photography

Max's Kansas City: Art, Glamour, Rock and Roll

brittany — Sat, 16 Oct 2010 16:00:00 +0000

The iconic New York club Max’s Kansas City was the art world equivalent of the equally iconic CBGB; it was where all of the beautiful freaks and geeks; aspiring, wannabe, and legitimate artists congregated to see and be seen. Editor Steven Kash has done a magnificent job of compiling photographs that features all of the glitz and grime, genius and depravity that was the New York art scene of the 1970s.

Max’s Kansas City is a photography book, but there are a few well-written essays sprinkled in by Lou Reed, Lenny Kaye, Lorraine O’Grady, Danny Fields, and Steven Watson. Watson points out that though some of the female artists in the scene like Brigid Berlin and Sue Hoffman (aka Viva) weren’t taken seriously by their male contemporaries, they weren’t “just girlfriends” either. They had their own identities and were forming their own careers and according to Watson, were “on the cusp of feminism.”

I’d argue that they were seen as “just girlfriends” and that this is a common occurrence in artistic movements. Take the beat generation for example. Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, William S. Burroughs—they’ve become icons and the women writers were their caretakers and meal makers, struggling to get published. Just think of brilliant writers like Diane di Prima and Hettie Jones, who are—to this day—treated as minor footnotes or oddities in a scene comprised of men. Sadly, not much has changed.

Gender disparities of the scene aside, the photos are all inclusive. I have a thing for 70’s fashion and music, so flipping through the pages of Max’s Kansas City was nearly overload. How many images of young and beautiful icons like Patti Smith, Iggy Pop, Lou Reed, Debbie Harry, and Tom Waits can a girl take before she drops? Oddly enough, what’s almost more interesting than the superstars are the images of the unknowns, the beautiful losers who appear to have just wandered in from off the street at the most opportune moment—when the cameras are flashing near Andy Warhol or Nico.

Some of the photographs are almost too up close and personal, like the one of a fresh-faced Janis Joplin sitting at a superstar populated table. What are they talking about and what kind of salad is that in front of them? And look, there’s an incredibly young and handsome John Waters holding a cigarette, the image so crystal clear you can almost smell the smoke.

What I especially love about Max’s Kansas City is that so many people associate the 70’s with polyester and bullshit disco music, but these images are proof that those on the outskirts of the city and on the fringes of society were creating groundbreaking art and music in dingy clubs tucked away in shady neighborhoods. To me, that’s so much more interesting than doin’ a little dance and makin’ a little love at a bullshit disco club.

Written by: Tina Vasquez, October 16th 2010

The Woodmans

admin — Fri, 28 May 2010 16:01:00 +0000

Directed by C. Scott Willis

C. Scott Films

The prize-winning documentary The Woodmans chronicles the histories of a family of artists through conversations, monologues, journals, and both fine art photographs and family snapshots. The film’s narrative, from its start with the marriage of George and Betty Woodman to its finish with their lives today, is marked by their daughter, photographer Francesca Woodman, whose reputation has skyrocketed in the decades after her suicide in 1981 at twenty-three years of age.

After the Tribeca Film Festival screening, director C. Scott Willis, unfamiliar with the art world before the project, told how he met the Woodmans socially. They told him they were the parents of the famous photographer, and Willis made the embarrassing error of asking if their daughter would mind talking to his daughter, who was studying photography. Out of that situation and the Woodmans’ account of what had happened, Willis was inspired to make The Woodmans.

“Why did Francesca jump off a building?” while never voiced, and positioned as one question among many, is addressed in the pained, incomplete way suicide is usually discussed. There is no “interviewer” or even unifying message or theme, just unobtrusive aesthetic shaping of the movement forward of lives.

Francesca’s precocity—many of her photographs were made in her teens—is attributed in the film to her immersion in art as she was growing up. However, the film underplays the centrality of sexuality to her and most women’s lives (Francesca experienced a romantic break-up before her death) and ignores the sexual politics of the declining women’s movement, which coincided with Francesca’s adolescence.

Since both George and Betty have been artists all their lives, there is necessarily much about their making of art. The parental Woodmans speak loftily of exhibiting to a wider public, but there’s material here for an indictment of the art world: the winner-take-all reward system, the commodification of artistic product (Francesca’s photographs financed tuition for a collector’s children), and the competition among artist friends and, yes, family. Yet, the background of well-appointed studios and a house with a pool in Italy could fuel enough lifestyle lust to gentrify numerous bohemias.

Francesca, who with little success tried commercial fashion photography and worked as a photographic assistant, does “talk” about money through a chorus of friends and her fashion photographs. Indeed, her parents bicker about whether being rejected for a National Endowment of the Arts grant contributed to her suicide. (George does mention that his father “helped the couple financially” but disapproved of his son’s marriage to a Jewish woman.) In a film about questions, some fall away in the family drama.

Yes, artists will find much to like in this film—sumptuous art, the quotidian discipline and physicality of art-making, a compelling score by David Lang—but the film also has much for feminists to ponder about the choice to parent.

The mother, Betty, emerges as the hero, directly addressing the responsibilities of mothering as they intersect with the self. She wanted to “experience” childbirth and mothering, but was terror struck when presented with her infant son, Charlie, Francesca’s older brother, who became a videographer; Betty says baldly, “Maybe I’ve been an absolutely horrible mother.”

