Irony?

Last week, I attended the annual dinner and slide show held by the Seattle chapter of the ASMP (Amer. Society of Media Photographers).  As I mingled, I noticed nicely printed cards with photography related quotes on them, scattered among the tables.

I wandered, picking up cards here and there, looking for one that I liked. I'm a sucker for a good quote.

I stopped looking after finding this quote:

If your pictures aren't good enough,

you're not close enough.

- Robert Capa

Capa, one of the founders of Magnum, died after stepping on a landmine.  The mine blew his left leg off and he suffered shrapnel wounds to the chest.  He was covering the First Indochina War/Anti-French Resistance War.  The year was 1954.

Hockney & Atget

Avenue des Gobelins, Bainbridge Island, Washington (2009)

I don't remember when I first saw David Hockney's giant photo collages that he constructed by standing still and moving the frame of the camera around and building a scene, visual block by visual block.  It was in the early to mid 1980s, when I was a teenager.  For some reason I think it was at the National Gallery in Washington, D.C.

The work struck me on a couple of levels.  First, Hockney proved to me that there were pictures within pictures within pictures.  Second, it transgressed "the rules" and yet was successful.  Third, it was playful.  While it was breaking the rules, it smiled in the process.  Lastly, there is a strong intellectual underpinning to the work.

Having only recently resumed looking at photography, I neglected it for the better part of the last two decades as I figured out what I am supposed to be doing on this planet, I was struck by how the relative absence of images that could be described as both playful and intelligent out there in Photoland.

Photographers in the fine arts today seem to be predominantly conjuring up images and projects to create a works that evoke pathos. Sure, the ability to transform someone's emotions through images are what artist's strive to accomplish. There are things that photographs do inherently well. With no effort, they create nostalgia, which is a close cousin to pathos.

Atget, Avenue de l'Observatoire (1926)

At some point, I want something more than pathos. That's where Eugene Atget (pronounced Ah-Chay) comes in. One of the foundational figures in photography, he died in 1927, he took pictures of what he liked to look at. He wasn't working on some grand commentary on why modernism is stripping the individual of his identity. He photographed what interested him. [I suspect that he would not fare well in today's art world, but that is an essay for another time.]  What interested him was the spectacle of life around him.  Sure, there is pathos, but the unmanufactured pathos of life.  But there is also humor, irony, sarcasm, and a whole host of other subjects that fell under his lens.  Here is a wonderful article written by Minor White, published in 1956, about Atget, made available through the George Eastman House. (Be patient.  It is a big PDF and takes a minute to download and is travelling all the way from 1956.)

3" x 3" Spoke Card

Found: 1957, person and location unknown.

"Get a good pair of walking shoes and…fall in love."

The Blue Pot Knows, Bainbridge Island, Washington.

When asked for his advice to young photographers, Magnum photographer Abbas responded "Get a good pair of walking shoes and…fall in love."  A couple of weeks ago, I had the opportunity to hang out with a young photographer, a 10 year old boy named Dylan. I did dispense some advice while we went on a photo-walk with his mom. Though I did not suggest that he fall in love, I did mention that appropriate footwear is always a good idea.

Last week, I walked over a 100 block of Manhattan at least 3 times, wandering from the Upper West Side all the way down to Chinatown and Wall Street.  Though I walk every day, being in New York gave me a little extra to keep walking and walking.  I brought two pairs of shoes, a pair of black leather cap toe shoes and my Patagonia Waterproof insulated boots that I live in from October through April.

The advice about getting a good pair of shoes is invaluable.  But why does he say "fall in love?"  I think that it is because love is best pursued on foot.  That way you get a good look at everything on the way to love.

A review of the review.

Last Tuesday, I attended a fine art portfolio review organized by the New York City chapter of the ASMP (American Society of Media Photographers), a trade group of which I am a member.  The review, held in the meeting space of Calumet Photo in Manhattan, brought together 40 gallery owners, curators, editors, and collectors to look at new work.  There were between 100 - 110 people in attendance.

I had the good fortune of expecting a friendly face:  Doug Ljunkvist.  Doug and I met late last year in a photographer's forum on Facebook, known as Flak Photo Network.  We had exchanged observations about various points of photography and we quickly discovered we had similar photographic sympathies.  The review provided us the opportunity to meet in person.  He was sharing his ongoing project involving Ocean Beach, NJ.

I arrived early and was able to secure my choice of reviewers.  For me, the value of this experience lies not in examining a single person's thread, but stepping back and looking at what all the strands look like, including the strands drawn by other photographers showing that night.

For example, I love that, of a particular image, one reviewer said: "I think this is a really powerful image," where another observed about the exact same image "A little heavy handed, don't you think?"

I enjoyed discovering those particular images that made the reviewers slow down, to discover those 4 or 5 images that hooked them.  I have never written poetry, but it I imagine it is like watching someone read a selection of your poems.  I enjoyed watching the reviewers read my pictures and knowing where their eyes were on an image.  And it is a particular pleasure to see someone smile when they look at my work.

