Up In "Smoke"

From time to time you'll get occasional reflection mention of how we all single handedly speed view the plethora of photographs now available at our instant disposal. And despite being schooled of this particularly vile habit, I fall victim to it time and time again like any other shallow 21st century mortal. So I find myself constantly reminding myself, constantly retraining and committing myself to slowing down, seeing what I'm actually attempting to look at, and trying to make sense of what I'm experiencing- before feeding the compulsion to rush to the next image for no, good, rational reason.

This scene from the memorable 1995 film Smoke approaches that very subject back in the analog days when one could still inhale and imbibe at one's own leisure in a public interior. And it concerns nothing less than photography's major raison d'etre- the very capture of time itself, and both the subtle and sublime appreciation of said power...

 How Auggie got that camera...



Why not... the true meaning of Christmas (for good measure)!

May Day! May Day!

"I have found the Massachusetts Indian more full of humanity, then the Christians..." 

Thomas Morton

Like punk, May Day originated in the good ol' USA, before it became all the rage and celebrated in many a country abroad as the true worker's holiday. Unfortunately, it was quashed, neutered and then repurposed in the country of its origin to suit the powers that be. Workers' Day demoted to yet another sales holiday, in September- want fries with that?

Remembering The Fall Of Rome (And It's Batshit Crazy Leaders)

As a kid I always wondered how mighty, kick ass Rome pretty much allowed itself to fall apart and rot from within as the barbarians trolled the gates. Of course, once you start reading just how insane its Caesars really were, you soon start asking yourself- just how was it that Rome managed to survive as long as it did?

Of course, our modern, interconnected world experiences everything at a considerably accelerated rate. And I have been amazed at what this country has been able to endure just in my lifetime, including a President who (while definitely not insane), at least kinda knew he was dumber than a rock in some round about, dry drunk kinda way- and didn't give a damn how many people lost their lives in his little macho military fantasies. Now we got someone running who not only doesn't have the slightest clue, but who actually thinks himself more intelligent than all human life combined. And even scarier, if such a scenario is even plausible (and it is)- there are people who actually think believe he is, while others simply revel in the fact that he'll forever be the ever lovin' dick that he truly is... (just like them- except w/o his $).

Civilizations in the final stages of decay are dominated by elites out of touch with reality.

          -Christopher Hedges
 

Detroit Unbroken Down- Dave Jordano

Photo: Dave Jordano

The first thing one notices upon viewing this book is that it is unquestionably a labor of love. Mr. Jordano loves Detroit, and loves its people- as do they, despite all its faults, disappointments and dangers. One hears and sees little else but the latter anywhere anyone looks. Detroit Unbroken Down reminds us all that there are real people living there, beyond the ruin porn, gangstas and chosen downtown elite. Ordinary people desperately trying to live decent lives in a man made island of neglect and disrepair within the world's most powerful nation.

Photo: Dave Jordano

These portraits of people and community do not focus on the down and out, but neither are they feel good rainbows and unicorns. These Motor City denizens live a reality from which so many of its former residents fled unapologetically; yet, there they remain, refusing to give up and succumb, if only because they don't have the luxury of fleeing. If nothing else, these photographs remind us of that.

Photo: Dave Jordano

Photo: Dave Jordano

The Ideal Indian

I have written about the Indian for scientific magazines all my life and I have never seen one, I would like to learn about their life and logic.    -"Indian scholar" in 1905 conversation with Edward Curtis

Sacajawea- unknown sculptor. Wonder what Edward Curtis would've thought- or any American Indian for that matter. Photo: © S. Banos

"The advent of the White man was a pleasant episode in the lives of these savage people," one of the first chroniclers of Seattle said. "Their arms opened to receive them as superior beings, and the lands they possessed were freely offered for their acceptance."

... by 1900, the tribes owned less than 2% of the land they once possessed.

