Showing posts with label Sean O'Hagan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sean O'Hagan. Show all posts

6.05.2015

Review: Roger Ballen at Alonso Garcés Galería


BASICS
Roger Ballen
Alonso Garcés Galería
Bogotá, Distrito Especial, Colombia
May 2 2015 – June 15 2015

Roger Ballen has 25 photographs from his projects "Outland," "Boarding House," "Shadow Chamber" and "Asylum of the Birds" at Alonso Garcés as part of Fotográfica Bogotá, a biannual photography event being held now.

SNAPSHOT OF THE WORK
The work spans all of his projects created since 1997, when he stopped creating more traditional documentary projects and began to work more with studio portraiture and psychologically charged, manufactured imagery.

CURATION AND INSTALLATION
The show successfully pulls together images from four projects. If anything, it shows how the various bodies of work that make up Ballen's non-documentary practice complement each other, and could be seen potentially as a single project.

Installation is noteworthy in that it's professional and clean, not always the case unfortunately in exhibitions in Colombia.


COMMENTS ON THE EXHIBIT
The show doesn't try to present a theme or argument, providing instead photographs culled from the last few decades as an introduction to Ballen's work. I think that opens the opportunity for a review that also focuses on Ballen's photography more broadly.

First, for those that have never had the opportunity to see Ballen's prints, he is a great printer. They are outstanding as objects, the tones slightly flat. He compresses them towards the darker end of the spectrum, which allows the occasional brighter tones to sing when he strays just outside the reduced spectrum. Darkness, however, never comes at the expense of detail.

Formally, Ballen is a talented draughtsman. He draws with line as well as any photographer, creating echoes of his subjects with wires and cables in many of his most successful images. This sense of line is brought into the actual settings of his images where he and his subjects physically draw on the spaces themselves which Ballen then photographs. He clearly delineates and separates objects and has an incredible organizational sense for composition, making images that seem almost easy, hiding the sophisticated subtleties of balance and counterpoint he employs.


Moving on from here, however, I need to make a disclaimer. Ballen is one of my least favorite contemporary photographers. My reasons echo issues others have already expressed about his work, which I'll mention shortly, and pile on a few more. Now is as good a time as any to try to explain why.

In terms of formal vocabulary, Ballen borrows fairly heavily from Ralph Eugene Meatyard and Jean-Michel Basquiat, and a little bit as well from Pablo Picasso's proto-Cubist African period and its antecedents, African masks and the art of prehistoric cultures. With Meatyard, there's a direct relationship between the black and white medium format images, composed with vertical and horizontal lines of grotesque figures often wearing masks. We see Basquiat's scribbles and linearity, and occasionally his density of line. Picasso's combination of pushed and pulled human form combined with his use of African masks and "primitive" sourcing has fingerprints all over Ballen's work.

Ballen is aware of these references; he grew up around photography and art. His mother began working as an editor at Magnum when Ballen was 13. He is not, as Sean O'Hagan suggests, an outsider artist, despite being self-taught.

While there is transcendence of these sources at times, overall Ballen largely recycles borrowed elements. It usually doesn't feel like he's quoting and advancing a visual dialogue, the photographs actually look old, as if they could have been made in the 50s or 60s. He's a high Modernist in a world that explored his visual language half a century ago, and I don't see him pushing that conversation forwards.










Before addressing the much-debated topic of the subjects he works with, let's look at the specifics of Ballen's iconography. Rats. Snakes. Crosses. Cockroaches. 666 scrawled on a wall. Dead cats, dead rabbits, dead birds. Fake blood. The middle finger. More rats. Skeletons. A guy pointing a gun to his head. A sample of images from the Outland video directed by Ben Jay Crossman, produced by Ballen, are above, and contain a range of iconography similar to what can also be found in Ballen's still photography. The video clearly aims to ape Ballen's photo aesthetic.

