The 1st Photo.

copyright 2008 David M. Grim

What emerges
from the primordial ooze,

a spectral creature
of light?

Or the shadow
of
some spirit
much
more
ancient.

My First Chicken Slaughter.

As if my week wasn't made odd enough by having cremains tossed on me, I decided to commit to another level of surreality on Saturday. I have some friends who've recently returned from living abroad to become organic chicken farmers. They have seen me through my early years as an artist, and asked me if I'd be willing to photograph their first chicken slaughter. After thinking about it for about forty-five seconds, I eagerly accepted their offer. Hell, I eat chicken a lot... I prefer it to any other type of meat, so I might as well witness the ideal way of processing it. Still, after a night out at the bar, I didn't know what to expect early the next morning. But I woke up at 7AM and made my way out of the city to the rural paradise that my friends now inhabit.

I found out right away (to mild disappointment) that they had actually killed 120 fowl the previous Wednesday. That meant that they were already old hands by the time I arrived. Their schedule entailed snuffing 60 more birds by noon. The idea was to have them ready for their customers, who they would be inheriting from the family that was serving as their host and mentor. As far as I'm concerned, their clients have a good thing going. They get extraordinarily fresh meat with no chemicals for $2.50 a pound. As an ordinary consumer, I had no clue how these things got from their eggs on to my plate. I was about to find out. I got a quick tour of the facilities and smoked a last cigarette before show time.

All the equipment necessary for an operation of this scale fits on the bed of a small trailer- about the size you might use to tote a speedboat. There are a series of six stainless steel inverted cones into which you manhandle the future fryers into an upside down position. The heads poke out an opening at the bottom, and you simply grab their heads and slit them off with a sharp boning knife. As you've no doubt heard, they flap around for awhile afterwards, so you've got to hold them in place until they are relatively still. Their blood drips down into a gory trough at the bottom. Then they go into a hot tank of water to get scalded for about 45 seconds. That prepares them for the plucking machine, which looks a lot like a top-loaded washing machine.

After they are sans feathers they look as if they are ready to eat. But you still have to remove their innards, sparing the goodies like the gizzard and liver. This looks like the most time consuming part. It took a crew of four a bit more than two hours to transform all 60 chicken into food. It's a bit amazing when you think about it- these males go from cradle to freezer in only eight weeks. I guess you could feel bad for them after that reflection. They are just entering their prime, and they are abruptly beheaded and turned into an inert marketable product. Yet as a meat eater, I'd be a bit of a hypocrite to spend much time being bothered over the whole thing. After all, they are finger-lickin' good.

It would be interesting to have a look at how agribusiness does their processing. However there is zero chance that they'd let me step into their plants with a camera. You can access horror stories about the industry pretty easily elsewhere. I'm not going to dwell on those sordid details here. The important thing is that I have a deeper awareness than I had before. I honestly didn't know how I'd react to the inherent violence of chicken slaughter. I suppose having a camera in between me and the phenomenon helped me distance myself from any emotions that I may have had otherwise. I'll admit to being a bit glib about it while I was shooting. And although I had a bit of melancholy on my way home from the farm, I'm certainly not going to stop eating drumsticks.

Random Acts of Intentional Violence.

Last Friday night I finished reading the book I was currently working my way through, and I thought I'd go out for a drink and relax a bit. I couldn't identify any friends to meet me at my favorite nightspot, and so I was hoping that the bar would not be jam-packed with tourists and suburbanites. There was an outside chance that I would be able to find a seat, since it was before 10:30PM. I parked in my usual spot and walked up the sidewalk to the front entrance. I could see through the front window that it wasn't too crowded. I was heartened to find an empty stool near the corner of the bar, with no one on either side. I settled in, received the usual sterling service that befits a regular, and sipped my cocktail in peace. It felt good to be out in a quiet and clean place with breathing space.

Fortunately I had remembered to bring my camera with me, and I decided to try to capture a bit of the magic of the night. At this point in the night the bar was so empty that I had a chance to talk to some of the staff as I worked. This particular pub has plenty of visual stimuli and a multitude of varied and interesting light sources. I enjoyed working in that atmosphere, and quickly lost myself in phenomena that most observers would find mundane. I really can't sufficiently praise the Canon G9. It has enough in-camera features to provide hours of diversion. I was able to accumulate a number of compelling, show-worthy images in the short time I sat at the bar. Later a friend came in and I chatted superficially with him about mild topics.

I had no intention of making it a long or costly night out. I felt quite satisfied as I donned my jacket and left for the drive home. It had been time well spent, and I congratulated myself for my moderation. As I approached my car, I realized almost immediately that something was wrong. My driver's side mirror was hanging by its internal electrical wires from its mounting. The faceplate was shattered in many pieces. It struck me initially that this was incredibly inconvenient, as I had to get home in the dark without its aid. I quickly discerned that the mirror on the passenger side was also destroyed. Over the past year I had parked in this little convenience store lot almost every time I visited the bar. The store was closed and I figured it was fair game. I've never had even the slightest problem with this practice.

It began to sink in that someone had come by and done this deliberately. This was no accident- it was quite clear because both sides were smashed. I wondered who might have done such a thing. There was another car next to mine that had not been vandalized... but it hadn't been there when I arrived. Apparently some ne'er-do-well figured that my little banged-up foreign vehicle was an appropriate target. He (or they) decided that they would add a particularly damaging exclamation point to my evening. Why did they do it? Perhaps they were kids, amped up and showing off to each other. Maybe they were inordinately drunk and carousing. Going wildin' on a weekend night is a long-honored tradition among adolescents. I'm sure they gave the whole affair little thought. I was simply left to deal with the consequences.

