Friday, 28 December 2012
Monday, 24 December 2012
Thursday, 20 December 2012
Wednesday, 19 December 2012
Sunday, 16 December 2012
Tuesday, 11 December 2012
Saturday, 8 December 2012
Delete, Deleted, Deleted.
Heavy handed on the shutter release I have always taken far too many pointless images. In addition I have generally taken too many superfluous images. As a result most of my time is spent deleting image files.
At the post-production stage, which is carried out in my own spectacularly inept and bungling fashion, I am forced to perform even more, yes, you've guessed it already haven't you ? Even more deletions.
The process is analogous to carving. Removing excess material to reveal a significant form within.
The phrase "whittle down" springs to mind at this point.
What we really need is a box with the following words written on it: " Magic box for initiating a process similar to painting but which isn't painting but neither is it photography, per-se."
But, as someone once nearly said, "An image is an image is an image." So in the end it is just a working process.
Another thing that pisses me off is the fact that Keith Arnett has been in the back of my mind for the last 30 odd years. Black and white photographs first seen in art magazines and later on the white walls of a gallery somewhere.
Memory is a strange thing. It is like being haunted by ghosts. I am glad that one doesn't inherit memories, merely traits and talents and a sort of physical alikeness. Good art should also haunt us, hovering over our shoulder, usually until lunchtime, when you get so irritated that you are driven to rethink your current work.
At the post-production stage, which is carried out in my own spectacularly inept and bungling fashion, I am forced to perform even more, yes, you've guessed it already haven't you ? Even more deletions.
The process is analogous to carving. Removing excess material to reveal a significant form within.
The phrase "whittle down" springs to mind at this point.
What we really need is a box with the following words written on it: " Magic box for initiating a process similar to painting but which isn't painting but neither is it photography, per-se."
But, as someone once nearly said, "An image is an image is an image." So in the end it is just a working process.
Another thing that pisses me off is the fact that Keith Arnett has been in the back of my mind for the last 30 odd years. Black and white photographs first seen in art magazines and later on the white walls of a gallery somewhere.
Memory is a strange thing. It is like being haunted by ghosts. I am glad that one doesn't inherit memories, merely traits and talents and a sort of physical alikeness. Good art should also haunt us, hovering over our shoulder, usually until lunchtime, when you get so irritated that you are driven to rethink your current work.
K.I.A.D Days
Canterbury School of Art, as I believe it was called before merging with Maidstone and Rochester, was a pretty interesting place to be.
In 1994 I had been accepted onto the M.A Graphic Fine Art course and it felt good being back in an art school.
The boss of Fine Art was David Haste, who wore black shirts and chinos to denote the seriousness of his purpose. Richard Davies, a highly talented printmaker, utterly superb in my opinion, was boss of Graphic Fine Art. He wore bright red polo shirts with the collars turned up. Sometimes two. There was also a fit, trim, healthy looking guy called Pierre laPierre, who knew all about movies and narrative structure.He used to wear pale blue machine washed jeans and I believe, denim shirts.
David Haste used to be holed up in his office in the more oil painty part of the building. He was rarely seen.
Richard and Pierre used to cluster in Richard's office next to our studios. The next guy to arrive was Pete Nevin, we could tell he was cool because he wore a round hat similar to the one worn by the Professor in the Rupert stories of my childhood.
These three gentlemen would natter with us students for ten minutes or so, mostly about what we were up to, but sometimes about the football or the cultural significance of Bruce Lee or Chris Marker, sometimes all at once.
Once this task was over they retired to Richard's office. Gales of laughter would then frequently erupt, sometimes bordering on hysteria. This aural evidence of jocularity, goodwill and cheerfulness used to continue until lunchtime. And then I think they went to the college bar, or if they really wanted to be left alone, to the pub round the corner.
After lunch there would be even more laughter gusting from the office. Those guys knew how to enjoy life.
I would like to report that my cohort on the Graphic Fine Art course back in 1994, were a bohemian, hard drinking bunch of drug taking, sexually depraved, antisocial do-badders intent on mayhem, destruction and the downfall of society, followed by a fiery death. Unfortunately this would be an untruth.
In 1994 I had been accepted onto the M.A Graphic Fine Art course and it felt good being back in an art school.
