Plane of Focus
-
Where To Put the Generator? Adam Frelin’s “White Line”.
Nothing punches you in the gut with artificiality quite as profoundly as the white glare of a lone gas station at a desolate highway exit. 24/7 convenience in the most remote of locations, these fluorescent wonders stand as way-stations to consumerism, a reassurance that no matter where our pilgrimage may take us our souls will always be nourished by fountain sodas and Pringles.
Adam Frelin has made two iterations of his “White Line”, one in Tokyo in 2007 and one in the middle of nowhere (Wyoming, rather) in 2005. The 2005 version in Wyoming, in particular, captures my imagination. Nature is predominantly the realm of hard points of light — the sun and the moon are defined points of light. Part of the oppressiveness of gas stations, or really most urban environments, comes from the omnipresence of the light. You can’t hide from it. (Which is the point, probably: to deter crime). But, just like so much of our consumerism, we’ve grown so used to its oppressive omnipresence that we actually do find solace and comfort in the glowing light and reliable repetitiveness of the experience.
And so “White Line” comes at us like a tear in the night, a sky torn asunder, with such contrast against its setting that it demands our attention. But, in aggregate, this incredibly hard beam of light actually creates a comfortable, soft, diffused bath of light, almost shadowless. By setting all of this on a quiet hill in Wyoming Frelin has summed up so much about the world we’ve created for ourselves: even in a dark and remote wilderness, one of the basic building blocks of modern life — the fluorescent bulb — manages to provide us with a modicum of solace, even when the more rational reaction might be to take offense at the urban intrusion in a natural space.
(Source: ilikethisart.net)
-
Walker Pickering’s “Nearly West” Explores Where South Meets West in Texas
Kudzu from Walker Pickering’s Nearly West, 2010Walker Pickering’s Nearly West hovers somewhere amongst Robert Frank, Walker Evans, and Stephen Shore. He seems to be channeling several eras of Shore all at once: the tight, sharp interiors feel like they could be in American Surfaces and the carefully composed exteriors could be right out of Uncommon Places.
Bulb from Walker Pickering’s Nearly West, 2011
Pickering uses Frank’s repeated symbols, with vintage cars and worn out store fronts showing up throughout the series just as Frank honed in on jukeboxes and the flag. The road trip is there, too, but full of places that feel empty and without a human presence.
Meal from Walker Pickering’s Nearly West, 2009
Pickering seems to be following Evans in a geographic and aesthetic sense. Many of the images feel like he’s revisited the same places as Evans, to give us an update, or to show us that there’s no need for an update, everything is still the same. Nothing seems new or even young in Pickering’s images. They almost seem like static monuments to themselves, a testament to a past that has been fading away since before it was built.
(Source: fototazo.com)
-
Emil Kozak: “Its basically walking until I get scared, or can’t go any further…take the photo and go back…”
46°52’31.2038”N 9°52’28.331”E from his series “Big Black Nothing”Emil Kozak has an awesome design studio (and blog for that matter), but I recently discovered his wonderfully creative photography. This guy has an eye for awesome, I’m telling you.
41°26’33.0479”N 2°8’26.1067”E from the series “Big Black Nothing”With “Big Black Nothing” Kozak says he’s exploring boundaries by following one simple rule: walk until you get scared, then take a photo of that point. I love this series, partly because it totally captures the vibe of walking around alone at night. Areas that seem safe by day — and are almost surely safe by night — become terrifying as soon as you’ve heard one too many strange noises. Or, really, for me, as soon as my mind has had enough time to run through the terrifying possibilities that the night contains. That’s when it is time to turn around.
38°49’50.1085”N 0°8’54.7465”E from the series “Big Black Nothing”I’d like to see the map of the boundaries Kozak is exploring, with little fingers for each path he has taken out into the darkness before turning around. Or perhaps the boundaries are purely psychological as Kozak tests his own limits of comfort.
(Source: booooooom.com)
-
Figures, Movement, and Transitions in Chen Jiagang’s “Smog City”
“Dazed, Confused (Chongqing) （重庆)”Three things immediately struck me about Chen Jiagang’s “Smog City”.
- The images are formally stunning. The compositions are impeccable, with a great sense of depth and space.
- The use of figures not only provides a great sense of scale and space, but…
- The blurriness of the figures (which I imagine is an intended consequence of long exposures) takes the images into a whole new realm of meaning for me.
“Chemcial Plant in Changshou （长寿)”The blurriness of the figures does several things for me. It makes them seem all the more fragile — people are the delicate inhabitants in these landscapes full of hard edges and decaying infrastructure. In “Dazed, Confused” up above the blurriness reiterates the uneasiness of the title: the figures seem to want to leave the image but are nonetheless anchored there, unable to escape.