The Curtis Critique

Photo: Edward Curtis

Curtis has received considerable criticism from contemporary critics who object to the fact that he sometimes asked his subjects to dress in traditional clothing. He even had the audacity to retouch a clock out of a photograph! Seems he wasn't exactly being true to today's professional PJ standards- established several decades after the fact. So what on earth was he thinking!?

Curtis slowly came to the realization that traditional Indian life as practiced for centuries was coming to an end with the very generation at hand. After them, the centuries old tradition of Native American life would be forever broken. They would be the last to experience and actually live it in a personal, daily context. It was the foreign life and customs being forcibly imposed on them by Whites that were totally alien and disingenuous. In fact, had Curtis presented images of Indians in their then current state, as they were forced by Whites into a life of abject poverty and misery- those representations would have simply reinforced the prevailing attitude that Indians were lazy, slovenly beggars; regardless that they had been reduced into complete reliance and subserviance by the government for their food, livelihood and well being- and that none of those most basic of needs were sufficiently addressed in any humane or satisfactory manner whatsoever. Native Americans were legally prohibited from practicing their religion (in a country claiming freedom of religion as one of its founding principles), customs and traditions, including the potlatch- where notable families would give away their wordly possessions (smells like socialism!). They were not even allowed to speak in their native tongue! Did I mention that their White overseers also stole the overwhelmingly vast majority of their land?

Curtis was pretty emphatic in what he was trying to preserve in his photography- a way of life as practiced by those who would be the last to live it. His goal wasn't so much to idealize the American Indian, as to present them as a once independent people of a once independent culture. And he was most certainly not a working photojournalist bound by a code of ethics which had no relation to him or his work, and which for all practical purposes- did not even exist as of yet...

Short Nights of the Shadow Catcher

Photo: Edward C. Curtis

Photo: Edward C. Curtis

Honestly, I don't know where people get the time to read books (no matter the medium) these days- I lead a boring, humble life and even I don't have the time. Anyway, I'm actually three quarters of the way through Timothy Egan's biography of Edward Curtis; not exactly a gripping page turner, mind you, but it does help if you're into: photography, history and the American Indian.

It's also interesting to see how a simple case of photographic curiosity, voyeurism and outright exploitation (sound familiar, anyone?) developed into a case of full blown obsession (sound familiar, anyone?), and he- into an outright genuine advocate. Curtis was a true American success story whose enduring artistic legacy was completely reliant on the precipitous decline and virtual demise of an entire race's way of life. And unlike so many of the viewers of his work, he became increasingly cognizant of that fact as he struggled to continue documenting their vanishing, centuries old culture(s) using the available technology of the day, including: language and music on wax cylinder, movie footage of customs and myths, and the plethora of still images which he would show in galleries, exquisitely bound books, and in concert halls with full orchestras and tinted slides projected by "magic lanterns."  .

Again, while somewhat plodding and tedious (at least for me), what helped retain my interest throughout Short Nights of the Shadow Catcher were the small human and historical details full of the irony that speak volumes in any era. Of these I will report in future posts...

John and Jane Doe's

Photo: Arne Svenson

Photo: Arne Svenson

I love portraiture and history, both are about trying to get something right that concerns a certain amount of mystery- whether real, or imagined. It's never all that easy, and usually considerably harder than it ever even suggests. How much is ever really known, how much can ever be revealed?

History tries to solve the enigma through exhaustive research, documentation, personal accounts. Portraiture purportedly ties to reveal an inner mystery through overt physical appearance and gesture. Of course, either method concerning either genre is limited in both its scope and its ability to divulge any definitive, meaningful truth. But that never does stop anyone from trying...

Arne Svenson attracted a lot of attention for his essay on anonymous people photographed through the windows of their homes. But he's a lot more than just some perv with a camera as some people would have you think, and once you see his Unspeaking Likeness series, you begin to see the common theme of identity that runs through much of his work. These portraits are more than mere conjecture, they are based on recreations from actual physical evidence- and are probably more accurate in capturing their physical likeness than any photographic portrait is capable of capturing any (living) subject's "inner self."

