civilized ku # 1

click on photo to embiggen itI am surrounded by landscape. After all, I live in a park which is the largest wilderness in the eastern US - bigger than the state of Vermont, bigger than Yellowstone, Yosemite, The Grand Canyon and The Everglades parks combined. Traveling by car from the NE edge to the SW edge of the park, the trip takes 3.5-4 hours. It's big.

It's also diverse; 30,000 miles of rivers and streams, 3,000 lakes and "ponds", 46 mountains over 4,000 ft., as well as being home to approximately 120,000 humans who are spread out in 100 small villages and hamlets. About half of the park is protected as "forever wild" public land. Private lands/development are strictly controlled by the Adirondack Park Agency.

Needless to say, there are about one zillion photo opportunities. For most of the last 4 years I have been scratching the surface of the natural landscape photography-wise, that is, if you can call my ku body of work comprised of over 450 photographs "scratching the surface" (and I do). Recently, I have felt compelled to photograph more evidence of the hand of man in the Adirondack landscape in order to illustrate man's relationship with the natural evironment here in the park. These photographs are being created under the name of "urban" ku, although the word "urban" is not really very apt. Perhaps "civilized" ku would be better.

In any event, I am now expanding my idea of landscape to include photographs such as the one posted here. There is just too much life going on to create photographs that only play only to a particular audience or genre. This relates to my previous post wherein I asked, what kind of photographer are you? As I slip slowly from Landscapist to Documentarian, I think that I will slip a little further and become simply an Observationist.

civilized ku # 4

Finally Up to 10 inches forecast for today and a protracted cold spell to back it up (-7F tomorrow night). Time to tune up the xc skis/snowshoes and haul out the winter mountaineering camping gear.

dis-ease # 3 and a comment about "soup"

Winter is trying to make an appearance, lame though it might be. There's nothing of consequence in the forecast.

You may have noticed that my last few posts have had Polaroid photographs attached. The reason for this is simple - in my fevered state to taste a new flavor I hauled out the Polaroid SLRs, purchased some film, and started to photograph. Much to my surprise, I discovered how much I had forgotten about, a) the good old days of analog photography, and b) the magic and addiction of Polaroid photography.

Now I am well aware of the dangers of advancing decrepitude. I try like hell not to use phrases like, "...back when I was a (insert a younger age)..." or "...barefoot in the snow, uphill both ways..." and so on....but....back when I was a photo rookie, I processed and printed the very first roll of film I ever used. Film processing seemed rather mechanical and uninsipiring, after all, everything happened in complete darkness or in the can. You got the developer to temperature, watched the clock (timer) and agitated on schedule. Ho hum. Important for sure, but still, ho hum.

Then came the fun part - making a print and those moments of magic watching the image appear while the paper was in the soup. It really was like magic. First there was nothing on the paper, and then, ever so slowly, as if by magic, an image starts to appear - faint at first, but, as the paper sloshes around with more rocking of the developer tray, hot damn, a picture comes to life.

There is nothing, absolutely nothing, in the digital domain that comes close to replicating that magic, nothing. If you haven't experienced it, you should. Go to whatever lengths you must, but do it. IMO, you really don't know the magic of photography until you do.

The only substitute photographic experience that I know of that, in a small way, replicates the magic of watching an image emerge in the soup is Polaroid photography. Press the shutter and out comes a print on which an image slowly emerges as it develops. Sure, you miss out on the joy inhaling noxious brain-deadening chemicals, but it's a bit of the old magic nevertheless.

This point was driven home recently when my 2 year old grandson, Hugo, who has his own 6mp digital camera (see some of his photos here), watched with a great deal of fascination as a Polaroid image slowly emerged on a print in his hands. He was very intrigued to, as he put it, "see what happens".

So, if you haven't done and can't do the wet darkroom thing, you really do owe it to yourself to pick up a Polaroid camera - used SLRs on ebay - and experience the magic of "seeing what happens". If you do, just beware of the Polaroid Addiction thing - once the Polaroid was fully developed, Hugo's next words were, "more, Papa".

Easy for him to say, since he's not shelling out a buck a pop.

FEATURED COMMENT: Mary Dennis wrote: "...you are so right about the magic of the wet darkroom. And not only because of the magic of watching an image emerge in the developer tray. When my two daughters where really little, about one and five years old, I built a little darkroom in the corner of our musty old basement and it became a cave, a quiet refuge for me when life got crazy. That was my magic place and it had a door that locked from the inside!! ..."

publisher's comment: Mary, you are so absolutely right about the cave/refuge aspect of the wet darkroom. Every darkroom that I ever had served exactly that kind of "refuge" function. Thanks very much for the vivid reminder. I'll be remodeling my home office/"studio" soon and somehow I need to incorporate the notion of "refuge".

dis-ease # 2 and a comment

This is what's passing for an early January winter morning here in the Adirondack north country. Photographed comfortably in a t-shirt and shoes without socks, although I did find it necessary to tuck the Polaroid print in my armpit - Cold Weather Polaroid Development Technique # 1.

Comment on a tempest in a teapot - Much is being made on a number of blogs about a very minor difference of photography opinion between Alec Soth and Robert Polidori.

