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?
Tuesday, 30 October 2012
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.
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