Tucson botanical studies

Thoughts on creative processes. Or, should I be a circle or line?

I’m 50 pages into a fantastic book (despite its dreadfully boring title) called Lanscape Theory. It’s a collection of essays and the result of a round-table discussion from the big players in landscape theory. This book not at all what I was expecting, but at this point I’m inclined to say that’s a good thing. Suffice it to say that I have filled several pages in my notebook from the first 50 pages alone.

In the midst of “One with Nature“, Anne Whiston Spirn says something that stopped me dead in my tracks: “Circles have centers, paths have direction.”

This immediately transformed into a metaphor for various ways that I could go about making work, and inadvertently forced a bit of inward reflection on my part. Generally speaking, I’m a very linear person (I like paths, if we adhere to the analogy). I blame my computer science background, but that’s neither here nor there. I conceptualize beyond the point of exhaustion before I even pull out the camera(s). This is an agonizing process. The final product never comes out to be what I was hoping for, and more often than not I’m extremely disappointed.

I decided last month that I’d experiment what I will from now on refer to as the “circular” approach. The jury’s still out on whether this is a better way for me to photograph, but early indications are pointing toward “abso-f-ing-lutely”. I’ve been giving myself a lot more conceptual slack in the planning stages and trusting my field intuition with a lot more responsibility. With one short-term project done in this manner (it’ll show up on the website soon), and a few others just beginning, I’m having a lot more fun with the whole photography endeavor. Ultimately, the circular approach is leading me to images that I never would have dreamed of making before. And they’re really good!

I think I might let myself evolve into a circle…

It’s my process, leave me alone. Or, why I make postcards.

Throughout my first two semesters of grad school, my motives and methods have been challenged nearly on a daily basis.  Why do I use a large format camera?  Why do I use film?  Why do I work with alternative processes?  Why can’t I just be satisfied with a straight digital print?

The truth is that I still don’t really have a solid answer for any of these questions.  I suppose that if I did there wouldn’t be much point in finishing my MFA.  All I really know is that I make labor-intensive artwork because I feel compelled to.  The process of creation is important to me, and I can’t be happy with a piece unless I’ve had the opportunity to build a relationship with my work; and this can only happen if I work with my hands.

In an attempt to maintain my sanity throughout all of this, I’ve recently taken up the habit of making things from found objects.  I have no conceptual agenda; I crank up the music, switch off my brain, and let my intuition do all of the work.  I black out.  The collages and assemblages essentially build themselves, and I’m merely a tool in the process.  I finally come to when the piece decides that it’s done.  After a few minutes of reflection, I usually destroy it.  This creation will never be seen by anyone else; it will never be judged.  It’s amazing how cathartic this experience can be.

Making postcards is an even better form of artistic therapy.  It’s an extension of my found objects work with a crucial exception: it will be mailed to someone.  I know that my art has an audience, but somewhere between dropping it in the mailbox and its arrival at its destination, I stop caring about how my work will be received.  There’s no pressure, no agenda, and, most importantly, no fear of judgment.  The art making experience is distilled down to creating and sharing for the sake of the art itself, and I can’t tell you how liberating it feels.

Sure, this could be construed as self-indulgent ego padding, and to some degree that’s part of the appeal.  But is that really such a bad thing?

As the creator of the Postcard Collective, I feel obliged to throw in a shameless plug here. We are now inviting members, so if you’re interested in participating, please feel free to request membership!

New collages. Or, why I make art: a case study.

Try as I might, I just can’t seem to stay away from collage in some form or another. Last week I began pushing my work with the intaglio process a bit, and decided to experiment with some of the intermittent steps between making the plate and producing a final print. I ran prints (and subsequent ghost prints) of the plate immediately after wiping on a thick, juicy layer of ink, rather than wiping it all off as per usual. I discovered that this generated an interesting narrative around the notion of concealing and then slowly revealing the photograph. Seeing the resulting prints compelled me to make several more attempts at it using different colors.

