LUST

July 25th, 2011

The Leica S2. Behold it. And if you happen to find, say, $33,000 sitting around somewhere and you’re like, “Eww, I don’t want this $33K,” you can go ahead and hand it over to me and I’ll behold the S2 for myself (with lens, thanks – I’m looking at you, Brad Pitt. It’s nice that you can play Mr. Photo Man with your fancy, pricey, tricked-out Leica S outfit, but you already have a day job, sir, so help a sister out, yeah?).

The funny thing is, for all the megapixels in the world, one of the most talented photographers I know essentially shoots on whichever camera she grabs out of a drawer of point-and-shoots. And she gets THIS:

Granted, Arlene shoots a good deal of her work on 35mm (R.I.P., Kodachrome, the demise of which inspired the trip that brought about the photo you see here) and would probably look at me crooked for placing digital capture (regardless of its 37.5 megapizels or 30X45mm sensor) on the same stage, even in the same arena, as film, and, while my brain, eyeballs, and old-school vocational photographic education all concur emphatically, my heart and my, I don’t know, ovaries? belong to this overpriced pixel-hog beast… Oh! S2, you fancy vixen.

Leonid Brezhnev’s Unused Villa

July 22nd, 2011

Soviet Brutalist architecture is beautiful and strange, much of it like some odd abandoned spaceship, long-forgotten Hollywood Sci-Fi set from the 60s, or perhaps the fevered product of a very rigorously-minded architect on a great deal of hallucinogenic drugs. Frédéric Chaubin, when not editing Citizen K, has been taken with documenting odd buildings for some time, thus it seems natural he’d be drawn to these secular icons while traveling through the former Soviet Union. The images depict an era from 1970-1990 when the ideology of the time manifested itself in concrete and steel – and now, in most cases, it rots in its place, or stands alone in the landscape like a peculiar, somehow flamboyant fragment of a complicated, uncomfortable past. Chaubin’s CCCP (or “Cosmic Communist Constructions Photographed”) is almost, ALMOST, dispassionate in its coverage of this strange moment in this region’s sociopolitical (topographical?) history. The buildings seem either openly unused or somehow inherently unusable in spite of the determinedly practical features, disagreeing so fiercely with both their natural surroundings and all preceding (and subsequent) regional architectural conventions. Maybe Leonid Breznhnev’s ghost is pissed he never got to use that strange UFO of a villa.

She’s a Talker

July 8th, 2011

My thesis advisor, the wonderful Allen Frame, formally introduced me several months ago to the work of Neil Goldberg. I knew “She’s a Talker” (which much of the internet knows, and appreciates on a less, say, political level than perhaps the artist intended)

from my time as a Film/Video student at SAIC, but it took almost a decade for me to be exposed to Goldberg’s full catalogue (or, more accurately, find out who the awesome “men with their cats” video guy was, and see what else he could do). Much of Goldberg’s work is video based and largely silent, and it’s the sort of work that describes a deep love for and understanding of the medium – this is a man who made “Ten Minutes with X02180-A,” a single channel video of random strangers interacting with a “particularly fetching lilac bush” in the Brooklyn Botanical Garden, for example, and my personal favorite, “Salad Bar, depicting intense close ups of people silently selecting food from salad bars. In his photographic work a similar love for the mundane (yet uncanny) is gloriously evident.

These stills from “Missing the Train” transcend their NYC-specific titles (each is labelled with the specific subway the subject has missed, at which station) and become, to the artist, something almost referential of an old master painting.

From the oddly poignant gesture of filling his deceased father’s Camry with brilliantly colored leaves to the simple act of capturing the iconic (yet commonplace) trucker’s arm while paused in his daily commute, Goldberg’s eye transforms small gestures and fleeting, subtle indicators of humanity into epic, funny, heartbreaking works of art.

