D.H Lawrence once said of New Mexico, “Touch the country, and you will never be the same again.” The mystic surrounding this part of the southwest has long perdured, and even today it remains a magnet for artists (the state counts more artists than any city in America), spiritual-minded folks, super-rich and scientific genius (mostly aggregated nearby the national laboratory of Los Alamos).
There is something about New Mexico that is truly magical and spiritual, something in the smell of the desert surrounding the cities, the color of the Sangre de Cristo mountains at dawn, something about the mix of people, that makes me come back again and again.
I read yesterday Henry Shukman’s article in the New York Times and found that it encapsulates very well the feeling of coming to the land of enchantement (in this particular case, he writes about driving up to Santa Fe). I wish I had written it.
“The desert slowly emerged out of a velvet blackness, became a watery blue, almost the blue of a swimming pool. Then just as we got to the top of the long climb of La Bajada Hill and the Sangre de Cristo mountains sprang into view, the wing of darkness over the earth withdrew, and the true daytime colors began to show, rusty-brown as a cougar’s hide. Ahead, the gaunt lump of the mountains, receiving the first red blush on their faces. At their feet, the mingling of the lights of town with stars of sunlight winking from distant windows. It’s still one of those approaches, those arrivals, that seems mythical, impossibly grand. The highway reaches away, straight at the mountains, like a long drawbridge into a castle.”
I was reading over the holidays Jonah Lehrer ’s “Proust was a Neuroscientist” book (I highly recommend the chapter on Auguste Escoffier and his invention of veal stock) and found this interesting remark, in the chapter about Marcel Proust. Lehrer writes about the dishonesty of memoir and how, although our recollections feel real, they are in fact elaborate fabrications, as Proust so elegantly demonstrated it. Science would prove Proust right, by showing how our memories exist “as subtle shifts in the strength of synapses, which makes it easier for neurons to communicate with one another.” Lehrer writes “…What Joseph Conrad said about maps is also true of the brain: the most interesting places are the empty spaces, for they are what will change.”
That citation came to my mind as I was uploading this image. Don’t ask why, and what cells’ connection is involved in this process. I was just thinking, not really about empty spaces, but about ephemeral changes; ice slowly returning to liquid state, and producing in the process a beautiful spectacle.
It has been cold over Atlanta lately, to my visual delight.
These photographs were taken during a recent trip in Laos. I did know much about this tiny country, except that it was starting to open to tourism, and that some good friends were expected me and happy to show me around.
To my surprise, I found its capital, Vientiane, flocked with tourists, Europeans mostly and Australians. When I visited, the city was hosting the prestigious Southeast Asian Games and it was obviously agitated by the desire to show that it was up to the task.
With my friends Olivier and Federica, I went on to visit the ancient capital, Luang Prabang, maybe the most visited site in Laos after having received the UNESCO world heritage accreditation. This is where I came across this elderly monk, who kindly posed for me. To show my appreciation, I slowly leaned toward him and was going to touch him on the shoulder when I suddenly remembered that a woman should never, ever touch a monk. I came very close to a total faux-pas….
I spent most of my time visiting temples and kindly “chasing” monks and their bright orange robes. I enjoyed the lay-back style of Vientiane, its busy streets and friendly people. I utterly enjoyed my trips around the capital in tuk-tuk, the local motorcycle taxi, my bicycle rides along the Mekong river, and exotic food. Thank you, my friends, for hosting me and make this trip an exciting visual journey.
Paideia's student Jacob, with his dad, Rob.
I will be exhibiting some of my work this week-end during the Art Visions’ show at the Paideia school on Ponce de Leon Ave.
I invite you to come by and enjoy the display of fine arts, craft and jewelry. It is their 27th edition and a fundraiser for the school.
I will advertise for individual and family portrait (such as the one I recently took of Paideia’s student Jacob, with his dad at home).
Although I love to capture people’s expressions, I don’t qualify myself as a portrait photographer per se. As a matter of fact, I have always been unable to focus my work on a single aspect (that is maybe the missing link in my life, but this is no the subject of this post) and there is not one morning when I don’t come up with a new idea that would take me to a new direction.
However, I recently acquired a used Nikon 85mm f1.4 lens that made me reinvent myself, again. This lens is known to be a portrait lens, for it allows to capture sharply the features of a face while rendering a soft background. A magical lens, as my friend Clif says. Truly.
“I wish more people felt that photography was an adventure the same as life itself and felt that their individual feelings were worth expressing. To me, that makes photography more exciting.”
~Harry Callahan
Photographer Kathryn Kolb
Coming to photography has challenged me in many ways, the most important one being to change my attitude towards “looking at” things. Looking at the effect of light on a leave or how shade affects the feature of a face. They call it “seeing the light” in the professional jargon. But this is not only that. I am talking about the meaning of the reality we frame: why do we frame what we frame? And is there a meaning that we want to convey?