I was looking at the prints the next day, which happened to be the eve of my first year review, and decided that something needed to be done with them. There was something inexplicably beautiful going on, and I couldn’t think about anything else until I had some sense of resolution with what was in front of me (believe me, I tried). I dropped everything I was doing (finishing my book project in preparation for the review) and without thinking started cutting. Then the glue came out. Before I knew it, I had five different collages made from the same photograph.

The whole experience was nothing short of a revelation. All the theory I’ve been reading, not to mention endlessly defending my work to others, had gotten in the way of my art making. The second I stopped thinking about it and trusted my intuition again, something wonderful happened.

They still have a long way to go, and I really don’t know where to go from here. But I’m on to something. I think.

“Because I said so” doesn’t cut it. A rant.

The following began as a comment I was going to leave on this great post by Jeremy Moore, but I thought it might be more appropriate to respond from my own soap box.

I think Jeremy hit the nail on the head with his argument that in light of the recent democratization of the medium, photography for photography’s sake doesn’t cut it any more. It’s too easy to make a good looking photography these days; people want more intellectual engagement. In other words, the novelty of the photograph has run its course, and now we want more out of it. In order for photography to be taken seriously in the art world, we, photographic artists, need to stop whining about acceptance and be both willing and able to address the question of why anyone should care about our work. This question, by the way, is also being asked to non-photographic artists – we’re not being singled out, as many would claim. The most important lesson I’ve learned in grad school is that I (the artist) am not my audience; no one cares if the work means anything to me, because that doesn’t help them appreciate what I show them. It has to be relatable in an unambiguous way; otherwise, why bother?

One of my fellow grads has told me of a moment in a critique when Frank Gohlke said (paraphrased), “it’s too bad we can’t just be artists any more; we have to be scholars too”. This quote is interesting to me because it alludes to a sense of apprehension distaste toward the application of the “why” questions to photography. The old-school photography “let the critics intellectualize the work” mentality has been seriously called into question by the recent academic trends, and that scares a lot of people. I, for one, welcome the disruption. The fact that photography (as well as other artistic disciplines) is being challenged on a conceptual level allows us to push the limits of our intellectual discourse. This is a good thing. Mourning the past doesn’t get us anywhere; let’s take advantage of our unique position in history instead.

 
Update.

I generally announce my blog posts on Facebook, and Mark Nelson was kind enough to take the time to write a response. Having read similar sentiments on Twitter from other photographers I respect such as Noah Beil and Bryan Formhals, I thought I’d add his insights to the conversation. So, having secured his permission, here’s what he had to say:

I am sure 50 years ago, grad students were wrestling with the issue of whether photography was art—in fact, the controversy began long before that—about a month after the first photograph was taken, if my memory of photo history serves me well.

Of course photography CAN be art, but like any other medium, 90% of what you see hanging in galleries should have been done on biodegradable paper or canvas.

The question is what do you think? Is your photography capable of being art?

What is the value of a mediocre photograph that results from a great concept?

What is the value of a great photograph that results from no concept?

If others don’t buy “your art” or appreciate “your art” have you failed? Should you quit?

Are you making art for others? If so, is it really yours and is it really art? How many paintings did Van Gogh sell in his lifetime?

The advent of digital cameras does not make making art easier. Art doesn’t come from tools, it comes from living life.

I never refer to myself as an artist, I’ll leave that to others to make their own decision—whatever they decide is fine with me. What I do know is that I enjoy making images and I enjoy printmaking. I like my work a lot—I enjoy looking at the finished pieces hanging on the wall. They remind me of adventures, they please my eye, the remind me of where I have been and they tell me something of where I am going and they remind me that there is so much left yet to do.

I think art MAY result from a passion to observe, explore and understand ourselves and the universe we live in. If the work turns out NOT to be “art”, then that’s ok too. I still had that journey.

I am of the belief that the journey is the art, which is one of the reasons I’m so sick of the “photography as art” debate. But where does that leave those who seek an audience beyond themselves? If we intend on showing (or even selling) our work to others, should we put any consideration into why the viewer “should care”?

I’d like to step down off the soap box for a bit and find out what others think. Please feel free to leave a comment.

 
Update. Dalton Rooney has responded to this post here.

Conceptual projects: photographic trend or stifling academic conspiracy? Discuss.

