Ng.

Unbelievably, the bird still continues to fascinate. Why would this be a decisive image in some way?

I think what it boils down to is a question of intentions.


On 7th Ave, the sun was at it's highest point. Everything around me was reduced to blinding glare. I could barely open my eyes, people were shoulder to shoulder, and everyone I saw had a glowing halo limning their entire body. I had a moment of realization that this was no different than what I viewed as permissive about night work. If I was visually restrained, so should everyone else be, right? (Ignoring sunglasses and the fact that those facing me on the sidewalk would have actually had the sun slightly at their back.) Aside from this, for the first time I felt the desire to use the camera for a function it's well-made for; as a surrogate organ. This has been a current fascination for me; perhaps it's just that I went to see Cronenberg's The Brood two weeks ago for $7, and using a camera from waist-height always, even when you get used to it, feels odd, as if your navel had grown a pair of eyes. Corrupted.

If I was blind, then so must everyone be; in this state shame is an impossibility.

Which makes shooting aggressively very, very easy.

High noon. Now that one's really obvious. I can't believe I hadn't thought of that.


Tomato Workshop:
A series of projects that function as "creativity stagnation killers."

Tomato doesn't agonize over subject; a characteristic almost unheard of in the design world. Tomato's main guideline, as I understand it, is that the contents of the quotidian can be rigorously collected, interpreted and reinterpreted, removed in layer after layer from their literal translations, and presented.

So a comic strip in which there are as many panels or pages as there are waking hours in a day (not a random day, but that day), but if you can't draw and you want to represent the individual hours as groupings of horizontal lines, or pictures of piles of stones, or cloth dolls... it's all okay.

Photography plays a major part in their process, and is characterized by a swinging between the mundane, presented in perfect Scandinavian deadpan, and what I sometimes view as the European ideal of sophisticated, "open" conceptual work.

Work posing questions over making statements.


I suppose that this came to mind because I always dreamed, as a younger man, to take one of these seminars. I was sure something magical would happen. Now, I wonder if I need the seminar anymore.

All I do now, all day, is figure out ways and reasons to shoot. I had always used the inescapable presence of the quotidian as a permanent, locked reason not to shoot. Everything becomes routine.

But what if that is simply ignored? Treated as irrelevant, even harmful?

I've realized that my personal "opening" to the exterior is laughably basic.
Night? Rain? Doors?
But fixating on these things has given me a body of work from which to cull decency from.

The definition of decency is slid around, for fun, and I suppose, perhaps unconsciously, as a light challenge to the viewer and myself.

This stuff is so rudimentary, I feel slightly embarrassed to even make it public.


Street work has personal value, to me, as a sort of photographic test that I can give myself. And not just as a check box to tic off. I attempt to take singular, selective glimpses into historical photography, often into a single figure. (One of the disadvantages of an introductory photo history course is that the forward march must be maintained, and it's infrequent to see multiple images from the same operator.) But looking at historic work makes certain things obvious. One is that at the beginning of the twentieth century, many things that we identify as being much later innovations were in fact quite common. The atmosphere and trappings change wildly, decade after decade, with one photographic apparatus iteration after another... but the street hasn't been not present as a subject for quite a while now, and the "hand-held" camera was around for a while before Bresson starting lurking around puddles.


Aw, c'mon, who am I kidding? I do it for the danger.

Did I just have a genuine spiritual moment?

Alright. So tonight standing around I took the opportunity to ask the young man in my class who was so bothered by the picture of the bird what the deal was.

His eyes widened slightly. "It wasn't personal," he said.
"I know that. I wouldn't ask, otherwise."
And then he told me about how after Freshman year he had hoped he would never have to look at another fire hydrant, hubcap, or pigeon on a subway platform again. He invoked the word cliché. And he told me he thought it brought the other images down.

Which are reasonable thoughts to have about it.

I was about to write that the question of separation of the images had already been dealt with, but I suppose there are simple things to learn here. Something about grouping, sequence, etc. But, in this case, I'm going to overrule those issues, because the greater issue is of a difference of opinion in regard to the edit.

Perhaps this is a roundabout way to think about it. But I think the merits and flaws of the photograph are fairly obvious. It's not an abstract image, full of depth and symbolism, or overflowing with the "human spirit" or "hope in the face of adversity." With some pictures, it is what it is. This sounds dismissive, but I don't mean it to be. Part of me wonders, and sometimes worries, that I'm a bit too attached to the "straight" shot. By that I don't mean unmodified (which we won't even think about getting into here), but in regard to an image "trying to tell me something."

