Wednesday, 28 January 2015
I like Country Fictions by Juan Aballe. It's published by Fuego Books, a Spanish publishing house based in Madrid, and it's an elegant green cloth-backed volume, one picture pasted on the cover. This pastoral cover image looks like a painting, it's all mountains, hills and fields with an idyllic-looking farmhouses in the foreground.
So there's the Country and there are the Fictions. We're straight into what we, as city dwellers, project onto country living, that pastoral idyll.
There are sheep on hills and smoky hilltops, a caravan where a woman who has just washed her hair sits drawing on a smoke; she's found the patch of sun and dappled light streams in through the vines growing above.
There are more caravans and lean-tos and teepees, mattresses spread out on floors where escapees from the city (or not from the city) flake out and rest their tired limbs. and at the end of the book a white haired woman looks out over a wooded valley, white shawl and felt shoes hinting at the nip in the air.
And then comes the poem. It begins like this:
We search for years,
we imagine our future in better places
where we could start all over.
Maybe there was once a countryside,
a village with green and fertile meadows,
Now we return to find only
the remains of a disused scenery.
We search for beauty in a landscape
where we do not belong,
where time seems to have stopped still.
We live our own transition,
our fragile utopia,
trying to understand,
what we are doing here,
and who we are.
So there's the scene set and we can project that onto the people - but that is all we can do. Looking at the pictures (which are really good. It's a nice edit) I can try to understand what these people are doing there - which ones are damaged or disturbed or lonely or shy. Who has found a refuge, who has escaped, who has left behind. We can make our guesses, but guesses are only guesses.
Maybe that's half the fun?
Buy Country Fictions here.
Tuesday, 27 January 2015
The Best Dog Picture of All Time? This one's easy. No competition whatsoever.
Daido Moriyama's Stray Dog. Looks left, looks right, looks whichever way you want it to.
A more dog like dog it is hard to imagine. Even though it's not really that dog-like. How does that work?
Monday, 26 January 2015
It's all a bit much this start of the year. All the lists have ended and there's the serious threat of nuance and subtlety getting in the way of everything.
So with that in mind, I think it's time to get a basic set of ranking blog posts up. Not best of, but best.
Starting off with this one. Best necks. Sometimes you need the daft simplicity of a simple list.
Leon Levinstein's is my favourite neck but here are few other challengers.
Thanks to Sam Anthony, Eugenie Shinkle, Tadhg Devlin, Scot Sothern, Alejandro Acin, Kirsty Mackay, Andy Adams, Brian David Stevens, Christophe Collas, Martin Toft, Stefan Vanthuyne, Mark Page, Claude Lemaire and Simon Anstey for contributing.
Thursday, 22 January 2015
pictures from Life Magazine
I watched The Eichmann Show on BBC the other night. It told the story of the trial in 1961 of Adolf Eichmann (the SS commander who oversaw the deportation and transport of Jews to Concentration Camps in Eastern Europe), and how this trial came to be shown on television screens around the world and became the first globally watched documentary, one that helped transform the way in which the Holocaust and Survivors were regarded.
The acting was fantastic, it was beautifully shot and it recognised the power of the story it was telling. So original footage of the trial, and original testimony was integrated wonderfully into the drama.
There was a focus on the face of Eichmann, but also with how you can show this trial of horrendous events in a way to touch the hearts of people around the world (people who during the early stages of the trial were more interested in the Bay of Pigs fiasco and Yuri Gagarin becoming the first man in space).
This was a telling exchange, when a witness collapses during the trial and Milton Fruchtmann asks the director Leo Hurwitz, who has the cameras focussed on the blank-faced Eichmann if he got the shot. Hurwits, however, is obsessed by Eichmann . The camera's are on the SS man as Hurwitz waits for an emotional response to show he's human.
Milton: Did you get it?
Leo: We got almost everything but I think we missed the collapse.
Milton: Missed the collapse. Jesus, Leo.
Leo: We got a couple of seconds of it, but it's impossible to anticipate something like that.
Milton: That was a stand-out moment, Leo, like someone crying out in the auditorium. Talking points. Human drama.
Leo: That's a real damaged life in there, not a fucking TV show.
Milton: And a fucking TV show. AND. AND.
I think the exchange says something we could sometimes remember about documentary. Even with the grimmest of subjects, it needs to be engaging. It needs to be a TV show.
Watch the Eichmann show here if you're in the UK.
