On Meetings.
photo from “Meetings” series by Paul Shambroom.
A friend referred me to Paul Shambroom, a photographer now in exhibition at the Weisman museum. As I was looking at his work, much of it revolving around ideas of American power and culture, I was hooked by a project entitled “Meetings,” in which he photographed city council meetings across much of the US. Telling and quite hilarious at times, the photos bring a new image to decision-making. I saw the photo posted above and laughed for quite a while–although Sedwick, Arkansas is far away from my current station, I am actually the man in plaid with the mustache. Yes, I am adjusting slowly to the world of meetings and “important things,” resisting at times, but for some reason this photo just reinforced how amusing I find “official” things.
Shambroom’s show runs through April 20 at the Weisman, on the U of M campus.
On being watched.
And the walls have eyes. Los Angeles, January 2008.
I recently had a couple people contact me about my work, seen in and around caffeine supply-stores here in St. Paul. I’ve been showing a lot of older work, from last year (and beyond), but the calls for new stuff is a predicament, as I feel the desire and initiative to make such work but realize the complexity of the mission. I want to make new work, brilliant work (what other kind is there?). Time and other obligations aside, I am interested in what such a “call to action” would look like for me at this point. I will always shoot the “street,” and the unpredictable nature of the public arena, but am wondering how I can push my own vision further, going beyond what I’ve been doing, yet do it honestly and sincerely. I wonder if such a thing is possible right now, when my time, unfortunately, is not my own as it seems. This is no lament, rather a start of a brainstorm of an action plan. For now, I may satisfy the watching walls with old/semi-recent work, which will provide me food for thinking and redefinition.
If a Nikon played capoeira…
It is not possible to become a capoeirista by playing an hour, a day, or a year. It is a committment, some might say an addiction. Constantly evolving, it is not a game for the idle–constant observation and practice combine inside the roda as a proof of “whatcha got.” No room for baggage–drop it at the door. No excuses, just play.
While I have made many sacrifices for my “term of service” this year, have had to redefine and reorganize my priorities, have jumped full force into learning and playing capoeira, I refuse to make excuses for the back-burner my camera has had to take. Nothing to regret, still making pictures, but not being proactive in an academic way. I’ve been showing in the coffee shop circuit, selling just enough to supplement this meager Americorps budget, but I haven’t been satisfied with myself because I’m not talking about photography enough. It was today, when I picked up the City Pages because I saw the front page raving about Alec Soth, Minnesota photographer, New York art star, that I cleared away all the sticky notes from my mental “to-do” bulletin board and replaced the bright orange one that had gotten covered up. Come Back it reads.
Consider this a virtual post-it note. Salve.
On blending in.
Hwy 60. Arizona.
What really intrigued me about these buildings was that they were located along major highways, but completely removed from any context of a town or other businesses or buildings. Just stand-alone entities that are swallowed by the natural landscapes they were meant to integrate into in the first place.
An adventure of epic proportions.
“It could just be called ‘a fun trip’,” Kate said.
Drove through the southwestern US for a couple of weeks with my sister recently. It was a really good chance to get out into a different “street scene.” What I found most interesting, along the road, was the seemingly high number of abandoned buildings along the highways or even the small towns that have fallen into disarray and disrepair as the traffic that used to sustain them has been rerouted to newer roads and/or no longer passes through. There were countless towns like this throughout western Texas and New Mexico. Unfortunately, as driving duties were shared, I didn’t always get to stop when I wanted or there was not a convenient or safe place to turn around, so the missed photo opportunities are still a little bitter in my mouth. I’ll post gradually, as my life allows.
“Traders Outpost.” Or not. New Mexico.
It’s a little hazy.
Yesterday was out of control. The cap, the gown, the photos, the big mess in my house…they all tell me that I’m done with something huge. I was still in denial that graduation even happened until today, as I was taking down my portion of the senior show. I was wrapping the photos up and another artist came into the gallery and started to install a new piece. Just like that. Done and done.