“On The Other Side Of The Water (Chongqing) （重庆)”More than anything else, though, I read the blurriness as a passage of time, as if even within these monumental landscapes everything is actually in a period of transition. People are come and going. Infrastructure is being torn down and rebuilt. It’s as if, somewhere in the haziness that permeates the images, the past and future are in conflict and everyone is unsure to react until there is a clear winner.
“Smog City” is but one of many great series of work from Chen Jiagang. I recommend exploring them all.
http://www.chenjiagang.com/enindex.aspx
(Source: 500photographers.blogspot.com)
-
Paul Yem’s Night Photography in a “Surrogate World”
All images (c) Paul Yem, from his series Surrogate World
By now you’ve all probably gathered that I have a thing for night photography. Lately I’ve been intrigued by the idea of “magical images”, the power within an image to surpass the sum of its pieces, and for whatever reason I find photos taken at night especially magical.
Maybe it is the elongation of time in long exposures, as with smoke and water in the image above. Maybe it is the mysteries that reach out from the negative space of a dark sky, I’m not sure.
My guess is that there are lot of implications we are able to read from photos like this: lights left on imply a presence, blurriness implies a passage of time, a light in the sky tells us something is just over the horizon, but what?
I really like Yem’s work here. Of late I’ve realized that good work raises as many questions as it answers, if not more, and Surrogate World definitely fits that bill.Yem ends this series with a poem:
It’s impossible to find
All you can see is black
You sit and stare
You inhale and exhale
Your mind is as far as the horizon
And as your eyes adjust
The light beyond begins to take over
It reveals the foreground
As your thoughts fade into the background
You have escaped into the land
And what you’re left with
Is a photograph
Yem’s site has another great series, The Modern World, that is also definitely worth checking out.(Source: jmcolberg.com)
-
Franklin Street at Jackson Boulevard, Chicago, 2011
(I think I’m going to shoot a ton of these this year, these strict one thirds things.)
-
Phil Underdown’s Grassland: A Myopic (In a Good Way) Series
“Grassland #037”I’ve been fascinated lately (always?) by typologies and the nuances of repetition. You can get all Becher and photograph similar subjects all over, you can photograph the same thing over a period of time like Nixon, or as Phil Underdown has done here, you can photograph the hell out of a deliberately small area in his series Grassland.
Which I think is pretty awesome, and something I may pursue in the near future myself. Underdown’s narrow, critical focus on this one field raises it up as something to be examined at length and with great detail. What we’re left with is not a series of landscapes but a portrait of place that has repercussions going both back and forward in time. The images ask us, “What used to be here? Why isn’t it here any more? Left untended could the field ever completely revert to it’s “original” state?”
“Grassland #466”The grassland in question is being torn up in an effort to speed this process along. Underdown recently shot some new work (which he kindly shared with me via email) that will form a follow up to his original Grassland book from 2010 that has already sold out.
Here are two new images:
All images (c) Phil Underdown
(Source: flak-photo.my-expressions.com)
-
“The elemental forces and processes that underlie and shape the planet.”
“St. Michael’s Mount, Cornwall. 25 and 26 June 2009. Low water 1.15pm, high water 8am”, from the “South-West” section of Michael Marten’s series Sea Change“Recent landscape photography has often focused on human shaping and reshaping of the environoment: agriculture, urbanisation, globalisation, pollution,” Marten writes, “Even when critical and committed, this approach can emphasise — even glamorise — humanity’s power over nature. I’m concerned to rediscover nature’s own powers: the elemental forces and processes that underlie and shape the planet.”
“Worms Head, Glamorgan. 25 June 2005. High water 9.45am, low water 4pm”, from the “South-West” section of Michael Marten’s series Sea ChangeI know exactly what Marten means. In my own work I’ve been struggling with the opposite: how to glamorize the taming of nature by focusing on the assertion of the cityscape into the landscape. This is part of why I’m so terribly intrigued by Marten’s work. Instead of vacuous but beautiful images of a clichéd topic like the American southwest, Marten presents with images of nature untamed. Because of something as magnificent (yet quotidian) as the moon moving oceans, our cities must know limits.
“Bedruthan Steps, Cornwall. 25 and 31 August 2007. High water 4.30pm, low water 2pm”, from the “South-West” section of Michael Marten’s series Sea ChangeIn terms of the photographs themselves, I love how Marten plays so dramatically with perspective. “Perranporth, Cornwall, 28 and 29 August 2007. High water 6pm, low water 11.20am” demonstrates this best, with what feels almost like a portrait at high water contrasted against tiny figures in a sweeping landscape at low.
You can read more about Marten’s thoughts on the work over at Camera Obscura.