She made her pots, used in the household but not to be broken, behind the family house while mothering young children. (Avoiding interruptions presents a challenge for any parent, or anyone, working at home.) Visiting art museums, the Woodmans habitually set the children loose with pads for copying art, while they looked at art uninterrupted. When Betty talks about her daughter, she seems more mother than artist. In contrast, George admits that his daughter’s intensity was what made her interesting to him. Originally an abstract painter, he is now working in photography. Near the end, Betty becomes the triumphant artist, when a commission is installed in the American embassy in Beijing.

The Woodmans started with a faux pas and records a generous baring of lives and scars. Finding answers is left for the audience—like life, or art.

Written by: Frances Chapman, May 28th 2010

A Day in LA: A Conversation with Kevin McCollister

admin — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 17:01:00 +0000

Interview with Kevin McCollister

Kevin McCollister is a serious and shy man who spends his days working in a Los Angeles office and his nights walking around the city’s less stylish neighborhoods snapping photographs of churches, taco stands, mariachis, the homeless, and LA landmarks like the Fourth Street Bridge, Union Station, and Olvera Street. His photographs feature the LA that its natives know to be true, but fail to see after so many years of dodging street characters and fighting traffic on freeways just to get to their next location.

McCollister began his career as a poet, and in 2005, shortly after moving to Los Angeles, he decided to start a photography blog as a way of showing his friends the sights of his new surroundings. The mission was simple: explore the “easily misunderstood city” by foot, camera in hand, shooting the images that are counterintuitive to what people usually associate with the City of Angels. (Don’t believe that old Missing Persons song: people do walk in LA, and they’re not just photographers either.)

Nearly a year ago, McCollister’s beautiful, gritty images caught the attention of If Pub's founder Brooks Roddan, whose publishing company specializes in limited edition art and poetry books. After Roddan saw McCollister’s photographs, they decided to publish a collection of fifty-five photographs that would become East of West LA.

Tell me about your background. Where have you lived?

I grew up outside of Cleveland, Ohio. I think that's what gave me a taste for grime over glitz. Then for several years I was based in the French Quarter of New Orleans, and that was pretty wild. I was working and living on boats that went up and down the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers—pretty much a total retreat from modern life. I saw lots of small, mid-American towns and, of course, the rivers themselves were fascinating. After that I lived in a place that was the exact opposite of New Orleans: Cambridge, MA right in Harvard Square. I felt at home there, more than in LA actually, but the weather was horrible.

How did you transition from being a poet to a photographer?

I went to school at Ohio University and Harvard Extension, but I'm not a graduate of anywhere, and I never studied photography in school. Whatever it was that sparked my interest wasn’t conscious, but it certainly was natural. I began to see that you can convey a lot of emotion within a photograph, and that photography doesn't come with all the alienating artsy-ness of poetry. Plus, it got me out of the house. Walking can be very meditative, at least for me.

Who are your influences?

It all begins with Walt Whitman; He's very city-centric and acknowledges the whole spectrum of being alive. He and William Carlos Williams deal in very concrete images, and there's very little that's grandiose about either of them. Whitman can get carried away with himself, but it’s clear the claims he makes for himself are true for everyone. Frank O'Hara and James Schuyler are two other poets that have been a big influence.

If you settled in any other city, do you think you would have felt compelled to photograph it the way you’re photographing Los Angeles?

I honestly don't know. I'd certainly try. The idea of living in a smaller, less mixed-up city than LA gives me the creeps. Here, there's certainly a place for whatever mood you're in. I can go to Abbot Kinney where I'm just another blip or to Breed Street in Boyle Heights where, until the crackdown, they had all the outdoor food stalls. I don't speak Spanish at all, so it’s pleasantly disorienting.

What do you find yourself drawn to photographing?

Well photography is a compulsion; I admit to that. Every so often, I go to Inglesia Nuestra Senora Reina de Los Angeles, the Catholic mission next to Olvera Street. It attracts some extremely devout people. Outside the church there are street people who have absolutely nothing. It seems the church has a pretty tolerant policy about them. I also check in on some vendors and street people as I make the rounds. Some I see often, some seem to disappear.

**Who are your favorite photographers? **

I really respect Mexican photographers, specifically Manuel Alvarez Bravo and Tina Modotti. They're very elemental, uncluttered, and direct. I also like Helen Levitt and Lisette Model. Generally speaking, I'm much more in the Wegee world than the Ansel Adams one. My favorite photograph is "Main Street, Saratoga Springs" by Walker Evans.

What inspires you?

Knowing that someday all of this, especially me, won't be here anymore and that for all the jokes about being a city of wanna-be TV stars and models, there are a ton of people in this town who are doing great things.

Written by: Tina Vasquez, March 6th 2010

Catch Light

admin — Sun, 28 Feb 2010 09:00:00 +0000

By Sarah O'Brien

Coffee House Press

When I flipped over to the back cover of Sarah O’Brien’s recent collection of poetry, Catch Light, it was both startling and encouraging to see the resemblance. I was originally interested in reviewing the publication because it entailed reading beautiful writing about photography, two of my lifelong passions; however, only after holding the book in my hands and reading the biography excerpt on the back did I notice that she was a recent graduate from Brown University. A brunette woman, with bangs and a nose ring, who has traveled and lived internationally and works as a writer and photographer, I felt like I was looking at myself (hopefully) in ten years.