If you're not in the UK, Congratulations, have some nice food or go for a decent coffee or sit in the sun. Do something nice like that instead.
And here's my review of Wolf Hall, which showed on BBC TV last night; like Stanley! Flat.
Wednesday, 21 January 2015
image by Diane Arbus
There was a little tizzy in the UK when the Shadow Culture Minister Chris Bryant said that the arts needed more diversity, that they were too limited in terms of class and were becoming dominated by public schoolboys and schoolgirls. Splendid though they might be, James Blunt, Benedict Cumberbatch, Eddie Redmayne or Helena Bonham Carter are not exactly the salt of the earth.
Cumberbatch and Bonham Carter have complained about prejudice against toffs in the movie business the past, and they are now joined by Blunt who wrote this letter complaining about class bias. Blunt's letter is rather lacking in awareness and possibly confirms the point that the Deputy was making.
I don't know if this applies to Blunt, but it applies to a lot of wealthy people I know. They have a blindness to their privilege. They have a sense of entitlement that is beyond the self-deceptive. I have friends who send their children to a very expensive private school (one of the best schools in Bath for schoolkids to buy drugs or pick up a teacher in town - if news reports from the last few years are anything to go by, but oh wait, they got a court order that told the local newspaper not to report the stories in full) at a cost of around £20,000 a child. With no irony, the parents insist "they're not getting any advantage. It's just like a normal school" ad infinitum. Well if it's just like a normal school, why don't you send your kids to a normal school and give the £40,000 you save to me, you ninnies. It will definitely make a difference in my pocket.
That sense of entitlement is everywhere. Including photography. Photography is creative. It's part of the arts where the investment is in the long term, where support from family, friends and networks is essential because to a large extent it's not what you do, it's how long you do it for. You need time to be successful and much as we do it for love, love doesn't pay the bills. A little money, no, a lot of money goes a long way.
If you can afford not to have a day job, if you never have to worry about rent, or paying the gas bill, or fixing the car (if you have a car), it makes a huge difference. If you can afford countless rolls of film, or memory cards, or lighting, or the new cameras, or a macbook or two, and the printing, and the publishing and the framing and the showing - both at the start when the work is shit and at the end when it really isn't - all this makes a huge difference.
As does having the transport to get you somewhere, the luxury of time off a job to do a shoot, the luxury of not even having a job and just being able to pfaff around the world doing essentially pointless stuff for pointless money - simply as part of that vital learning exercise of learning what isn't pointless.
Then there are exhibitions to see, people to meet, competitions to enter, reviews to attend, and festivals and workshops and social networking and making contacts, and having the confidence to make contacts - which, in the UK at least, is a large part of what you are paying your £20,000 a year (non-boarding) for. To make contacts with other people like you who are going to help you out at some point in the future.
And I haven't even mentioned college! I believe in education which is convenient because I have a part-time job at a university, but how do people afford it? Answer is most of them don't.
The problem is people who have those privileges and can take all this stuff for granted don't really see them as priveleges because they don't understand what it is not to have them. That is how limited the imaginations of the entitled are. As a result a large part of the world gets shut out and, as the arts get increasingly populated by the privately educated, the possibility of getting a foot in the door of what is essentially a club reserved for the elite becomes more and more difficult. Shutting out more and more parts of the world.
And as it becomes more and more difficult so the photographic voice becomes more and more limited. It becomes irrelevant. I wonder if that isn't happening a little bit now, what with all this and that and everything.
What's the solution. I had a conversation with Francis Hodgson ( who you can see in, er, conversation with Mishka Henner tomorrow night in London. Has to be good.) before Christmas and he wondered how it would affect people's reading of images if they knew the photographer's background, especially if it's a particularly grand background. When it's working class like Bailey or McCullin, it only adds to the allure, what happens when the Chelsea boot is on the other Chelsea foot so to speak.
When the work is of the highest class, I don't think it matters. Who cares where Arbus, or McCullin or Moriyama come from. Nobody does Arbus, McCullin and Moriyama better than Arbus. McCullin and Moriyama. Top or bottom of the heap it doesn't matter, because you can be sure there way of thinking and looking at the world is more than simplistic - and is part of their work.
But if it's in the middle, not-quite-there photography which is what most everything is these days. Then the limitedness of outlook and the lack of depth might be down to something.