I suppose this kind of thing happens week in, week out, across the nation. People seem to invest so little energy into thinking about what their actions cost others. This is an anonymous protest against an unknown individual. I certainly didn't feel that I knew the perpetrator. I don't believe that it was anything personal. Anyone could become the recipient of such malice on any given night. This is the nature of random violence. You could go weeks, months, or years without anything like this ever happening to you. Or it could happen on subsequent days. But it makes me question our society. Do we teach its members to have this little respect for their fellows? Is there something in our culture that reinforces such behavior? Is it a natural consequence of our difficult and chaotic times? How much worse can it get? I slept fitfully and woke up sore.

Another New Camera.

Last weekend was especially entertaining for me. The work at the galleries at Unblurred was generally competent and interesting. There were a lot of people out having fun. Saturday's show at La Vie was a predictable success, and featured its routinely stimulating mix of people enjoying the occasion. I also got a hold of the new CD by my favorite band- Slim Cessna's Auto Club. After the first couple of listens, it has proven its worth and earned the right to sit alongside the previous masterpieces of the band. Even Baby E. seemed to get a kick out of it. I got a package of extracurricular work completed early, and thus was free to enjoy the delights of spare time. To cap it off, the Flyers beat the Penguins. Although I shouldn't care at all, it makes going back to the workplace easier for me when that happens.

But the best thing that happened goes deeper than all of the rest. To understand why it so meaningful, an explanation of my recent experiences is necessary. For the last ten (or so) months, I have felt incredibly dissatisfied with my photographic output. Fortunately I have been able to concentrate on other outlets, because at some inarticulable level I need to be happy about my artistic processes in order to be satisfied with life. I've also built a certain set of expectations among local galleries about having quality work to show. I do have an extensive backlog of stuff that I feel is worthy of exhibition, and I could have continued my creative drought while still mounting some decent shows. I had a few productive years in a row, and there's a lot that will be 'new' to people who have followed my progression.

The reasons for my dissatisfaction are numerous, but the most obvious problem is that I haven't been shooting much over the past year. Primarily this is the result of having purchased a new camera. In the beginning of last summer, I went to Ritz and picked up a Canon Rebel XTi DSLR. By the time I got out of the store I had spent something like $1800 for the package. I did so impulsively because i had been agonizing over the direction I should take. I hang out with several folks who are obsessed with the technical aspects of photography. Time and time again, I was told that I need to upgrade. I had presumably exhausted the capabilities of my Canon G6. Now it was time to "get serious". So against my reservations, I finally took the plunge. Now I had a small backpack full of gear, waiting to be used.

Unfortunately the size of this camera and its accessories ended up inhibiting my production. If I wanted to shoot something, I had to plan ahead. The equipment was way too expensive to simply leave in my car all of the time. So if I decided I might find something worthwhile, I would have to hump that damn backpack around. Then when I spotted a likely target- I had to pause, take the bag from my back, unzip it, put on the appropriate lens, and then get into a solid shooting position. By the time I was ready, all of the spontaneity and intuitive aspects of the situation had dissipated. The pictures mostly came out looking uninspired and overly conventional. I was almost entirely confined to 'documentation', and even then my subject had to be pretty inert. It removed most of the joy from the activity.

For months I've been considering grabbing a point-and-shoot that I can stick in my pocket and carry around with me conveniently. After my son was born, my Dad came to visit and brought his new G9 with him. I tested it out briefly, and liked it a lot. I resolved quickly to continue my loyalty to the Canon G-series (my first and second cameras were the G5 and the G6). I put off its purchase for weeks, until my G6 gave up the ghost permanently. Then there was no reason to hesitate. I'm incredibly happy I took the plunge. The first two days I used it, I took hundreds of photos. I feel that I got more show-worthy images over this past weekend than in the previous year. When something intrigued me, I simply grabbed the G9 and went to work. And once it was out, I began to play with its features (many of which are absent in the XTi). There's a certain high that comes with feeling good about making art. I had come to expect it fairly regularly. After a long absence, it's now back.

The Artistic Paradox.

I made it back to Panza Gallery for another drawing session. I've only been going once every few weeks since the baby was born. The rotation of models has been consistent, so I haven't been missing out on new people to draw. I'd love to finish The Book of Life with some variety. I'm in the business section now, partially through the letter "e". The end of the project is in sight... it has been for awhile now. I am ready to be done with it- an entire phone book filled (every other page) with drawings. Somehow I'm starting to feel confined, as if I was curtailing my artistic progress. On one hand, I know that my skills have improved markedly in the nearly two years that I've been working on this thing. But I can't help feeling that my imagination has been stagnating.

I've been daydreaming about doing some more experimental drawing. I'd like to continue drawing from live models, but find a way to advance a sort of mutated vision. For some reason I've felt constrained to doing rather conventional figure drawings in this book. It certainly seems to fit my intentions for the project. Still I keep thinking about strange growths and exaggerations. I hope finishing this will be as liberating as I think it might be. I could have simply taken a break from it and started something else, but the lag in my progress has been glaring. Last year at this time I was drawing several times a week. As it is, it's looking like I'm not going to be done for several more months.

I know that the structure and the discipline required for completing The Book of Life will have a substantial payoff. The scope of the endeavor entails an inevitable development. I once read about a chess grandmaster who suggested that merely playing a 1000 matches would lead virtually anyone to become something of a master of the game. For that expert, getting better is largely a matter of perseverance. One can't help but learn something from repetition. This is most likely applicable to drawing as well. It would be hard to argue that I'm not improving my level of craft. But I have to ask myself whether it is making me a better "artist".

When I see the mannered paintings and drawings of those who aspire to the mastery of the classics, I don't necessarily consider these pieces to be "art". I can be impressed by the level of craftsmanship displayed, but they don't move me in the ways I expect "art" to move me. There must be conception, not just representation. I don't see the point in simply trying to make an image incredibly realistic. I have photography if I want to represent reality. Even in that medium, I've been moving further away from conventional documentation. So what is it I'm looking for? I appreciate the idiosyncratic and intensely personal work that forms a unique world view. That's the type of art I want to make.

