Subjective: The Artful Life

Goodnight and Goodluck

2010-01-10T04:07:00.000-08:00

If you've been a regular visitor of this blog you've probably gathered by now that my heart really isn't in blogging of late. I think this is, in part, symptomatic of my inability to clearly define my reasons for maintaining a blog these past few years. Was it to share my creative work? To have a forum for concerns I felt about contemporary culture? Maybe an avenue to share the tidbits of daily life with friends and family? A little bit of all these things?

Like many things that just begin with a directionless impulse it has the potential to become anything, but it will most likely retain some imprint of how it began. Quite frankly, this is where a great deal of art begins— with an impulse, and not much more. But with art I always have come to a point of reckoning with each piece and been able to seize upon what is good, or delicate, or elegiac, or hopeful, and run with that new ideal. Suddenly, there is a compass that shows you a path. It's not the only path, but it's the one with the strongest pull, and it will lead to some conclusion.

I don't see the conclusion with blogging. It truly is infinite. The other day I ran across the term "lifestreaming" and, quite frankly, it made me shudder. That is not what I want for myself. I'm asked daily why I don't Facebook, as if that's a legitimate verb. I find myself growing defensive over not taking part in some grand digital party that everyone's attending so that they can talk (seemingly) to themselves.*

In short, I feel it is time to stop blogging. Perhaps this is out of fear that the act of digitizing my life into little serials does nothing to support my aims to be a better human being, but in reality it might be simple pragmatism that compels me to stop. Not blogging will free me up for other things I'd rather be doing— like creating artwork.

So, thank you to everyone who took the time to visit. If you were one of those folks who made it a habit to visit SUBJECTIVE then this decision should free up some of your time as well. Think of it as my New Year's gift to both of us.

Now, let's turn our thoughts to other things . . .

*And I'm not casting stones here: this very blog is evidence that I'm not immune to having a one-man conversation online.

Free Lunch (Entertainment) From BPB

2010-01-04T12:34:00.000-08:00

Images from Brown Paper Bag's pulp-themed 2010 calendar

Possibly still available for a mere $20.00

I'm a winner! Meaning, I won something recently. Not meaning that I'm making some self-affirming statement to bolster my spirits at the end of a rather rocky 2009.

What did I win? I won a collection of sweet mini-comics from the talented chaps over at Brown Paper Bag simply because I typed a comment to a post on their blog.* The BPB trio are Portland based comic book artists/illustrators who have recently begun to post regularly on their creative process and inspirations. If you're at all interested in comics (of both the POW BANG BIF and/or CODED PERSONAL NARRATIVE variety) then go and take a look. This month they've opted for a tribute theme on their blog with guest appearances by the likes of Gollum (for the fantasy neurds) and Cyclops (for those mad mutant X-men neurds).

*Maybe I should give away something to encourage comments on this blog. I've got some extra pine cones (very seasonal), a glass ice cube, half a bag of almonds, and some art. What do you think?

Storyboards and Editing

2009-12-28T18:09:00.000-08:00

Enough treacly posts about holiday decorations. . . you're undoubtedly hoping for something a bit more stimulating. After all, treacly is in abundance during the holiday season, and my being seduced by its jingles and bows distracts from the task at hand which, as you undoubtedly know, is editing a short film.

I'd like to think that the editing thus far could be described as intuitive, but that would be erroneous, because I have pages upon pages of storyboards, notes, and (while often ignored by the powers that be in Hollywood) the script itself to reference as decisions are made about cuts and establishing shots. Thus far, all that neurotic referencing of past ideation has netted a rather relaxed editing atmosphere.

Thus far. . .

I've put up two pages from my stack of storyboards and you can click on them for a larger view. As a person who grew up with a love for both comics and films, I found the storyboarding process to be the simplest aspect in the project so far. Text and image in a linear narrative have a logical presentation, and that predictability allows for more energy to be put into the composition of each section (as well as ruminations about the symmetry of the whole).