Are these conflicting ends of a spectrum? I'm talking in big, broad, fundamental outlooks, here. Our sweeping, Ansel Adams at a lectern statements.

"The moon... can only be photographed... at... f 11, with a 2 % cyan filter, and an exposure of no fewer than 47 minutes." [Uproarious applause.]

Do any of you view photographs in this way? As, on a fundamental, even unconscious level, that some images seem to simply be, while others seem desperate to tell you something.

I think the thing that can really get on my nerves with these kinds of images is that often, an image can be doing something unusual, or confusing, or drawing attention to itself, and you can be pulled into looking at it, and thinking about it... and it ends up being a stupid piece of shit. And it doesn't even have the decency to know it!

It doesn't know that tight jeans are annoying in the eyes of older people, or that piercing and tattoos are oddly cliched photographic elements as well, or that sex is inherently an awkward, sensitive subject, and that it takes deep consideration and... well, basically, they're like mines.

And we, aspiring, young, inexperienced, semi-educated photographers can only paddle worriedly through an ocean of cliché.

How do you do this?

The only method that I know, from my own experience, is that you have to attempt to photograph with the mindset of a little girl.

How else can you explain why it is that every photographer, every photographer eventually finds him or herself drawn into shooting flowers?

We're like moths; we can't not.

I accept this, because I must in order to continue to love photography. We will all be repeating subjects with historical precedent. There is nothing we can do to avoid this, other than being aware of the predecessor's existence, and having thoughts on their work, which, if we're any good, we should have some insight on their work, since we're obviously two people who share an interest.

So to all you freshman photographers, figuring out what shutter speed means (my big realization right now; underexposed pictures look kind of amazing if you're shooting on high-quality glass), squeezing off shots of your first real-life bum, or sleeping man, or the ferry at Staten Island, all you millions of cliched photographers; I'm right there with you. Don't let your edit go cold. Include your brother's birthday party. Take a picture of you grandmother's dog, but take it very seriously. Try to pose the dog against a regal background.

Take pictures that say absolutely nothing at all, but are interesting in and of themselves, as pictures. Two things I've internalized lately; turn your flash off and it's never too dark to shoot, or more precisely, try to shoot.

If you can start doing that, and know that you're doing it, I say have an edit somewhere that's for fun, and not only "portfolio" stuff. What does that even mean?

I'm just in a good mood. I was taught recently how to print digitally, and I found myself pleasantly thrilled at the quality of the output. They printed wonderfully, and not only that, I was shown how to do proofing easily and economically, in such a way that you can even work around an uncalibrated monitor by simply making minor adjustments based on print test strips instead of histograms and bullshit. If you happen to be near bright sunlight under which to examine the print, this is a big plus. There isn't a light that gives information about real color more reliably and powerfully than sunlight.

I made a few prints with large areas of heavy black to see if the matte Harman paper I had in storage in my locker would be able to get good results.

Expecting loss of detail early helped me have realistic expectations, but what I really wanted to know was, "Can I get the details on Christ?" And they're there like it aint no thing, resplendent in rich, beautiful, muted tones. [Editor's note: We are aware that rich and muted are not complimentary terms; unpaid assistance appreciated.]

Good week. Although I could have done with a day apart for those two mid-terms. Yeash. I'm always a burnout at the end of the week.

Don't ask me why this image looks like it's from a negative that was carefully stored at the bottom of a bus driver's pocket. I don't know. I could get the dust, and I would if I wanted to print this, which I think is inadvisable, but that hair/scratch doesn't look like it's going anywhere. If it bothers you, does it help if I claim that it snowed early in NY this year? Also, you can tell at night I get much more stalker-ish about photographing people. And most people accept this! They don't know if you're wasted, or a cop, or what. If you're not popping your flash in people's faces (which I still try to be respectful about), they seem to accept that being out at night on the street means they will be photographed.

Admittedly, less so in the Bronx and Uptown than in downtown Manhattan.

But enough that it feels normal. Also, another big epiphany was in my demolishing my aversion to landmarks. What a fool I was! A famous location is a perfect photographic pass. If you're near one, you're fair game.

Before work on Sunday last week, I stood in front of Tom's Diner on the corner of 112th and Broadway, holding a cup of coffee and photographing with abandon. Tom's, but mostly the people outside Tom's, and people photographing Tom's, or being photographed standing in front of Tom's.