The complication in all of this is that a certain level of technique is necessary to be able to convey my ideas into their external form. I've never had formal instruction in any of the pursuits of self-expression that I'm involved in. That goes for drawing, writing and photography. Still I can't help thinking that study and practice could only expand my possibilities. And yet this has to be balanced with a looseness of articulation that involves being apart from convention. If I learn the "proper" way to do these things, then they are going to be (by definition) less subjective and more derivative. It's a conundrum that I'm having difficulty synthesizing.

"Color Swap" @ Unblurred this Friday.

I really didn't anticipate having a show of my work so soon after becoming a father. Putting together a solo ordinarily requires a lot of work, and I simply didn't think I'd be able to find the time to do it. But when Laura Jean over at the Clay Penn (5111 Penn Avenue) asked me to hang some photos as part of February's Unblurred, it was too tempting to pass up. The last time I had work at this event was all the way back in September/October 2005, at the now defunct Arrow Gallery. That was the "Works on Paper" show, and it was the first time I showed my drawings on phone-book pages. I've been attending the monthly installments of Unblurred for years, but I just haven't followed up on any opportunities to display my work there.

Another reason why I thought twice about exhibiting work is because I've been fortunate enough to be asked to participate in a number of shows over the past twelve months. I've had two solos, and I've been in multiple group shows. The last thing I want to do is to exhaust whatever small amount of interest people have in my work. I figure that I have a limited amount of occasions that I can request my friends and acquaintances to devote their limited free time to me. At some point the novelty simply wears off. Likewise I don't want to display the same images in different places over a short time span. Still, several of my friends who are accomplished artists have encouraged me to seize any chance to get my artwork into the public eye.

So anyway, I will have ten framed 11 x 14" photos on the walls of the Clay Penn this Friday night. They are part of a series that I took well over a year ago. Although I was pleased with the way they turned out at the time, they got buried in a backlog of shots that I eventually intended to show. There weren't enough of them to fill a large gallery, and yet they had to be shown in a series in order to convey their context. I waited for awhile for the right time to pull them out, but eventually I simply forgot about them. When I considered the spatial limitations of the Clay Penn, the series immediately jumped out as the most appropriate body of work to show. At the same time, I think that they fit the space itself very well, and complement the more permanent work that is always on display at the gallery.

These photos are the result of serendipity. I was at a my friend's bar in the South Side with a couple of friends, one of whom happened to have her Canon point-and-shoot camera with her. I asked to borrow it for a few minutes, and discovered a function called "color swap". To use the setting you simply get a light meter reading off of any source in your environment. Somehow the processing chip inside the camera takes the quality and color of that reading and inverts the rest of the visible scale accordingly. I took about 30 portraits and other shots over the next hour. They are vividly colored, and slightly hallucinatory. In some ways they relate to the Pop Surrealist paintings that I have been slowly accumulating over the last several years.

I'm looking forward to seeing how those familiar with my work respond to these photographic prints. I'll probably be explaining the process by which I shot them, over and over again. It's important to me to point out that I did no post-production adjustments to them at all. I've never used Photoshop or any other editing program to tweak my photos. I don't have anything against those tools... I just haven't gotten around to playing with them yet. Regardless I think these shots are fun to look at, and so they meet at least one important criteria. They represent momentary slices of neon-lit nightlife that my friends and I have shared time and again. Come out and join us for the opening reception- this Friday (Feb. 1st) from 7-9PM.

Outsider Photography?

It seems inevitable that in the process of Christmas shopping, I end up finding a few things that are just right as gifts... for myself. Somehow it feels easier to justify indulging myself while I am buying stuff for other people. These are the type of objects that I would love receiving as a present from someone else. It's just that the chances of getting something that I would purchase spontaneously approach zero in likelihood. That's not to say that my tastes are too oblique for others to determine- but rather that they are rather widespread, and there's no way for anyone else to figure out whether or not I already have a particular item in my collection. Anyway, when I stopped by Half Priced Books the other day, I had an idea I'd be taking home some choice items to keep.

I was impressed to discover that someone (Chronicle Books in San Francisco) saw fit to publish a volume of "outsider photography". I've always been drawn to artwork that originates from outside of the art school pantheon. That's likely because I didn't attend art school, and have very little formal education in anything having to do with art. So whether it's the work of the insane, the incarcerated, the reclusive, or the addled- I'd like to see it. Whatever it actually is- it generally falls under one of a few different classifications tagged with words including visionary, outsider, folk, primitive, naive, or "Art Brut". There are already numerous collections of painters and sculptors who fit within this broad category, and the conventional art world has taken notice. Within certain cultural circles, the names Howard Finster, Henry Darger, Adolf Wolfli and Charles Benefiel are quite well-known.

But what about C.T. McCluskey, Alexandre Lobanov, Morton Bartlett, and Joe "40,000" Murphy? Do any of those names ring a bell? Most likely not, because all of them used components of photography in their work... and that is one medium that is still too often overlooked within the art community. Perhaps it's because the materials of photography have always been so readily available. Everyone has snapshots lying around their house- one need not consider themselves an "artist" to grab the camera and take some shots. There's a certain intentionality implicit in painting and sculpture that suggests that the perpetrator of such activities knows what they are getting themselves into. On the other hand we simply take it for granted that anyone can take some pictures. Very seldom do we see it as the proper business of "the artist".

Create and Be Photographed: Photography on the Edge (edited by John Turner and Deborah Klochko) presents the work of seventeen "largely self-taught artists who have used photographs or photographic elements in their creation." This study has broad enough parameters that include photo montage, collage, manipulation, and tableau methodologies. Whether the artist is setting up a fantastic scene, gluing cut-out photos into a work, or painting over the top of a photograph- he/she is employing non-conventional means to express a wildly idiosyncratic and personalized vision. Few of the artists in this book ever had any intention to engage the world of exhibition and commerce. Like their painting and sculptural kin, they are driven by inner obsessions to express themselves through their artwork. For them photography isn't necessarily about documenting "what is"- but rather "what would never be", without their own mediation.