The boss of Fine Art was David Haste, who wore black shirts and chinos to denote the seriousness of his purpose. Richard Davies, a highly talented printmaker, utterly superb in my opinion, was boss of Graphic Fine Art. He wore bright red polo shirts with the collars turned up. Sometimes two. There was also a fit, trim, healthy looking guy called Pierre laPierre, who knew all about movies and narrative structure.He used to wear pale blue machine washed jeans and I believe, denim shirts.
David Haste used to be holed up in his office in the more oil painty part of the building. He was rarely seen.
Richard and Pierre used to cluster in Richard's office next to our studios. The next guy to arrive was Pete Nevin, we could tell he was cool because he wore a round hat similar to the one worn by the Professor in the Rupert stories of my childhood.
These three gentlemen would natter with us students for ten minutes or so, mostly about what we were up to, but sometimes about the football or the cultural significance of Bruce Lee or Chris Marker, sometimes all at once.
Once this task was over they retired to Richard's office. Gales of laughter would then frequently erupt, sometimes bordering on hysteria. This aural evidence of jocularity, goodwill and cheerfulness used to continue until lunchtime. And then I think they went to the college bar, or if they really wanted to be left alone, to the pub round the corner.
After lunch there would be even more laughter gusting from the office. Those guys knew how to enjoy life.
I would like to report that my cohort on the Graphic Fine Art course back in 1994, were a bohemian, hard drinking bunch of drug taking, sexually depraved, antisocial do-badders intent on mayhem, destruction and the downfall of society, followed by a fiery death. Unfortunately this would be an untruth.
Tuesday, 27 November 2012
Trip
Last Friday saw myself and a colleague as well as our two classes, venture into the city for a writing assignment. Photography was considered an important part of the note taking, remembering and ordering process.
We hung out in a variety of places, commercial and historic, and in the case of King's College Chapel, both. Those guys must earn a fortune from the punters.
Masks were produced and I am obliged to the students and my colleague for donning them so quickly and imaginatively in a variety of venues. The fact that I am an average picture taker is more than revealed but it was a useful day and being able to shoot people in vernacular settings whilst looking somewhat gruesome was a lot of fun.
My kids were also more than willing a day or so later so we got in some exterior shots. Still want to take a whole bunch in a supermarket or in one of the friendlier museums.
I am working on some ideas for masks that are printed versions of the wearer's own face and I have an idea I may shoot in the Geology or Sociology museums. The idea is to photocopy a face and paste it onto a large paper bag, which will then go over a head. The slight oddness of the mask might, I hope, complement the oddness of the exhibits. We will see.
We hung out in a variety of places, commercial and historic, and in the case of King's College Chapel, both. Those guys must earn a fortune from the punters.
Masks were produced and I am obliged to the students and my colleague for donning them so quickly and imaginatively in a variety of venues. The fact that I am an average picture taker is more than revealed but it was a useful day and being able to shoot people in vernacular settings whilst looking somewhat gruesome was a lot of fun.
My kids were also more than willing a day or so later so we got in some exterior shots. Still want to take a whole bunch in a supermarket or in one of the friendlier museums.
I am working on some ideas for masks that are printed versions of the wearer's own face and I have an idea I may shoot in the Geology or Sociology museums. The idea is to photocopy a face and paste it onto a large paper bag, which will then go over a head. The slight oddness of the mask might, I hope, complement the oddness of the exhibits. We will see.
Thursday, 22 November 2012
Wednesday, 21 November 2012
Saturday, 17 November 2012
Wednesday, 14 November 2012
I have got the old Meatyard Blues.
I now officially harbour doubts about the person who reminded me of good old Meatyard.
Where I was happily squeezing the kids' heads into masks and having fun, I now have the dead weight of a specific strand of art history resting heavily on my shoulders.
How carefree I used to be and how compliant the models. For a bribe of Fruit Shoots, chips and a Mars Bar my kids stand reasonably still, in public , wearing a scary mask.
Now of course, Mr Meatyard's imagery stares at me from my mental monitor and I suppose I am going to have to steal from him in order to carry on with the project.
To be fair, I have no crumbling mansions on hand to use as a backdrop, or that peculiar American street look in which to position my characters. And I am not using black and white.
I do have, however, creepy suburban village parks, and the mist slowly filling the local tennis court at the fall of dusk. It is time to get out the notebook and generate some locations, collect up the sticky drinks and confectionery and drag the offspring away to their child labour.
