INTO THE STUDIO
Journal of a Mixed Media Photographer
Contacts
This chest cold continues to slow me down. One of the benefits of so much time at home resting has been the chance to watch DVDs like Contacts Vol II, which I rented from Netflix. This DVD features 10-13 minute clips with eleven contemporary photographers such as Duane Michals, Sarah Moon, Hiroshi Sugimoto and Nan Goldin – each sharing images from their contact sheets and speaking about their creative process. It was fascinating.
I turned immediately to Duane Michals, a longtime favorite of mine. I was surprised to learn that in his narrative series, Death Comes to the Old Lady, his father plays the role of death and his grandmother plays the old lady. A whole new layer of meaning has now been added to that piece for me – a sense that as the younger generation grows in strength, it marks the coming death of the older generation. Time keeps marching inevitably forward.
Then I turned to Sarah Moon, another favorite. Her voice, which I had never heard before, was accented and rhapsodic as she unfolded a poetic speech about the act of photographing. She starts with the words “I have been taking the same photograph for twenty-five years over and over…A woman…A dress…,” and she continues almost stream of consciousness to convey her thoughts as she photographs. I was so intrigued by that first line – that sense of steadily working away at one concept in as many ways possible. In the end, maybe all artists simply play one note again and again – refining it and offering variations on that same theme, which is ultimately the essence of their work.
I thought I would just dip into this DVD, watch one or two, and then return to it later. But no. I sat on the floor with my dog curled in my lap, watching every episode until my sick self was full of new inspiration.
Looking for Words
I have lost my voice and am looking for words. My head cold has morphed into a chest cold that leaves me speechless today. Ironically, my new series is word-less too. And so this afternoon, I have spread out each new print on my studio table and, with my thesaurus in hand, have been brainstorming. Whatever words tumble in I write down on pink post-it notes attached to each print. Words like..
Harbor
Sanctum
Anchor
Landing
Compass
Encompass
Chart
Ashore
Exploration
Angling
Notation
Gestation
The list goes on and on, and I am not sure where it is leading me. The prints are resisting words, probably because they were shot as a visual and emotional exploration – not an intellectual one. In my last two series, Milagros and Bottle Dreams, a story or concept was the key driving force behind them. So this time I wanted to make work that was simply about looking and responding to the objects and artifacts in my studio, creating what I hope are evocations of states of mind.
The next day or so must hold the answer, as it is time to take this work out into the world. One of these images will be the announcement image for my upcoming show at the Bolinas Museum. The postcard must be ordered tomorrow.
Maybe in the end, I will honor the silence of my own speech today by allowing each piece to remain a mute mystery, simply called Untitled. Time will tell. For now, my list continues to grow.
Incubating the New
A head cold has slowed me down. I canceled all my appointments today and stayed in the studio, next to the gas heater, drinking hot peppermint tea while I color corrected and spotted digital files.
Being sick with pending deadlines can lead to a sense of despair, but today I was determined not to give in. There simply isn’t time. Because of upcoming exhibitions, I have to keep the new work growing. And that is not a bad thing – it kept me in my chair today, working with new images like the one here.
“Figuratively Speaking”
Over thirty of my pieces are now installed at the Etherton Gallery in Tucson, Arizona as part of a three-person show called Figuratively Speaking. I shipped the work there a few weeks ago, and now thanks to the magic of the internet, can see the show online. At the end of the month, I will fly down for a reception and see the show in person, but for now, from a distance of 1000 miles or so, I am enjoying seeing the work arranged anew and spotlit on brown walls.
More Miracles
This week I collected another two wishes for the Milagros project.
One woman wrote…
“May we see each other as family.”
And the other..
“I want the violent killing all too prevalent in the world to stop.”
The picture here is of the arm of the first woman. Soon I will print this image on transparency and create a collage – a visual affirmation of her wish. It will join the other hands in the series, all reaching for the miracle of positive change in our world.
A Bug in Amber
I spent today combing through history – looking for images to share with my students. Tomorrow is the first day of a new class at JFK University. This image here is one of the Boulevard du Temple in Paris taken in 1838 by Louis Jacques Mandé Daguerre, one of photography’s originators and the inventor of the daguerreotype.
I was first introduced to this photograph as a UNM graduate student in Eugenia Parry Janis’ photo history survey. Nia had a way of making photographs come to life with her enthusiasm and descriptive language. For this one, she described it as “a bug in amber,” because if you look closely you can see two lone figures in the lower left who remain visible on this busy, bustling city street. Everyone else has been erased by the extremely long exposure – they simply walked right out of the frame before the chemistry could record their presence. Except two. A shoe shiner and the man who stopped for his services and stood motionless long enough that we can still see him today.
In the past when looking at this image, I have imagined Daguerre’s excitement at having successfully created one of the first photographs of Paris. What a thrill that must have been. Then I would marvel at the way photography captures slices of time, and in the 19th Century those slices were thick – many minutes wide – whereas today they are paper thin instants. Then I would be left with an eerie sense that eventually we all walk out of the frame.
Today, I look at this photograph and read a new meaning into it. On that crowded boulevard, the men who ultimately made the largest imprint were the ones who stood still – not the many people rushing off to important business, or even pleasure strolling. I take heart in this because as an artist, I struggle so with the rushing of life. I relish the idea (whether it is true or not) that maybe the way to have the most lasting impact is not to produce more art, teach more classes, or do more of anything, but instead to stand still – becoming fully present and part of everything around me.