I think the editors are on to something when they declare that this sub-field of art appreciation is largely unrealized. Who knows what unseen gems are going to see the light of exposure in the near future? For decades people have been defining their relationships with the external world through the eyes of cameras. With digital technology increasingly replacing film processes that limited the scope of participation, we are bound to see a further expansion in the numbers and variety of "outsider photography". Who knows what we'll find on vast photo-sharing sites such as Flickr? This most democratic of platforms is bound to stimulate a new renaissance in photography. For those engaging the world of the lens (and whatever side of it that they find themsleves on) there is an array of adventures to be discovered*.



* Check out this and this...

The Blogger Show Opening @ Panza Frame and Gallery, Millvale.

There will be a slight hint of sadness to my activities this weekend. That's because Saturday marks the last Pittsburgh opening reception that the Digging Pitt Gallery will be involved in. The ironic thing is that the show doesn't even take place in Lawrenceville. Instead it's in Millvale at the Panza Gallery (115 Sedgwick Street) between the hours of 6 and 9PM. It's the last installment of The Blogger Show, which ran concurrently in NYC and Pittsburgh last month. I have a fair amount of work displayed for this exhibition. The binding commonality among the artists included is their involvement in blogs with art-related themes. By this definition Serendipity is a bit of an exception. Although I occasionally write conceptually about art products and process, my site isn't anywhere near as centered on these subjects as the others represented in the show. I suppose my sporadic participation in The Diggging Pitt blog worked to my favor.

If it weren't for John Morris (Digging Pitt's owner/curator), I wouldn't have established Serendipity when I did. It was through his prodding that I started writing for blogs- first for the gallery, and then for myself. I became affiliated with the Digging Pitt when local art star Bob Ziller included me in a group show that John had asked him to put together. I had expected to get a few photographs accepted for display, but it turned out that John happened to be (atypically) free of distraction when I brought my stuff in. He decided almost immmediately that he liked my work, and asked if I'd be willing to keep some of it in the flat files at the gallery. Thus started a multi-year interaction that kick-started my entry into the local arts scene. It wasn't long after that fateful day that I was planning to co-curate a themed group show at the Digging Pitt (Carnivalesque- A Grim Guignol- 2006). We had a lot of fun putting that together, and I'd have to say it was a reasonable success.

Earlier this year I had my first gallery solo at Digging Pitt Too. It included 40 photographs from a conceptual series called Regenesis. My experience with hanging (thanks, Susan C.!) and selling that show was invaluable. As time progressed I started forming a friendship with John that I hope continues when he goes back to NYC. We even tramped around Chelsea, Brooklyn, and Queens together this past summer. I have to say that I learned an inordinate amount about art from John, who was already a well-established artist before he ever showed up in the 'Burgh. Unfortunately I also had to sit through a series of lectures about urban planning, as that is another one of his obsessions. It's incredibly rare to meet people so well-versed in their passions, and so willing to share information, as John Morris.

So that's why my enjoyment of The Blogger Show has been tinged with a hint of sorrow. Soon after the show wraps up, Pittsburgh will lose a valuable asset. I guess that it's ultimately fitting that the pieces I'm showing this Saturday are from my bodies of work that John likes the best. There is a series of shots I took of an outdoor bible walk behind a Franciscan Friary in West Virgina. And there is an enigmatic collection of raw and emotional drawings I made over ten years ago. These are incredibly personal creations, and John was the first (besides myself) to see something valuable in them. In fact, he's one of the few people that has heard the full story behind the creation of this work. Despite getting to know me primarily as a photographer, John has been consistently encouraging of my return to drawing. For this I owe him a debt of gratitude.

I don't think I'm the only person in Pittsburgh who has benefited from Digging Pitt's presence these last few years. John's commitment to art and artists has always outstripped whatever negative feelings he might have had about this city. Through my participation in the gallery's activities, I have met many artists and collectors that I expect to stay in touch with. A sense of community is built from the accumulation of individual energy that people put into their passions. John Morris certainly became a part of the community, and he'll be missed when he leaves. Take the opportunity to stop by Panza Gallery tomorrow night, and wish John well in his future endeavors. Also introduce yourself to Mark Panza who remains in the area, maintainig a decades-long commitment to the Pittsburgh art scene.

Still adjusting to my new camera.

Of course only now that summer's completely over do I find myself getting the urge to take photographs. It's too easy to put it off for another day when you have unlimited time. However there are some other factors at work as well. Getting the new camera really did end up curtailing my creative drive. Learning the functions of my new camera, and fussing around with a detachable lens, have ended up distracting and even discouraging me. I was anxious as soon as I bought it, and I have probably exacerbated the situation with my own self-doubt.

My process has changed drastically due to the lack of option to frame shots using the LCD screen. I knew this was going to be a radical difference, but I might have actually underestimated just how much it would affect me. I spend a lot of time struggling through the viewfinder to get the right composition. The camera is heavier too, and that adds another tricky variable. There have already been quite a few occasions that I thought I lined up everything just perfectly, only to later discover that I was off. Obviously it's extremely frustrating to miss out on photo opportunities when you were actually prepared, camera in hand. Meanwhile I find myself more often without any camera, because I don't think to lug the damn backpack around with all of its attachments. It takes all the spontaneity and much of the fun out of the entire endeavor.

I've also learned that the auto function on the new camera does not give me the kind of results that the old one offered. It's not that I relied on that setting often, but if I felt the light was ideal I'd occasionally switch out of manual and let the A.I. maximize the quality of the shot. I don't know whether it is my imagination or not, but I'm not as satisfied with the current results. Certainly it's ideal to get into the habit of making manual exposure adjustments... I just get lazy sometimes. There are also situations that present themselves so quickly that I don't want to risk missing the opportunity while fussing with the settings.