Where I was happily squeezing the kids' heads into masks and having fun, I now have the dead weight of a specific strand of art history resting heavily on my shoulders.
How carefree I used to be and how compliant the models. For a bribe of Fruit Shoots, chips and a Mars Bar my kids stand reasonably still, in public , wearing a scary mask.
Now of course, Mr Meatyard's imagery stares at me from my mental monitor and I suppose I am going to have to steal from him in order to carry on with the project.
To be fair, I have no crumbling mansions on hand to use as a backdrop, or that peculiar American street look in which to position my characters. And I am not using black and white.
I do have, however, creepy suburban village parks, and the mist slowly filling the local tennis court at the fall of dusk. It is time to get out the notebook and generate some locations, collect up the sticky drinks and confectionery and drag the offspring away to their child labour.
Tuesday, 13 November 2012
Monday, 12 November 2012
Monday, 5 November 2012
Thursday, 1 November 2012
Tuesday, 30 October 2012
Masks.
The season of mellow fruitfulness is upon us with some serious rain and cold, clouds so grey you could be stuck in a piece of Tuppaware.
Shopping for masks for the Halloween period. I like the tawdry aspect of it all. Off to get more junk today, the cheaper the mask the better.
Recently I was reminded about Eugene Meatyard. His real name was not Meatyard. It was probably Richards. One day I may even check. He worked as an optometrist. Any way it is all tied up with the Meatyard thing. I do not know his work intimately.
But when I was at art school I came across him somewhere, so I have been back for a better look.
Ralph Eugene Meatyard is the name to check out. Possibly not Richards.
What is interesting about him is the fact that he had a real day job. He also lived at one time in a town called Normal. His pictures largely consist of conventional looking adults and kids, often members of his family. They stand in streets and in old broken down houses. They wear cheap theatrical masks.
Quite by chance I have also been stumbling through a similar theme in my usual inept manner.
What is interesting about one's own kids is how patient they are. They actually pose and stay still and then carry on as if nothing has happened.
Years ago in Braga, at a photo festival, my friend and guide in matters photographic,and myself came across a whole bunch of Joel Witkin images. They were not big but they were strong. Really different from the recent trend , at least since the early 90s, of enormous colour photographs that function essentially as some kind of history painting. The visual coding and semiotics of the whole thing jump out and hit you on the head. Like a representative of the state and his truncheon. I think I prefer Southern Gothic to German Machines, machines being a word used to describe huge Academic paintings, possibly French and no doubt originating in the 18th Century.
And of course Meatyard. What a name. Who wouldn't choose to be called Meatyard?
Shopping for masks for the Halloween period. I like the tawdry aspect of it all. Off to get more junk today, the cheaper the mask the better.
Recently I was reminded about Eugene Meatyard. His real name was not Meatyard. It was probably Richards. One day I may even check. He worked as an optometrist. Any way it is all tied up with the Meatyard thing. I do not know his work intimately.
But when I was at art school I came across him somewhere, so I have been back for a better look.
Ralph Eugene Meatyard is the name to check out. Possibly not Richards.
What is interesting about him is the fact that he had a real day job. He also lived at one time in a town called Normal. His pictures largely consist of conventional looking adults and kids, often members of his family. They stand in streets and in old broken down houses. They wear cheap theatrical masks.
Quite by chance I have also been stumbling through a similar theme in my usual inept manner.
What is interesting about one's own kids is how patient they are. They actually pose and stay still and then carry on as if nothing has happened.
Years ago in Braga, at a photo festival, my friend and guide in matters photographic,and myself came across a whole bunch of Joel Witkin images. They were not big but they were strong. Really different from the recent trend , at least since the early 90s, of enormous colour photographs that function essentially as some kind of history painting. The visual coding and semiotics of the whole thing jump out and hit you on the head. Like a representative of the state and his truncheon. I think I prefer Southern Gothic to German Machines, machines being a word used to describe huge Academic paintings, possibly French and no doubt originating in the 18th Century.
And of course Meatyard. What a name. Who wouldn't choose to be called Meatyard?
Thursday, 25 October 2012
Monday, 22 October 2012
Tuesday, 16 October 2012
One day my prints will come.
Looks like December is the earliest time I can get some prints made at St. B.
In the meantime Blurb beckons. I am not a great fan of self publishing. But everything is self publishing these days. I don't self promote enough. And I don't sell myself much either.