As I read through O'Brien's poems in one of my favorite coffee spots, I could imagine her sitting through my photography studio critiques, much more eloquently discussing the displayed photographs: the lighting, captions, titles, and content. Her collection of poetry, a National Poetry Series Winner, chosen by David Shapiro, ranges from descriptions of the history of photography and technology to a critique of light, space, captions, and how images are used and discussed as visual narratives.

O'Brien explains in an interview, “I was reading all of these manuals—how to build a darkroom, how to develop a photograph—and it only seemed natural to start writing my own... because of the inherent poetic opportunity in the images associated with photography.” Her brilliantly written poems all join together in a beautiful unity, exploring the limits and power of imagination, perception, memory, and reality, most importantly in relation to the human experience of light.

Raised on a farm in Ohio, O’Brien has since lived in Cape Town, Paris, and various locations across the United States. She got her B.A. in Comparative Literature at Brown, where she translated Ryoko Sekiguchi’s Heliotropes for her thesis, followed by a MFA in poetry at Iowa’s Writer’s Workshop. She now works as a photographer for The Daily Iowan.

Written by: Abigail Chance, February 28th 2010

The Bathers

admin — Sat, 06 Feb 2010 16:59:00 +0000

By Jennette Williams

Duke University Press

A collection of striking black and white stills, The Bathers is not just about the theme of bathers, but more importantly about the way women are portrayed and perceived. Winner of the Center for Documentary Studies/Honickman First Book Prize in Photography, Jennette Williams states that her initial project was: “to photograph without sentiment and objectication (sic) women daring enough to stand before [her] camera.” The photos illustrate that there is no doubt that she has achieved her goal. Despite being a volume of photographs of the feminine body (all except one shot), this oeuvre compounds in one tome the exact opposite of what most modern-day mainstream media presents of the objectified female figure.

In William’s lauded collection of photos, the female forms are shown in all their plump softness, reflecting the reigning ambiance of the collection: a peaceful reflection that can be seen not only in the visages of the women represented but also in the muted colours of the platinum prints. In the faces of these Hungarian and Turkish women, we find the same gaze that existed in Auguste Renoir’s early twentieth century paintings of “his” bathing subjects. It is probably this mysterious contemplation that explains artists’ fascination for bathers as subjects: a dream-like placidity and sense of inner calm. The prominence of rolls, folds, dimples, body hair, bellies, and nipples is natural although sometimes veiled by the often-foggy images; William also manipulates light and shadow expertly; one can almost feel the cocooning humidity of the public baths.

The representation of this serenity contrasts with the modern stereotypical depiction of the female body, the Tyra Banks-coined squint–or “smizing”–and purely angular (sometimes skeletal) silhouettes that are so coveted by most of the globe’s population. There are few shots in Williams' collection that do not display flesh in a way that is completely foreign to North American media (birthplace of the Playboy Bunny!). These “Cosmo-type” bodies are rare in the book, and even so-called “imperfect” bodies such as the very controversial silhouette of “plus-sized” (U.S. size 12-14!) are few. Most of the women have strong rounded figures that stand out in the stark detailing of the photographs. You’ll remember twenty-year-old model Lizzie Miller’s charmingly rounded tummy from a recent issue of Glamour magazine, yet the magazine’s most recent issue still provides us with advice on how to dress ten pounds thinner.

This attractive volume is thought-provoking because it defies stereotypical gender norms and photo enthusiasts will also find it to be a very stunning collection of images.

Written by: Sophie M. Lavoie, February 6th 2010

Hard Knocks: Rolling with the Derby Girls

admin — Mon, 25 Jan 2010 17:03:00 +0000

By Shelley Calton

Kehrer

Shelly Calton’s Hard Knocks: Rolling with the Derby Girls is a book of photographs that illustrates everything I love about black and white photography; the smoky interplay of light and dark, negative space and shadow. These gritty, noir-ish photos of the Houston Roller Derby are captivating, but sadly the book in its entirely lacked the oomph I was hoping for.

I’ve seen a lot of roller derby. I’ve witnessed broken bones and chipped teeth and a lot of other gruesome casualties of this super competitive, sometimes vicious sport, but the biggest problem with Calton’s photographs is that we only get hints of the most infamous aspect of the game. Perhaps she intentionally tried to shy away from the brutality, blood, sweat, and tears, but what the hell for?

Hard Knocks’ foreword was written by Tracy Xavia Karner, Associate Professor of Sociology and Director of Visual Studies and at the University of Houston. According to Karner, the women of Houston’s roller derby “confront, disrupt, and ultimately subvert gender expectations,” but you wouldn’t know that based on Calton’s work, which greatly focuses on the look of the derby girls and not what they do in the rink. There are plenty of shots of fishnet stockings, garter belts, perfectly coiffed hair, expertly applied makeup, intricate tattoos, and awesome roller derby girl style, about as many as there are of the girls cheering each other on, hugging, smiling, and getting lost in other feel good moments.

