Transformative.

Freshly Fixed Tin Type, R.J. Gibson's Photography Studio. Gettysburg PA.

The medium of photgraphy is so intrinsically linked to the transformation of subject and the manipulation of reality. I have spent my adult life clinging to a camera, my eye searching and searching for photographs of places and other people that I rarely allow myself to step in front of the camera, to allow myself to be seen in any other way besides what is represented to me in my head. I fear cameras and their steady gaze in the hands of the untrained for fear of seeing myself as I really am, physically.

In November, I had the pleasure of sitting for R.J. Gibson, a photographer working in the tradition of the wet plate process. I knew when I went to his studio I wasn't interested in being photographed as a typical female of the 19th century, not in ballgown nor in day dress. I definately knew that I wanted to be dressed as a male character; originally I figure I would be dressed as a Confederate infantry soldier.

While I know that "reenactment" photographs can conjure up unpleasant associations for a lot of people, Gibson's process of making the photograph for the subject was really incredible to witness. The final portrait is very much a collaborative work. In talking to him, he figured out a way to photograph me as my 19th century alter in a way that was both fun and thoughtful. After telling him that I was a photographer, he felt it would be better to dress me up as a photographer from the 1800's. I got to pose next to a gorgeous piece of photographic history, an 8x10 wooden view camera with original lenses, constructed around 1865. The photograph it's self had an exposure of about 14 seconds. I could blink and breathe but my eyes could not move. It was strange to stand in front of a camera lens and be photographed for a full 14 seconds. While my mind was totally blank while standing in front of the camera, I couldn't help but wonder if, somehow, 14 seconds could somehow capture something more than 1/30 of a second could.

Linkage, for Lack of Real Content.

Between working 40+ hours a week, making new friends and sleeping, I haven't had much time for picture making. This weekend and Thanksgiving, hopefully, will change that. I am determined to make new images, dammit.

In the mean time, here's a few random links that I am really into right now.

First, if you haven't heard by now, Women in Photography shows amazing work done by, well, women. The put up new work every other Tuesday. I get so excited when I see it's title bolded in my Google Reader.

I also love image archives or any archive, really. I find myself hugely inspired by Documenting America and get lost in it's e-pages often. Imagine my chagrin when I read Google has joined up with LIFE to put up an archive of images from the magazine. Check it out and marvel at all the LIFE-photo goodness.

Totally unrelated to photography but directly related to art and design is Amy Lau's Dexter-inspired blood spattered dining room. Given my love of the show (and Michael C. Hall, thanks), I burst out laughing at the blood spattered plates and the dismembered silverware. If you have the cash, you can buy chairs, glasses and the a fore mentioned silverware at spring3d.net. What I wouldn't give for a chair. Or several. Or the wine glasses!

On Vernacular Photography, Mostly.

Recently, I started working at a large photo lab here in L.V. Through the tedious and unending process of scanning film and eventually printing pictures (I'm still in training alright?), I see a large number of photographs that normally I wouldn't even bother thinking about. I get an odd excitement when I get to make reprints or when I pull film out of the C-41 machine. I find it extremely interesting to get to look at photos, be they good or mediocre. It's getting to see into a life that isn't yours.

I've been pondering ideas and thoughts about the snapshot, it's place in society and our hearts. I wonder why people choose to take photos that they've taken, what makes them press the button at that moment. I am perpetually surprised at the more-often-than-one-would-think great shot that comes out of the average picture taker. I've seen a lot of really bad pictures. I've grown to hate disposable cameras, given my propensity to stab myself with the flathead screwdriver that we use to pry them open with (high tech, I know).

In the few short weeks I've been working there, I've gone, through the magic of the snapshot, to at least 20 weddings (mostly all of which were shot on shitty disposable cameras but that's another post for another day), to the Carribean, to Alaska about 6 or 7 times, to Nevada, the Grand Canyon, Las Vegas, Salt Lake City, Boston (aw.), Texas, and a Redwood forest. I've been at lots of 1st birthdays and Christmas mornings. I went to Disney World in 1994 (albeit underexposed and heat fogged, but still). I get to see stuff that I generally wouldn't get to see were it not for the inherent need to capture the same moments in time for a lot of us. It's like watching the good, important moments of your life happen to other people you don't know. You get to witness the trips and moments you missed out on. It's strange.

As I see it, all of the pictures that come into and go out of the lab are an endless look into what we love, hate, desire, and hope for. Collectively, it's a window into (and I hesitate to say the word, since I harp on it a lot) American life. Thousands of photographs by mostly anonymous picture-takers is a "universal" glimpse and a catalog fleeting moments that are held near and dear. The snapshot camera gives a way to hold onto them, even if we just let them sit in albums or on a harddrive.

I am sure that by next month I will get good and jaded at look at pictures. I will get really sick of Disneyworld and Alaska. But right now, this is a novelty.

Boy of Blue Industries

I, when it comes to making photos, am of the camp of a photo is a photo is a photo no matter what camera it was taken with, captured with a digital censor or a film plane, or printed from a computer or in a dark room. A good, smart photograph, however it's made, is a good smart photograph, accidental or not. "Good" is a subjective word, which I'll tackle at a later day.

Wayne Martin Belger's work falls far from that idea. Belger constructs gorgeous pinhole cameras with the intent of capturing a specific subject with each camera. They are alter-like, a tribute to each of the subject he plans to photograph with the camera. I am most awed and intrigued by the HIV, Heart, and Altar cameras.