Anyway, it was such a nice day today that I felt compelled to take a drive in search of interesting imagery. The light was sharp, the temperature was mild, and there was nothing I needed to take care of. I figured I could find my own space in my head and let fate take its course. There's an irrational voice inside of me that tells me that I am not creating anything myself, but merely channeling a guiding force or muse. The challenge is to put myself in the right frame of mind to clear out any obstruction that could potentially stem the flow. That requires more than viewing the camera as a natural appendage... it also means that I have to attune myself to the signs and signals along the way. I get in my car and drive without conscious intention. I keep my eyes open and stop when I feel that I'm being called to do so.

This all smacks of new age nonsense, but I've been pleased with the results in the past. Today I ended up looking at several building that were slowly decomposing. I wanted to examine St. Boniface from the inside, but it was locked. I found another facility in back that is obviously no longer in use. I also took a trip over to the North Side to shoot a crumbling house that I have had my eye on for awhile. I finished up on Hatfield Street, where I photographed the Heppenstall Plant that is finally being demolished. I lived across the street from this abandoned behemoth for years, and the sight of its ruins has a deep effect on me. I remember scrambling around the grounds back when I was wild and had friends who would join me on such adventures. Unfortunately I never had a camera back then.

"We Will Dance Again" @ Melwood Screening Room.

The day of my reception has finally arrived. It's been a waiting game ever since I delivered the work to the gallery. Since then I've found out that several people showed up last Friday, expecting the reception to be on the actual day of the opening. It's a bit of a shame they missed out on the free refreshments, but I was gratified to learn that they cared enough to take a look. As far as tonight is concerned, I am experiencing very little anxiety. My last solo exhibit was recent enough to take the edge off of this one. So hopefully I'll arrive early, drink a couple of beers with some friends, and relax.

I figured I'd take this chance to provide a little context about the show. Here is the blog post I wrote last year after first visit to Asbury Park. It's hard to believe that almost an entire year has passed since that visit. I wanted to travel to this destination for several years before I actually got my act together. The sights I saw are still fresh in my mind, no doubt aided by the visual record I have put together. It's notable how few people in Western PA have any idea about what Asbury Park once was. For that reason, I thought that I might provide a basic outline of its storied history.

The land that Asbury Park sits upon was purchased by James A. Bradley in 1871. He named the community after Francis Asbury, the founder of Methodism in the US. Bradley had traveled extensively throughout Europe, and used his experiences as a foundation in the planning and layout of Asbury Park. Right from the very beginning, it had its own unique character among northeastern beachfront towns. It was actually the first seaside resort in America to benefit from a sanitary sewer system. It was an early adopter of trolleys and electric power, and was equipped with an operahouse and several fine hotels. By the last decade of the Nineteenth Century, a boardwalk and amusement pier with rides had been built.

Despite a horrible fire in 1917, Asbury Park continued to grow in size and prosper. The year 1923 brought a building boom, and several structures depicted in my show (including the Casino and Convention Hall) were constructed during that time period. Cookman Avenue, which has recently been rejuvenated through the latest round of development, was a bustling business district. But in the wake of the post WW-II years, social changes brought about an almost imperceptible transition in Asbury Park. With the completion of the Garden State Parkway, less and less vacationers used trains to reach their destinations, and the railroads that brought tourists to Asbury were becoming progressively empty. At the same time the construction of suburban shopping malls took a big bite out of the commercial activity on Cookman Avenue. Office parks on its periphery drew professionals away from downtown residences, and the opening of Great Adventure (a huge amusement park) presented overwhelming competition for leisure dollars. On July 4th, 1970 civic unrest turned into riots, and the declining fate of Asbury Park was sealed.

Although several rock clubs (like the Stone Pony, the Fast Lane, and Asbury Lanes) have played host to big name musical acts throughout the years, Asbury Park has been considered a seedy and slightly dangerous beach town for the past few decades. Bruce Springsteen immortalized this period with his seminal album Greetings From Asbury Park. It's been known as a mecca for populations as diverse as bikers, gays, criminals, drug addicts, and artists. Now as the last remains of Asbury Park's past crumble into ruins, a new future is dawning. The attention of investors has been naturally drawn to this underdeveloped beach-town only about an hour's ride from NYC. The modern explorer is met with the evidence of large-scale construction projects that will soon result in resorts of massive scale.

I was compelled to photograph Asbury Park on the cusp of what I perceive to be another lamentable example of the homogenization of the American landscape. Soon all evidence of a once unique and authentic city along the Atlantic shore will be wiped away forever. Like everything else of specific interest on the East Coast, the future of Asbury no doubt will be characterized by the suburbanization of our urban environments. Gentrification, driven through the commercial imperative, is bound to make Asbury Park look as blandly uninspired as the US itself. The structures I saw on my trip, despite their state of rapid deterioration, encapsulate a stark grandeur that seems to be forever receding into our past.

The Show is Hung... the Wait Continues.

My show at Pittsburgh Filmmakers is finally up on the wall. This is a bit of a strange situation for me, as I haven't even been in to look at the finished product. Of course it is a bit unconventional to have the artwork exposed to public view for a full week before the opening reception. It makes my promotional hot card a bit misleading. Originally the opening was scheduled for tonight, but it had to be pushed back by a week because of scheduling conflicts. Now it's going to happen a week from today, on "First Friday". I'll admit to having mixed feelings about that.

I've made my frustration about Pittsburgh event-planning pretty well-known on this blog. Weeks will go by without anything much of interest, and then there will be a flood of options packed into a single night. This weekend, for example, there is very little happening in the 'Burgh. Earlier this evening I attended the single thing I had identified as wanting to see- a multi-artist opening curated by Thad Kellstadt, downtown at the Space Gallery. Actually, considering the lack of entertainment opportunities, this event was sparsely attended. It was good to see Thad on the eve of his big move to Chicago. I'm sure he'll do well there. But while he's settling in there next weekend, there will be plenty of things to see here in Pittsburgh.