Pulling out this list of elements in Ballen's photographs and video pieces, I hope you can see why I find Ballen campy, the producer of B-movie stills with a set of props borrowed from a Boy Scout's haunted house. If I asked a 16-year-old metalhead in the back row of math class what he'd want to carve into his desk the most, all that cool stuff I just listed is his answer. I find Ballen's visual language often so expected in terms of trying to generate the grotesque or shock, that it has the opposite effect: humor. I find many of his photographs almost funny in their deadpan serious employment of stock shlock horror movie props.

Now let's get into the controversy around the subjects Ballen works with. He has been questioned about and/or implicitly accused of exploitation of his mentally and physically challenged subjects here, here, and here for starters.

Let me start by defending Ballen. Off the top of my head, photographs potentially offensive per se in today's heightened era of attention to the social and power dynamics around the making of images include those of young kids, the poor, the mentally disabled, the physically disabled, naked women by men, people from races other than our own, especially Blacks by whites, especially Black men by white men, subcultures by those that are not part of them, the homeless, people on the subway, people from the "developing world" taken by people from the "developed world," people doing things that are stereotypical of their demographic like Asians photographing or overweight people drinking a huge soda with a hot dog in their other hand, etc.

Cat Catcher, 1998 © Roger Ballen

To ascribe certain relationships between photographer and subject as ethically restricted without attention to the individual case, however, carries risks that one could argue match or go beyond the risks associated by photographing across power and social dynamic lines. Those risks include patronizing the subject of a photograph by removing their agency and power to make decisions for themselves (who are in most cases adults), the assumption of knowledge about the personal connection to and the real world treatment of subjects by photographers, the visual debt we accumulate by prohibiting types of images, the cultural risk of self-censorship and the stigmatization of the field of photographing communities other than our own, one of the richest veins in photographic history, from Robert Frank's The Americans to Doug DuBois' My Last Day at Seventeen and Wayne Lawrence's Taking Back Detroit.

We know photographs lie; judging the subject-photographer relationship based on how a photograph appears to us is a path of folly (unless there is outright murder, abuse or rape happening in the images that documents a real action). "My critics have no idea about the reality of what I do or of the relationship I have with my subjects. The fact is I have a deep relationship with these people. I would go as far as to say, without wanting to exaggerate, that they love me," Ballen says. Two subjects say just that in the "Outland" video.

So be it, honestly it's not our job to judge his relationship to his subjects. And yet I find Ballen's use of his subjects problematic nonetheless. After Ballen gave a video lecture at Fotográfica Bogotá, I went out for drinks with attendees of the event and got into a healthy argument about why. Let me lay out my reasoning here. 

Head Below Wires © Roger Ballen, 1999

When Ballen was questioned about why he worked within this particular community by an audience member in Bogotá, Ballen gave his stock answer, one you can find in almost all interviews with him: his photography is only about him. It's not about his subjects, it's an exploration of his own psychology. "At the end of the day, everything is just Roger Ballen," he said to the questioner in Bogotá. On the homepage of his site, he similarly states, "My purpose in taking photographs over the past forty years has ultimately been about defining myself. It has been fundamentally a psychological and existential journey."

Yet to reveal his own subconscious, he uses props and a set that emphasize the distress of his subjects. It's actually the sets or stages that Ballen - with help from his subjects - creates and the interaction between subject, stage and props that I find problematic about his work, not so much the use of the subjects themselves. That is to say, it is not his relationship with and use of his subjects, but their representation in two-dimensions that is the issue.

Go back to that list of his iconography above. Think about the meaning of placing a person in a precarious mental state and extremely poor, often in an exaggerated pose that underlines their formal disparities from the norm, amid those elements. 

We end up with "crazy people" amplified by crazy scribblings, trash, dirty mattresses and blood, connections emphasized by the placement of his subjects among animals living and dead and sets filled with the "primitive." He places neon fingers that point to their insanity, to their "base instincts" and to their living conditions, ones that we associate with animals more than humans. These images feed off the animality of their subjects. He produces something of a lampoon of the way he portrays his real mentally and physically challenged subjects by casting Ninja and Yolandi Visser of Die Antwoord for the parts of "Insane #1" and "Insane #2" in his much vaunted video for the criminally contagious "I Fink You Freeky."