While I waited in between reviews, I chatted with a wide range of photographers sharing their work.   I could make some pretty good guesses about who in the room thought they were the next big thing. Some hid their craving for approval better than others.  The majority seemed like decent enough people.  My one generalization: the room could have been divided between those presenting their vision and those seeking affirmation of their vision.

A couple of days later I went for a photo-walk with Doug and we talked about our respective photographic journeys over pizza in Brooklyn.

I will be attending another fine art portfolio review, next month in Houston.  More about that later.

The greatest photograph I never took.

It was in the middle of a vibrant street market in one of the squares in Marseilles.

It was of a group of Muslim women, crowded and pressing up against each other, pawing around a 8' x 8' table filled with colorful assortment of undergarments, ranging from push-up bras to strapless numbers, as well as the great diversity of panties from small to smaller, and to smallest.  The banter was highly animated and full of laughter, with women helping other women find that special something, even holding up bras to model.

The light was perfect.  The colors, spectacular.  I could have taken 2 shots without breaking stride.  I knew I could.

If I lifted my camera, it could have become an extremely unpleasant scene very quickly.

So, as I walked by, I lifted the camera to my eye in my imagination alone.  I know my camera like the back of my hand, so I know what would have been where in the frame at the precise moment I would have fired the shutter.  I saw my focus point.

They are beautiful photographs.  I think I like the first one better than the second.  Perhaps, one day, though some as-yet-unknown scientific process, we will be able to create the pictures that live in our memory.  When that day comes, I promise to post it here.  

There is no reason.

2012 Snow Diptych, Bainbridge Island, Washington.

Q: Why did you take that picture?

A: For no other reason than I wanted to.  It was an impulse to make a photograph.

Q: But what are you trying to say?

A: Why do I have to be saying anything?

If you like this photo. . .

The first snow, Bainbridge Island, Washignton.

One of the things that I think is funny is there is a great need for photographers, and artists in general, to be held out as singular visionaries, whose genius springs forth from their brains, as complete as Zeus' children.  

The fact of the matter is that any photographer who is worth anything has in his or her brain millions of images that have come before.  And that is just talking about photographs. No more than our bodies, to a greater or lesser extent, reflect what you feed them, how we photograph is a reflection of what we choose to look at.

People often ask me how one learns photography.  I think it was Walker Evans who admonished his students to really look, to stare.  I would add to that, look at good photography.

I tend to like "old school" photographers.  One of the greatest was Harry Callahan.  [Wikipedia will be offline on Jan. 18, 2012 to protest SOPA.] The photograph on the right is one of many Callahan took of his wife, Eleanor. If you interested, here is a link to an interview of Harry Callahan from early 1980s.  He's as unpretentious a photographer as you will find.

It seems a little unfashionable in certain photography circles to talk about who your inspirations are.  I have no problem telling you that Harry Callahan is one of my artistic heroes.  

Winter light.

Small reflection.

When I am in between jobs I walk around with my camera and take photos of whatever interests me.  I like to think of if as taking batting practice, but where I get to keep the triples and home runs.  I got some nice hits today.

Looks like a crime scene to me. (Part IV)

Phil, Bainbridge Island, Washington.

I live on an island that lies a 35 minute ferry boat ride from Seattle.  In the early 1900s, Bainbridge Island was the center of shipbuilding on the West Coast, on account of the quality and quantity of timber.  Bainbridge is nearly the exact dimensions of Manhattan.  The entire island was clear-cut more than 100 years ago.

Where trees were not replaced, farms were born.  If you have read Snow Falling on Cedars, by David Guterson, you have read of the fictionalized life of Bainbridge Island.  It is a place where Japanese farmers settled in the early part of the 20th century to farm strawberries.

Farms live and die.  There are efforts underway to bring several back to life.  Some, though, are being reclaimed by the land.  This is a photograph of just such a place.

Joining the great stream of images.

In this post-modern world, the real smarties go around saying that are no original thoughts.  The annoying thing about these post-modernists is that if they knew Ecclesiastes, they would have realized that their important insight about unoriginality is, in fact, a very unoriginal thought.


This is a rather round about way of introducing you to a new addition to my website, called Projects.  I create a tremendous amount of images, not simply as commercial work, but from my own need to photograph.  For the last three years, I have probably averaged 35k images per year.  (I raised the question of "how many photos do you take a year" once in a photography forum.  A lot of people had some very strong opinions about the value of working one way or another, which I found odd, as if there were some correct way to produce a photograph. I was just curious how many photos other photographers took, as I don't hang out with photographers, except virtually.)

In fulfilling my own need to photograph, patterns and themes and objects naturally arise.  There isn't anything I am not interested in photographing.  Under the new heading of Projects, I will be presenting different collections of images.  Some with be quite linear, like the first entry: Chairs.  Others will not be.

If you want a trip down back in time to 1950s America and want to see another photographer (some punk named Robert Frank) who liked chairs, visit this issue of Life Magazine.

What we don't see.

One of the aspects of photography that I enjoy is the silent collaboration I have with every person that looks at my photographs.  As a photographer, I can only hope my images find people who are in the mood to look.