If you’re lucky enough to live in London you can see an exhibition of the images at Gallery@OXO this fall, from September 25 through October 1. If you’re not lucky enough to live in London, Marten will be releasing a book of the work this fall as well, so keep an eye out!
(Source: lensculture.com)
-
Robert Schlaug’s “Limited Area” Series of Landscapes
(c) Robert Schlaug, from his series Limited AreaAll photographers impose their will on the landscapes they photograph. There can be a variety of goals — Ansel Adams famously tried to capture the scenes as he saw them, contemporary photographer Laura Plageman rips, folds, and tears her images until they come closer to how the scene originally felt to her.
(c) Robert Schlaug, from his series Limited AreaGerman photographer Robert Schlaug has taken a different approach, taking individual lines of pixels and extending them to the edges of the frame. Visually, to me, these extensions usually read as either foreground or background. But Schlaug also uses them to play with our sense of perspective entirely, which kind of hurts my brain — but usually in a good way.
(c) Robert Schlaug, from his series Limited AreaI really like the series, but the images that work best for me are probably the landscapes (although you look at the series in full there are also some streets-that-become-walls that I also like). It is a fun, visually interesting idea.
(I also just want to say that, while the ideas are different, Schlaug totally beat Gerhard Richter’s “Strip” series by at least a year to a visually similar idea. So go Robert.)
(Source: newlandscapephotography.com)
-
from Aubrey Hays wonderful series Between Dog and WolfI’m really enjoying Aubrey Hays playful explorations of how we interact with the landscapes around us, be they rural nowheres, deserts, arctic tundra, or urban spaces.
You should totally follow her on tumblr.
(Source: newlandscapephotography.com)
-
Kyle Ford Documents the “Forever Wild” land of northern New York
“The Hurricane” from Kyle Ford’s ongoing series Forever Wild“In the 1890’s a boundary of 6.1 million acres in northern New York, known as the ‘blue line,’ was placed under constitutional protection forming the largest park in the continental US. Since then, public land in this place has been governmentally sanctioned as ‘forever wild.’ “
“St. Gabriel’s”I’m really enjoying Kyle Ford’s on going series of images taken in northern New York. They remind me of some of our explorations around Hoosier National Forest in southern Indiana: while the majority of the land is designated as wilderness, the land is clearly inhabited by people and small towns. The land, though, is more assertive in these protected ares than elsewhere in New York (or Indiana).
“The Flood”Ford does a great job of documenting this wilderness and the people living within it. There seems to be some kind of unspoken but agreed upon balance: towns can exist, people can live in the middle of nowhere, but the land remains the dominant force and to live in it you must play by its rules. Ford captures not only the beauty of this but also its tenuousness.
(Source: flak-photo.my-expressions.com)
-
Maria Sturm’s Country Roads: Youth + Powerful Gazes + Mountain Vistas = Powerful Optimism
(c) Maria Sturm, from her series Country Roads (statement here)As I get farther into the second half of my 20-something years I can’t decide if I am getting more optimistic, less optimistic, or carrying-on about the same. Maria Sturm’s diptychs here from her series Country Roads, of Georgian youth paired with Georgian landscapes, makes me probably think I’m as optimistic as ever, because the power of these images just about bowled me over.
(c) Maria SturmSo maybe that means that I am full of naive youthful optimism or something? Who knows. But I love these photos. They make me want to climb mountains and conquer the world.
(c) Maria Sturm(Source: lpvmagazine.com)
-
An Interview with photographer Laura Plageman
I’m thrilled to be posting my first interview with a photographer today, with photographer Laura Plageman regarding her recent project, Response. Doubly so because the series is probably my favorite of the year. A huge thanks is due to Laura herself, who so graciously took the time to respond to my questions.
In my own work I’ve been exploring the artificiality of landscapes, of how impossible it is to find an area that man has not changed. Conceptually Laura is light years beyond me, to the point where her images question, I think, the photographer’s potential to impact not just how we, the audience, is viewing the landscape but perhaps even the landscape itself. There are layers and layers to the work, and I think Laura is succeeding on all of them.
“Response to Print of Trees and Fog, California, 2011.” (c) Laura PlagemanBut we’re not here to listen to me blather! Without further delay, here is the interview:
ZD: When you were out shooting the images for the Response series did you already know what you might do to alter them, or did you treat those two steps of the project as distinctly separate: first you shot the images and then after printing them you “responded” to them?
LP: When I first started this series I was responding to images that I’d already shot and printed. The first “response” happened in my studio one day, born somewhere between curiosity and frustration. I was looking at a large print on my wall that for one reason or another, felt like a near miss. It was a bit depressing - my memory of that place, of taking that picture and of what attracted me to that landscape, was falling flat. There were details I wanted to remove and dimension that I wanted to highlight. So I took the print off the wall and started playing around with it as a still life and altering picture elements in front of my camera. It was liberating and fun (especially the crumpling and ripping part)! I was excited to be transforming this print into something that felt more alive to me but that still retained the essence of the original scene.