Video still from "I Fink You Freeky"

As a test, what do you remember about the individuality of the subjects in Ballen's photographs? Can you differentiate their personalities? Who are they beyond their illness, their disability? We don't know. They are insanity, they are disability. They are one-dimensional stock characters. Humanity has been squeezed from the equation, reducing the already marginalized subjects to nothing more than form, simple signifiers, objects on a stage for Ballen to show how crrrrrrrrazy!!!! he feels.

As an aside, my interlocutor in Bogotá argued that humans as form stretches through much photography, Cartier-Bresson and Salgado were his two examples. My reply is that the language of a portrait, Ballen's genre, asserts a different set of conversational parameters than street photography or environmental portraiture. Street photography, as practiced by many, has devolved into a boring game of finding formal connections while you walk around. Fine. Portraiture, however, especially studio portraiture, which Ballen's work basically is, as currently practiced and as based in hundreds of years of history, still generally tries to invoke something more about the subject beyond simply "form." Different games, different rules.

Brian with Pet Pig, 1999 © Roger Ballen

All of this is the inverse of Diane Arbus looking to find a human connection with people on the margins of society that could reflect the alienation she also felt in respect to the dominant culture. This is the dehumanization of others to reflect your own psychological dark corners. 

The dehumanization of the mentally ill and their equation with the sub-human (animals) are dangerous and dangerously common tropes. While judging the real world subject-photographer relationship is a path of folly, it is part of our jobs as photographers and those dedicated to photography in other ways to discuss the subjects as they appear in the photographs themselves and the relationship of the photographs to historical and theoretical conversations. We are here to address the representational modes a photographer chooses to employ for his or her subject-photographer relationship, to criticize the portrayal of subjects and their presentation in a public forum. This is where our job as critics begins.


Roger Ballen sharing Roger Ballen sharing an article on Roger Ballen in the Flak Photo
Network. Here Ballen promotes an article on how he feared for his life photographing 
"criminals and drug addicts" which seems more than a little revealing about why he 
makes these images of subjects that he claims love him when questioned imore 
critical contexts.

WRAP-UP
I've conveniently glided around the rich and loaded history of conversations on "the gaze," "voyeurism" and "the other" and related lines of discourse that we have developed around photographing people that Ballen's images should be considered through, in part because those ideas are fairly well-known, and also because at some point you have to avoid the rabbit hole of potential topics opened up by a critique. I would like just to point to their importance in developing a full critique of Ballen.

One perhaps lesser-known idea to mention in relation to Ballen's work is Martin Buber's discernment of difference between the "encounter" one feels in front of another human being (I-thou) and the "experience" one feels in front of an object (I-it). In Ballen's work there is, for me, a very disquieting sensation, a third type of engagement, something like an encounter that is becoming experience, a sense of humanity in transition to object/animal. I recognize the human form, but, empty of dimension, rendered as simply form and surrounded by the particular settings they are photographed within, they start to immediately slide to experience, a perception of the non-human.

To conclude, despite his Facebook post above, I don't doubt that Ballen is connected to and quite deeply involved with his subjects and I am convinced he has made a committed attempt to connect with them. I don't find his work exploitative, actually. If he wants to make these images, so be it. I'm not here to decide what his personal relation to his subjects is and there's nothing morally wrong going on in the pictures or in the making of them.

While we should make the photographs we need to make, what we choose to share and how we share them is a separate question. By taking the step of publishing his work, obviously, Ballen places his images within a system of existent dialogues and understandings of imagery, within an ethics of representation.

Within those conversations, I find Ballen's work deeply flawed. While visually Ballen's work is of a high level, it has its albatross: he plainly emphasizes his search for ways to show his internal mental state at the expense of the representation of his subjects, ignoring issues created by the visual debasing of humans who are vulnerable, stigmatized and in deep need on many levels. He does so through derivative forms and puerile iconography, with sets and props that purposefully amplify the sense of inhumanity of his very human subjects, thereby restating harmful tropes about the socially marginalized, mentally ill, disabled and poor.

