Portfolio

Sundries

Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrel:
I try to avoid any book that I see people reading on the train. It's not so much a stance against popular culture as it is an egomaniacal need to feel above whatever it is others are interested in (I should probably take this up with a therapist sometime). When Susanna Clark's massive tome made its US debut, dozens of readers lugged it around for months. I wrote it off as an extension of the Harry Potter phenomenon and thought nothing more of it. A pity, really, as now that I'm lugging the book around myself, I find it quite engaging. With lots of characters, side-stores and footnotes (that go on for pages) Clark has crafted a pleasant world to get lost in.

A Young Adult Novel that I Cannot Mention:
A dear friend just signed a two book deal with a respected publisher. I was honered to read the first draft and offered lots of suggestions and notes. Fortunately, the book really is good. There's nothing worse than having to tell a friend that their book, band, artwork, poetry, or similar expression is . . . really great! No, really, you're totally talented!

I've been in that position more than once. It's hard to maintain a pleasant countenance when, deep down, you feel rather nauseous about the whole thing. This experience was pleasantly different. I'll plug it when it's actually in book stores. For now, I've been sworn to secrecy.

Chris Thomas King
In college, I spent countless hours listening to old, scratchy recordings of blues and folk music. I'd scores of albums, many of them from the amazing Smithsonian Folkways catalog. Sadly, in the days before albums were easily ripped to hard drive, I sold the entirety of my collection to (a very happy) used record store. I needed the cash to support an incredibly stupid relationship. Chris Thomas King, with his extraordinary rendition of the classics, has reunited me with the music that once meant so much to me. I've more or less forgotten about the girl.

His Name is Alive
Fuzzy, geek-synth, electronica from Michigan. With sexy vocals. I downloaded Detrola the other day but have yet to listen to it extensively. I think it's good, but it requires a certain situation (and headphones) to be properly appreciated.

Information Aesthetics
I've been on the job interview circuit for the last couple of months. In countless conversations I'm asked "What sites to you read regularly? Where do you draw inspiration?" The answer, inevitably, is Information Aesthetics. It's the sort of site that looks great to prospective employers and has the benefit of actually being a source of great inspiration.

Journal

Saturday, July 22

BE LIKE MIROSLAV
I recently updated the reading section on the left, an area of the site designed to showcase my impeccable taste and general high-falootin’ attitude, with a book of photographs.

The work of Miroslav Tichy is challenging. The ghostly images, marred by fixer spills and tears are raw and beautiful. Framed with construction paper and guilded with markers and colored pencils they’re pleasantly incongruous; lascivious images of bathing women presented with child-like innocence.

But it’s difficult for me to separate the surface beauty of the photographs from the troubled mind responsible for them. Tichy, irreparably harmed by political persecution first by the Nazis and then by the Communists, was clearly a disturbed man. He lived in squalor, hoarded newspapers and rarely bathed. He kept his framed photos, almost exclusively of women in bikinis and short skirts, in a pile near his bed. It’s hard not to see his work as predatory. Unable to interact with the women he saw at the public swimming pool, he brought them into his life - and his bed - with the camera.

But perhaps predatory is the wrong word. His photography could just as easily be seen as a triumph of ingenuity and invention. With cameras of his own devising, Tichy was, in some sense at least, able to overcome the loneliness, isolation and frustration (both sexual and otherwise) caused by mental illness.

After poring over a few dozen images, I wanted to learn more about the man and his process. So I set out to create photographs in his style. Lacking a home made camera (and the skills and patience necessary to create one) I used my vintage Voigtlander Perkeo. I guesstimated shutter speeds and focus distance and shot from the hip.

Rather than a public pool, I chose to shoot in the forum I find most fascinating, the Chicago subway. I fashioned frames from construction paper, developed the film haphazardly, and added grime and wear with Photoshop. The results are a far cry from what TIchy was able to produce. I created images with far more intention and planning than he ever did. Imitation cannot be spontaneous.

But shooting, developing and printing images without any concern for the straitjacket tenets of the photographic process was liberating. I’ve begun to understand how Tichy was able to escape from himself.