Nov 7, 2009

Oct 22, 2009

Sep 21, 2009

From the Electric Possible show at Bossa:


Mercury Fools The Alchemist




Dubpixel




Matta Gawa






Apologies to Rape Ape, the brevity of his set caught me off guard.

Sep 19, 2009

Sep 1, 2009

Aug 25, 2009

Fixed! (hopefully...)

Jul 19, 2009

BAD NEWS TO REPORT: So, I hadn't printed out any of my photos since I had started using the new digital SLR I got last November. Monday evening Lydia informed me of the Wednesday afternoon sign-up for the Wall Mountables group show at DCAC. Now, normally I detest doing things really rushed like that, but I weighed all the variables in my head and I saw that there was a small window that I could actually pull it off in time, so I went down and signed up. Got a really plum spot, too...I was second in line!

But for some reason, all my photos were printing out really red. I talked with the printer, and after a bit of back and forth, we finally determined the problem is in my laptop: apparently, my screen is not color calibrated. It's one of those problems that you don't really think of unless someone else points it out, because why would you? So essentially, it's like I've been color balancing all my photos in Photoshop completely color blind...they look good to me, but crappy in real life.

I never claimed to really know my shit about this whole digital photography stuff yet anyway.

So, now I have to buy this color-calibrating software...it's like a hundred bucks. And then I'll need to go back and re-balance my photos. A small setback.

Has anyone else out there with nice color-calibrated CRT monitors been noticing any red shift in my work?

Jul 3-4, 2009

Underpasses, overpasses...

Jun 27-28, 2009

Tonight, for my trip into the city, I decided to start with a subject matter that is usually totally foreign to me: people.

At the Black Cat:









Then I moved on over to the Taft Bridge for some of my more usual stuff:





But then these guys came along. They claimed they were med students.

Apr. 7, 2009

Mar 13, 2009

The theme for this evening was churches and bowling alleys.

I've had a compulsion recently for visiting places of worship after dark. I don't know what it is; I know it's not a disrespectful thing. If anything, I think I appreciate the idea of spiritual sanctuary and I feel it works better for me in solitude. I'm not a religious person by nature; I dislike the mob mentality it can stir up in people. Things like worship and faith are intensely personal, and as such, are best approached privately.



However, I photographed five churches tonight and as circumstances would have it, this was the only one that turned out any good. But no matter...it's my favorite of the bunch anyway.

I hit two bowling alleys. The second one was trying to pull off the "hipster bowling" makeover, with music and flashing lights and a DJ, but since it was in Falls Church, the hipsters were frat boys. I didn't get any interesting shots in there; I admit I felt a little intimidated by the stares at the dude in the coat with the camera. They even had a cop in there who casually followed me outside and stood there while I scribbled notes in my little book in the parking lot. This touches upon a big issue that I wrestle with, but before I get into that, let's move over to Annandale Lanes, the one the kid and I bowl at.



Back in the 50's and 60's, dudes like Winogrand and Friedlander would take their cameras out on the streets of New York and photograph everybody and everything and nobody batted an eye. Somewhere over the past 15 years, since the advent of the Internet really, people have become a lot more guarded around people with cameras. You are regarded as an interloper. People act as though you are trying to steal something from them, much the way some Native people believe a photograph steals the soul. And since 9/11, people even freak if you try to take a picture of a building. Every photographer becomes a potential terrorist-in-training.

The old question: when does photography cross the line into exploitation? If you go into a lower-income neighborhood and photograph less privileged people, are you using your art to draw attention to the brutal inequalities the people live with every day, or are you using the people to increase the aesthetic edginess of your art?

Do I have the right to photograph people in public? I have the legal right, but do I have the moral right?

This may be part of the reason why I take pictures of parking garages and graveyards instead of shopping malls. And this sad tableau here on the right.


Anyhow, tonight I prepped the kid for the fact that I was gonna be out for a long shoot, and that really made a big difference. Three and and a half hours of driving around and I shot a lot more stuff, which means I can be more discriminating with the shots I put up here. The more of these longer shoots I do, the more my work is going to improve.

Feb 26, 2009

Man, what a shitty February.

First off, my downstairs neighbor's apartment catches on fire one morning as I'm getting ready for work. Then my ex-wife shows up virtually unannounced and spends most of the time running all over creation trying to find someone who will cash a $2500.00 money order instead of spending time with her son. Then I get this wicked raging flu.

Plus, it's been real fucking cold.

Point being, I haven't posted on here in a while, eh?

So this is a little tossed-off stopgap until I get a chance to go out and do a real session.

Jan 26, 2009

I need to take the car into the shop, so I decided to stay close to home. I went walking due east of my apartment complex, in the Penrose neighborhood. Taking pictures at night in a residential neighborhood is always a tricky prospect. There are more people around to wonder why you're lurking around with a camera. As a general rule, I don't shoot directly into people's houses; I try to respect privacy as much as possible. Which leads to shots around and between houses, like this one of someone's back yard:


For instance, while I was setting up this next shot, a car pulled up into the driveway of the house. As the lady got out, I deployed what my friend Liz refers to as "calm friendliness", explaining that I'm just this nutty-yet-harmless guy who likes to do photography at night and complimenting her on her BEAUTIFUL TREE and would you mind ever so much if I took a picture of it??


The woman, who it turns out didn't live there, said in a thick German accent: "The tree does not belong to me. The tree belongs to no one. It belongs to God."

I gave a sweep of all the main roads south of 6th Street, hesitating here and there. Did I really want to get a shot of that bicycle festooned with Christmas lights? Yeah... no... It seemed like it would be a bitch to get the colors right. The nagging pressure of arbitrary time limits has made me feel rushed, offsetting my natural inclination to take risks with an impatient need to get home before a certain someone's bedtime. As a result, I've taken a bunch of shitty pictures this evening.