The issues are compounded by Ballen's refusal to respond himself more directly to the conversations around his work, as opposed to Sally Mann, for example. This, for me, is a blatant shirking of part of the responsibility of being an artist. A photographer can't simply deny the history of images or the presence of the historical and theoretical conversational matrix of photography into which they place their work. There are long standing arguments about representation and these conversations are how we understand and communicate. Those understandings and communications create communities that speak a common language, and any community develops a sense of ethics in short time. A photographer has to understand how those ethics operate when they create within their borders.

Yet repeatedly questioned on this, Ballen gives us back nothing, with a (paraphrased), "Welp, I've done this for 50 years, and it's all really about me, folks." A disappointing evasion of the opportunity to reflect on his own work from someone whose work calls out for dialogue.

12.22.2014

The Body of the Photograph

© Heather Ackroyd and Dan Harvey
From http://organicgreenroots.wordpress.com/2011/11/29/photosynthesis-growing-photography/

Jonathan Jones of The Guardian took photographic conversation with him on a time machine this month by revisiting a position that was already irrelevant sixty years ago, declaring, "Photography is not an art. It is a technology." His comment is innocuous because it's inane; Sean O'Hagan wrote a reply argument that suffices although I'm not sure replying to that particular comment by Jones was worth the effort.

I'm generally not much of a conspiracist, but the conversation is so ridiculous that I started to wonder in all honesty if Jones and O'Hagan set this up for publicity. But then, however, I remember that O'Hagan is a reasonable and respectable critic and that Jones, in broader strokes, has taken other positions just as extreme and lazy that are also founded in bad logic with arguments based neither in history nor context.

Such as, for example, another of his posts from November I would like to briefly respond to, one that O'Hagan also briefly mentions in his post, which was called, "Flat, soulless and stupid: why photographs don't work in art galleries."

Here I'll start with a look at Jones' "argument," then I will try to take something positive out of all this by turning the conversation into a look at how the print and installation decisions combine to form the "body" of the photograph, that is to say its presence in space, and at how the body of a photograph is fundamental to its meaning.

I'll also add before starting that this essay is part of a loose series of posts, hereherehere, here, here and here and also referenced in the text below, that serve something of an educational purpose for students (which ties into the site's mission and my past as an educator). I am aware that some of these points are somewhat basic math for experienced photographers. That being said, it's amazing how often even otherwise lovable and reasonable photographers will say something like, "Well, if you can't see the show, the same work is in my book/on my site." While it may be the only way to see the work, it's not the same work. I hope reading through, then, will serve as an introduction for some and a reminder for others.
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Jones writes that photography on the page or screen is fascinating. On display in a gallery or museum, however, it is not: "It just looks stupid when a photograph is framed or backlit and displayed vertically in an exhibition, in the way paintings have traditionally been shown. A photograph in a gallery is a flat, soulless, superficial substitute for painting." He goes on to suggest curators provide us iPads to scroll through a digital gallery instead. That, he adds, "would easily be as beautiful and compelling as the expensive prints."

He goes on to back up his argument by exploring the inherent physical differences between the two formats which lead him to conclude that painting just for the sake of being a painting offers a richer spatial engagement with the established traditional gallery format and also...nah, he doesn't do any of that. 

Photography isn't art because, to his eyes, it doesn't look so great on a wall like a real good painting which takes time to make. That's the entire argument.

He gives us insight into where the intellectual roots of his (mis)thinking are planted in two off-hand comments in the article. First, "It's amazing how long some people can look at a photograph. I observed the observers, rapt before illuminated images that I really can't look at for more than a few seconds," and later, "A photograph, however well lit, however cleverly set it up, only has one layer of content. It is all there on the surface. You see it, you've got it."