But—and there’s a point here—this is roller derby, for fuck’s sake. Hard Knocks features very little of the action that makes the sport so unique and interesting. Sure, I’m willing to admit that many (men, in particular) find roller derby alluring because of that fact that it features foxy, confident women looking good and being aggressive as hell, but let’s not forget that it’s a sport, goddamn it. Omitting the grit is like taking photographs of a football game without featuring the injuries, the sacks, and the mid-air collisions.

It’s not all bad, of course. The portraits of the women on Houston’s team featured at the beginning of the book are fascinating. These women seem so harsh and strong and prepared to kick ass, while also managing to appear completely feminine and soft. After all, none of these things are mutually exclusive and it all comes out in the rink, I just wish that it didn’t dissipate after a few pages of Calton’s book.

Written by: Tina Vasquez, January 25th 2010

Imperial

admin — Tue, 12 Jan 2010 01:01:00 +0000

By William T. Vollmann

powerHouse Books

Imperial is a difficult book. To the average reader, artist, or art connoisseur, it is hard to grasp what Vollmann is doing both in terms of publishing and in the vision within his photographs. This 200-page collection of photos of the California-Mexico borderlands named the Imperial Valley offers quality, if not perfunctory, images of a hard won desert life. The book, however, is as complicated as the people and politics it represents. Part two of a two-book series, the publisher who initially took on Vollmann’s dialog in their version of Imperial left the photo collection to PowerHouse Books. The story, therefore, has been split.

The images in the second Imperial seem flat, but that could be purposeful. Though they clearly seem aged with their sepia tones and the bright lighting of a desert sun, the history of the borderlands is constantly evolving and wrapping itself within other social shifts in agriculture, employment, and politics. To create a set of timeless, seemingly flat images may make a better story.

These basic portraits give each reader the opportunity to fuse the faces with their own knowledge of work, poverty, and border wars. The seemingly simple and obvious photos, therefore, leave the door open for readers to do the work of making Vollmann’s argument. The trouble is, there is too much left to chance with the book split from its captions and descriptions. There are important points Vollmann tries to make with certain images, particularly those that juxtapose labor and the law with the border. Yet, readers only have a classroom-perfect 8 x 10 image with which to make his point.

Even the review copy—delivered only as a PDF document—robs readers of particular necessary context. By simply presenting photographs of the area, Vollmann, better known for his commentary and analysis, becomes only the photographer and the collection isn’t gripping enough nor telling enough to survive as only 200 pages of lovely photographic images. Vollmann counts on the reader for a bit too much and trusts too heavily that his lens is as powerful as his voice.

Written by: Dr. Julie E. Ferris, January 11th 2010

Dorothea Lange: A Life Beyond Limits

admin — Sun, 27 Dec 2009 01:00:00 +0000

By Linda Gordon

W.W. Norton

Ask people to picture the Great Depression of the 1930s, and they’ll likely envision bread lines, rural poverty, and ragged families trying to hold destitution at bay. One photo, of a tired-looking woman, personifies the crisis. Called Migrant Mother, it depicts a worried female, hand on chin, looking into the distance as two cowering toddlers curl into her body.

Taken by Dorothea Lange, the chillingly beautiful, if austere, photo has been used for nearly eighty years to illustrate the personal toll of economic troubles. But while this image has become iconic, the artist who made Migrant Mother recognizable has been largely forgotten.

Social historian Linda Gordon seeks to fix this and her fascinating biography of Lange introduces a complex, driven, and multi-talented woman. Gordon starts the book in late-1890’s Hoboken, New Jersey, Lange’s hometown, and reports that she had a childhood of dramatic ups-and-downs: A bout of polio in 1902, when she was seven, left her with a deformed foot and her parents’ divorce when she as 12 triggered lifelong abandonment issues. Still, proximity to Manhattan satisfied Lange’s itch for adventure, and she repeatedly ditched school to explore the City’s ethnic enclaves. By the time she migrated west, landing in San Francisco in 1918, she was hungry for something new and was immediately drawn into bohemian circles that included artists Anne Brightman, Imogen Cunningham, and Consuelo Kanaga. In short order, Lange discovered her niche, establishing herself as a professional photographer. Her work initially involved portraiture and she set up shop taking pictures of the well heeled.

Along the way she met Maynard Dixon, an outdoorsman and painter twenty years her senior. Their tumultuous—if always respectful—relationship included a marriage and two sons and lasted until Lange got involved with sociologist Paul Schuster Taylor in the mid-1930s.

Taylor was the love of Lange’s life, a collaborator and partner. The two tromped around the U.S. as employees of the Farm Security Administration, she with a camera, he with a notepad, and together documented conditions in rural states. They were among the first to draw attention to mass migration from the South, publicizing the trek of “Okies” fleeing the Dust Bowl for the greener pastures of the West. Gordon points out the unintended consequence of this coverage—their focus on desperate whites unwittingly diverted attention from people of color living in even worse penury.

