Tuesday, 31 May 2011
Bare
I took this on a weekend trip to the South Downs, David and I found this wonderful B & B in the countryside just outside of this town called Steyning. It was old manor house with farming, lakes, ponds etc...the works really. Our time there was peaceful, just what we needed and on our last morning, with the hazy skylight peering through the window I took the opportunity to photograph him in what I felt was his most calm. This one is my favourite.
Saturday, 28 May 2011
Hip Hop
Trying to keep myself inspired in all areas of the arts, a week or so ago some friends including myself went to a small hip hop exhibtion. I love black and white documentary portraiture along with essence of hip hop.
Here is a little bit of info:
Shot over a twelve year period, the pieces shown here demonstrate Mike Schreiber’s ability to capture the hip hop world’s private moments, spotlighting them in their most honest and immediate environment. Having studied Anthropology at the University of Connecticut, Schreiber utilizes a critical approach to photography that distinguishes his understanding of photography from those of his contemporaries.
I'm not sure if the exhibition is still on, but if it is I recommend it. You can check out the website as well at
http://18hewettstreet.co.uk/
Here is a little bit of info:
Shot over a twelve year period, the pieces shown here demonstrate Mike Schreiber’s ability to capture the hip hop world’s private moments, spotlighting them in their most honest and immediate environment. Having studied Anthropology at the University of Connecticut, Schreiber utilizes a critical approach to photography that distinguishes his understanding of photography from those of his contemporaries.
I'm not sure if the exhibition is still on, but if it is I recommend it. You can check out the website as well at
http://18hewettstreet.co.uk/
Saturday, 21 May 2011
A Piece of You, A Piece of Me
The title I chose for this series “A Piece of You, A Piece of Me” came to me when looking at the prints and trying to piece them altogether. It was as though each individual that I photographed took a piece of me with them, just by letting me in and trusting me in the process I left them with my love and gratitude. I also took a piece of them with me, as in the tangible objects of the Polaroid. Lastly, the single piece of jewelry that they all wore which marked their bare skin leaving traces of themselves to reflect on. It has been a long journey and I just want to say thank you to everyone that experienced this journey with me.
Saturday, 7 May 2011
The Journey Is Almost Over
After having a tutorial with my tutor on my final project it was decided that I wasn't yet finished my series, I guess I was being lazy and thought I could get away with it. Deadlines are arriving and this is the last weekend I could shoot so today I was able to shoot Aza. She absolutely adds to the end result of this series.
Thursday, 5 May 2011
Some Words
Recently, I have found myself unable to put pen to paper, or, fingers to buttons so I dug up some poetry that my dearest friend Jesse a.k.a Koko Bonaparte gave to me about 6 years ago and Im really glad that I found it because I understand and appreciate this gift on a whole other level. Trying to find a way to write transformative moments in my life is not as easy as I thought it would be, I want the words that are written to mean something, not just to write for the sake of it. So I think this poem by Langston Hughes is rightly so. Jesse also put down some of her own words that guided me through some of her favourite poets, she is one of mine. So, Jesse this one is for you.
His name is Langston Hughes
He was an American poet, born in Missouri in 1902.
He wrote these before the civil rights movement.
And he wrote a lot of blues.
Langston Huges
Theme for English B
The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you --
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it's that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem,
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:
It's not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I'm what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me- we two- you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York, too.) Me- who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records- Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn't make me not like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white--
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That's American.
Sometimes perhaps you don't want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that's true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me--
although you're older-- and white--
and somewhat more free.
This is my page for English B.
His name is Langston Hughes
He was an American poet, born in Missouri in 1902.
He wrote these before the civil rights movement.
And he wrote a lot of blues.
Langston Huges
Theme for English B
The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you --
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it's that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem,
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:
It's not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I'm what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me- we two- you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York, too.) Me- who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records- Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn't make me not like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white--
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That's American.
Sometimes perhaps you don't want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that's true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me--
although you're older-- and white--
and somewhat more free.
This is my page for English B.
Monday, 2 May 2011
Mark Morrisroe
Whilst doing some research for my FMP emma told me about this guy Mark Morrisroe, who photographed with polaroid mainly and who beacame an expert in maniuplating many of his images in the darkroom. So naturally, I had to know more and his story is quite exhuberant, he seemed fearless and insecure and I think that is where his creativity came from.
As I am using polaroid for my final project, I now can find ways to use those polaroids for experimenting in future projects.
Nan Goldin wrote: "Mark was an outlaw on every front-sexually, socially and artistically. He was marked by his dramatic and violent adolescence as a teenage prostitute with a deep distrust and a fierce sense of his uniqueness. I met him in Art School in 1977; he left shit in my mailbox as a gesture of friendship. Limping wildly down the halls in his torn t-shirts, calling himself Mark Dirt, he was Boston's first punk. He developed into a photographer with a completely distinctive artistic vision and signature. Both his pictures of his lovers, close friends, and objects of desire, and his touching still lifes stand as timeless fragments of his life, resonating with sexual longing, loneliness, and loss."
As I am using polaroid for my final project, I now can find ways to use those polaroids for experimenting in future projects.
"It kills me to look at my old photographs of myself and my friends. We were such beautiful, sexy kids but we always felt bad because we thought we were ugly at the time. It was because we were such outcasts in high school and so unpopular. We believed what other people said. If any one of us could have seen how attractive we really were we might have made something better of our lives. I'm the only guy that I know who wanted to runaway to be a prostitute."– Mark Morrisroe
+ + +
Mark Morrisroe studied at the School of the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, where he became life long friends with Nan Goldin, Philip-Lorca diCorcia, Davis Armstrong and Jack Pierson, now collectively called "The Boston School." He died in 1999.
+ + +
Nan Goldin wrote: "Mark was an outlaw on every front-sexually, socially and artistically. He was marked by his dramatic and violent adolescence as a teenage prostitute with a deep distrust and a fierce sense of his uniqueness. I met him in Art School in 1977; he left shit in my mailbox as a gesture of friendship. Limping wildly down the halls in his torn t-shirts, calling himself Mark Dirt, he was Boston's first punk. He developed into a photographer with a completely distinctive artistic vision and signature. Both his pictures of his lovers, close friends, and objects of desire, and his touching still lifes stand as timeless fragments of his life, resonating with sexual longing, loneliness, and loss."
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