The problem here is clear: the belief that you look at a photograph and you've got it, that's all and that takes less than a few seconds. In much strong photography, this is obviously not the case. Sorry chap, but you have to look for more than a few seconds. Once you've seen it and taken in the basic visual elements involved, that's when art begins to work. This is when you as a critic - although this applies to any observer - begin to engage with it. You have to - apologies, really - consider how the visual elements you are looking at might feed into themes, look for dialogue between the photographs themselves in the gallery and at the conversations between the photographs and history, culture and other photographers. You have to use your conclusions to build ideas of what the photographer is up to and begin to construct arguments about its meaning. (We talked about this stuff at more length in a post from a couple months back.)

The alternative is the equivalent of skimming Crime and Punishment in an hour and finishing not knowing the characters names. It's watching The Godfather on 16x and concluding it's about the mafia, yes, the Irish mafia. It's reading the summary in the program of a six-hour Wagner opera while sitting at the theatre's bar with a whiskey instead of actually going in, which, now that I type it, I realize is not a bad idea so, scratch that last example.

To be fair, the quote about looking for a few seconds was talking specifically about a wildlife photography exhibit which I can't look at for more than a few seconds either (OK, unless they are your cats, Joerg). Jones places his comment, however, in the context of arguing for photography as painting's sad sibling, so I think it's also fair to believe he doesn't look at other photography for more than a few seconds either. This take is supported by his comment that with photography, "You see it, you’ve got it."

Photography struggled at its beginning to separate its identity from painting. Once people got sick of the Pictorialists and tableau photographers, however, and started doing more with the camera than to try to imitate painting a century ago, photography began to fight different battles, branch off into separate conversations and evolve its own aesthetic vocabulary. It was born a second time, this time as its own medium. The early photographic anxiety of being stuck in the shadow of painting remains in the collective photographer's memory, however, which is why Jones' post hits a particular nerve for a lot of photographers, but also another way we can understand the datedness of his thoughts, and how irrelevant they are to contemporary conversation.
______________________________

Exhibition view © Thomas Ruff
From http://camlux.blogspot.com/2012_05_01_archive.html

So let's make the rest of this post a more productive one that goes beyond kicking Jones in the shins repeatedly. Comments here complement a post from last year called "Considering a Photograph." Let's discuss the photographic print and the gallery installation which combine to create the "body" of the photograph.

The decisions we make in regards to how we present work affect how people will see it and how they will understand it, making the print and installation inseparable from the meaning of the photographic project. We'll begin by talking a little bit about the print first. The various qualities of the print impact how we understand the photograph itself. Here variables include size, reflectivity, temperature, weight and texture. 

Let's discuss size in a little more depth, and then more quickly mention the others once the general point is made. The size of a physical print is an important tool in terms of establishing an understanding of the intended meaning of the photograph. If you see a photograph of a head six feet tall, it radically alters the meaning of the photograph compared to seeing it printed two inches tall. In the prior case we could say that we are more likely to feel imposed on, looked down on, minimized. The grand scale also memorializes and indicates significance. In the later case, we are placed in a position of power and the photograph hands us references to passports, identity photographs, high school portraits and other similar small photographs of heads.

Installation view © Karl Baden
From http://camlux.blogspot.com/2012_05_01_archive.html

Size affects the narrative of our visual experience of the photograph as well. A landscape print eight feet long is something we enter and move through, a landscape print eight inches long is something we consider from outside, as if looking at it through a window. We are also more likely to see large prints in parts, while a smaller print we are more likely to take in all at once. A large print increases the physical distance between parts, and creates air and space in a way a small print does not. It opens up, it "breathes." A large print also enables an engagement with and exploration of details not rendered in small prints.