Gordon also zeroes in on another less than rosy aspect of the Lange-Taylor dyad—the virtual abandonment of their six children in order to work. Gordon captures the dynamic of the newly-blended family succinctly: “Today’s child development wisdom, considers the moment of divorce as the worst possible moment to send children away from their parents. When children fear loss of parents, they need reassurance that their parents won’t desert them and that the break-up is not their fault. The four parents involved in this story did not share today’s psychological understanding of children’s needs. Rather, they assumed, as most early twentieth-century experts did, that children were resilient and adaptable so long as their physical care was good.”

That said, Gordon reports that Lange was pained by the separation and often suffered from stress-induced health problems. At the same time she refused to return home and instead produced scores of enduring images to illuminate women’s oppression, racism, and workplace exploitation. Gordon calls her “America’s preeminent photographer of democracy” and credits her for showcasing what needed to be changed for democracy to flourish. Clearly ahead of her times, Lange defied expectations about women’s place and remains a relevant—and inspiring—role model.

Written by: Eleanor J. Bader, December 26th 2009

I Still Do: Loving and Living with Alzheimer’s

admin — Sun, 20 Dec 2009 17:01:00 +0000

By Judith Fox

powerHouse Books

I Still Do was written to help anyone who has or may be coping with someone in their family who has Alzheimer’s. It is a candid and emotional portrayal of author Judith Fox’s husband Ed along with their heartfelt story. Fox loves photography and capturing that perfect picture, and it shows in the photos in this book, as well as in the striking photo on the book cover. Fox goes into detail about the couple's life together, and she portrays her husband as a genius, athlete, aviator, and talks about his duties as a surgeon.

She explains that he is slowly being robbed of his memories and how hard it is to deal with him slipping away a little more each day. The book is actually set up in paragraphs with pictures accompanying them. The photos are all of Ed in different poses and situations. There are pictures where you can almost see right into his soul, and there are actual tears in his eyes. The pictures are a mixture of funny, candid, and everyday photos of a man who is slowly slipping away. There is one funny picture where Ed is sticking out his tongue in a small round shaving mirror, which shows that he still has some sense of humour and wit. This is how the book becomes real for the reader and truly touching.

Judith Fox wanted the reader to really see the soul of her husband and even shot one picture of him completely naked—minus his penis, of course! Judith goes into detail about the disease and how she has a caregiver to help her with Ed. She also explains the day to day issues that come with caring for someone with Alzheimer’s and the toll it can take on their loved ones. She only tells her husband bits and pieces about his disease, and he has apologized for putting her through the whole ordeal. Sadly, Ed doesn’t remember that they are even married! However, for Judith just loving each other is enough. The story ends with the one thing that the couple used to always say to each other. “I still do…and I always will.” This story will make you believe in true and lasting love.

Written by: Amber Whitman-Currier, December 20th 2009

States of Union (09/2009)

admin — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 14:40:00 +0000

Morgan Lehman Gallery

New York, New York

Artwork can rarely be separated from the artist. The two inform each other. At least that is the case with photographer Alix Smith, whose latest exhibition, “States of Union,” recently opened at the Morgan Lehman Gallery in New York City.

A common theme of Smith’s work is identity—the perceived notion of one’s identity and one's actual identity. The identity that was most challenging for Smith is her own as a lesbian. She always had a feeling of wanting to fit into the norm. "I was intent on being straight or trying to figure out why I didn’t fit in," says Smith.

By illuminating other people’s perceptions of themselves in her “Constructed Identities” project, Smith came to terms with her own identity. The exhibit was on portraits of friends and acquaintances she grew up with on the Upper East Side who were told to dress as if they were going to work or dinner. As a result of the nature of the shoot, many of the subjects began to exhibit many of the same mannerisms: placing their hands and crossing their legs in a certain way.

The shoot taught Smith that others also experience the feeling of having to fit in. “I got that everyone was playing this part, whereas before I always had this assumption that I was the only one who felt awkward. Through this project I was subconsciously hashing out this idea, that I was playing a part like an actor on a stage.” Smith ultimately realized the people she was photographing were substitutes for her self.

Smith has made a lot of progress since being scared of what people would think of her lesbian identity. Her latest exhibit focuses specifically on monogamous gay couples. Part of what she wanted to do in “States of Union” was give gay people more role models. “I feel like when you are growing up and straight there are many models of what your life might look like; you can watch movies that show all these depictions, but when you are gay there are a lot less.”

She doesn’t want to hit people over the head with the message behind the pictures. “I get them there before they realize the full impact of the work. Something is drawing them to image, and then (they say to themselves) wait, there are two women or two men. I’m not trying to be completely outrageous.”

Smith's long-term goal is to travel across the country taking pictures of lesbian and gay couples from every state and lecturing about LGBTQ issues. "States of Union" can be viewed until October 10, 2009.

Written by: Danielle Sonnenberg, September 23rd 2009

Ex Nihilo Magazine

admin — Sun, 14 Jun 2009 16:08:00 +0000

Edited by Saptarshi Chakraborty, Sayantani Dasgupta

Ex Nihilo Magazine is an online magazine that was started in December 2006 as a bilingual online publication in English and Bengali for college students. Under the initial chief editorship of Sourya Deb, the small online magazine ran its first issue in January 2007 regrouping and resurfacing the following year. This online publication serves the student population of South Asia and the diaspora with its main focus on art, poetry, photography, and short stories. Under the current artistic leadership of Saptarshi Chakraborty (editor of photography), Sayantani Dasgupta (editor of art), and Debarshi Banerjee (‘Web Wizard’), Ex Nihilo Magazine ('ex nihilo' means ‘rising from nothing’) is now going strong on a monthly basis.