Casa Susanna (on epic finds)

July 6th, 2011

Last Fall I has the good fortune of enrolling in previous Camera Club guest blogger Pradeep Dalal‘s “Expanded Documentary” class as a part of my MFA coursework at Pratt Institute. While I was definitely introduced to several artists who altered my own approach to image making, the work Pradeep exposed us to that I found most hard to walk away from was Casa Susanna. I can count on one hand (possibly three fingers) the number of times in my entire art school-attending life I’ve come home from a class to immediately, intently scour the internet for a book, then spend days wondering when it would show up on my doorstep. This collection of images was discovered quite accidentally in an NYC flea market by Robert Swope and co-edited with his parter Michel Hurst, who seem to have wondered why the owners would have discarded a collection so personal (and frankly expansive). At first glance, the work is rich in its banality – these seem to be simple snapshots or faded holiday greetings depicting, say, typical housewife-types, some less glamorous than others, engaged in silly chores or unremarkable, silly vacation fun with “the girls.” A closer look reveals they are, in fact, men, some more able to pass seamlessly as the (now rather dated) feminine archetypes their poses, clothing, and accessories proudly proclaim. The resort, Casa Susanna, seems to have existed in upstate New York in the 1960s as a safe place for these men to express their feminine personae. What drew me to the work was the urgency to document the normal. As many who have written about Casa Susanna (the book) have stated, transvestites in pop culture are shrouded in a veritable haze of stage lights, glitter, and feathers, but these ladies are, more often than not, altogether domestic and grounded – posed demurely for Christmas cards, in near-matronly cocktail dress, simply living out roles as average women, hardly a Cher or Jayne Mansfield in the bunch. There is something irrefutably real about these images, in spite of the sly subterfuge of makeup, wigs, and costume – perhaps it’s the dichotomy of a casual snapshot of something so carefully crafted and orchestrated.

Bacalaitos and Fireworks

June 29th, 2011

My friend Arlene Gottfried has been shooting in and around her hometown of NYC since the 1970s. Her latest book (which is just coming out), “Bacalaitos and Fireworks,” tracks her 40 odd years documenting her time in and around the Nuyorican community. From the quiet portraits of her dearly departed Miguel Piñero to the crackling, color-saturated moments stolen during parades and everything in between (a pig roasting in a rubble-filled city lot, little girls in crisp communion gowns marching past the dystopian, surreal setpieces of a crumpled car and a battered tv, bizarre moments of city life that would seem staged if the characters caught therein weren’t so irrefutably genuine), Arlene manages to make the viewer feel like he or she is with her in that moment, like a welcome participant in some grand secret, great spectacle, private moment, neighborhood function, or deep sorrow. She’ll be presenting her work at 3pm today at B&H’s Event Space on 34th and 9th.

Allow me to introduce myself (with black metal and nightclubs)

June 25th, 2011

Hi, my name is Gail, and this is my first post. I’ve been spending a fair amount of time the past few weeks, as any reasonable New Yorker would, thinking about the summer heat and its theoretical consequences on, say, Norwegian black metal enthusiasts. You see, because heavy makeup undoubtedly runs when mixed with sweat, black clothing becomes stifling in the sunshine, and spiked leather gauntlets seem like they’d become uncomfortably heavy, chafing, and waterlogged when filled with a pint of perspiration – and this all seems like it would simply serve to further irritate an already rather grim-minded set of individuals, because who doesn’t get a bit more cranky in the brutal heat, much less suffocating clothing and rapidly failing makeup?

Oh, right, but the PHOTOS. Peter Beste’s images of “True Norwegian Black Metal,” published in 2008, is likely one of the most name-checked visual resources on this controversial genre. What makes Beste’s work compelling is the lack of sensationalism – a scene studded with the odd suicide, murder, sundry dead animals, and arson of the church-sort is ripe for sensationalist gawking in which the subjects become props to be reviled or at the very least studied as freaks/”the other.” Yet Beste guilelessly presents these stone-faced, corpse-paint-spackled men seemingly without any agenda but to show them, juxtaposed often with the idyllic, almost twee surroundings from whence they sprang.