Life seems full of puking children, Obama, maddened Middle Eastern people, rain, tiredness and, worst of all, the bunch of lunatics who claim to be running the country at this moment in time. Seems like a good time to scan the publications and make some new art.
In the meantime Blurb beckons. I am not a great fan of self publishing. But everything is self publishing these days. I don't self promote enough. And I don't sell myself much either.
Life seems full of puking children, Obama, maddened Middle Eastern people, rain, tiredness and, worst of all, the bunch of lunatics who claim to be running the country at this moment in time. Seems like a good time to scan the publications and make some new art.
Solid Weirdness.
Cambridge museums are quite cool and informative places. I have always loved them. Even the Fitzwilliam is pretty good, although they are rather stern in their attitude to photography. Something to do with copyright infringement.
The other, smaller more specialised museums are more relaxed about photography and there are times when you need to elbow your way through surging crowds of school kids and foreign language students as well as tourists.
I like to go when it is quiet and you can be wrapped in solitude. There is nothing quite like being face to face with a dinosaur skull. Or a cabinet full of strange forms. Or indeed the cabinets themselves; large, wooden and glass constructions. It's solid weirdness.
The other, smaller more specialised museums are more relaxed about photography and there are times when you need to elbow your way through surging crowds of school kids and foreign language students as well as tourists.
I like to go when it is quiet and you can be wrapped in solitude. There is nothing quite like being face to face with a dinosaur skull. Or a cabinet full of strange forms. Or indeed the cabinets themselves; large, wooden and glass constructions. It's solid weirdness.
Sunday, 14 October 2012
Sunday, 7 October 2012
What the Hell
What the hell does work mean in this wretched day and age? You write , drink, teach, make art, eat and try to bring your kids up right, that is what it means to me , I guess. The other day a student , on his final day, was kind enough to say I was the best teacher he had ever had.
This worried me for a while. In fact it worried me a lot. And it continues to nag at me now. I know what it feels like to say something reasonably sincere in a second or third language.
Some years ago I had decided that I actually hated teaching. I still do. But then I remembered good old Joseph B, the guy who crawled from the wreckage of a mythical German aircraft on the Russian Front.
The man who changed art and politics in Germany. The man who changed the way I thought about the visual and the political. The man who many people thought was a nutcase and a threat. Well, he was a pro.
He said some thing about society being a sculpture. I took that to mean that language and people could be a material, some thing to play with and change.
I am not sure that I can teach anymore, and I wouldn't want to. But I reckon I can build a social sculpture and give it the tools to produce authenticity and creativity. I sure hate being called a teacher, that is all I know.
This worried me for a while. In fact it worried me a lot. And it continues to nag at me now. I know what it feels like to say something reasonably sincere in a second or third language.
Some years ago I had decided that I actually hated teaching. I still do. But then I remembered good old Joseph B, the guy who crawled from the wreckage of a mythical German aircraft on the Russian Front.
The man who changed art and politics in Germany. The man who changed the way I thought about the visual and the political. The man who many people thought was a nutcase and a threat. Well, he was a pro.
He said some thing about society being a sculpture. I took that to mean that language and people could be a material, some thing to play with and change.
I am not sure that I can teach anymore, and I wouldn't want to. But I reckon I can build a social sculpture and give it the tools to produce authenticity and creativity. I sure hate being called a teacher, that is all I know.
Wednesday, 3 October 2012
Tuesday, 2 October 2012
Monday, 1 October 2012
Carrying a Box
Reading Stuart Maconie's Hope and Glory on the bus to Cambridge yesterday. Quite engrossing, almost missed my usual stop by the Round Church. Psychological really, as I was about to do a very unusual thing.
I was about to spend some money.
I spent it on a new , yes new, camera. Of course I had a fainting fit trying to part with the money. And I bought it from Jessops, something you must never do. Already I had broken two cardinal rules of camera buying: buying new and only buying from Camkins.
The new camera has the magic ingredient of loads of pixels.
Afterwards I sat in a pub in a bemused state, mildly berating myself, wondering how I would ever afford my son's new bike. To be fair, the bike wouldn't cost the same as a small second hand car (one careful lady driver) but I am glad there is another pay day to come before the annual click of my son's mortal tariff draws near.