One of the standout features is an interview of Marcus Rediker, who published the book The Slave Ship: A Human History in September 2007. The title provides a somewhat safe mislead on content, a darkly humorous abolitionist’s take on a shark’s perspective on why the slave trade should continue. This special feature of Rediker’s book makes the reader aware of the communal the effort to end slavery, as opposed to the long held notion that one man was responsible for bringing it to an end. Rediker also communicates the other long held notion that abolitionists were saintly people with the desire to do what was right and just.

Another feature includes the photography of Jasmeen Prather, who convinced six heterosexual men, in Leicester, UK, to pose for photographs in womens’s clothing. The age ranges of these men were from seventeen to twenty-one and include one fifty-year-old as well. What may be more interesting than the fact that they agreed to this project is the possibility of the work being a topic for discussion of generational views on sexuality and levels of comfort.

Provided that Ex Nihilo Magazine is still somewhat in its infancy, as far as consistency and content are concerned, the modes of artistic expression found in this publication are vast and original. It is refreshing to see the varied artistic expressions of those who may or may not exist alongside us, but whose culture is different enough to provide a varied, unique perspective that allows us to widen ours. The aesthetics of this online publication seem to still be finding an identity, but the uniqueness of the content is far from that search. Hopefully, its readers will continue to grow and contribute to this content.

Written by: Olupero R. Aiyenimelo, June 14th 2009

The Vision and Art of Shinjo Ito: An Exhibition of His Work (5/8 - 6/29/2008)

admin — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 13:30:00 +0000

Westwood Art Forum

Los Angeles, California

"One day I encountered the line in the Great Parinirvana Sutra that reads, ‘One who gives priority to making Buddha images and stupas, and takes great joy in doing so, will thereupon be born in the Land Immovable (the realm of resolute determination)’" - Shinjo Ito

Shinjo Ito (1906-1989) is one of Japan’s great modern Buddhist artists, although he thought of himself as primarily a religious man. He founded Shinnyo-en, a contemporary Buddhist movement that emphasizes meditation, personal serenity, world peace, the arts, and social responsibility. One hundred items—sculptures, photographs, reliefs, calligraphy, and personal effects—comprise this current exhibit, which attracted 300,000 visitors in Tokyo. Stateside it has been doing boffo box office, so to speak (entry to the exhibit is free), in Chicago and New York. It now resides in Los Angeles where it is installed to superb effect in the Westwood Art Forum. After L.A., the show will travel this year to Milan and Florence.

Shinjo began his working life as a clerk in a camera and radio store, and later became an aeronautical engineer. In February 1936, he quit his job to enter the Buddhist monastery of Daigoji. This decision was not entirely out of the blue because his father was a disciple of Zen Buddhism and his mother practiced a religion derived from Shintoism. Still, leaving his well-paid career in the midst of the Great Depression came at great personal cost. He and his wife, Tomoji, struggled to feed themselves and their kids. The resolve to quit the aircraft industry also brought with it danger. His action was considered “unpatriotic” in a country now de facto ruled by a military dictatorship. Only eighteen days after Shinjo emptied his desk, the infamous “February 26th Incident” occurred. Finance Minister Takahashi Korekiyo, Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal Saito Makoto, and the Inspector-General of Military Education, General Jotaro Watanabe, were assassinated as part of a mounting military takeover of the government.

In the year after he entered Daigoji, Shinjo carved his first piece, a relief of the fearsome Achalanatha, a Buddhist avatar who personifies fierce determination and ultimate compassion. It can be no accident that Shinjo’s life-changing decision and his carving of this resolute figure—which is thankfully part of the exhibit—occurred almost simultaneously. It’s an arresting work, with its flaming aureole alive with the gouges of the chisel that Shinjo employed in its making. The twisting body of the figure is so energetic that it seems to be struggling to free itself from the very wood from which it was carved and transform itself into a free-standing sculpture. In this respect it reminds one of the power and manner, though not the scale, of Michaelangelo’s Slaves emerging from their blocks of marble.

Later, in 1951, Shinjo cast another relief of Achalanatha in bronze (25.6 x 21.7 cm). His 1964 full statue in resin (height, 69 cm) boldly brandishes a sword and seems fierce when looked at frontally, but appears to be weeping from a side view. Thus the sculpture captures the dual nature of the symbolic figure who encourages perseverance yet also is deeply concerned for those who suffer. These works becomes even more amazing—as do all his sculptures—when you learn that this prolific craftsman had no formal artistic training to express his spiritual devotion and teachings.

Some of the oldest images in the exhibit are Shinjo’s photographs, and it is instructive to step back and start with them in talking more about his art, and in viewing the pieces—should you have an opportunity to see them in their current Westwood installation. (A very nice catalogue of the exhibit can be ordered online.)