Everyone shoots in, around, and especially in front of Tom's. Tom's is that stupid diner that was the exterior location of the diner in every episode of Seinfeld. After deriding them for years as rube tourists, I now find myself walking with them, sharing their moments, elating.

We're here together, stranger. Let's share this moment forever, and it will be weird.

Let us pray.

Since birds are like tiny dinosaurs, I'm also brave.

I'd say interesting critique tonight.

Perhaps we frightened one another. It feels like that; we saw that we (my collective class) could rip one another apart, like feral gladiators, and ultimately, I think we didn't like it. The advantage is that it seems like maybe we can start talking about the work (perhaps even critically, carefully).

Although... I don't know. Someone wanted to criticize me tonight... I'm realizing I'll have to talk to him individually, because (of course) part of me is curious about what it was about this one picture that bothered him so much.

The pigeon.

Which... well, unfortunately, it's complicated.

Now there are, perhaps, many reasons to dislike the photograph.

He said that it offended him, or... well, I don't remember his exact words, but he was trying to express profound displeasure about this sole image. It was all rather quick. First, he seemed angry that I would dare show such a picture. I got the impression he took it as thoughtless; a postcard. Then the class seemed to collectively leap to protect me, deriding this closed-mindedness. What subject taboo? A pigeon? Pshaw.

My defense was almost certainly dismissive. In terms of offensive imagery, something I take an interest in, I just don't see it. It's perhaps unsettlingly banal, but I had two images on the wall that were ridiculously dark (both literally and figuratively), and two more that were light and happy and silly. The bird was, on the wall, acting only as a bridge, or an island. Putting aside that, to me, a photograph of an animal is utterly populist. But my dismissal went further than this, though. To me, an image like this is an affirmation of everything that I loved about photography before I started to take it more seriously, as well as a commitment to fundamentals. I don't want to stop making what I sometimes call simply "NY" shots; unpremeditated, ugly, dirty. I don't want to apologize for something fleeting and un-special. I don't want to commit myself to some closed-down perception of the "perfect." Do you need this shot to be lit with HMI's and captured on a $30K Hasselblad? Because 1. that will never happen, and 2. it wouldn't help anything.

I claimed immediately after being given permission to speak that the images were not what would be called a sequence. Actually, that came through in a number of ways; but I tried (and perhaps succeeded) to convey their separation in their arrangement on the wall.

So yes, separate. But I had just finished saying that the picture was a "scene illustration" for a story that went along with it, which I told very concisely, careful to note that the date and time of the photo did not match the date and time of the story.

So I told this quick, uninteresting story about jumping on the subway tracks, which in telling didn't nearly do justice to the experience. The adrenaline, the amazing process of both weighing your life in relation to a book, while trying to calculate what you know of "typical" train patterns, all in under 90 seconds, while briefly taking stock of what you think of as your "reflexes."

I took my backpack off, unhooked my umbrella from my wrist, and jumped down, got the book, and scrambled up over the dirty platform, which was about neck-high, with some but not much difficulty.

It was exhilarating.

But... as a visual aid for this experience, which I viewed as essentially filling the "intimate" requirement of the critique guideline, it seemed perfectly adequate, and not altogether unenjoyable to look at. To me anyway. But I guess my chandelier-swinging tale of derring-do would seem intimate from my perspective. Perhaps it was only that, afterward, there was no one there to laugh with. One man who met my eye gave me a barely perceptible nod, to which I said, "Sphew," and chuckled politely. Not that I wanted a standing ovation or anything, but... you know. White boy did alright.

It is, in fact, like a photo postcard. It's sentimental, sort of, but also rather thoughtless and ungainly. It was spontaneous, and strange, and uncertain.

Have you photographed a bird? They're very tense. I was very still to get this shot. I can't remember if I'm zoomed in all the way; but judging from the vignetting, I'd guess probably.

I now keep my Yashica in its case in my right-hand jacket pocket. I keep the lid of the case open; I can pull on the cord and have it in my hand, on, with the flash off, in under ten seconds. It's not silent, but in public, it's certainly proven quiet enough.

It's become my "train" camera. I don't even look through the viewfinder anymore. It's my low-pressure, high risk camera. I steady it on the lip of the jacket pocket, or if I'm feeling hopeful in low-light on any available relatively flat surface.

It works great, and feels very low-key; something my politeness sort of spoils in my street work. My timidity forces me to ask permission of a cognizant subject.

