Photography Thinks
Who knows what be next? Visited Bard to hear an explanation of the limited residenct MFA program. Took a tour of the campus. Walked past Steven Shore’s office in the photography building. Left my card on his door. I wouldn’t say it was the functional equivalent of what Philip Roth described in The Ghost Writer where the fledgling writer spends the night at the home of his idol, but I felt the vibes. Shore doesn’t teach in the MFA program. Too bad.
Heard on the street that Homeland Security had bought the building. Then I read in the paper that a permit had been obtained to build an office building and maybe some coops. The developers took Waterfront Video. Then they took Battery Jeans and Good News Garage. The face of downtown Burlington be a changing.
I realize that I am not supposed to be in a cemetery, because I am a Kohane. So I go in my street clothes, instead of my priestly garb. One day, I will lie here in a shroud, to be followed by Sharon. Pretty wierd feeling to be looking up at the sky from the spot where I will lay for eternity.
Had not seen him for a while. He was sitting behind the bandstand. Complained that he couldn’t get his eye drop prescription filled for a day and was having trouble seeing.
To make a relationship work, you need to have things in common with your companion, otherwise you don’t have anything to talk about and you don’t need to be together. Sharon and I share film in common. Luckily, we both like film noir. Otherwise, we have lots of conflicting tastes. You could not guess correctly, if you tried who likes what.
The Pharaohs had boats to take them to the Netherworld. Some at Hope Cemetery have their lives as drivers recognized in death. Another must have liked to drive while listening to music. One has the car ready to drive the causeway to heaven. The graphics and sculptures make going to graveyards uplifting and interesting. All the dead have stories, but few have illustrations that hint of their lives. The addition of images gives those who didn’t know the person interred a hint as to their backgrounds and reminds those who do of something of importance to their loved one which they adorned to the grave in what must have been an act of love.
I have been trolling around the outskirts, trying to find the people who appear in my SEABA work that hangs in the Hall Gallery at 180 Flynn Avenue. I didn’t want her or any of them to hear that they had a featured spot in my exhibit from someone and be surprised or angry. I generally tell people whom I shoot why I shoot and what I will do with the shots. Its a difficult strategy. The more you say, the less intuitive the images. People become self conscious and less reactive to the camera. Their increased control diminishes the honesty of the interaction. Posing intensifies. Men, more than women, will ape-out. All I seek is their humanity and a slight bit of emotional honesty, assuming that is possible.
Corrected after e-mail from Mr. Campbell and a phone call. I try to be as accurate as possible, so I apologize for any misunderstandings.
Yesterday he asked me to e-mail him a photo I shot on Church St with his begging sign. Don’t usually include words with my images. Jay Maisel says that people will read the words before looking at the images. This is not to be confused with putting an image on a printed page which, according to my graphic design professors, is the first thing people will look at. Anyway, the images should speak for themselves. Not sure in Mr. Campbell’s case.
I met Laura’s art at the SEABA office gallery during art hop. To visitors, the pictures are just some images to be liked or disliked. To her family and friends, they are her statements about life, creative outbursts that survive her; gifts that she will give in spirit. To me?
Continue reading “The Art of Laura K. Winterbottom and Lorin Duckman”