Where Beste captures the momentary encounter between dramatically adorned Kvintrafn and a less imaginative passerby shifts the power dynamic so elegantly in this frozen moment, elucidating a point made by placing these dramatic-looking men in their contrasting (bucolic) surroundings: in their own homeland, worshipping their Norse gods, tossing about their goat heads, they are live specters who do not fit, belong, or make sense.

I was familiar with these images (this book was featured prominently in an office where my husband worked) but not with “After Hours,” a series Beste took at night spots around Houston. I was immediately drawn in to this work – possibly because these subjects seemed to be having, oh, slightly more fun than his glorious corpse-painted scions across the fjords. Here Beste depicts the stars, scenesters, outlandish decor, and very specific trappings of H-Town after dark in what feels like loving detail.

Beste manages to shoot a faraway-eyed woman tightly locked in a slowdance with the same equity as the crumpled bills at the feet of strippers at the Blur Flame Cabaret; it’s not as though he is dispassionate here, but devotedly relating an aesthetically glorious spectacle with its own profound signifiers and specific uniforms. Through the care and rigor taken with this series, Beste’s bright images of humanity mid-celebration transcend mere glimpses of “debauchery after dark” to become something more culturally sublime and richly codified, in the way his Norwegian metal-men become sad warriors without a crusade when fixed in his lens.

GEDNEY ON BELLOCQ

June 10th, 2011

For many years I have noted down quotes, aphorisms, favorite bits from articles, essays and books and even TV interviews in little cvs notebooks and I return to these sometimes, now rarely as there are so many little notebooks and they are not organized. However, the photographer William Gedney (1933-1989) kept very detailed notebooks in clear and elegant handwriting and these are now superbly assembled and available online (http://library.duke.edu/digitalcollections/gedney/).

I have been carrying around a few pages from Gedney’s notebooks to read on long subway rides, and have recently been mulling over the following observation he made in 1971:

“During a depressing day yesterday I pulled out the Bellocq book “Storyville Portraits.” How beautifully lucid and strong the pictures are. There are only 34 plates in the book and as I remember looking at them at Lees (Lee Friedlander), only a little over 90 photos in all, in existence: the total surviving work of Bellocq. I was struck now in looking at the book how in just 34 pictures, so complete a world is rendered, an all-encompassing wholeness. Each one of his photographs seems to contain the germ [of] all his work. If only one of his pictures existed (all the rest had been destroyed) you would still sense he was a great photographer, at least I get that feeling. So consistent and concisely clear is his vision.

I know part of this is the time in which the trial pictures were made. The choice of camera and material to work with was limited and this made for an overall unified rendering [conformity] in photography of that time, in our age we have an array of choices in equipment and style in which to work. Bruce Davidson who seems to be a prime example of many of the confusions that exist today in photography goes from 35mm to 2 1/4 to view camera with ease. Yet he lacks the steadying personality that would carry him from one style to another. He travels with ease but without presence. Even though these unifying factors existed in Bellocq’s time, (1912) one has only to look at other examples of photography of the period. The technique is the same, the tripod camera, the slow lens and film, the subject deliberately posed for the photographer, a singular form, composition, the direct front view, is something all pictures of that time have in common. Yet within this limited convention, Bellocq’s photographs stand out. It is the subtle but telling difference that makes him a great artist.

Take under very similar circumstances, at different times a hundred different photographs and let them stand the same girl, in the same room in front of the same view camera and each would come up with a slightly different picture. But I wonder, would any come up with a picture better than the rest. If Bellocq was one of those photographers, I believe he would. It is a continuously amazing thing that this impersonal machine, the camera, should render not only the surface of the visible world, but is capable of rendering so sensitively the personality of the photographers.”

I marvel that Lee Friedlander discovered these valuable photographs by Bellocq and purchased and printed the glass negatives and shared them with us, similar to Berenice Abbot’s work in saving and promoting the work of Atget.

