anything else. What are her dreams? Hopes for the future? Has this project turned her into an advocate?

It’s difficult to tell from here, a thousand miles away, how she sees herself. She’s been moving around some, no fixed address, and has relapsed a few times. But she sounds good and strong on the phone and as wild and energetic as ever.

Drugs, and the ritual surrounding them, are so powerful because they work. I’ve always thought that there was a beauty and purity to addiction. Sure, there’s a huge down-side, too, but. . . .

She’s living in Pictou County, Nova Scotia, and when Canadian news wants to do a piece on hard drugs they often go there to do it, seeing as the place is rife with them, drugs. There is also a large unemployment problem there making it difficult to see a prosperous and meaningful future. (I don’t want to paint that whole county in that way, but the fact remains. . . .)

I’d say her dreams are to get over her addiction, finish high school and become a contributing member of society. But the one thing that this project drove home to me was that the future is unwritten, every day seems much like the one before. Sure, we all evolve, but so slowly we can’t detect the changes. Then, every so often, WHAM!!!, something seismic happens.

Left: Writing diary in my studio, March 30, 2011; Right: Site of the operation, March 22, 2011

You decided to publish the book independently, and in fact, launched your own imprint, STRAYLIGHT press. Why did you decided to go that route and what type of plans do you have for it?

I knew I wanted to do a book of LIVE THROUGH THIS (as well as one of USER), so I started doing some research about the foto-book-publishing thing.

Much to my surprise I discovered that most foto-book publishers place onerous weight on the photographer, asking them to contribute to, or pay the full amount of, printing the book. For this money the photographer gets a book, some unknown amount of publicity and distribution and an ego rub.

I’m not sure how the photographer get’s their money back, what that end of the deal might be, because I never got past the idea that most publishers were asking the photographer to take all the risk.

So I began to think about other ways and means. The most obvious one would be a KickStarter-type of thing, raise money by offering the book and other bits and pieces to folks who wanted to kick in to the endeavor. In fact, I used this approach to finance my trip to Nova Scotia to complete LIVE THROUGH THIS.

But that approach seemed kind of selfish and like a one-off. So I began to look at entities like Rob Hornstra’s The Sochi Project and Soth’s Little Brown Mushroom and decided that in this day and age those approaches made a lot of sense. Do it yourself, use the internet, cut out the middleman.

From there it was a short leap to decide that, if I was going to design, start and maintain an online e-commerce site I should ask other photographers whose work I like and fits in with my (or STRAYLIGHT’s) political and aesthetic philosophy if they would like to do a project that we could offer for sale. Not only to support them, but also to help to create a community so more people might be drawn to the site.

STRAYLIGHT launched in June of 2012 and we’re still finding our way, making it up as we go along and learning from our (many) mistakes. It’s a lot like photography, if you ask me. We started with 4 or 5 ‘zines, a couple of mine, one by Shannon Delmonico and one by Josh Hotz. These are limited run zines that cost 8 bucks but also come in Special Editions that include an original, signed print and are a bit more expensive. STRAYLIGHT believes it’s better to sell 50 things for $10 each than one, similar, thing for $500, so we try to keep the prices as reasonable as possible.

We have slightly more ambitious plans for the future, including a book by Adam Luis Amengual, of his work HOMIES, which should be available late February. We’re also doing a book with Scot Sothern, who’s book LowLife lit up the internet a year or so ago. With Scot we’re doing a thing titled SadCity, which, like LowLife, will contain photographs and stories. These will both be limited to an editions with the first 10 will be Special Editions that will come with a print.

It’s a hard row to how, this book publishing biz but so far things are working out. All the ‘zines, with the exception of The Units, by Josh Hotz, are sold out and LIVE THROUGH THIS seems to be on the way to breaking even and turning a profit. Any profits we might realize will be spent on producing more books.

From my (publishing) end I can’t stress enough how important it is to have support in terms of people buying product, supporting independent publishers and voices. It makes me giggle every time I sell something and the other photographers who’s books and ‘zines we distribute are tickled, too. We’ve sold STRAYLIGHT publications around the world and there’s something warming about knowing that there’s a bookshelf in someone’s apartment in Barcelona and NYC and Vancouver and Berlin and Tokyo and so on that holds the fruits of your labour.