There’s been a discussion taking place between Ian Aleksander Adams, J.M. Colberg, and Bryan Formhals about the “photography-integrated-into-life method” and its relationship with the fine art world. It’s not a new topic of debate, but the contributions of everyone involved have been very interesting. I thought I’d jump into the ring with a response (expanded from a comment I left on Adams’ blog) to what has been discussed over the last few days. The following post won’t make much sense until you read the above posts so I’d suggest starting there.

I would argue that all photographic work, even that of the “non-project-based” variety is, in fact, project-based. Whether you’re intuitively responding to life or creating a witty satire, you’re still working on a preconceived idea, whether you want to or not. What seems to generate criticism about the integration methodology is an ambiguity of intent as a result of a longer timeline. The images span such a broad spectrum it becomes difficult to see a single coherent vision (this can be resolved in the oft-overlooked editing process).

Many who take on the “photography-as-lifestyle” approach feel discriminated against, but to me the reason is obvious. As it was mentioned  by both Adams and Colberg, it’s often used as an excuse for poor editing (even Eggleston’s shows are heavily edited based on curators’ intent). Problems arise when the photographer is unable to effectively edit the body and explain the motivations behind the work. In the case of the visual diary photographer, one could create several cohesive bodies from his/her archives. I tend to agree with Colberg on this one in that this method isn’t all that problematic within the context of commercial ambition (Mikael Kennedy has managed to gain a lot of attention recently), oversimplified as it may be: if it’s good, coherent, and interesting, the intended audience will consume it. Otherwise, it will be ignored.

Explosion in downtown Bozeman. Twitterers first on the scene.

Above image was pulled from a TwitPic post by @craigdugas

I experienced the power of social media first-hand this morning.

At 8:12AM Boodles, a very nice, albeit expensive, restaurant/bar in Historic Downtown Bozeman, MT exploded. Two more bars, a children’s apparel store, and an art gallery were also destroyed. At the time of this writing, a gas leak is the suspected cause.

Where did I get this information? Twitter. Thanks to Twitter, I was aware of many of the details (I had even seen some early photos of the destruction via TwittPic) long before any of the local news and radio began reporting it.

As the day progresses, I continue to receive tweets with new information as it becomes available. Twitter users among the likes of @manifestphil and @bozchron have taken it upon themselves to cover the situation, using the #bozexplod hashtag, with a level of precision and speed that rivals the local media. They are reporting not only the current state of the disaster, but also providing phone numbers and other information for those in need of assistance as well as those who would like to help out.

While I had heard myriad commentaries about Twitter and its usefulness in a reporting context, I had never experienced this phenomenon until today. Social media has completely transformed the way news is delivered to the masses. We no longer have to wait for our local news agencies; we get the news as it happens. This is truly an amazing concept.

Update: For more information about the explosion, see the Bozeman Daily Chronicle’s story here.
Update: Updates from the Billings Gazette.
Update: Go here for updates from the city of Bozeman.
Update: Collection of photos and video here.

Digital camera ISOs

Interesting article about claimed vs. actual ISO of digital cameras, brought to my attention by Christina Z Anderson.  I’ve noticed this with my D200, but never really gave it any thought beyond adding 1/3-1/2 stop in the camera’s exposure compensation.

Outsmarted by a camera…?

I was catching up on my Wired.com Gadgets rss feed and came across a review for the D90 with the (slightly insulting) headline “A Nikon DSLR That’s Smarter Than You Are“. The review begins with the following statement:

“The 12.3-megapixel D90 is a Mensa-worthy fistful of photo fury that could pave your way to MoMA’s permanent collection.”

This raised some interesting questions in my mind. Has technology simplified photography too much? With its 11-point autofocus system that focus on up to 5 faces at once, will this DSLR revolutionize the field (as Nikon would have us believe), or dumb down digital photography to the point where it loses respect in the art world? As a film photographer I can only hope it’s the latter. Just kidding…sort of.

More on Critical Mass

A judge’s perspective on Critical Mass over at The Intrepid Art Collector. Another piece of the puzzle for those of us wondering how the finalists were chosen.