view from baxter

March 29, 2007

"What makes a great photo?"

Conscientious asks a question, gets dugg, and responds intelligently (with some side notes by personism).

In the skewed "debate" between the "dedicated amateur" and fine art snob, I probably fall into the latter camp, but that has nothing to do with anything against "macro photography," or any of the other cliches. A good photograph is good, in large degree, because it's not boring, because you're seeing something you haven't seen before (or not in the way the photographer is showing it to you). If you've spent any time on flickr, you've seen a lot of macro shots of flowers, sunsets, etc. If you've spent any time looking at photos, you know how cool and wonderful those kind of shots looked the first time you saw them, and how utterly mundane they look after, maybe, the tenth one. But there are also more than a few cliches in the world of "fine art" photography: the desolate parking lot, the portrait with the unblinking stare, various kinds of suburban angst. It's the challenge of the photographer to either move beyond those cliches or subvert them somehow.

Artists have conversations with each other, but if they keep talking about the same thing, the conversation gets old really fast. The "amateur" can get upset that the so-called elite doesn't appreciate his nth macro shot, but that's just because Edward Weston already covered that and the conversation has moved on. Sure, some conversation topics are dead-enders, or just too weird to go anywhere with, but isn't that better then banality?

For what it's worth, here's my entry into the "great photo" contest, viewed by me for the first time on a field trip to the MoMA during my photo 1 class with Editha Mesina. (thank you again Editha!)

Dancers, 1956, by Roy Decarava

thoughts (1)

March 21, 2007

wow

it's always troubling when you see a good friend try hard drugs for the first time. i mean, you can't make someone not try something. you can only stand there, helplessly shaking your head. and make sure they know that, once the high wears off, you'll still be there with a shoulder for them to cry on.

thoughts (2)

March 18, 2007

Philip Perkis

Connecticut 1967, by Philip Perkis

I recently re-read Phil Perkis' "Teaching Photography." Phil was my photo teacher my first semester at Pratt. I knew very little about photography before I had him, and he was very good about combining the basics - equipment, film, etc. - with a real understanding of photography as an art form, as well as of the power and limitations of the critique.

The book is well worth reading for anyone interested in photography, not simply those who teach it. it's not a technical manual: it contains no pictures and is very short. (One might go so far as to call its small, 3 to 4 paragraph chapters Vonnegut-ian.) But there is deep wisdom there, wisdom that comes from someone who had thought about photography for more than 40 years and is still learning new things.

Phil on 'intention' in photography:

As a photographer, I decide on a certain set of materials (camera, lens, film) and I take myself somewhere at a certain time. It could be my backyard or living room; it doesn't have to be Outer Mongolia. Then I'm going to see what happens. I become an active responder to what is happening both inside and outside myself. I do my best not to consider content or meaning at this time. Then, putting myself in that position physically, emotionally and mentally, I can have an 'open' attitude toward what I am doing so that with a bit of luck (grace) my intention can arise simultaneously with the act of photographing.

...

I once sat breathless for about 20 minutes at the Brooklyn Academy of Music with about 1,500 other people while Julius Hemple stood alone on stage playing improvisationally on a tenor saxophone. That's high risk art-making. His intentionality was palpable. He had no cover.

Cyrilla, NYC, 1993, by Philip Perkis

thoughts (2)