Painting: Sarah Honan

Sarah Honan's Blink explores much the same ground, except from a painterly perspective, again addressing the mystery of persons unknown- people whose lives and histories have been lost to us, a nameless representation of their likeness all that remains of their earthly wanderings...

'71

One of the best "war is hell" flicks ever- and in my All Time Top 20 Movies. All traces of war rhetoric sentimentality are left at the Hollywood door; no right and wrong, no justice, truth or grand ideologies. Everyone gets turned into something they don't wanna be, save for those who already started as such. When everything around you is compromised, everyone on every side is expendable.

So we're left to deal with the uneasy realization that we create our own problems, and contrary to present day mythology- shooting our way out just prolongs and worsens them. Super heroes do not save the day, no miracle man vanquishes the evil doers with his magic gun. And we never do learn...

My Kingdom For A Hunch

I had no idea, no freakin' idea whatsoever that the person responsible for discovering King Richard III's body in a car park was not only not a historian, not an archaeologist- but someone who was basically a King Richard III groupie operating on the wildest hunch imaginable! Un-Freakin'-Believable!!!

Franz Reichelt- Man Of Conviction

Didn't know what to make of this at first- silent movie clip of Parisian witch? But the guy, Franz Reichelt, was without a doubt the real thing- all the way to his death. Alas, most of our ideas don't allude to such great heights, or cost us so dearly, but all too many end with the same all too linear results...

The NY Report...

Well, the Climate March in NYC on 9/21 got 350,000+ people, considerably more than expected (approx 100,000). And what was especially good to see was that it wasn't just the usual gang of aging White hippies out there- it was multi-generational, multi-ethnic and multi-racial. And it's a damn good thing we protested on the streets of midtown (not to mention the sit down event the following day near Wall St.), because they weren't letting anyone anywhere near the UN building on the the day of the actual conference on the 23rd. One of the coolest things of the whole event was when the march stopped dead at 42 St. between Broadway and Seventh and had a moment of silence for Mother Earth- never did hear Times Square quite so eerily silent in all my years...

Sadly, the protest is merely an exclamation point, one desperate all out plea for a reality check that will not arrive anytime soon; the real progress occurs behind the scenes, and suffice to say, I really don't think any real action(s) of consequence will occur until the tsunamis are licking at the doors of those in power in real time. Of course, by then, it will already have been far too late...

The Daily Show
Get More: Daily Show Full Episodes,The Daily Show on Facebook,Daily Show Video Archive

Meanwhile, NYC has managed to cram yet another several million people unto its streets since I visited last year, and it was while I was promenading through Bryant Park that I spotted the oddest looking tour bus ever, in which people are seated in rows, theater style, all facing one side of the sidewalk, with pedestrians literally on stage and on display- a much more unsettling experience than even the bizarre scenario below alludes to, I assure you!

Photo: Marc Bryan-Brown

Also couldn't help but notice that there were considerably more photographers of color out taking fashion and wedding photos (a good thing), more people of color in the NYPD (good if their diversity impacts the police force- and not vice versa, as is usually the case), and MOST surprisingly of all... more people of color in the dancing, chanting Hare Krishnas- talk about... unsettling!

Naturally, I went to play with all the new cameras at B&H, and I'm happy to report that there wasn't one I was truly excited about save for the Fujifilm XT-1; happy because there's no way I can afford one of those along with a couple of lenses, happy because I'll no longer be tempted by anything else, happy to remain happy with what I got.... And I'm also bizarrely happy, confused and perplexed to report that I didn't see one single book at Dashwood, MOMA or Strands that I absolutely, positively had to have- not a one. And lord knows I have enough relatively recent acquisitions that I have yet to pay adequate homage and attention to.