As all things move on, as is necessary, I am still trying to grasp what it was that really happened this weekend, that this rushed, crazy finals week ended up in a blur of purple and gold and I have a funny sense of vertigo from it all. I’m done with my undergraduate career? Aren’t I supposed to feel done? I feel like I have so much unfinished business or something. This semester taught me so much about myself, about my work as an artist, about how to put those two things together–that I feel like there should have been something that put some closure on this whole thing.
Mel joined some of us for lunch after taking down the show, and it was reaffirming that the “vault doors” aren’t going to close completely just because we’ve graduated. She said that she still contacts her professors and classmates/fellow artists all the time, and I thought about how I’ve become a part of an amazing community of artists that I can keep up with or let go of…my choice.
I just don’t want to be in a daze like I was yesterday.
On presentation.
I’m unsettled as we wrap up the semester. This photo project is coming to a “close” (at least in terms of the class) but I still feel like I’m on Chapter 3, where the plot is settling in and it’s going to start getting good soon. But again, this may be a project I’ll be working on for years. I am unsettled because I feel that, because I was juggling entirely too many things for a while in April right before the show opened, I allowed (or had to allow) the momentum of the first few stages slow way down.
Therefore, as I often have high standards for my work, it is weird for me to turn in a project I don’t see as “finished.” I know that that is okay, given the nature of photo projects in general. Its probably better when you don’t end right at a semester. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have about 3 projects going on at the same time. But how to present an “unfinished” thing in a finished way? I think the prints are heading to an approach that doesn’t bind them to an order or edit, probably in a type of box. Much more loose that way.
on identity.
I attended an artist talk as part of a symposium on documentary photography, last Thursday, which brought the likes of Tom Arndt and Terry Gydesen to St. Kate’s. For one, I was impressed by their work, especially that of Terry. I think it went beyond me just “liking” it–there was something about her style that I think I could identify with…she shares a subtle commentary with the viewer, in a style that is accessible and at the same time not contrived. I think that this was good to shake me back into thinking about my work, considering the lull I’ve been in due to the show.
I’ve been thinking about a couple things that Ted, the moderator of the discussion, said. “Let your work dictate your identity. You are what you photograph.” I don’t know if I fully agree with this. While on the one hand, your artistic identity, yes, is made by what you make, what you photograph. But, at the same time, I think that your sense of identity has a lot to do with what you photograph and how you handle your subject matter. Your identity often has a hand in your work–I can see that it can both permit and prohibit you from making certain types of work. I do see, though, that even though I am not, per se, so much a part of the subcultures I photograph (i.e. patrons of laundromats, graffit writers, etc), I am like them in subtle ways. I see photographers and street photography residing in their own subculture. The difference is, perhaps, that by being a part of this subculture allows me to work within the others…
I think I choose subject matter to explore based on my understanding of it. I find that ideas/places I am not familiar with make me concentrate even harder or pay attention more carefully. I am often so uncomfortable in the places I photograph, but that is where I make the best pictures, and I recognize that. They are often more truthful, less lazy that way. So, perhaps while I’m debating on whether or not ”social awkwardness” is my identity, it inevitably helps move my work forward.
on explaining.
The senior show opened this weekend, meaning my academic life can return to normal this week, but also that I got a genuine chance to talk about my work with an eager audience. I think it was the first time I’d talked seriously about my process and what it is that I do and why–talked about it with others outside of my photography classes. Many times I don’t think I’d even attempted to explain it to my family because I have often felt that, though well-intentioned, they wouldn’t really understand what it is that I do (And, perhaps, no one but I ever will understand it). On some level, yes, everyone can understand at least the face-value of being a photography student, but I actually talked at length with my dad about my work over the last few years. Being farther away, he hadn’t seen much or any of the work that is in the show now, but in that way brought a fresh audience to talk to, and a lot of things I hadn’t realized I’d been thinking about came out in the discussion. Disappointingly, these things are escaping me at the moment, probably to avoid comment. What I did arrive at, though, was the feeling that I had finally gotten to a type of understanding between my family and my artistic life that I don’t even think was possible until now. Putting together the show concentrated my efforts toward clarifying and focusing my artist statement, but more importantly toward being able to talk intellingently about it as well.
