I journeyed to Brooklyn last week to shoot my friend Terry Bartlett. Hard to believe we've known each other for over 15 years (since he was a college student/friend of my babysitter's when my sister and I were kids in Montana)! Fortunately his energy is still as boundless as ever, so I used the opportunity to get him to do some of his famous Streb (the company with which he used to dance) acrobatics on his rooftop. Here are the results!
I feel like I haven't stopped to breathe in the past week. Between editing a new issue of Movmnt, photographing for performances and magazines, finishing up a college course, and writing a few articles it seems like the only time I have come up for air is when I shovel down some of Target's Monster Mix (which is, hands down, the best "trail mix" ever, although it's basically all candy). Fortunately, I enjoy the work.
The only real struggle has been finding a moment to squeeze in shooting time for my weekly International Center of Photography course. This week's challenge (I like to think of my life as a reality show) is to choose one photographer off a list of the most iconic imagicians (because after looking at these photographers it's clear they possessed some magic fingers that we mortals aren't blessed with) of the past century (think Richard Avedon, Diane Arbus, Nan Goldin, etc.) and emulate their style through ten photographs. Initially I was going to go with Avedon--perhaps one of the most untouchable photographers ever--simply because his work with portraiture is not only stop-in-the-middle-of-traffic stunning, but far out of my comfort zone. More than any photographer I've come in contact with (an admittedly limited number), Avedon focuses solely on the emotion of his subject, most often removing the environment they are in from the portrait altogether by erecting a white background. Through his mix of natural and studio lighting, he was able to create a signature look as he photographed everyone from farmers of the Western US to Marilyn Monroe.
I have talented friends, some who could do a killer Monroe impression, but after scanning through some of his images in the new anthology of his work, Performance, I started to feel defeated before I even began, like stretching on the sidelines while you watch someone run a mile in six minutes flat, knowing your average is thirteen. I decided to change directions. Unfortunately, the main factor in this decision was simply that I didn't have time to organize shooting time with ten friends...I needed inanimate objects.
So I turned to my initial instinct and chose William Eggleston, a photographer who I recently became familiar with through his retrospective at the Whitney Museum. To me, Eggleston is the king of breathing life into seemingly mundane settings and situations; he's the person in the kitchen who can finally twist the lid off a jar after everyone else has tried. Most of his work that I'm familiar with is in the South during the early seventies, but the techniques he brings to each photo are universal. It's as if he takes the cacophony of objects residing in the world and brings them into a discombobulated harmony, one you hadn't quite imagined before. Most importantly I find he works very much with linear relationships between objects, including stationary structures, reflections, and the occasional person, and draws the viewer in through these interactions. Of course, he's the master. I'm a student.
My biggest disappointment yesterday (I will continue shooting today) was the fact that New York was an overcast, rainy mess. Eggleston works with sunlight, saturation, and shadows...three things that were hard to come by while roaming around the West Village. But I tried to emulate portions of his style, most importantly the fact that, to me, Eggleston is a fascinating explorer with a sense of humor. He sets off across the country with little more than film and receptive senses, and comes back to the museum wall with something new.
I wish I had more time to focus on this challenge, but I'm confident I'll make it through elimination. And next week, when we have to stand on poles in the middle of the Hudson for eight hours as we photograph our surroundings while sharks bite at our feet, I'll rock it.
(I almost got arrested while taking this picture (apparently photographing subway tunnels is frowned upon). I hope you like it.)
It's underway. My first-ever photography class began last Friday, deep underground in the pristine white hallways of the International Center of Photography, a world-renowned school that offers classes in everything from the broad "Digital Photography" series to the detailed "Lighting Animal Toys in the Middle of the Forest During An Eclipse" seminar. It's detailed, folks. And it's exactly what I need.
After a year of shooting on my own, picking up tidbits from photographer friends whenever they had the patience and time to tell me which knob alters which part of the image, I have entered a class where I will be able to solidify my existing knowledge. And, if the first class was any indication, open up my eyes and mind to a world of techniques that, until now, seemed as mysterious as a subway rat's life goals. I wasn't sure what to expect when I walked down the stairs, descending from 43rd street and 6th Avenue into a maze of digital labs, darkrooms, and gallery spaces. Would there be thirty people in my class? Would I be the worst in the class? Or, perhaps, the best?
Much remains to be seen, but it is clear I will be able to absorb plenty from the eclectic group that makes up my nine-person class. Due to the small size, the teacher has promised to gear each lesson directly to our needs, while simultaneously instilling photography basics into our ever-expanding vocabulary.
If I'm not mistaken, I'm the only person who doesn't have a child (if not three or four), but I'm not above forcing one of my friends to act like one so I can fit in when we share photos. All of the ladies, and one other gentleman, have promised pictures of their children to fulfill the first assignment in which we are supposed to experiment with motion blur, a technique of which I have never truly been a fan. So I bring you my friend Darren, who was kind enough to sit on the sidewalk and play with toys for a solid hour while I crept around and took pictures of him.
As a photographer who has spent a hefty portion of my shooting time with dancers, I find motion blur to usually be a distracting device that is far easier to butcher than to do well. Regardless, I set to work to fulfill this portion of the assignment (some of these photos fall into other categories) to the best of my ability. Enjoy!
