Archive for the 'Images' Category
Thursday, April 19th, 2007
In the middle of Bourbon Street bar strip, if you go south on St. Peter Street for half a block, you’ll come to the humble gates of Preservation Hall:
Preservation Hall opened its doors in 1961. The hall was created as a sanctuary, to protect and honor New Orleans Jazz which had lost much of its popularity to modern jazz and rock n roll. Allan and Sandra Jaffe, the hall’s founders, wanted a place where New Orleans musicians could play New Orleans Jazz, a style, they believed, should not disappear.
Among the nightlife of the French Quarter, Preservation Hall is an oasis. The venue doesn’t serve food, or sell drinks. They only cater in sweet, beautiful jazz. The environment immediately shifts my focus from self importance to admiration of something outside of ourselves. The audience’s favor isn’t even necessarily directed toward the musicians, but to the pure joy of the music, the creation.
Last week, I went there twice – to breathe in, to leave, and then to live.
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Wednesday, April 18th, 2007
It’s hard not to be allured by the bar hopping, bright lights and loud music of Bourbon Street. Even though I’m not looking to meet anyone, I feel the need to be just a bit more hip than I usually feel. I have different personas in my head that I could assume. I could be the firm steady guy that keeps his cool. There are hurricanes and hand grenades, colorful mixed drinks in tall, translucent containers. I could down one of those and feel looser, get a little wilder and get noticed.
Maybe some hot chick will notice me, but I’m married, so of course I’m not looking, mind you. At least, that’s what I try to convince myself. But hey, it would be a nice boost to my ego if someone noticed. The bass beats in my chest, the neon blurs my eyes and the people are reveling, beckoning me to come on in, to see what I’m made of.
Why am I all of the sudden so self conscious? Will I be in, out, or just there to lose myself – just for the evening.
Not everything entices though. The smell, for instance. All up and down Bourbon street, spilled beer and vomit mix on the asphalt and flavor the air.
And, the party isn’t the only game in town. There’s jazz.
But that’s another topic, for tomorrow.
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Tuesday, April 17th, 2007
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Monday, April 16th, 2007
I just got back from three days of wandering around New Orleans – mostly in the French Quarter. I appreciated having multiple days in the same area, where I could return to the same locations and let the rhythm of the place sink in.
The French Quarter is alive and well. Bourbon Street is like a year round spring break party, and provided a great environment to focus on street photography. To date, most of my photographic subjects have not included people. With people, you need face issues of interaction, etiquette, and moment that require a different pace than observing the pattern of leaves on a tree. But, to capture the random unkown, there is perhaps nothing like street photography.
I’m learning that street photography is an act of declaring moments of importance. This person that we would have never taken the time to notice, the interactions that we wouldn’t have endured – they are all important enough to freeze and ponder; to see.
On the excellent blog 2point8, Michael David Murphy recently provided this excerpt from an interview with Gary Winogrand.
Q: But the thing that’s intriguing is not really knowing what the result is going to be like.
Winogrand: What I know bores me. You know, you get into the business of commercial photography, and that’s all you do is photograph what you know. That’s what you’re hired for. And it’s very easy to make successful photographs — it’s very easy. I’m a good craftsman and I can have this particular intention: let’s say, I want a photograph that’s going to push a certain button in an audience, to make them laugh or love, feel warm or hate, or what — I know how to do this. It’s the easiest thing in the world to do that, to make successful photographs. It’s a bore. I certainly never wanted to be a photographer to bore myself. It’s no fun — life is too short…
I’ll be sharing images from this trip over the next few days. Thanks for reading.
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Thursday, April 5th, 2007
Spring is here. At least it was here briefly – just long enough for new leaves to bud and for flowers to bloom. And now, it’s cold again. Yesterday, I took a walk with snow flurries falling around me. I’ve already forgotten the enchantment of spring, even as the flowers are still on the trees. At least I took some time to run around with a camera. Otherwise, I may forget altogether.
By forget, I mean to live as it is practically of no consequence. In my mind, I may use reason to know a thing, but practically, I don’t live by it. Sometimes, during the middle of winter, it’s hard for me to believe that the trees ever had leaves. My mind has a hard time pulling itself away from my current situation. The world seems like it has always been bare branches. Sounds goofy, doesn’t it? But maybe you can relate.
The past few days, I’ve been pondering the notion of re-enchantment. That is, rediscovering or revealing the enchantment that is inherent in a subject. Websters defines enchant as:
That which captivates the heart and senses; an influence or power which fascinates or highly delights.
Re-enchantment supposes that there is a wonder in the world around us, a wonder that has been neglected or obscured. Something like stopping and smelling the roses, but stronger. More than stopping to enjoy the rose and then moving on. Something that grabs hold and breaks through what we’ve taken as cliche. To discover something enchanting is to take in, in a way that changes the very representation of the thing.