The point of contention, such as it is, revolves around the absence of people in Polidori's Katrina book, After the Flood - Soth wants people, Polidori does not. Soth did not actually state that he wanted people in Polidori's Katrina photographs. Basically, what he seems to want is Katrina photographs with more emphasis on Katrina's people-oriented tragedy - "If we are going to have images from events like Katrina in our galleries, museums and libraries (as I think we must), I hope they aren’t limited to stiff, large-format photography."

It seems that (amongst other things) Polidori took umbrage at the phrase "stiff, large-format photography" and posted a response on Soth's blog and the rest will be fast-disappearing history in the blogosphere.

What I find interesting about the whole deal is 2-fold:

#1 fold) The affair is unbelievably tame when judged by some of the Great Battles of the Literary Titans of the past century. If the blogosphere wants a battle (see # 2 fold), and it seems that it does, I want to see blog-batants get it on in the fashion of Gore Vidal v. Wm. F. Buckley circa 1968 wherein verbal and nearly physical combat were joined. In one exchange Vidal called Buckley a "pro-crypto Nazi", to which a visibly livid Buckley replied: "Now listen, you queer. Stop calling me a crypto Nazi, or I'll sock you in the goddamn face and you'll stay plastered." Now that's a difference of opinion. Ahh, the good old days.

#2 fold) One thing I've learned from my time spent on online forums/blogs is that, protestations to the contrary, everybody loves a fight/flame war. Consider this - In typical blog fashion, a very popular blog about photography - The Online Photographer goes about its daily business and generates a very modest number of comments, especially so when judged against its daily traffic - 6,000 page views a day. I can't tell you what the over all average number of comments per post is but, on the latest 15 posts in January, there 136 comments for an average of under 10 comments per post.

Leverage that average against the 31 comments on what turned out to be a controversial topic, T.O.P. Photographer of the Year 2006 post. Note also that commenting was "closed" at 31 comments and who knows how many comments weren't allowed (comments on T.O.P. are allowed only after moderator review). The bruhaha spead out across the blogospere in a manner similar to that of the Soth/Polidori thing.

Also consider this - On an online nature photography forum where I was known as an enfant terrible (because of my passionately held and expressed views on photography), my photography posts garnered a relative handful of comments unless they were accompanied by a passionate statement of one kind or another. Then, all hell would break loose. Out came the flame-throwers and comments and views soared.

It seems that most people love a fight. So much so that, if I wanted to increase the number of comments here on The Landscapist, it would seem wise to start a war of words with someone or about something. Even though the web, and blogs in particular, are a 2-way highway, it's a pity that more people don't respond to thoughtful ideas. I guess, as Thoreau opined, it's just part of human nature that most people live lives of quiet desperation, unless, of course, there is rage or anger at the fore.

The Snapshot Aesthetic

Another interior landscape - Oddly enough, and sort of out-of-the-blue, last fall a traveling 3 ring circus (Carson & Barnes) came to our little hamlet of about 800 souls here in the Airondacks. It was weird for a number of reasons: like, why, of all places, here? and, the way in which they showed up in the morning, set up the whole deal, including the main tent (with the assistance of elephants) and various side show attractions, put on afternoon and evening shows, and then packed up during the night. By the next morning they were gone, leaving not a single trace of their passing. I guess you might have to live in a sleepy little hamlet in the largest wilderness in the eastern US to understand how surreal the whole thing seemed.

In any event, I have posted this photograph as an opportunity to discuss the "snapshot" aesthetic. On the recent urban landscape thread, Billie commented that "...I have a holga lens attahed to the body cap for my digital camera....I want the digital combo to work but I'm not sure. I think part of the reason it isn't going to work is because I have a different attitude with the holga in my hands than I do with a dslr...but there may be no Holga but a holga."

Since Billie is a newbie here (comment-wise), I checked out her blog, billieblog, an found this The Holga Vision post whereon she poses the question, "What is it about a Holga Camera that lets a photographer see just a little differently?"

Good question. But for me, the answer is to refute the basis for the question - I don't see differently with different cameras. When photographing in my non-commercial/personal state of mind, I tend to carry my way of seeing - the vision thing - over to whatever camera/format I am using - from my 8×10 view camera on down the line to my krappy kameras.

No matter the camera or optics, analog or digital, I always crop to square. I always blur and burn the corners of my prints. I always aim for "natural" color. I almost always work the slightly wide to normal range of the optics spectrum. I always print "small" (by current gallery standards). And, my gaze is always deadpan and "casual" appearing. FYI, I use the word appearing because, even though my photographs appear to be randomly "composed", they are anything but.

Why? Simply because I want my photographs to have the initial feel and impression of snapshots. I don't want observers to be put off by formal technique and presentation that screams, "This Is Art! Sit up straight and pay attention. I don't want to have to tell you twice!" I want my photographs to be "accessible" to the casual viewer, not just those with "artistic" sensibilities, although I know that my photographs swing both ways.

My photographs certainly say a great deal about me, but, ultimately, it is the referent and the connoted that I want the observer to connect with. I am not photographing for glory and adulation (well, a little wouldn't hurt). It is making a connection with the observer that turns me on.

My photographic gaze almost always focuses on simple everyday things - my referent. In a broad sense, the connoted that I hope to convey to observers of my photographs is an appreciation for the simple beauty of unadorned life and living.

So, that's why I see and why present the fruits of my seeing in a simple appearing snapshot aesthetic - no matter the means of photographing.