So there we go, How about that? Former Hedge Fund worker, Peerage-in-Waiting, Finishing School in Switzerland, Daddy owns an Oil Well, Daddy has a Ministry, Oligarch Baby, It would be a bit mean though, a bit classist. Best focus on the work. The work's what matters. Money doesn't make a difference. Talent will out. Of course it will.
Read Francis Hodgson on the Murder of Britain's Photographic Heritage
Tuesday, 20 January 2015
I really like Lina Hashim's Unlawful Meetings project (one of several interesing works that she has completed or has in the pipelin). Unlawful Meetings shows pictures of young (muslim) people doing what young people do around the world - unless someone stops them. It was made into a lovely little book (see below) and the images were also shown in a grid formation. These are surveillance pictures (using a mix of night vision, long lenses and phone cameras), showing what goes on beneath the surface, beneath the rhetoric. It's voyeurism alright; Merry Alpern meets Kohei Yoshiyuki, but with a point to it.
The idea of the project is quite simple really. It's making visible that is supposed to remain invisible, it's about making a documentary project that, in the most direct manner possible, gets to the point of what it is like to be a human, something Hashim, whose 36-year life history is a phenomenal story of hope, conflict and despair all wrapped in one. I decided to email Hashim a few questions about the project. This is her reply.
'The project started actually because of my interest in the phenomena of Unlawful Meetings, The word in Arabic is Zināʾ (زِنَاء) And it is an Islamic law concerning unlawful sexual relations between Muslims who are not married to one another. It includes extramarital sex and premarital sex, such as adultery (consensual sexual relations outside marriage), fornication (consensual sexual intercourse between two unmarried persons), and homosexuality (consensual sexual relations between same-sex partners). Traditionally, a married or unmarried Muslim male could have sex outside marriage with a non-Muslim slave, with or without her consent, and such sex was not considered zina. (I'm keeping this part for another project).
It's obviously very difficult not to fall in love and commit unlawful sex. I remember myself taking part in these Unlawful Meetings in my teenage life.
The couples meet in public spaces to avoid being raped or abused, in places outside of the city, far away from crowded places and mostly near the sea. But in public spaces they use cars as a wall to make a private space where they can be alone, and when its gets more intimate inside the cars they turn Arabic music very high so no one can hear them. These are my Observations!
Then I began visiting the spaces I found at the beginning, ( the sea, a parking lot and empty places outside town) and as I photographed so I discovered more places. I never asked the people I photographed and they never noticed me photographing them.
I made the box book as you know, and made a big grid with 77 photos taken in different places and times. The grid shows places and meetings, some times my shadow. Some are taken with a night vision camera and others during daylight. I made them in back and white to leave the subjects and places more anonymous.'
Read more about Lina Hashim and Unlawful Meetings here.
Monday, 19 January 2015
Mark Schalken's polderlichaam is a lovely, big book. It might be too big, but that's by the by. Polderlichaam tells the story of Schalken's experience of life around the northeastern polder; a polder is your Golden Netherlands landscape of reclaimed land surrounded by dykes. The land is flat, hostile and vulnerable to storms and floods.
Schalken left his polder home after telling his parents he was gay. But he was tempted back and began to explore the region around his old childhood home, a region he had ignored in his younger days. And as he explored, he photographed.
It's a beautiful book, an ambitious book that goes beyond the usual bounds of a stream-of-consciousness memory retrace. This is because Schalken connects his vision and his memory to the land in a very instinctive but resonant manner.
So we start with images of water. Water's everywhere, bubbling up and surging through pipes. It's not still or benign but has an energy that is mirrored by Schalken's visions of the land. It's flat but it's moving. He shoots the weather, the rain, the wind, the snow. He photographs the cyclists going along lanes that run over water and cut through fields. The flatness is punctuated by vertical lines - water spurting from an agricultural sprayer, a leaning branch, an upright body - and the land never seems boring or benign. It has a threat to it.
It's a man-made environment so we see brutal lumps of concrete rising above the dikes and canals, we see a park bench submerged where the water has encroached. The land becomes domestic and merges into potato fields and the bustle of a polder town, polderlichaam - this is maybe where things go awry, where the energy and focus on the landscape is lost in the more urban setting where the groupings of people have a different feel to what came before. The book might be better without this.
But does it matter? Probably not, because soon we are back with water, a pool, a canal, the sea, and bubbles that mirror Schalken's childhood experiences of playing in the bath. So flat, bleak landscapes that run with the febrile energy of kids creating life. That's a good way to start the new year.
Buy the book here.