Interestingly, most modern breeds of roses aren’t even fragrant: “because of our quest for longer blooming cycles, brilliancy in colouring, diversity of habit, and perfect form for exhibitors, fragrance is now secondary.” We are so much in the habit of dis-enchantment, that we can’t even smell the proverbial rose, even if we tried. Something that was once a wonder is now a marketing and distribution plan.
Art is this strange way of using what is unreal, an image on paper, to point us back to reality. What is art? I’m not sure, but what if rather than ask what art is, we ask why we create? This is perhaps, where art can be of use: to re-enchant us.
What have you forgotten lately? Let me know what you think.
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Friday, March 2nd, 2007
I had an appointment yesterday afternoon at the Indianapolis Artsgarden, a seven story domed structure in downtown Indianapolis. In anticipation of unpredictable downtown parking, I gave myself extra time and ended up arriving early.
Rain started to fall as I arrived. The raindrops made long meandering streaks as they glided along the glass. Each drop impacts, hesitates as it seeks a path, and then continues on in it’s journey.The effect was mesmerizing. I stood and watched for several minutes, enjoying the performance of thousands of distinct drops unwittingly working together. Each raindrop is independent, but the overall effect is coordinated motion – simplicity arising from complexity.
This sense of motion has been lurking in my sub-conscience as I photograph, and I notice it later when I’m editing. I find I’m wanting to communicate this motion in subjects that aren’t even moving. It’s as if the elements are all part of the same story, reaching together for a similar destination.
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Saturday, February 10th, 2007
We have had two snowfalls this winter. Both times a photographer friend had to practically drag me outside with my camera. I seem to make up all kinds of excuses to avoid doing what I love. A voice shouts in my mind: It’s cold outside! You need to be printing and framing images for the next show. What about all those emails you haven’t responded to? And, how can you be productive when the studio is such a mess?
And then I think, it may not snow again, maybe I should get my camera out of obligation. I grab my gear, get bundled up and jump into the car. We reach a local park and step into the woods.
There is something magical about stepping into the woods – perhaps it’s the symbolism of leaving a world occupied by todo lists and accomplishments and entering a more natural reality. At that moment, the world snaps into a different level of perception. Anxiety is replaced with a sense of wonder, joy and awe. The fretting fades away and I get a glimpse of seeing.
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Wednesday, January 31st, 2007
One of the joys of traveling is the food, and not much gets me more excited than good, cheap, street food. In a combination of the best of wonderful food memories criteria, there is street food prepared by my Grandmother in Taiwan.
Every time I speak to her on the phone, she begs me to come visit. She has every right to pester me about it, as I don’t see her very often. About a month ago, I got to see her for the first time in about ten years.
My Grandmother has been in the food business all of her life. She’s made practically every traditional Taiwanese specialty and is known by most of the food vendors in her town. In the picture above, my Grandmother is making spring rolls for me, her grandson, who finally made his way back to Taiwan to give her a long delayed hug.
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Friday, January 19th, 2007
I’ve been thinking about comfort and familiarity, and how our desires for comfort and familiarity enable or limit us in how we arrange our priorities in life. This entry isn’t really about priorities, but there’s something to be said about how we value comfort.
The picture above is a picture of me, taken by my wife Hannah, from a few weeks ago in Taiwan. Note that I’m wearing a short sleeved shirt. At the time of the photograph (early January), the country was also in the middle of a heat wave, providing winter temperatures near 80 degrees. If it were 80 degrees in Indiana, I’d also be wearing short pants. However, I think Americans are one of the few cultures that wear shorts, except for maybe the Germans. So, no short pants. Despite my long pants awareness, I wasn’t prepared for the dangers of the short shirt.
Remember that this is winter, which means that even at 80 degrees, the temperature is a fair amount cooler than what the residents are used to in the summer. Many people on the streets were wearing several layers. Others were wearing thick, fluffy, winter coats. Friends and family would see me in my short sleeved shirt, and shiver and sympathy. “Aren’t you cold? I’m freezing just looking at you! Please…. put on a jacket, you must be cold!” After a couple days of pestering, I relented and added a sweater. The concerns for my well being abated as I sweltered and sweated in my cocoon of safety from the cold.
The picture below is one that I took from the same location as the one above. For the photographers among you, you may notice that I’m not carrying a tripod, which brings up another topic for another time.
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Wednesday, January 10th, 2007
I’ve just returned from two and a half weeks in Taiwan. I was born there, moved to America at the age of two and grew up in the Midwest.
This was my first trip to Taiwan with a photographic eye. Wow. The island is a mix of tropical paradise, grand mountains, crowded smoggy metropolises, whiz bang technology, tense politics, ragtag bustling marketplaces and old traditions. Compositionally, everything was fresh and new. The mountains are lush and craggy. The trees are delicate and curvy. The cities are bright and brash. The culture and traditions are quirky and fascinating to my Midwestern mind.
And yet, being there was not like being at just another tourist destination. There’s something about returning to one’s homeland that’s just starting to sink in.
I’m just about over the jet lag. Welcome to the New Year.
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