I anticipate that many of the folks who would ordinarily show up at my opening will be occupied with Unblurred on Penn. Hell... if I wasn't unveiling my own work that night, I'd be right there with them. Some of my friends have tried to mollify me by saying that the art walks in the summer are weak, but that wouldn't have kept me at home otherwise. The only thing that could work in my benefit is that everyone will already be out, and perhaps they'll jump around a bit. Either way I'm sure I'll enjoy next Friday with whomever shows up. If you've never been to an opening at the Melwood Screening Room, you'll be pleased to discover how great the spreads are at their receptions. If no one else comes, that just means more beer and food for me. I'll be the one laying in my own vomit in the lobby.

Actually the entire experience with Filmmakers has been wonderful so far. It certainly didn't hurt that I contracted the very competent Paul Roden and Valerie Lueth of Tugboat Printing (Lawrenceville) to frame my work this time around. They did an excellent job at an extremely affordable price. Between them and Panza Frame and Gallery, Pittsburgh artists and collectors are spoiled. You can't go wrong with either of these excellent shops.

George Davis and the entire crew at Filmmakers have also made the preparation for this show extremely pleasant. Despite the fact that they usually don't print cards for the outer gallery, they were tremendously accommodating in granting my request for them. They made them in-house and (thanks, Gern) they came out looking great. When I delivered the work on Wednesday morning, George and I organized the work through a smooth collaborative process. We laid the photos along the walls, and agreed on a meaningful presentation. I couldn't believe how smooth a process it was. After we were done with the layout, I was able to leave immediately. I felt completely indulged, knowing that competent professionals would hang and light the work. An artist could get used to showing at the institutional level.

While the inner gallery is considered a more prestigious space to show, the lobby of the Melwood Screening Room has some extraordinary benefits. It is impossible to go to see one of the many fine quality foreign or independent films without being exposed to the work in the outer gallery. Unlike a private gallery, this theater attracts a whole population of folks who otherwise wouldn't make a point of looking at art. While there is really no sales orientation in the facility, showing at Pittsburgh Filmmakers is a great way to broaden your appeal. I'm definitely looking forward to the reception, and I hope you will join me (if at all possible).


The opening reception for We Will Dance Again runs from 7-9PM on Friday, August 3rd. The gallery/screening room is located at 477 Melwood Avenue in the Oakland neighborhood of Pittsburgh. Contact Pittsburgh Filmmakers for further information at 412-681-5449. My work will be available for viewing through September 2, 2007.

Of striking a balance on the road.

One of the things that I was very conscious of in Chicago was wanting to make sure that it didn't feel altogether like a "work" trip. Ever since I started taking my photography seriously (i.e. when I began to exhibit and sell it) I have been compelled to make travel first and foremost about taking images home with me. Taking that approach has (at times) had a substantial payoff, both in practical terms and in lending an extra dimension of depth to my experience. I'm glad I've been involved in that type of "work". But it can become obsessive and intrusive as well.

Truthfully, I have always felt the need to run around and see as much as I can whenever I visit a new place. I get a nagging sense that I might never return, and I don't want to "miss out". At times this has been an issue for my companions on such trips. Having researched a place to come up with an itinerary, I get frustrated if I encounter competing agendas. This isn't generally a problem with M., as she understands and respects my priorities. She's perfectly happy for us to go our own ways whenever we disagree about what we individually desire. But others have interpreted my vacation-approach as a slight against their own values, or a commentary on my friendship with them. I've become more diligent about explaining this issue beforehand, and trying to monitor situations that might elicit inner or outer conflict. I feel like I negotiated that well this summer, in both NYC and Chicago. Of course you'd probably have to consult L. or JM to get the whole story.

L. and I actually had an interesting, protracted discussion about individual strategies for engaging art museums. He told me that he had been affected by a suggestion he read in a Jeanette Winterson book. Her contention is that so many people file through the halls of great art collections, and give cursory glances at so many great works of art. They have only a set amount of time to spend, and so they move quickly through, and often get overwhelmed and overstimulated long before they have seen everything. Winterson suggests finding one work that is particularly interesting, and sitting down in front of it for a long time- perhaps even an hour. She says that, in this way, one can have a deep fulfilling experience, and therefore get closer to the true spirit and intention of art appreciation. After all the artist took hours and/or days to create the work... is it so much to ask that we invest a substantial amount in considering its values and meaning?

My initial reaction was that this approach didn't seem like a particularly useful way to manage the finite resource of time. If I am in a new city, I want to get a broad range of experiences in order to synthesize my thoughts and feelings about the place. I can't imagine traveling for many hours for a single shot at seeing what the Metropolitan Museum (or MOMA or the Smithsonian, etc.) has to offer, only to spend the bulk of my visit contemplating a single image. There's no way I could keep myself from feeling some vague sense of dissatisfaction and regret because of a perception of missed opportunity.

Yet at the same time, I think it's important for me to give fair consideration to Winterson's idea. I do see how it could be useful to devote one's attention to certain works that appear particularly appealing (for whatever subjective reason). This seems like the natural way humans process information anyway. I have no problem making choices about what I believe I can pass up, and what things I should invest time in. I do think it's important to empower ourselves to make such discriminations. There is no rational way we can give equal time to each and every piece we encounter. And in order to reach any true measure of depth with something, we have to be willing to pause and give into an interactive introspection.

Somewhere there is an ideal balance of quantity and quality. If we confine ourselves to committing all of our resources to the things that already appeal to us, then we risk the repression of our own growth and evolution. But on the other hand, if we try to pack too much in- we face the danger of shutting off completely to the very meaningful ways in which it is possible to experience an individual piece of art (or anything else for that matter).

Pre-trip Prep.