At the age of nineteen, Shinjo was already making images with a bellows camera. He did study photography—his only formal schooling in the arts. He won awards for his pictures, some of which were printed in Japanese photographic journals of the period. The publication of the photographs of an “amateur” in such journals was a rare tribute and testifies to his artistic skill. Sometime later, in the 1930s, he acquired a Leica, the camera with which the dozen pictures at the exhibit are taken. On this evidence, his prints deserve a full book of their own with an accompanying monograph.

All the photos on display were taken in the period 1934-1939 and most of them are images from the countryside of Yamanashi prefecture, the area where Shinjo Ito was born. With traditional Japanese houses; shade trees; meandering, unpaved, narrow roads; streams and pools; and women in kimonos with babies on their backs, some of the images look like they could have been taken in the 1700s, if the camera had been invented then.

Apart from his poetic landscapes, many of the photographs could be read by the casual eye as merely sentimental. But they contain unsettling elements that do not serve pastoral quietude, and thus they erode the ahh-ain’t-that-sweet feeling of easy romanticism. Electricity poles grow beside the trees, and the wires snake through foliage. Men stride down the dirt roads garbed in the latest western fedoras, white shirts and ties, and wool greatcoats. Suddenly from these cues our history rushes in and enforces the knowledge that beyond this mountain fastness Japan has become an industrial and military empire that will soon challenge U.S. hegemony in the Pacific, a challenge that will end in the ruins of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The old Japan, the one prior to the Meiji Restoration, lingers, but it is most certainly passed and passing.

One striking image—of a vista of the mountains surrounding Yamanashi, with some clouds scudding above them that seem to have been scumbled in from a stage set—bears a resemblance to Georgia’s O’Keefe’s paintings of the Black Hills and of Grey Mesa. In general. Shinjo’s images demonstrate his empathy for working life, cultural ironies, nature, form and composition, light; in sum, all the usual rich and fertile contents and complexities of modernism. He didn’t just point and shoot.

Although Shinjo never gave up photography entirely, his primary mode of expression became sculpture. The piece that dominates his oeuvre, and fills up a big space at the Art Forum is his Great Parinirvana Image. Shinjo began this sixteen-foot-long (4.8 m) golden sculpture of the Reclining Buddha in January of 1957 and completed it in a whirlwind seventy-five days of effort. The image molds in resin the Buddha (i.e., Siddhartha Gautama, aka Shakyamuni) in the garden in Kushinagara where he had gone to spend the Rains Retreat. He lies on his side, rising up on one arm, to give his last teaching to his community before dying.

Speaking historically, this Buddha should have a very old face. He was, after all, eighty years old when he died. He may have had a pained expression because he was dying and knew it, and according to contemporary accounts, his death was preceded by a painful illness from a mortal digestive-tract failure that is traditionally said to have resulted from eating a dish of spoiled meat or mushrooms. Nonetheless, the artist gives him a very young and smiling face in this huge sculpture. Shinjo is on record as addressing this apparent contradiction: “I wanted the image to express Shakyamuni’s enlightenment, which is timeless. My reasoning was that as an enlightened being, he transcended all suffering and the four human trials of birth, old age, illness, and death. That is why I decided to give this Buddha a young face.” And, one may add, a Buddha with a smile enigmatic as the Mona Lisa’s.

Other notable elements of the sculpture are the thumbprints Shinjo left on the image as witness to his physical and contemplative efforts, and the flowing treatment of the drapery folds of the robe the Buddha wears. Shinjo was a great admirer of Greek sculpture. Someone gave him a bronze replica of the Venus de Milo and it stands prominently to his rear in a portrait of him taken in his atelier in Tokyo in the 1960s.

Two other pieces - _Shakyamuni Emerging from the Mountains _(1963; 84.5 cm) and the _Original Preparatory Model for the Great Parinirvana Image _(1956; 79 cm) - have the Buddha clad in flowing robes and demonstrate Shinjo’s ability to handle complex, folded drapery—in bronze. The effect here is miraculous, as good as it gets. The latter bronze is one of my favorite Shinjo works. It’s known by the older staff members in the temple in Japan, where it normally resides, as “the cute-faced Buddha” because of the smile on its face. It’s an enchanting piece. So, too, is the _Head of Shakyamuni _(1960; 57.2 cm), a bust in plaster that I swear is both masculine and feminine at the same time, and which projects nobility, strength, peace, and happiness all at once. Its tint is a soft, pale green that seems to shimmer and shift toward pale turquoise even as you look at it.

_Tathagata Shakyamuni _(1971; 39 cm) is a bronze with gilt and reddish patina that creates the Buddha with his hands in the “dharma-teaching mudra.” He sits on a pedestal. Below him, in a panel relief, his disciples listen intently to his words. Two attentive deer feature in the miniature relief because it was in Deer Park that Shakyamuni gave his first dharma teaching after his enlightenment. Other intricate animals and flowers intertwine in a halo surrounding the Buddha. The artistry here is astonishing, but perhaps best of all is the expression on Siddhartha’s face: It is a very kind look and, without exaggeration, it is so alive that you expect him to open his eyes and look you directly in your own. To remind you, dear reader: This is a bronze and to achieve this effect in that metal is extraordinarily difficult, requiring a master’s hand.

