LBM, by LBM, from LBM

I did a small favor for the people of Little Brown Mushroom and they sent me a small book in return. Also, an amazing laser print of what looks to be a giant piece of ham.

“Above the mountain,
The boy grows himself a beard,
This is his ladder.”
—Lester B. Morrison

RIP J.D. Salinger

What really knocks me out is a book that, when you’re all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it.

—J.D. Salinger

Captions & Accountability

Ben Curtis/Associated Press

Errol Morris has a new post on NYT.com concerning the nature of photographic captions in his interview with war photographer Ben Curtis titled It Was All Started by a Mouse. It is typical war photo commentary fare, from the editorial process to photoshopping, etc.

Then Ben Curtis says

I’m looking at the Mickey Mouse picture again. A reader might infer from that, that a child had been killed in the attack and that this toy belonged to some child who is dead somewhere. Okay, you’re a reader, you can infer that if you want. But we’re not saying that. I’m not saying that. I’m saying it’s a child’s toy lying in the middle of a street after an air strike. That’s all I’m saying. If you want to infer from that what you want, that’s your prerogative, but you can’t then criticize us for that, you know?

It is disappointing, both that a war photographer thinks this way and is comfortable enough to say it in an interview with Errol Morris in the New York Times, and that Morris let’s him get away with it.

I find it surprising that any contemporary photographer can pretend photography, especially war photography, is objective. I don’t want to criticize Curtis for making the photograph (and not because he tells us that we cannot) but I want to chide him for taking the easy way out, while masking it as the high road.

Editorializing in war photography is just as unavoidable as it is in photography in any other form. It is admirable to attempt to be as objective as possible, but to suggest that photographers infer nothing with their images is disingenuous.

Though I am sure that I have no idea what it is like “in the shit,” it really doesn’t seem like ignoring the nature of photography to shirk accountability does much for your credibility.

R.I.P. Larry Sultan

Very few photographers I have ever seen speak had the ability to leave an audience with a greater appreciation of both the artist and the medium. Larry Sultan was one of just a few photographers I saw lecture over the years at Art Center that accomplished this. That is what these lectures should be—inspiring and informative—not about ego. I left the auditorium more enlightened and excited about the work that he had made, and reinvigorated regarding the work that I was making. Something rare, indeed.

Thanks, Larry.

Vitality

“If you don’t feel that you are possibly on the edge of humiliating yourself, of losing control of the whole thing, then probably what you are doing isn’t very vital.”

—John Irving

Adam J. Lerner, Ph.D.

Lakewood, Colo. 2008

I met Adam when he was the Executive Director of The Lab at Belmar. I spoke with him about land use, the civic spirit, and the future of the art museum. Not to long after, The Lab “merged” with MCA Denver, where Adam is now known as the Director & Chief Animator, Department of Structures and Fictions.

Statement: James Nachtwey (1985)

“There has always been war. War is raging throughout the world at the present moment. And there is little reason to believe that war will cease to exist in the future. As man has become increasingly civilized, his means of destroying his fellow man have become ever more efficient, cruel and devastating.

Is it possible to put an end to a form of human behavior which has existed throughout history by means of photography? The proportions of that notion seem ridiculously out of balance. Yet, that very idea has motivated me.

For me, the strength of photography lies in its ability to evoke a sense of humanity. If war is an attempt to negate humanity, then photography can be perceived as the opposite of war and if it is used well it can be a powerful ingredient in the antidote to war.

In a way, if an individual assumes the risk of placing himself in the middle of a war in order to communicate to the rest of the world what is happening, he is trying to negotiate for peace. Perhaps that is the reason why those in charge of perpetuating a war do not like to have photographers around.

It has occurred to me that if everyone could be there just once to see for themselves what white phosphorous does to the face of a child or what unspeakable pain is caused by the impact of a single bullet or how a jagged piece of shrapnel can rip someone’s leg off – if everyone could be there to see for themselves the fear and the grief, just one time, then they would understand that nothing is worth letting things get to the point where that happens to even one person, let alone thousands.

But everyone cannot be there, and that is why photographers go there – to show them, to reach out and grab them and make them stop what they are doing and pay attention to what is going on – to create pictures powerful enough to overcome the diluting effects of the mass media and shake people out of their indifference – to protest and by the strength of that protest to make others protest.