It's easy to forget over the span of an entire year just how much preparation travel requires. Of course it always seems so fraught with freedom when I'm in the daydreaming stage. But as the departure date looms, all kinds of concerns begin to creep into my consciousness. It occurs to me that I really have no idea how to get to my destination. Air travel has been off the table for me since before 9-11. The Greyhound ceased to be an option when I stopped being dirt poor. I love taking trains, but that really limits what you can see once you get to where you are going. So driving wins by default. For me that mostly means I will do ALL the driving. M. doesn't do highways, and many of my other road dawgs lack a license altogether. This requires that I am all prepared and ready to jump as soon as I wake up in the morning. There are few things that bother me more than waiting around before a long drive.

For this particular trip to Queens, I had to rely on computer generated directions. Naturally Mapquest wants to take me on a route that includes stretches I would like to avoid. My preferred entry point into the megalopolis is in the north of Manhattan, by the Bronx. So I had to combine two separate legs to avoid the Holland Tunnel passage that the A.I would like to inflict on me. I'm not taking the PA Turnpike this time around. It's route 80 all the way across the state for me. That ought to be an interesting novelty, since I've never driven that way before.

So I'm running back and forth all day today, seeing to all the minor tasks that are necessary for the journey. And I'm doing it on half my normal energy, so I can quickly adjust my sleep schedule and go to bed at a reasonable time tonight. The first stop is obvious- four shots of espresso at the local coffee chain. Then the bank, with its Friday afternoon lines. I've already had the oil changed, so I've saved time there. But my car hasn't really been cleaned since the last time I took a long trip... and the pick-up requires some scrambling around in and around all the seats. Of course, I had to deal with everyday chores too. The litter needed badly to be changed. There were hot cards at Filmmakers for my upcoming solo that I wanted to distribute at tonight's Unblurred. I got those with only minimal trouble. And then it was back home to pack up.

Jeez... what do I take? Photography is the main reason I am going to NYC, so all that equipment is a given. Do I have enough space on my compact flash cards? No... gotta review images and clear room. Got the cable feed cord to review shots when I get there. Extra lens. Back-up camera. Are my batteries charged up? Oh yeah, don't forget to grab both battery pack chargers. And that reminds me about my cell phone recharge cord. Books to read? Yup. Where's my journal? CDs for entertainment on the drive? OK. What else? Shit, I'm all outta Tagamet. Back in the car for a quick trip to Rite Aid. Toothbrush. Razor. Hairbrush. Soap. Shampoo. Oh yeah... I neeed to take some clothes! Where the hell is that travel bag? Don't forget the boots. I know I'm missing something.... arrgghhh! What do you ultimately need? Gas in the tank. A credit card. The clothes on your back. Cellphone. Make sure the insurance card and registration are updated and in the glove compartment. Take all the extraneous crap out of my wallet, in case I lose it. Stop at the store and stock up on cigarettes.

OK... settle down. Take a shower. Try to find some remnants of convenient food to eat. Write a lame-assed blog post. Oh yeah... that's what I'm doing. So why am I going on this trip? What's the big picture? I'm going to watch the Dance of the Giglio at Our Lady of St. Carmel in Williamsburg. That's the centerpiece. Beyond that I'm open. I've been researching options for days. Maybe I'll get down to Red Hook for a look-see. I'm definitely planning on exploring Long Island City- 5 Pointz, the galleries, etc. Perhaps I'll spend an afternoon seeing the Chelsea Galleries. And I'll go down to the Lower East Side to look at a possible exhibition site for the Blogger's Show with JM. I've even thought of making a pop-in at Kirtanananda's new center while I'm at it. But no matter what I end up doing, I plan to make an effort to update this blog regularly- so tune in here for the details.

Fully Damned Digital.

After years and years of surfing the net with a 56.6 speed modem (using dial-up service), my household has finally converted to DSL technology. It's no longer necessary for us to accelerate our transmission by disabling high resolution images. While our former way of computing taught us the virtue of patience, I have to say that I will be getting used to this new speed very quickly. Actually, we did have a test trial with DSL when it first became available in the last neighborhood we lived in. This was over four years ago. For a glorious two weeks we rode the cables at high velocity. Within that time I (gulp) downloaded an entire library of new and interesting songs from bands I was hardly familiar with. Those were the days of Napster (cue the old-timey phonographic background music here). Since then I've learned to put my computer to better (and less extralegal) purposes. But we were both astonished by how much more fun the Internet was with DSL.

Unfortunately for us that house soon proceeded to reject DSL service like a sturdy immune system rejects an alien heart. For some reason we couldn't get a consistent connection, and that led to so much frustration that we just gave up. Believe me, it was hard to regress to dial-up. In the ensuing years we've become like dinosuars, plodding our way through cyberspace on cumbersome and atavistic legs. My friends would send me links for streaming audio and then laugh at me when I told them why they need not bother. I had access to faster service at work, but the overzealous filters blocked out a lot of the more interesting material. But now it's "back to the future" again.

We are "cooking with gas" now. A whole entire world has unveiled itself to my prying eyes. And no... I'm not talking about the unsavory stuff you might be suspecting. Keep your mind out of the gutter, friend. No, I'm actually referring to YouTube. I now have virtually instant access to unlimited entertainment. I can see my favorite bands performing on homemade music videos. Whether I'm in the mood to watch the Dancing Outlaw cut the rug or David Cross berate a heckler, I can search for the footage and inevitably I'll find it. Yesterday I decided I wanted to watch an old school breakdancing battle, and within seconds I had multiple options to choose from. But that's not all... in fact, you'd be amazed what those Asian kids are doing nowadays.

And what makes this all possible? How did we get here from those 1980's-era modems that took minutes just to deliver a line of text? It all comes from a 1948 scientific paper by Claude Shannon, which outlined the theory of digital communication. But it wasn't until 1988 that Joe Lechleider of Bellcore decided that wideband digital signals could be carried over conventional twisted pair phone lines. They would simply utilize the bandwidth that already existed above the range of analog voice signals (if you want a more technical explanation- have at it). Thus DSL (the digital subscriber loop) was born. It's just one more incredible tool to make us grateful that we are living in the time we are in. Like it or not, we have landed ourselves smack down in the Information Age.