Shinjo was adept in resin, too. Many of the resin sculptures have the traditional gold-leaf surface of classic Buddhas, but some are executed in a warm, pale jade-and-brown coloring fashioned to resemble the patina that results when bronze and copper are weathered. These faux bronzes display the sculptor’s remarkable skill in plastic, inasmuch as they are virtually indistinguishable from the similar metal ones. This conscious use of a very twentieth-century material in the context of a very old iconography perfectly marries Ito’s ancient (subject) and modern (medium) concerns and sensibilities.

“Looking is good, touching is best,” Bob Grochowski, a docent at the exhibit said to me. One unusual and profound aspect of this “show” is that there are several resin and bronze sculptures that one is encouraged to touch. This is very much in keeping with the overall sentiment of the exhibit, and a far cry from the usual gallery SOP where a gaggle of security guards would descend on anyone who attempted to touch anything.

The exhibit has sparked discussion among its attendees as to its purpose. Is this a religious exhibit? Or is it an art exhibit? The sculptures—most of them—come from Shinnyo-en temples where they serve as objects of meditation. Shinjo himself felt that the works expressed his meditation on the Buddha, and he hoped they prompted the same in others. This bespeaks an instrumental purpose for the icons: One that strives to cultivate a spiritual awareness in the viewer—or, to put it more in the Buddhist manner, one that strives to put the viewer in touch with her own buddha nature—one’s inner buddha to put it in modern colloquial terms.

Western art has been long severed from religious roots (quick, name an important modern Christian sculptor), so we have all but lost this way of looking and feeling about art, confined, as we now tend to be, to responses appropriate only to aesthetics and entertainment. The gallery—rather than temple—context of this exhibit reinforces this secular gaze. Still, if you slow down and breathe your way through an extended viewing, you just might find yourself in the kind of meditative frame of mind that Shinjo hoped for. It is to his great credit that he spent his life producing works of art that—as one of their chief effects—remind us of what we have lost. Or to put it the right way about: What we may find again.

A very special thanks to the docents at the Shinjo exhibit for sharing their invaluable insights into Shinjo’s sculpture. And a note that the Shinjo staff are the kindest and most helpful I have ever encountered in a gallery environment.

Written by: Neil Flowers, June 3rd 2008

Women of Our Time: 75 Portraits of Remarkable Women

admin — Fri, 31 Aug 2007 18:40:00 +0000

By Frederick S. Voss

Merrell

Opening Women of Our Time, I expected to find glossy photos of Eleanor Roosevelt, Marilyn Monroe, and other names and faces I recognized. While I found summaries of the lives of Roosevelt and Monroe beside typical portraits, I also found glowing descriptions and realistically unflattering pictures of women whose names I had never heard or whose faces I had never seen. Among the familiar list of names and unfamiliar faces were Margaret Sanger, pioneer of birth control rights; Anne Sexton, a poet who wrote with heart-gripping emotionality; and Pearl S. Buck, whose works I had read in high school with little context. Among the women whose stories had been hidden to me until now were Rosalyn Yalow, a medical physicist who made in-roads into male-dominated fields; Frances Perkins, the first woman to hold a post in the U.S. Cabinet; and Zitkala-Sa Bonnin (also known as Gertrude Simmons Bonnin), an author and activist for Native American rights.

As broad and deep as the selection of featured women is, my only complaint is also about the selection. While a number of black, white, Asian and Native American writers, artists, activists, politicians and scientists are featured, nearly all of the subjects whose fame was acquired outside of the arts are white. The inclusion of Congresswoman and lawyer Barbara Jordan and Vietnam War Memorial architect Maya Lin is heartening, but surely a broad survey of ground-breaking women in the 20th century could offer a more inclusive pallet.

Written by: Jaclyn Barbarow, August 31st 2007

The Chez Girls

admin — Mon, 02 Jul 2007 21:23:00 +0000

By Tyler Ondine Whitman

Parler Media

"Stripping isn't evil, it's just a thing some girls do to get by." Or is it? The overly glamorized life of strippers tells society about the money and the desire, but Tyler Ondine Whitman tells about another aspect that is often swept under the rug.

Whitman is trying to tell an untold story – with over 100 photographs and only about six-ten pages of actual writing, she captures the perfect mix of rawness and emotion needed to portray what life as a stripper is like. These photos show the true bodies of women, who are actually living the life that is only characterized on television or in photos. They aren't perfect bodies modified by plastic surgery, but, rather, they show aspects of all women of the world: large breasts, small breasts, curvy, thin. "When I came face to face with the dancers – I was shocked – none of them looked like airbrushed Barbie dolls. They looked so real."

Whitman breaks down the happenings behind the closed doors of strip clubs. She tells about the possibility of making an extra $20 here or there (all you have to do is give a client a handjob), and she talks about the prospects of Vice busting in. The most heartbreaking aspectis when we learn what Whitman faces when she becomes close with one girl: some of the strippers thought they had no where to turn, no other job prospects.

The photos are real. The grainy, black and white images are almost haunting. They depict the daily life and work of a stripper: counting her money, swinging around a pole, getting dressed, displaying her body for all to see. "I'd never actually seen a lap dance. She laid it out."

Written by: Megan Blair, July 2nd 2007