Penrose is bordered at the southern edge by the Pike, meaning now we go from residential to commercial.


I love parking garages. Technically, this is a bank drive-thru, but it still has the same vibe. The concrete pillars. The fluorescent lights. I could do a whole coffee table book of just parking garages. It's got a whole late-90's thing to it. Autechre and Pole and all those glitchy bands, that's the soundtrack to parking garages.

I walked over to the Giant to get a bag of donuts for me and Machete Tycoon. This is the bench outside the entrance where the employees smoke their cigarettes and contemplate whatever it is they contemplate and their faces fall a little lower.

Jan 20, 2009

Sidelined recently by a sinus infection. First night feeling okay to go out, but it's still gravedigger's-ass cold. Can't find my hobo gloves. Perfect gloves for night photography: warm hands, bare fingertips give me better grip on small items and buttons. Someone knitted those for me a long time ago.

On days when the weather's alright, I like to take 6 or 7 mile long walks on this trail here called the Washington and Old Dominion Trail that runs west from Arlington out through Fairfax County and into Loudoun. I drove down to the lot off Wilson Boulevard to get some shots along a stretch of the trail, but man, without gloves it was soul-crushingly cold and it was only 7 p.m.

The Trail is part of the National Park Service, which means it's closed after dark. In order to discourage joggers and people like me, there's no streetlamps down the long stretches between major road crossings. I had brought my hand-held flash and my gels to experiment with my own artificial illumination, but after ten minutes I knew this was gonna be a short night.

Ohjesusmotherbitch it's COLD.

When I go out for these shoots, I usually give myself at least two hours. The reason: well, I'm a nitpicker when it comes to setting up shots. I like to take my time with the compositions. I don't like to be rushed (one reason why I usually like to work alone, and also why I shoot more in the summer than the winter).

My handbones are starting to feel like radioactive lead. Not gonna be able to fuck around tonight, but I need to get SOMETHING.

Here, here's some pretty tennis courts...



Aaaaand here's this thing. What is it, a historic site or something? Here, here's a link.



Notice how both of these were the two things that were already well-lit? Yeah, I'm done.

Jan 5, 2009

An "orange night", i.e. the low cloud cover reflects back the lights of the city. Icy rain in the morning.

Haven't been able to go out this week; Machete Tycoon is back in town and I have to figure out logistics...

Puttered around the apartment in my underwear, shot this from out my bathroom window. I like it. It reminds me of Niepce's first one.


I gotta go back to the Ghana Cafe again someday soon. Not for photos. Just sayin'. I had a time there once.

Maybe Tony Oceans would be down.

I'm rambling.

Dec 25, 2008

By the time I had read up on all the groovy features of the new camera to the point where I felt comfortable taking it out, I found myself down in Virginia Beach for the holidays. A beach town in the off-season is like a worn-out shoe = perfect subject matter.

I drove down to the ocean and walked down Atlantic Avenue, which is the main tourist strip. On the ocean side, huge monoliths of hotel chains (Hyatts, Holiday Inns, Sheratons, etc.) are stacked like dominoes all down the coast for like 40 or 50 blocks. The inland side of the street is all cheesy souvenir shops and party bars, like Bourbon Street as designed by Jimmy Buffett. On this Christmas night, the only denizens were cops, skate rats, and tourists looking at the shiny lights, wisely cruising in the warmth of their cars. I walked down a good ten blocks, but I didn't actually get too many good shots. I figured maybe there would be a palpable sadness lingering over this shuttered avenue, but the gaudiness just seemed mostly uninteresting rather than appealingly kitschy.

Now, PACIFIC Avenue, which runs parallel one block further inland, is where all the cheaper independently-owned motels are. NOBODY checks in come December. I mean, just look at this sad motherfucker:

Pacific Avenue is darker, both literally and figuratively. No cops. No tourists. The locals who wander here alone and in pairs reminded me that I really need to get some pepper spray for these shoots. I've been approached by enough bums and addicts in my time to know that things can turn ugly very quick.

I made my way back up to Laskin Road. Scattered bars here and there were open, so I wandered over to The Jewish Mother, hoping for a Christmas beer. No luck. The only other hopeful was this Irish-looking pub called Murphy's, which looked eerily similar to the Murphy's up in Alexandria. I had anticipatory visions of sitting at the bar with a bunch of sad, loveless, old drunkards, but instead the place was crammed with jerkoffs.

I try not to drink with jerkoffs.

So I drove back to Mom's neighborhood because when I came into town the night before, I was stunned by the GIGANTIC CHURCH they had built across from her street. I had to get a picture of this thing. It had been choked with people the night before, because they were having their Christmas Eve Mass or whatever, but this night it was silent as a tomb. Check out this monstrosity:

Eighteen million this thing cost, and the pastor used to fly in on a freakin HELICOPTER before the neighbors complained. This is why Mom will never convince me to move down to Virginia Beach. When Christian conservatism feels comfortable to let it all hang out, you get little pockets of suck like this. This is the home of Pat Robertson and The 700 Club, for Christ's sake. It's like central Florida without the palm trees and gators.

Anyway, before they built the mighty Jesus fort, there was a largely empty expanse of land between Mom's house and my favorite Virginia Beach attraction: the columbarium.

Yes, there is an inherent creep factor in hunting for photos in cemetaries, mausoleums, et al. at night. I'm no different from you. I get plenty spooked that some dude with a flashlight is gonna walk around the corner and bark out "WHADDARYOUDOINHERE?" But really, once you push that fear aside (this is gonna sound stupidly obvious), it's probably the most peaceful place you can hang in out after dark.

You know, just don't make a habit of it.