Of course wireless technology will most likely make DSL obsolete one day. But in this case my usual resistance to being an early adopter won't make me suffer too much. I can't yet imagine what further capabilities I'll need. The Law of Diminishing Returns suggests that I'll be able to do without for awhile.

Grapplling with new equipment.

I've finally given in and purchased a new camera. I put it off a long time, as if I were standing on a high dive and considering whether or not I really wanted to take the jump. I had the money for a decent consumer digital SLR, and I bought one. It's a Canon EOS Rebel XTi. When I walked into Ritz Camera I merely intended to buy a back-up lithium battery for my Canon G6. On an impulse I decided to make the upgrade. By the time I got out of the store I had spent more than twice what it cost for the body of the camera alone. The extended warranty was over $300 for three years. I bought a zoom lens, a backup battery, a tripod, a backpack, a micro lens set, and UV protector caps. I even splurged and bought a $20 "Magic Lantern" DVD for instructional purposes. By the time I decided to purchase that, I figured it was a minimal extra expense.

I should be excited with all this new gear. But the truth of the matter is that I find it a bit oppressive. All of that stuff is staring at me in the face like some kind of mute challenge. I really have no idea how to get the kind of results I want out of it. The G6 I've been shooting with for over three years is a kind of "bridge" digital camera. It's more complex than a point-and-shoot model that you stick in your pocket. It's got all kinds of manual settings that let you do more creative work. The sensors on the processing chip are smaller, and so even though it may produce images with a high amount of megapixels- the quality of those images will not be as pristine as a digital SLR with the same amount of (or even less) megapixels. You are also limited to a few lenses specifically made for the Powershot series. But unlike a digital SLR, you can use the LCD screen to shoot. I've gotten quite used to composing my shots with that tool.

For me it's all about process. I know that G6 so well that I barely have to think to get the shots I want. It's grown on me like another appendage. I've never had to worry about carrying around separate lenses. It's just grab-and-go. I'm worried that I will lose an element of spontaneity with this new equipment. It seems like such a production. I certainly don't want to go out and buy some special vest to carry around the covers and all the other crap that comes with it. I also know exactly what I can do with the G6 under just about any specific conditions. Now I have to stop and think again, just like a novice.

There's a good chance that having to undergo another phase of technical education will make me a better photographer. Once I begin to assimilate the capabilities of this new camera, I will probably have a hard time going back to the G6. And I know that it will be there if I need it. I'm not giving it away. The reality is that the Rebel XTi produces markedly better images. Now I have to build up my confidence with it. Using it has to become second nature. Only when I can intuitively perform with the camera in my hands will I be able to channel my creativity directly again. That's going to take some time, but it should be well worth the effort. Bring on the new era (I guess).

A Sunday Drive.

So I managed to escape my house and do something useful today. On Saturday, I had a nice night out seeing Slim Cessna play at Sonny's Tavern, and after getting home I fell into a deep, uninterrupted sleep that lasted until almost noon. M. made some nice breakfast burritos and we watched an episode of Oz. Stepping outside I knew right away that the stage was set for a nice aimless car ride in search of interesting imagery. The sky was deep blue, the light was extraordinarily crisp, and there was a nice breeze. These were exceptional weather conditions, and I was physically (spiritually?) compelled to venture forth. I've been slacking when it comes to photography, and I wanted to once again engage the camera. I decided to drive east, find a side road, and explore.

It's certainly hard to get lost after eighteen years in Western PA. The first few streets I tried led me to enclosed housing developments with only a single access road. Nothing to see there. But there were plenty of curious folks wondering what a stranger was doing in their neighborhood- especially a stranger driving a beat-up foreign car with a smashed fender held together with a Sponge Bob Squarepants band-aid. Obviously people are increasingly gravitating to these little suburban enclaves, where they can insulate themselves from the rest of the world. Maybe if they can't see poor people they can believe that all is well with the world. Anyway, I finally caught some roads on the outer ring of our fair "metropolis", and drove down the forest-lined back-roads that lead to where the very rich people live. The next thing I knew I was in Harmar.

Driving through West Deer, I spotted a sign for some soccer association bordering a senior citizen center, and surrounded by decaying service buildings. What really drew me in was the sight of a degraded basketball court with tall weeds busting through the many cracks in the asphalt, and rusty net-less hoops. It looked like the playground at the end of the world. The property wasn't posted with any "no tresspassing" signs, but I knew that I probably wasn't welcome. But I wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to take a few shots. Across the road there was a man mowing his lawn, so I tried to be unobtrusive. Then I was tempted to drive back through the site, and I got out and poked around a bit. At one point a man in an SUV drove up, and I spied on him through a smashed window. At that point my adrenaline was kicking in. But whatever the man saw didn't interest him enough to leave the safety of his vehicle. Perhaps he caught a glance of my great woolly head. Once the guy pulled away, I got back in my car (which was parked behind one of the buildings) and beat a hasty retreat.

After talking to a friend, I had a destination in mind and planned to make a rendezvous. I made a visit to the Rainbow Castle for a pleasant afternoon in the sticks. As always, it's pleasant sitting on the crumbling dock overlooking the pond and talking with the good people. You don't need much more than that, but I picked up some lettuce anyway. I took some photos of the rippling pond, and the vegetation which floats on the surface, and watched as the quality of light transformed with the approaching evening. Afterwards there was still enough of the sun to take a walk through the woods, and I was liberal with the camera. I was maybe even a bit wasteful, as I found my lithium battery running quickly out of juice. I didn't anticipate that being much of a problem, as I believed I had my backup somewhere in the car. Alas I didn't, and so I couldn't even obsessively review my photos as I am wont to do.

With the photography over for the day, I relaxed on the porch and ate dinner with good company. Although I was mildly disappointed about the missing battery, I was able to enjoy the time without being distracted by technology.