In addition to print size, the decisions a photographer makes on paper and printing process also shift meaning. Reflectivity, temperature and texture are three basic paper elements. To cite a couple examples from Jones' beloved painting that show how important they are as artistic properties, Mark Rothko's paintings function in large part through reflectivity and he was keenly aware of the nuances of his surfaces. Albert Pinkham Ryder poured varnish over his paintings before visitors arrived because he wanted them to shine for them. The photographer has a predetermined but important range of options in reflectivity that they need to know and consider actively because they shift the experience of the observer of the image. Glossy and matte completely change the look not just of the blacks, but relationships with the image such as the possibility of entrance - glossy, for example, often seems to have a shiny veil that prohibits the world of the photograph from being our world by reflecting (repelling?) light. In some printing processes, such as black and white fiber printing, the image is embedded in the paper and in others, such as inkjet printing, the ink sits on the surface of the paper. This changes the feel of the print through the different sensations of depth and tonal richness.

The tones and gamut of color in a print vary from developer to developer and printer to printer. The temperature of a print also affects its sense of spatial presence. In general terms, cool papers seem to recede and warm papers advance.  Weight and texture come into play as well in this conversation: the same image printed on newsprint and also on the latest heavyweight, matte, semi-rough Hahnemühle paper puts the observer in two different visual conversations: the first is fragile, temporal and references the press and cheaper printing histories and markets, the second is solid, relatively unchanging and very squarely engages the traditional expectations of maximizing fidelity of color, sharpness, tonality and other hallmarks of classic print making.

This is by no means a complete breakdown, but rather a starting point to bring home the point that Jones' suggested iPad gallery strips the artist of all of these possibilities and pushes the photograph to a singular homogenized scale, loses a sense of reflectivity, eliminates the sensibilities of different papers and inks, reduces tonal and color range and does away with textural subtleties - it's a reduction of the factors for viewing an image that was originally intended to be a physical object. It is, in fact, a completely distinct work of art. In short, digital presentations can do amazing things and thankfully more and more work is being designed specifically for the screen, but the printed photograph offers another range of variables that give us as photographers an entirely different set of levers to play with to shape the meaning of our work. To disregard that reality is to cut the photographer off from a vast range of expressive possibilities.
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In addition to the physical properties of the print, the installation of photographs in a gallery provides a second set of variables that the photographer can work with to tweak meaning.

Jones said that a photograph looks "stupid" displayed vertically in an exhibition as paintings traditionally have been. Starting with this very limited consideration of how to use the gallery as a vehicle for exhibiting the photograph - vertical installation - let's consider how different decisions made in the gallery context impact meaning and provide a wide range of visual options unique to this forum for showing imagery.

All physical objects in space have a relationship with our body. We sense pressure inside an elevator, the distance a person maintains when they talk to us and the football a split second before it hits us in the groin. We saw how that can impact the experience of physical photographs earlier when we talked about the size of the print. This basic fact creates an extensive range of variables that serve the artist.

© Paul Graham
From http://whitehotmagazine.com/articles/paul-graham-present-pace-gallery/2541

First, let's talk about the single photograph on a wall, then let's talk about groups of photographs. How high or low a photograph is hung establishes a basic point of reference and a power relationship, similar to how print size works as we have already talked about, but also mimicking the same types of relationships established in a composition by standing, for example, over a subject or pointing the camera up towards them from below.

Frame materials (or the decision not to frame) also influence the reading of a photograph: a heavy frame can weigh on an image or, alternatively, reinforce its geometry, depending on an image and how the framing is done. Images tacked to a wall have less considered formality. Look no farther than heavy golden frames to find an example of how a frame can change the way we look at the photograph – we immediately typecast it, doubt the "taste." Paul Graham's recent show at Pace, "Does Yellow Run Forever?" attempts to play with that expectation surrounding the gold frame and surprise us by its use. Matting a photograph references a classicism in presentation as it falls out of fashion. The size of the matte relative to the image also affects the sense of scale of the image and its activation/passivity, to name just two variables it impacts. A thin, pinched matte (see the image below) can give a photograph activity in relation to the frame, a wide matte can separate it from the frame completely. The distance the image comes off the wall in its framing is a primary part of its presentation of itself as an object as well. That distance can say to us, alternately, "hello" or "HELLO THERE!" and suggest a sense of aggressiveness, solidity and/or strength.