As I continue working with this series, I both turn to my archive of past images to see if there’s anything I might like to try printing and responding to, but I also continue to shoot new images. It’s nice to be able to return to things that I wrote off at one point or another and find a new use for them. When I’m out shooting new images, the thought does enter my mind to shoot some things in order to “respond” to them, but mostly it still stands that I go out looking for landscapes that interest me - that I want to hold on to and examine more closely.
“Response to Print of Shrub with Doves, Florida, 2006.” (c) Laura PlagemanZD: Were there any rules you set for yourself at the outset? Manipulations that you would or would not allow, for example? And, if so, did you find yourself tempted to violate the rules, or did you end up breaking any?LP: I’m not really executing a set of steps or following rules, but in general there are two guidelines I follow: First, the original image has to be interesting to me - I have to be attracted to it. Often I see things in a picture that I would like to change or enhance, but the overall image has to be intriguing and strong. I love finding things in pictures that I wasn’t aware of when shooting - hidden details or formal qualities that appear. Sometimes I’ll respond to a print by highlighting some of these details. Second, the response has to transcend the original image and create new points of interest - becoming a strong image in its own right.
I am discovering what works for me and what doesn’t as I continue to experiment. I’m not a stickler for rules.
“Response to Print of Green Hill, Washington, 2010.” (c) Laura PlagemanZD: You claim “the resulting pictures are documents of actual events and are as authentic as the original representational images contained within”. I’m not disagreeing, exactly, but I am quite curious as to where you would draw that line. What might you have done to one of the original images to make the response an inauthentic representation of the original image?LP: What I was thinking about was that both the original photograph and the response photograph are captured indexes of real events. For example, one is an image of a landscape, and the other is an image of a crumpled print. In both cases, there is a physical relationship between the object photographed and the resulting image.
Many viewers assume the responses are digitally manipulated versions of the original image - so the idea enters their minds that these are “fake.” I’m thinking about authentic as “based on fact,” which they are. They are accurate visual representations of their subject. In this way, I’m trying to highlight the idea of a photograph as being an object.
“Response to Print of Kudzu, Texas, 2010.” (c) Laura PlagemanZD: Errol Morris just published a book about truth in photography, Believing is Seeing. He argues “photographs are neither true nor false. (they have no truth value.)”. Truth value or no, I am curious if you would you describe the images as honest, or, more particularly, would you describe them as honest landscapes?LP: The Response series images are more true for me than some of their first generation counterparts. What I remember of a place I photograph is what draws me to it - the feeling of plants interacting or taking over a space, for example. Sometimes the resulting photograph doesn’t go far enough in expressing what I’d like it to based on my impression of that place. So altering the image and rephotographing it helps me to get closer to its true nature, as I experience it. These works are sincere expressions; they are honest. I’m not trying to deceive. I leave clues to my process in the image - there are rips and tears and folds, places where the ink is rubbing off of the paper.
That said, it’s true that they are completely subjective and I believe that’s what Morris is getting at (although I haven’t read the book yet). Because I use the camera to frame my subject, to distort and highlight certain areas with my lens and camera movements, there’s no denying that this truth is personal. I prefer to think of the Response series in terms of this quote from Pablo Picasso - “Art is a lie that makes us realize truth.”
Response #2 to Print of Thicket, 2006.” (c) Laura PlagemanIf you aren’t stuck in Chicago like me, you can have the pleasure of seeing Laura’s work in person right now in Oakland, California at the Wendy Daniel Studio (press release here) until January 31st or in New York City in January at Jen Bekman Gallery. The show at Jen Bekman opens on January 6th. You’ll soon be able to buy some of Laura’s work from 20x200, so keep an eye out there.
-
Brian Kaplan is Not On Your Vacation
“Searching For Lost Wedding Ring”Brian Kaplan, with his series I’m Not On Your Vacation, invites us to look at Cape Cod in the off season: to experience the banal, the routine, the unmagicalness of being a denizen there year round.
“Bill’s Bedroom”Well, I, for one, think it looks all the more wonderful for it. There’s something about monotony and emptiness and starkness that will always win out over the disingenuousness of tourist trap restaurants and hotels and shops. My wife, brother-in-law, and I visited Nantucket last March and the island felt as if it were us, empty houses, and the ocean. I can’t imagine any better time to be there.
“Natalia”Kaplan captures all this quite wonderfully: the interiors are lived in, not visited; the people work, not pay for trivialities; and even the beaches seem more functional (or antagonistic) than inviting.
(Source: newlandscapephotography.com)
loading…