Couldn't get to a lotta shows since I had familial obligations to attend to (my 91 year old father was officially diagnosed with Alzheimer's), but did see Matt Black at Anastasia Gallery, and did manage to make it to Photoville on its last day. The latter was a bit overwhelming to do in just one day, even without attending any workshops/conferences; there was just so much there in all those assorted shipping containers- good, bad and indifferent, that in the end made for quite an impressive showing nonetheless. One was dedicated solely to James Nachtwey's work- always fascinating to see how he remains just one notch above everyone else's work in that particular "genre."

Gorged myself on Two Boots Pizza and donuts at the appropriately named Donut Pub on W14 St, but was disheartened to find that St. Mark's Books is no longer with us- that particular book store was to The East Village what CBGB's was to its music scene- RIP.

Meanwhile, Governor Cuomo of NY created a commission to examine corruption- only to disband it when it began to examine the festerings in his own backyard. And speaking of cover ups.... new mayor of NYC Bill de Blasio dropped the groundhog presented to him on Groundhog Day, which later died of internal injuries. The zoo however reports that the precipitous fall from the good mayor's arms had nothing to do with its demise. Why this came out in September, when it occurred in February...

Favorite T-shirt (particularly in these times when people my age are contemplating their own mortality while dealing with that of their elders): Too Old To Die Young (almost as good as the one I saw earlier this year- Don't Bro Me If Ya Don't Know Me).

Got four rolls to process and edit (a helluva lot for me), hopefully something to show for in the upcoming weeks, and will also be posting on my favorite new photographer spotted at Photoville. Oh, and one last thing- put my Tri-X naked into a clear baggie, asked for hand inspection, and request granted no ifs, ands, or buts... least at SFO and JFK!

Photography At Its Most Essential

Sure, photography can make some awfully pretty pictures- it can even make that most elusive of creatures called art. But it is always at its most profound when it exclaims the simple wonder of its very existence- to give life to what was, and hope to what may be.

The Photographic Tradition

Photo: Costica Acsinte

Photo: Vanessa Winship

At times, it almost seems as Ms. Winship was channeling Mr. Acsinte. I would love to be so possessed, perhaps it is as much an age old obsession with the Balkans themselves, as it is anything else. But then, as much as I love the portraits they are both so well known for- it's Ms. Winship's 35mm. "street" photography that totally mesmerizes me (see Black Sea Pt. 1 & 2, and A Balkan Journey). It just doesn't get any more magical than that!

Photo: Vanessa Winship

Costica Acsinte- Photographer Extraordinaire

Photo: Costica Acsinte

The ever evolving digital revolution is constantly innovating and improvising new and unique ways to increase the immediacy and plasticity of the photographic medium. One of the things that has seemingly been lost in the process is what photography has done best since its very inception, the very reason it was created; and no matter how fast we disseminate, publish or transform it- the very power of the camera is to capture the present, and that of the photograph (particularly in print), to preserve the past. Digital and the electronic medium has reduced the relevancy of the latter as we glancingly peruse and readily dismiss more and more photographically produced images which each succeeding day. 

 

On increasingly rare occasions however, we are ever so rudely and joyously thrown aback and awakened from our digitally induced stupor when images that are so obviously disconnected from the digital time frenzy are suddenly thrust upon us, demanding not only to be seen, but to be fully savored and contemplated. That is exactly what I encountered upon seeing the work of Costica Acsinte, photography not only from another era, but from a whole other way of looking at and appreciating photography at length. These photographs demand the luxury of your time, the great ones always do....

Photo: Costica Acsinte

This guy was one busy bee, and despite his workmanlike approach, he still managed to somehow produce works that range from the quietly monumental to the outright ephemeral. Unfortunately, many of the images have already been ravaged by improper storage and the effects of time- amazingly, some have actually seem enhanced by the surreal effects caused by that damage. There's many a jewel to be mined in this vast collection, and Cezar Popescu is to be both lauded (and supported) for his dogged one man undertaking at preservation.

I hope there'll be a book coming out of this- what I'd really love is an on demand publishing service which would allow you to publish in book form your own personal favorites of your own choosing! Meantime, think I'll just kick back a few days, take my sweet time, and ponder what those favorites are...