You see, the thing is, I didn't think things through. Gone are the days of assembling cameras from bodies and lenses sourced from second hand shops and pawn brokers. I am afraid I was seduced by design.
A little later I discovered the same model at 20 quid cheaper. In a vast warehouse of a supermarket out of town. Seduction by design is of a different order in such places. The hierarchy of consumer needs and wants functions in a different way; they are clearly indicated by the signing system. Reading skills are crucial in such places.
Austerity has been papered over by a veneer of redesign of the value range. The value range in this superstore is clearly packaged in an attractive manner. Design for the times. The value range clearly informs us that it is just as good as products located in the other pricing bands.
So now you can buy your food and other products with your head held high.
Next time I need to update a body or a lens I will hotfoot it to Campkins, Tesco or indeed the pawn brokers.
I was about to spend some money.
I spent it on a new , yes new, camera. Of course I had a fainting fit trying to part with the money. And I bought it from Jessops, something you must never do. Already I had broken two cardinal rules of camera buying: buying new and only buying from Camkins.
The new camera has the magic ingredient of loads of pixels.
Afterwards I sat in a pub in a bemused state, mildly berating myself, wondering how I would ever afford my son's new bike. To be fair, the bike wouldn't cost the same as a small second hand car (one careful lady driver) but I am glad there is another pay day to come before the annual click of my son's mortal tariff draws near.
You see, the thing is, I didn't think things through. Gone are the days of assembling cameras from bodies and lenses sourced from second hand shops and pawn brokers. I am afraid I was seduced by design.
A little later I discovered the same model at 20 quid cheaper. In a vast warehouse of a supermarket out of town. Seduction by design is of a different order in such places. The hierarchy of consumer needs and wants functions in a different way; they are clearly indicated by the signing system. Reading skills are crucial in such places.
Austerity has been papered over by a veneer of redesign of the value range. The value range in this superstore is clearly packaged in an attractive manner. Design for the times. The value range clearly informs us that it is just as good as products located in the other pricing bands.
So now you can buy your food and other products with your head held high.
Next time I need to update a body or a lens I will hotfoot it to Campkins, Tesco or indeed the pawn brokers.
Monday, 24 September 2012
Sunday, 23 September 2012
Blink.
I love it when a post disappears. Today is shaping up to be wet and dark which should be nice and cheery !
I like the wet weather. I like the way the raindrops smash into the electric yellows and greens . I like the way you can walk through the reflections. As a result I usually end up thinking about German painting of the late seventies and early eighties.
What I do not like about wet weather is the constant sense of catastrophe that seems to come with it.
And the flooded houses. Flooding is not unknown here and it is gruesome, life changing, tragic and traumatising.
Monday, 17 September 2012
Unlimited Printing of Money.
I have never fully understood the basics of economic theory and I do not suppose I ever will. What I do understand is unemployment, self employment, getting by, trying to make ends meet, scrimping and saving, making do, keeping the wolf from the door, saving for a rainy day, going without and budgeting. A day out is expensive, a holiday out of the question.
Perhaps what is most depressing is seeing boarded up shops. This isn't the first depression I have lived through, but it is the most intense and harmful.
Topless photos of the Duchess of Cambridge. What more can be said about long lens blurry breasts? Not exactly the most stimulating of images. So , after flirting with the idea of celebrity,willingly creating and performing their own minor roles in the national soap opera, a posh bird gets her kit off and gets papped. Can't wait to see the paintings cropping up in galleries.
The jury is still out about what I feel about the tattoo re- imagery. My feeling is that the surface of the paper should resemble skin as closely as possible and post production kept to a minimum.
Some of the more recent redescriptions of models' faces are beginning to look a little more promising although the lighting can be difficult to manage.
Perhaps what is most depressing is seeing boarded up shops. This isn't the first depression I have lived through, but it is the most intense and harmful.
Topless photos of the Duchess of Cambridge. What more can be said about long lens blurry breasts? Not exactly the most stimulating of images. So , after flirting with the idea of celebrity,willingly creating and performing their own minor roles in the national soap opera, a posh bird gets her kit off and gets papped. Can't wait to see the paintings cropping up in galleries.
The jury is still out about what I feel about the tattoo re- imagery. My feeling is that the surface of the paper should resemble skin as closely as possible and post production kept to a minimum.
Some of the more recent redescriptions of models' faces are beginning to look a little more promising although the lighting can be difficult to manage.
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