But from my pocket (literally a hip-shot), I feel more bold. I'm not taking your picture, sir; it's this damned hip-camera.

I won't deny it's sneaky, and cowardly, and probably very suspicious and weird. And I have yet to review the results of this method. Which will be undergoing spontaneous rearrangement, as this morning I switched out a spent T-Max 3200 for a much more colorful NPS 160.

I can't be shooting nothing but color, though. Maybe now is the perfect time to shoot my 120 Tri-X 400 in the Seagull. Or perhaps I should let it go, and return it to its owner, my friend Arturo. I dunno. He might be mad at me.

Anyway, sorry to peter out there. I know everyone only reads to find out which brand and ISO of outdated film I'm currently shooting.

Hope some of that may have been interesting. Thanks for reading.

(And since this is basically nothing but a shooting diary anyway; one little thing that I've enjoyed doing for the first time: shooting in the rain. As with my first successful "night" photograph, the first thing that dawns on you is, "so much wasted time." I had been holding myself back, telling myself that I needed another point and shoot that would be my "beat-up" camera, not realizing that rain is not acid, and that cameras are moderately tough, and umbrellas can be shoved down the front of your coat and balanced on your head, freeing your hands and protecting everything. Obvious; but what a joy. Actually, this is making me realize that my anti-umbrella policy had some drawbacks. Which was only rescinded because I lost all my baseball hats, somehow.)

Something finished. [What what?]

Alright. I know that this demands some form of commentary. After all, if I'm attempting to challenge myself and talk about work; why not my own?

I'm working on it. But... damn it. I finished something massive, and relatively satisfactorily. There are definitely problems with it, which maybe I'll get to, although tonight I was thinking that extended artist's critique (rather than statement) may possibly sabotage a work. I think, fuck it.

I've got more work in me, and this is early. Why not sabotage away?

So... I'm working on that.

But if you want to slam it before I get to it, be my guest!

Things that have already been pointed out; potential racism of only portraying Chinese wholesalers, due to the racial diversity of the field.

Response: dude. I know. All I know are the semi-arbitrary limitations that I imposed on myself starting out. I draw a pretty nuanced line about executing photographs dealing with race, while attempting to be careful about racism, which, in photography, can exist in both portrayal of stereotypical behavior, or even in technique, surprisingly.

But I find that, in photographing race, (which wasn't how I viewed these, but more as a question of nationality, or, perhaps since I'm a white [urban?] suburbanite, internationality) one rarely gets stereotype. If you're an honest person, and can perform an edit; what you get is reality.

Besides, there's not even a person in these. Don't you need people? Maybe Confucius is racist, these days. (That is who that is, right?) Anyway.

(Also, amazingly, my dictionary of all things, pointed out that Confucius' name is a Latinization of a word meaning "Kong the master." Kongfuze ([K'ung Fu-tzu]. That's way cooler! Stupid Latin.)

Also, the wide, establishing shot, contains non-Chinese wholesalers, and is therefore something of a lie; as well as, for including cabs, a somewhat poorly composed shot.

Response: dude. Check the rooftop. See the scanner artifacts? That shit was straight.

Tell me that's a bad composition. [insert eyes-crossed emoticon.]

Also, color and B/W mix oddly; atmosphere of surveillance (which the audio would intensify, certainly). Also, my excellent professors are blowing my mind with their fancy educations; and are exposing me to the inherent unreliability of photography as truth (of course), although I maintain that such a thing exists, and is valuable to sports photography, and nature work. (Although the conclusion I came to was that the responsibility for photographic truth lies with magazine and web editors, whose responsibility it is to value and vet the work they pass forward.)

I don't care about modification, yet.

Let me take a good picture first.

Oh, and a last thing to point out as already covered is that I still suck in Photoshop, and can make my expired-film, underexposed shots (the first two colored pieces of signage) look more like, you know, an appropriately made photo. (I would like to hasten to add that only those two are "underexposed," [p'shaw, as if such a thing existed], and that it's a real testament to the power of a 120 negative that the colors are still, to me, absolutely gorgeous.) When I mentioned Roe Ethridge (perhaps lamely attempting to protect my "decision" by citing a known and established shooter), I was told, politely, that work like that is "sentimental."

Which was super on-point! This was meant to function as "documentary."

In that; I failed.

Ha. Maybe it's all covered.

[Shooting notes, multimedia instructions (some user assembly required!), and audio, if I listen to it and it's interesting, to follow. I have a show tomorrow night that needs material = perfect opportunity.]