Photo: Costica Acsinte

Always Wondered Why...

...Greenland wasn't a continent. Behold- The Peters Projection World Map...
Can't believe this escaped me for so damn, freakin' long!!!

COINTELPRO- The NSA Of Yesteryear

Snowden and Manning are not without precedent; you have Daniel Ellsberg and The Pentagon Papers, and the little known Citizens’ Commission to Investigate the FBI...

Hugo, Kin And Trust

Photo: Pieter Hugo

  How does one take responsibility for history, and to what extent does one have to?   -Pieter Hugo

I think Pieter Hugo to be a brilliant photographer, so do a lot of other people. He is, no doubt one of the premier portraitists working today- so why do I still feel a bit queasy, a bit uneasy, even a bit guilty when I look at his work and find so much of it so... good. I was struggling to put it into words when I uhhh... came upon this, which I must say, pretty much explains exactly why I feel the way I do.

Kin, his latest work, seems his first earnest attempt to at least ask himself the very question he shrugged off before ever so dismissively. Everyone pretty much has a right to photograph whatever the hell they want; but if you put it out for public consumption then you should be willing to at least openly and responsibly present and discuss it- or not. And if not, particularly when highly offensive to certain groups of people... well then, it's up to you to deal with possibly being seen as an arrogant, insolent, insensitive prick. And when you refuse to validate and address legitimate concerns, it kinda makes one wonder about your intention and motivation.

Of course, those concerns are pretty much forgotten by most- if it ever was a concern. Some of us have longer memories however- not that Mr. Hugo is losing any sleep. And I long ago learned to separate "art" from the artist. Yes, I can even appreciate (and respect) works of beauty when funded by the very forces that actively destroy that very beauty. As for the person who creates it... I guess what we're talking about here is- trust. Do you trust the messenger, is he or she responsible with how they portray their subjects, and the way in which they can be used and/or interpreted? The latter is particularly tricky in our digital world (granted!), and was a major sticking point with Nollywood. Hugo once swore he wasn't responsible for how the world interpreted his work- neither do the people able to afford it. But perhaps his work is finally starting to reflect the gravity that question implies.

Photo: Pieter Hugo

Cameras, Cameras, Cameras...

A short history thereof... Pretty Cool!

Assassination Here, Assassination There...

I've currently come to believe that Lee Harvey Oswald did probably shoot and kill JFK, the Nova study plus several others make a fairly strong case- and there has been no other real evidence, save for speculation, concerning other shooters. There are experts who say he was certainly a good enough shooter, others that say he was nowhere close, even if his crap rifle was up to the job. Either way, it certainly doesn't mean that there wasn't a slew of sinister forces that supported, and then abandoned him. And speaking of sinister forces- even MLK's family profess that James Earl Ray did not kill the famed civil rights leader.

Back in the '70s or '80s I was listening to a radio program on the RFK assassination in which they played the most remarkable of tapes, a tape that to this day I can't believe was somehow made public. The tape is over an hour long and features LAPD Sgt. Hernandez (who allegedly had CIA connections) basically browbeating a female witness into saying the story he wants her to say and believe. I could not find the entire tape, but did mange to locate a video with important excerpts in which you can hear her interrogator (again, you can hear for yourself this is an interrogation, not an interview): bully, plead, demand, and coerce- all the time attempting to both identify with and shame Sandra Serrano into changing her story into his. At first she is adamant, indeed defiant, about what she saw- but gradually over time, he eventually starts to wear her down until she finally (finally) realizes she ain't going nowhere until she converts to his exact version of what he says happened. At the end you can hear the utter exasperation in her voice. It is not dissimilar to what NYPD did years later with The Central Park Five. Interestingly, LAPD Officer Paul Sharaga corroborated her story, and LAPD later stated that he recanted his report. Mr. Sharaga to this day denies it.  
(listen to Parts 2 & 3 on You Tube)