I must say, too, that one of the other things about actually printing your photos and making books of projects is that that process brings everything into sharper focus, forces the creator to make more difficult decisions vis-a-vis whatever it is they want to say. It makes the “problem” more difficult but I’ve never been a fan of easy. Shooting stuff, or writing stuff, and throwing it up onto the web has its place, but to really get to the meat of the matter there needs to be more commitment, and that’s what publishing is: commitment.

Site of the operation, 3 months later, New Glasgow, June 22, 2011

It’s been encouraging to see the number of small imprints that are popping up. I think we’re starting to build an infrastructure that will make it easier to market and distribute indie books and zines. Naturally, it’s something I firmly believe in. When I started publishing a print issue my perspective completely changed. Doing stuff purely on the web has become too disposable. To take it to the next level I think you have to be creating objects. A thriving independent publishing scene can only be good for photography in my estimation. Although, it does perhaps make it difficult to easily elevate certain photographers and bodies of work. But I’m ok with that. I think there’s enough good stuff out there that can attract a decent audience to keep us all busy.

I suppose my last question would be to ask what you have in store for the next couple of years. What’s your next project? What excites you about photography in 2013? What do you wish would change?

In terms of my next project, well, I’m already into it. It’s called OTTAWA, a survey, and is, I think, a reaction to all the pain and hyper-drama the my last 2 projects entailed. I’m trying to shoot my hometown, Ottawa, the capital of Canada, in a way that re-contextualizes it. I plan on pecking away at this for 3 or 4 years. The first bit is done, under the sub-head of OFFICIAL OTTAWA, which looks at the Capital City aspects of the place, the clichés shot from a different angle. For instance, I took a shot of press photographers, not in action, but waiting for something to happen. I also shot the Prime Minister’s bulletproof limo in the middle of nowhere with 2 secret service agents standing around, and so on. . . .

All shot very quietly with a 4×5 camera, it’s more an intellectual pursuit that an experiential one, just a matter of coming up with an alternate take on a cliché and quietly pointing a camera at it. So there’s definitely a drama-deficit in my life.

I like to work on a few things at once but really, really needed some time to recover from all the drug stuff I was immersed in. So now I’m looking around for some subject that will provide me with the experience I crave. But I don’t want to force it so I’ll do what I always do in these situations, I’ll put myself about, turn over stones to see what kind of bugs crawl out and wait until one of them grabs me by the throat.

Steph in her room, New Glasgow, June 23, 2011

Kodachrome by Luigi Ghirri

2013-04-07T08:01:19Z

Review by Blake Andrews

Since the inclusion of his book Kodachrome in Parr/Badger Vol. 1 (Phaidon: 2004), Luigi Ghirri’s photography has achieved a posthumous revival. Aperture’s 2008 retrospective It’s Beautiful Here Isn’t It… offered a glimpse of his talent, inspiring comparisons to the 1970s color snapshots of Eggleston (who wrote the preface) and Shore. The photos were wonderful. The book was great. But all were edited and reconsidered from a contemporary perspective.

Kodachrome’s 2012 republication offers a new twist: photobook as time capsule. These are the photos selected by Ghirri during his lifetime, in the sequence he wanted, published (Punto e Virgola: 1978) in the book form he envisioned. The new edition has some slight alterations to the original. A few words and dates have been added to clarify the different publishing situation. An explanatory text (Titled –I’m not kidding– “The Inner World of The Outer World of The Inner World”) has been added. But Mack has kept Kodachrome intact by adding this an a supplementary pamphlet. Fealty to the original seems to have been the main concern here. In fact MACK’s reprint is a virtually perfect replica.

Perfect replicas are not the norm in the book world. Typically when a photobook is reprinted, things change the second time around. Time has passed. Ideas have been reconsidered. Maybe new photos are added or subtracted, or a new foreword is commissioned. In some cases, for example with the publisher Errata, the entire book is spread on the examining table for dissection. Such a reprint is a replica of sorts, but of course it’s not. It’s a book about a book, not the book itself.