Bellocq "Storyville Portraits"

William Gedney "Benares"

William Gedney "Benares"

William Gedney "Benares"

LEWIS BALTZ “PROTOTYPES” ON VIEW AT THE NATIONAL GALLERY, WASHINGTON, DC UNTIL JULY 31, 2011

May 20th, 2011

I apologize for the long silence – I was overwhelmed by exhibitions and other deadlines, but hopefully I have a few new things to share from visits to the Catherine Opie show at the ICA in Boston, and the Grazia Toderi installations at the Hirshhorn, and the superb Lewis Baltz show at the National Gallery of Art, both in Washington, DC.

Over the years I have seen Lewis Baltz’s photographs in small groupings most recently at the Whitney and a little while back in a Chelsea gallery New Topographics themed show. I had found his photographs austere, flinty but potent, formally diagrammatic with deep inky blacks, yet not at all easily pleasurable like the photographs of Aaron Siskind or Harry Callahan.

Yet seeing the 60+ small photographs from the “Prototypes” series all together in this NGA show ramped up my admiration. The photographs had such a distinctive feel and look that I was tugged into his notion of the American landscape – tough, unsentimental, not-sleek, practical, unheroic. I circled the galleries several times, marveling that such modest-sized prints – roughly 6 by 9 inches could wield such power. The wall text explained that Baltz “inked the edges of many of his prints and mounted them so that they project forward from their mat board rather than recede behind it. With this technique, he minimized the illusion of his photographs as “windows on the world” and stressed instead their nature as independent objects.”

And for a long time I have shared with my students a text by Lewis Baltz – his review of “The New West” by Robert Adams, from a 1975 issue of Art in America. I will quote at length from this, as what he writes is insightful about photography and his own work and is one of the best examples that I know of an artist speaking about a fellow artists work with a profound understanding:

“The ideal photographic document would appear to be without author or art. Yet, of course photographs, despite their verisimilitude, are abstractions; their information is selective and incomplete. The power of the documentary photograph is linked to its capacity to inform as well as to reflect our perception of the external world. In view of this it becomes possible, for example, to marvel at the striking resemblance the rural south still bears to Walker Evans’ ‘30s photos.”

Thirty-five years ago, before media theory quotes from Baudrillard became a photography theory staple, Baltz was aware of how our reading and understanding of the world was aggressively influenced by images.

Baltz continues in his review to say: “Adams’ insistence on the ordinary and the typical, as well as on the verifiable function of picture taking, is a prophylactic strategy against our culture’s increasing suspicion that photography, if not an outright lie, is at best a willful distortion of the world. By confining his attentions to the most commonplace objects and events, and by using his camera in the most direct and uninflected manner, Adams builds a series of points of correspondence between the viewer’s experience of the world and his own. Through this means he prepares the viewer for the one aspect of his work which falls outside the bounds of logical language: the strange and glacial beauty that, in spite of everything, still resides in the land.”

I urge you to take the Bolt Bus to DC and see this gem of a show, however if you cannot leave New York, then swing by Yancey Richardson Gallery before June 4th to see a few of his images in a group show. You can also flip through his new book “Prototype Works” published by Steidl, but even high quality publishing is nowhere near the real thing!