This is not a complete list, but it's enough to show that even in a simple vertical arrangement, installation decisions such as placement, frame materials, matting and relief from the wall are crucial to the meaning of the photograph and unique to this installation context.
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Peacock, 2011 © Appau Junior Boakye-Yiadom
From https://chloenelkin.wordpress.com/2011/07/01/ooops-i-love-it-again-peacock-trousers-at-josh-lilley/


Above image Photoshopped

Now that we've talked about installation decisions of the single photograph, let's move on to talk about the group of photographs on a wall. A group of objects in space also have relationships not just with the observer as discussed above, but between each other – look at the bottles in the paintings of Giorgio Morandi or the still lives of Jan Groover, for example, to get a sense of how objects can communicate social relationships. In the two images above, the density of hanging of the top group leads to an understanding of them as intimate and connected together as one work while the (quickly) Photosopped second image gives a sense of a more melancholic, distanced, cooler relationship between the images and a definitive sense of them as two separate objects. 

Density, rhythm and pattern are three words off the top of the head that dominate installation decisions of the group of photographs. Look at these following images. The first shows a density that encourages a reading of the whole before the parts, a modest undulating rhythm and a pattern of squares that plays off a basic grid. In the bottom version of this image, I lined up the breaks between tops and bottoms of images in Photoshop to show an example of how crucial small decisions are to the experience of groups of images on the wall. All of a sudden we read left to right much more easily, perhaps just as easily as up and down. There is more horizontal movement, more democracy in the Photoshopped image. In the original, top image, we tend to see horizontal columns and more hierarchy, little Modernist towers, perhaps, that reinforce the other Modernist decisions of black and white image with a proportional white matte and a thin black frame.

Installation at Pier 24
From https://haikuforphotography.wordpress.com/2011/08/28/vast-empires-and-discrete-objects-and-good-installations/

Above image Photoshopped

In the image below, we see density that dissipates as well as a centrally-based grouping of images, bringing in ideas of the cosmos and expansion. The rhythm is staccato and reduces in speed as we spiral out from the center. The small prints and x-y axis installation pattern recall pixels. Here we have started a completely different conversation from the conversation above using strictly the old "stupid" vertical wall layout.

© Masao Yamamoto
From http://www.jacksonfineart.com/artist_exhibit.php?id=117&exhibitid=30

Another image, below, takes us to our final point. The density is moderate, the rhythm fairly uniform and the pattern is set into a sort of system of triangles and groupings of images (as I've outlined in red).

© Julien Lanoo
Installation by © Joris De Schepper and Thomas De Ridder
From http://www.dezeen.com/2010/11/13/inside-installations-by-joris-de-schepper-and-thomas-de-ridder/


Most importantly, the print leaves the vertical layout (and Jones' conversation along with it) and begins to explore the myriad of possibilities for photography in the gallery space. Here one could argue that photography is actually MORE suited to the gallery because, more so than painting, it lends itself to innovations of installation, rooted in its basic essence as a reproducible object. This, in turn, results in the type of use of image we would be harder pressed to imagine with painting. The volume of photographs it is possible to produce, the ability to treat them as potentially less precious objects, placing them on the floor, using adhesive to mount them, reprinting the same photograph multiple times – all of this translates into the types of explorations seen in the images below, all of which work with themes that would be harder to realize - probably impossible in some cases - with painting.

The specifics of viewing images in galleries - the ability to see multiple images in different spatial points at once, leading the visitor through a space, the involvement of peripheral vision, etc. would be a whole other section that I think is best to leave unopened for now, but is another consideration left aside by Jones' vision of iPad galleries. In conclusion, then, the print and installation come together to form the photograph's "body," its presence in space. It's fascinating to see how we can manipulate the body to our advantage as photographers through a knowledge of how decisions about the print and installation, even small details, can deeply impact their reception and, therefore, their meaning. This is the entire second part of photography, the part that comes after the making of the image, and it has as much to bea on meaning as the image itself. Jones, with his iPad gallery, would deny us the photographic body and by doing so, radically minimize the medium in the process.