I recently interviewed Atlanta-based photographer Kathryn Kolb for an article to be published in the Professional Photographer Association’s magazine (in their upcomig October issue). Kathryn had this interesting remark:
“I think a lot of people, when they pick up a camera and look through the viewfinder, they see something they saw before and recognized it as a “good” photograph.” In other words, they anticipate what they will frame. To the contrary, Kathryn, in her work and in her own words, tries to capture “something that she has not seen before,” something that will surprise her and pushes her vision.
“I will look through my viewfinder and wait until I see something I haven’t seen before that works for me.” How long she will wait? It depends, but typically she admits spending an hour under a tree, looking at all the angles of branches, the shape of twigs, the leaves’ veins, the nuances of colors and hues, until it “means” something to her, until it “resonates” with each others, as she puts it. The process literally absorbs all of her attention. She is in the camera.
The key ingredient, of course, is time. Taking the time to frame and to let things happening in front of her eyes. No wander Kathryn Kolb uses an old traditional, medium size Hasselblad to take her photographs, and rolls of film to push her vision.
These remarks came back to my mind a few days after I met her as I was reading an article in the New York Times about, precisely, slow looking. “What exactly are we looking for when we roam as tourists around museums”, wonders Michael Kimmelman as he observes tourists in the Louvre hovering from one painting to the other.
“Tourists now wander through museums, seeking to fulfill their lifetime’s art history requirement in a day, wondering whether it may now be the quantity of material they pass by rather than the quality of concentration they bring to what few things they choose to focus upon that determines whether they have “done” the Louvre. It is self-improvement on the fly.” He advocates, following the work of art historian T.J. Clark, to slow down and practice slow looking. Buy a sketchbook and practice drawing. “Slow looking, like slow cooking, may yet become the new radical chic,” he ventures.
I am all for it. With sketchbooks but also with our cameras. Maybe the artists living in the South, such as Kathryn Kolb, can teach us something about it.
Kathryn Kolb’s work can be seen on line on her website at www.kathrynkolb.com and on her newly-released book, “Kathryn Kolb photographs” (K2 Press).
Also worth the visit is the juried exhibition held by Slow Exposures, which “creates an annual celebration of photography to remind visitors to “slow down” by letting the images surprise, educate, reacquaint and challenge their perceptions of the rural south.”
Atlanta’s trees have always been a fascinating matter to me. Maybe because I previously lived in the arid environment of the Sonora Desert (mostly populated by saguaros and palo verde.)
I remember vividly that when I first visited Atlanta, the city stroke me by the density of its trees, their size and density (I learned later about its fragile equilibrium). I love living in the Druid Hils area for this reason; trees are magnificent here and especially those in the linear parks along Ponce de Leon Avenue.
The series of parks, designed by the famous landscape architect Frederick Law Olmsted (who designed among other things Central Park in NY City) is a gem in the middle of a city of more than 4 million inhabitants and a place where I often go with my camera. I have developed a sense of familiarity with it, and learned to appreciate it more and more.
I have worked recently with the Atlanta Olmsted Park Alliance (OLPA) and self-produced a multimedia photo montage for them that is currently on view on their home page (http://www.atlantaolmstedpark.org).
The London eye ©2009
“You need to go to the London eye,” insisted our host, Julian. The …eye? I had not set foot on the British soil for a long time and did not know about this incredible piece of engineering that takes you some 135 metres above the City. Build in 2000, the British labeled it the iconic symbol of modern Britain. Thrirty six capsules in total, revolving slowly around an axis, that let you see up to 25 miles in distance. A metaphor for the end of the 20th century, according to its designers. And a perfect “bird’s view” for the photographers in search of some elevation…
This is India, or so I believe. A friend sent me this picture.
Well, this is not always America but in this particular case, in that particular day, it was. An unintentional poetic wiring, right there, offered to my camera, in the middle of the city, with the Atlanta Buckhead’s skyscrapers in the background. Wouldn’t you wish that every pole line be that evocative?
See also this link this comment, for the French-oriented, in my other blog (http://bubbly2.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post.php?action=edit&post=247).
The Okefenokee Swamp is a jewel located in the deep south corner of the state of Georgia, a place inhabitated by alligators, snakes and incredible birds; lulled by the songs of frogs at night (and yes, infested by mosquitoes in summer time); painted with white lilly pads surfacing on dark waters, untamed wilderness of some 400,000 acres of wet prairies, cypress forests and pine uplands. The Indians named it “The land of the trembling earth.”
It is also a visual paradise for the photography inclined. The water is crystal clear and known to be one of the purest of the states. But, interestingly, it appears black on the surface and produces a mirror reflection of everything above it. This is caused by the high level of tanic acid in the water, resulting from the decomposition of organic matters. Paddling and taking photographs might be a challenge there; A company located near the Eastern entrance of the park(Okefenokee Pastimes ) offers photographer’s paddle tours of the swamp as well as the St Mary’s river, with a canoe especially equipped to fit photo equipment and during which most of the paddling is done by the accompanying guide. Worth checking.