Lewis Baltz: Prototypes/Ronde de Nuit
March 20–July 31, 2011

http://www.nga.gov/exhibitions/baltzinfo.shtm

Baltz, Becher, Ruscha
April 21 – June 4, 2011

http://www.yanceyrichardson.com/

Prototype Works
by Lewis Baltz
Steidl

http://www.steidlville.com/books/1175-Prototype-Works.html

Laguna Beach, 1969

Monterey 1967

Dana Point #1, 1970

Dana Point #2, 1970

Santa Cruz 1970B, 1970

DAVID MALJKOVIC RIFFS ON FRANZ KAFKA AND ORSON WELLES

April 2nd, 2011

Croatian artist, David Maljkovic says that a lot has changed in Zagreb where he lives and where Orson Welles filmed “The Trial” in the early 1960’s. In his project “Recalling Frames” which has been on view at Metro Pictures for the past month (it ends today – sorry for alerting you so late!) he combines stills from the movie with his photographs of the same locations in present day.
The photomontages are large (framed 42” by 53”) and feel substantial. I particularly like the compositions where angled geometric shapes where the two images combine or shift perspectives animate the stills and suggest motion. The full frame with information (frame numbers, ilford 100 delta pro labels, etc) underscore that the image is made with film and perhaps even slyly plays with the traditions of full frame = full truth.
In the Guardian (see link below) he explains: “I deliberately used an archaic technique to make this shot, so that it felt linked to Welles’s film-making process. I took photographs of the original film frames, and then went to the same location and took another picture from the same angle. Then I put the two negatives together, and produced another photograph. It was a complex process. No labs for processing film exist anymore – the craft is dead – so I did everything myself. I constructed a lab in my studio and developed the pictures by hand. It would have been easy to do it all in Photoshop, but then the end result would have a completely different feeling.”

http://www.metropicturesgallery.com/index.php?mode=artists&object_id=29&view=exhibitions

http://www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/2010/nov/17/david-maljkovic-best-shot/print

Recalling Frames by David Maljkovic, courtesy Metro Pictures

Recalling Frames by David Maljkovic, courtesy Metro Pictures

Recalling Frames by David Maljkovic, courtesy Metro Pictures

Recalling Frames by David Maljkovic, courtesy Metro Pictures

Recalling Frames by David Maljkovic, courtesy Metro Pictures

Susanne Kriemann and Victor Hasselblad

March 16th, 2011

Photographers have a pretty intense relationship with their cameras. I remember reading that it took Dianne Arbus over a year to get used to her Rolleiflex when she changed cameras (the Met show in 2005). I am taken aback when I inventory the cameras I have used over the years: several Nikon FM’s, Leica M6, Mamiya 7, Horseman, and Hasselblad, and many digital cameras from Nikon, Olympus, and Panasonic. Of all of these, I loved – still love – the Leica – the solid, chunky feel, the lovely balance in the hand, the satisfying deep click of the shutter release, the gliding movement of the film advance lever with its partial cocking motion, the distinctive typeface (CorpoS – custom, of course) and the superb images too. Perhaps I bought the Leica hype, which helped me to deal with minor annoyances like the fussy film loading. Yet this love affair was brief, as I had already begun to slide over to the evil side – to digital – I did not have the patience to deal with the laborious scanning of negatives. So much for true love.

The British photographer Stephen Gill has made a series of photographs of a flea market in Hackney Wick by using an inexpensive camera that he bought at the very same flea market. Zoe Leonard made her large documentary project of shop fronts in the Lower East Side titled “Analogue” using a vintage film camera – the Rolleiflex too, I think. Yet, the German artist Susanne Kriemann who is based in Rotterdam and Berlin takes this approach much further. In an auction at the Army Museum in Stockholm she bought a 1940 Victor Hasselblad reconnaissance camera – the Ross – with some rolls of old film. Then she hired a helicopter and took aerial photographs of 1960s modernist housing outside of Stockholm using this old camera. Her project has several other strands including gathering other photographs taken by this camera that she found in archives in Sweden and also tracking down photographs of birds taken by Victor Hasselblad. She also made some amazing photographs of this 1940 camera, and the distinctive look of the Hasselblad models that we are familiar with is already in the DNA of this early prototype.

For more on the project, please see: www.susannekriemann.info/one-time-one-million-migratory-birds-romantic-capitalism/

"The Ross, 1940" by Victor Hasselblad

"The Ross, 1940" by Victor Hasselblad

"The Ross, 1940" by Victor Hasselblad

"The Ross, 1940" by Victor Hasselblad

Aerial view of social housing in Sweden

Aerial view of social housing in Sweden