Layer Drawing - Tokyo Sunrise © Nobuhiro Nakanishi
From http://www.kashyahildebrand.org/zurich/nakanishi/nakanishi_exhibition004.html

© Annette Messager
From http://theculturetrip.com/europe/france/articles/annette-messager-fragmented-bodies-divided-identities/
still and moving (I), photo installation, 1998 © Jurgita Remeikyte
From http://fototapeta.art.pl/2003/jrmge.php



© Erik Kessels
From http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-2061763/Artist-Erik-Kessels-places-1m-Flickr-images-single-room-Foam-gallery-Amsterdam.html

© Jan Smaga
From http://thepassengertimes.com/2012/05/11/c-jan-smaga/

12.04.2012

Reading Shortlist 12.4.12

© Charles W. Cushman, Albion, Ill., April 1941. From NPR Picture Show, Lost and Found: Discover a
Black and White Era in Full-Color

The Reading Shortlist is an occasional post with an eclectic listing of recommended readings and links. A recommendation does not necessarily suggest an agreement with the contents of the post. For previous shortlists, please visit the site links page.

On the shortlist:

Evan Spencer Brace, ALEC SOTH: An American Photographer. A short video with Soth on his process, the meaning of a portrait, and inspiration.

© Evan Spencer Brace, still from ALEC SOTH: An American Photographer

Ryan Linkof, Unframed, The Controversial Act of Taking Pictures of Children. This essay accompanied the Los Angeles County Museum of Art's show Young. It explores the cultural tensions around photographs of children, and exposes the attacks for what they are: a misunderstood conflation of sexuality and nudity, a double-standard for the role of images of children inside and outside of museums, and a potentially dangerous attempt to culturally promote and highlight the "purity" and "untouched innocence" of children by repressing images of them. The essay ultimately asks what - if anything - is wrong with viewing children as the objects of visual interest and visual pleasure?

Sean O'Hagan, The Guardian, Photography: an ever-evolving art form. O'Hagan manages a nod to a broad cross-section of pressing issues in the medium today in one tangled article that serves as a sort of "State of the Union" of photography.


Sean O'Hagan, The Guardian, William Klein: 'I was an outsider, following my instincts.' An engaging interview with Klein about his career that provides a good sense of his iconoclastic character.

Claire O'Neill, NPR Picture Show, Lost and Found: Discover a Black and White Era in Full-Color. Multi-media piece on the Charles W. Cushman Photographic Collection at Indiana University. Cushman was a talented amateur photographer working with color starting in the 1930s whose images were saved from the trash by a researcher at Indiana. Some of the images are fantastic.

© Jonathan Torgovnik, Clare and her daughter Elisabeth

Elīna Ruka, FK, Interview with Jonathan Torgovnik. Conversation on Intended Consequences and Torgovnik's Foundation Rwanda.

Thomas, BreakThru Radio, Art Uncovered - Flak Photo's Andy Adams. Extensive audio interview with FlakPhoto.com's Andy Adams on the background of his website, the short history of online photography and blogging, his personal history in photography, Web 2.0, and a short part about an image by a strapping young Midwestern photographer based in Colombia.

Nick Vossbrink, n j w v, Editing and Art. A meditation on the impact of editing - and who does the editing - on the meaning of a body of photographs. Make sure to follow the link at the top right of the article to link to Part II.

And non-photography recommended reading:

Jonah Lehrer, The New Yorker, Groupthink: The Brainstorming Myth. Brainstorming, the popular idea-generating strategy employed in schools and business since the 1940s, produces less ideas than individuals working in isolation. I'd like to host a group conversation in which we try to come up with ideas about why this might be together in a freewheeling, non-critical environment.

Nathaniel Rich, The New York Times, Can a Jellyfish Unlock the Secret of Immortality? We might not be as far away from living forever as we think, renewing my hope that one day I may actually catch up on keywording my images in Lightroom.