But MACK’s Kodachrome is a replica, and the form seems to be a play on its content. Ghirri was interested in many visual subjects, but mostly with Simulacra. I suppose all photographers wrestle with the tension between real and represented, but with Ghirri it bordered on obsession. Over and over in the book he shows pictures of mirrors, paintings, trompe l’ oeils, fake sets, postcards, and the constructed world. These subjects are combined with “real” objects by Ghirri, translated into photographs, and thus achieve even further removal from reality. OK, this is what photos do. We know that. But with Ghirri that realization is the subject itself. At the end of the process, along comes Mack treating the entire book as hyperreal simulation.

If it sounds like I’ve been reading too much Baudrillard, you’re close. Instead I’ve had my face buried in writing that’s even more impenetrable: Kodachrome’s explanatory texts. There are three included, the original introduction and foreword, by Piero Berengo Gardin and Ghirri, respectively. And the supplementary text, written in 2012 by Fracesco Zanot. Normally I would look to such writing to shed some light on the images. But alas, I have poured over each one several times and I’m still not sure they say. Here is a sampling (courtesy of the worst offender, Gardin):

“The cancellation is: presence of doubt, personal conscience examinations, existence-choice, strategy of knowledge. The picture-card of the suburbs with its landscape in cardboard, becomes as a Model of behavior so far from the <> and from the neurosis of the group…It is the explicit, explained ego that perceiving the traps of the removed elements in the presence of the Collective, beats himself for the survival.”

In Gardin’s defense he’s an architect not a photographer. In fact it’s unclear if he knows anything about photography. But I don’t think Ghirri or Zanot can use the same excuse. They work in the field, yet their essays are equally dense. Part of the problem may be that we’re reading a poor translation into English. Perhaps the texts are more legible in their original Italian. Or if not, French or German, which the book also helpfully includes, perhaps knowing that the English wouldn’t hold up. In any case I haven’t seen too many photobooks with internal translations into four languages, and I can’t help thinking that the whole thing is another playful twist by Mack, toying with the tension between real and represented. What could be more a fundamental Simulacrum than a translation, at once reflecting an exact copy and yet something completely different? As an ironic twist, the original publisher Punto e Virgola is long gone, but its name now heads a small translation company in Italy.

Ghirri was born in 1943. He died in 1992. His life and photographic oeuvre circumscribed almost exactly the rise and fall of the snapshot aesthetic in photography, and Kodachrome narrows the range even further, covering a period from 1971 to 1978. . He was basically a flaneur with basic tools –F1 and Kodachrome– shooting in a wide range of locations and whatever caught his eye. Although he did not focus on projects while shooting, for Kodachrome Ghirri sequenced his photographs roughly into categories. First sky, then beach, then mirrors, artificial landscapes, screened forms, domestic life. But it’s the final third of the book which seems to bring his vision to life, with pictures of photographs, cards, cutouts, paintings, and visual trickery –sometimes four to a spread– before morphing into a small flurry of pure formal abstractions.

There’s no telling for sure, but I suspect this final third –the consummation of Kodachrome– represents the work which most excited Ghirri. One of the final images (Calvi, 1976) shows a rack of postcards, each one depicting a sunset. It’s a play on many things, the photo within a photo, preconceptions of picturesque, and questions of image size, informality, and the art market. It’s now thirty-five years later and those issues remain unsettled, but the postcard photo now seems remarkably prescient. To me it’s the perfect median connecting Walker Evans’s and Penelope Umbrico. What is worth photographing? What do people like to photograph? How can a photo best express those questions? Evans, Ghirri, and Umbrico all took a stab at it, along with many others. Ghirri’s photo depicts the center postcard –the median, if you will– missing.

Ghirri tried to pack a lot into Kodachrome. This was the only monograph published in his lifetime, and he may have felt some pressure to cover every base. Perhaps too many bases. Ordering subjects X, Y, Z into chapters is not the way most photobooks are now edited. It’s the sequencing more typical of a retrospective than a contemporary monograph. Most monographs are far more calculating. Book-as-art-vehicle is now part of the photographic equation, often from before the point of exposure.

In contrast, Kodachrome has a raw and innocent feeling. Even quaint. Remember, it’s a time capsule. Just as every photograph ever made is a time capsule.

Kodachrome by Luigi Ghirri
104 pages
92 colour plates
20.2 cm x 27 cm
Paperback with booklet insert
MACK