I took this photo last September on Waikiki Beach on the island of Oahu, Hawaii.

I was struck immediately by the way this man walked out of the  water.  He strode.  There are certain men whose movements are marked by having served in the military.  This man was one of them.

His friend is enjoying a dip in the warm and blue waters of Waikiki.  They have been life long friends.  They like to travel.  His friend loves to swim.

"It's his favorite thing," the man told me.

Walking around Bremerton with Walker Evans and William Eggleston.

When I am between assignments, I wander with my camera.

I took these 5 photographs this afternoon in Bremerton, Washington.  They are of the environment around a discount shopping mall.  It has a Value Village, a second-hand store based in the Pacific Northwest.  The old Dollar Store is now vacant.  Another huge retail space, former home of Stupid Prices, sits empty.  A Grocery Outlet thrives.

When I get tired of looking at depressing urban environments, I look at trees.  When I get tired of looking at trees, I look at people.  When I get tired of people, I look at water.  I never get tired of looking.  That was one of the things I found so re-assuring when I discovered Walker Evans and William Eggleston: neither man seems/ed to get tired of looking at the world.

Looks like a crime scene to me.

I began posting a series under this title several weeks ago on my Facebook page.  I will repost the earlier entries later this week.

I took this photograph in the woods behind a public housing project that was in the process of being demolished.  Apparently, whoever was trying to steal this fridge gave up.    I think that this would be a wonderful opening scene for a movie.

Chill, Bremerton, Washington.

I like the force/power/impact that a displaced object can have on a viewer.  Duchamp and Oldenburg rely on it in their respective works.

What's for dinner?

Over the next year, I will be collaborating with Brendan McGill, chef at the highly acclaimed Hitchcock Restaurant & Deli, to bring you photographs of the regional farmers, ranchers, and purveyors that he relies on to bring his menu to life. McGill is one of the new generation of American chefs who have taken upon themselves to challenge the depersonalized factory farming that dominates dinner tables throughout America.

Hitchcock and Hitchcock Deli are located on Bainbridge Island, a short ferry ride away from Seattle. The lovely (and local) beast featured here is a Highland cattle, a breed developed in Scotland and now dispersed throughout the world.

A rotating exhibition of images will be on view at Hitchcock Deli, beginning in mid-February.   Currently, photographs of the woods, forests, and streams of Bainbridge Island are on display.

A new direction.

With this posting, I am taking the blog in a new direction.   When I started this blog several years ago, my father suggested I write a little something about my photographs.  He wanted more of a story than just the image and a title.

Like many things my father has suggested, it has taken me a couple of years to see the wisdom in what he was saying.  One of the goals of my photography is to invite the viewer to see the world in a different way.  Writing about my work is a part of that process.

When my wife gave me a digital camera in the fall of 2008, I had no idea how much it would change the direction of my life.  Today, I find myself preparing to venture out into the larger world of photography.  I am nervous and excited and I look forward to sharing the adventure with you.

Cheers.

New incarnation ahead.

The next evolution of my blog is coming. 

Why don't you come over and see my newly relaunched website: www.jaytrinidad.com

I am a stranger in a strange land.

Canopy

Hale'iwa, Hawai'i

Three Variations on a Theme: Sunset

Sunset at Sunset, O'ahu, Hawai'i

Chair at sunset on Waikiki, O'ahu, Hawai'i

Big Toot off of Waikiki, O'ahu, Hawai'i

Keeping it real with the people.

Yet another installment in my quest to document the life of the orange cone in the early twenty-first century, Bainbridge Island, Washington.

She thinks this is a splendid little island, Bainbridge Island, Washington.

She's a grand old flag, Harpswell, Maine.

She trusts me about as far as she can throw me, Bath, Maine.

Lucas dreams in summer.

Lisa Anne II, Newburyport, Massachusetts.

I knew that if I didn't stop, this was going to happen eventually.

Nice Horse, Nice, France

Still Life with Orange Cone.

Bainbridge Island, Washington.

Grey Poupon is for losers.

Bainbridge Island, Washington.

Recently Updated

www.jaytrinidad.com

Dog is my co-pilot.

Anarchy in the forest.

Even construction workers on Bainbridge Island do yoga.

Big Mexican Guns

Bainbridge Island, Washington.

Flowerboy

Seattle, Washington.

New Sculptural Work

220' Timber Wall, permanent installation, May 2011, Bainbridge Island, Washington.

And now for something completely different.

Bainbridge Island, Washington.

Remember, they did not die so you could have a 3-day weekend.

Bremerton, Washington.

What happens in Florence stays in Florence.

Florence, Italy.

Sometimes I think I am nothing more than a monkey who takes pictures of other monkeys.

Seattle, Washington.

Morning Practice

Stanford Women's Rowing, Palo Alto, California, April 12, 2011.

Moments later he jumped out and attacked the woman on the right with his broadsword.

Florence, Italy.

2011 Chilly Hilly, Bainbridge Island, Washington

2011 Chilly Hilly, Bainbridge Island, Washington, photographs taken from the back of a motorcycle.

Click on for HQ video.

Today

E. Fudd