The worst thing is to feel that as a photographer I am benefiting from someone else’s tragedy. This idea haunts me. It is something I have to reckon with every day because I know that if I ever allow genuine compassion to be overtaken by personal ambition I will have sold my soul. The stakes are simply too high for me to believe otherwise.

I attempt to become as totally responsible to the subject as I possibly can. The act of being an outsider aiming a camera can be a violation of humanity. The only way I can justify my role is to have respect for the other person’s predicament. The extent to which I do that is the extent to which I become accepted by the other, and to that extent I can accept myself.”

—James Nachtwey

A note from Shelby Lee Adams

In response to an old blog post.

Dear Ross,
I stumbled across your site today and decided to comment to hopefully clarify my methodology. I define my work in a lot of ways, now working for 35 years within my Appalachian community. My photos are formally arranged and lighting is added to help define the environment so that I might work with a 4×5 camera. My chosen tool. With this process I am given the benefit of making 4×5 Polaroids within 20 seconds in the field that I can share and review with my subjects. My subjects have input, so I call my work a working collaboration. I am a participant observer. My work is autobiographical, subjective, creative and documentary. I have never defined my work as one thing, others have. Life is very complex. The issues and relationships I’m working with far exceed any documentary films done on my work. I have published three books with my peoples understandings and currently have a 4th  project I’m showing around. Working with your subjects you change things, move things, you want very much to please them, I listen to people, something most photographers might not consider. They have and still are told what to do by society, but not by me, we work together. It is an authentic relationship, making real photographs.

Style is not to be trusted.

Toronto, Ontario 2009

“I think this idea first occurred to me when I was looking at a marvellous etching of a bull by Picasso. It was an illustration for a story by Balzac called The Hidden Masterpiece. I am sure that you all know it. It is a bull that is expressed in 12 different styles going from very naturalistic version of a bull to an absolutely reductive single line abstraction and everything else along the way.

What is clear just from looking at this single print is that style is irrelevant. In every one of these cases, from extreme abstraction to acute naturalism they are extraordinary regardless of the style. It’s absurd to be loyal to a style. It does not deserve your loyalty.

I must say that for old design professionals it is a problem because the field is driven by economic consideration more than anything else. Style change is usually linked to economic factors, as all of you know who have read Marx. Also fatigue occurs when people see too much of the same thing too often. So every ten years or so there is a stylistic shift and things are made to look different. Typefaces go in and out of style and the visual system shifts a little bit. If you are around for a long time as a designer, you have an essential problem of what to do. I mean, after all, you have developed a vocabulary, a form that is your own. It is one of the ways that you distinguish yourself from your peers, and establish your identity in the field. How you maintain your own belief system and preferences becomes a real balancing act.

The question of whether you pursue change or whether you maintain your own distinct form becomes difficult. We have all seen the work of illustrious practitioners that suddenly look old-fashioned or, more precisely, belonging to another moment in time. And there are sad stories such as the one about Cassandre, arguably the greatest graphic designer of the twentieth century, who couldn’t make a living at the end of his life and committed suicide.

But the point is that anybody who is in this for the long haul has to decide how to respond to change in the zeitgeist. What is it that people now expect that they formerly didn’t want? And how to respond to that desire in a way that doesn’t change your sense of integrity and purpose.”

—Milton Glaser

The question of where to stand

Port Dover, Ontario 2009

“The question of where to stand is interesting. What we’re really talking about is a vantage point. If you look at amateurs or people taking pictures, they do funny things. Most people obviously don’t know where to stand. They’re standing too close, they’re contorted. They’re humorous to watch, people who photograph, especially people who aren’t in tune with their equipment, because they don’t know when they pick it up what it will do. If you work with the same equipment for a long time, you get more in tune to what is possible. But within that there are still surprises. But using a camera day after day after day, within a framework I’ll do the same thing. I’ll back up and I’ll go forward with my body.

You don’t have to be a fancy photographer to learn where to stand. Basically you’re stuck with the frame and just like the person taking a picture of his family, who needs to go half a foot back—well, he doesn’t step half a foot back—but on the other hand, he knows where to be if he hits it right. Now when you watch tennis you not only have the commentators, you have the best of the old pros. You know how they repeatedly say “Look at the way his back was formed when he took that shot.” it is really important to them. They see that as a possibility of where the thing went. Probably the same thing is true of all of us.”

—Lee Friedlander