However, I must confess that the planning stages would have been smoother if I'd had the good fortune to score some of the books Ariana and I gave Brandon for Christmas. . .

The Storyboard Book is a small chapbook with a frame at the top conveniently sized to match the golden ratio of digital film-making (16:9) set atop quad ruled paper. It is made by the good folks at www.thestoryboardbook.com and printed by Portland printshop darlings Pinball Publishing.

If I'd been armed with these instead of the bond paper versos of my script when storyboarding the film I'd now have three precious chapbooks to bequeath to the children I might someday have (instead of a bunch of loose paper crudely stapled together and shoved between reference books on the history of math).

More editing updates to come. . .

More Seasonal Cuteness!

2009-12-22T02:59:00.000-08:00

Just thought I'd share a few images of the seasonal still life created by Ariana on the day we put up our Christmas tree. It features a pipe cleaner skunk found at an antique store, trimmed patterned curtains from IKEA, some white lights, a few charming red bears from Ariana's youth, and an assortment of fabric trees she created a couple of years ago.

I especially like the organic feel of the fabric trees. Perhaps someday we'll work together to create an entire plush forest . . . I would love to have a Spring set-up as well.

Oh, Christmas Tree!

2009-12-19T07:09:00.000-08:00

I was a tad disgruntled about not getting a Christmas tree. In the past few years I'd been able to fulfill the need for a fresh pine smell and white lights by creating swag for all of our doorways, but this year swag had been deemed out of the question (primarily due to the time it consumed to fashion, and the mess it left in its wake). As an adult, a Christmas tree had always been out of the question because it, well, killed a tree. And we couldn't afford a live one. Living in Portland, it is common for such environmentally goody-goody ideas to infect many of the simple enjoyments you had as a child— all the wholesome traditions of youth become suspects in the case against mankind's longevity.

But then Ariana came home one afternoon and told me that the good fellows down at St. Vincent DePaul were selling trees for ten bucks. Such a price acted as a balm for our leftist guilt and I was down there in a flash with a handful of our laundry money to get a tree. I can safely say that bringing home that tree has been the brightest point in the season thus far.

The only trouble with our lovely tree was that we had nothing to adorn it with. Yes, we had a collection of white lights, but no ornaments to speak of and no time to make any either. We went out to look for a few ornament sets, vowing to spend no more than twenty dollars.

At a local shop we found two sets of glitter dusted pine cone ornaments which weren't too ostentatious, and this wonderful owl, which we just couldn't pass up.

Even after getting the lights and ornaments up the tree still felt quite sparse. We then started hunting about the house for other items that might temporarily serve as holiday decor. We ran across a box or ribbons, some artificial nests, a bit of wool roving, and a collection of golden walnuts that St. Nicholas has delivered to me for the past few years.*

Ariana wrapped the tree in ribbons tied together to create one long garland and the nests became beds for the golden walnuts. The tips of branches received little white bows from excess bits of ribbon and lace and, after an hour or so, we had a tree that was quite festive, in a shabby chic sort of way. I don't know if Martha Stewart would approve but as she's not slated to visit our house this Christmas I don't think it much matters whether she'd give it two enthusiastic thumbs up.

The only thing left to consider was the tree-topper. We had no angel and our thrifted Mexican yarn dolls didn't quite have the right feel. Then I remembered this vintage puppet that Ariana had found at Goodwill during our fated Black Friday outing. She had purchased it because it looked like our dear kitty Tilou and was constructed most carefully from some very nice mohair. We put it at the top of the tree and placed the end of the ribbon garland in her paws. . . the effect is so sweet its almost maudlin. Almost.

*A story that is really far too complicated to get into here.

Imagine a Guiltless Creative Life

2009-12-10T19:32:00.000-08:00

I stumbled upon this talk while looking at a few different opinions about why America, in large part, seems to be suppressing creativity among its children to favor rote memorization and the standardized testing industry. But before you decide to click through my moralizing post, let me assure you that this TED talk is not about national failures in education, it's about the failure of Western Humanist ideals to serve those brave souls who opt to undertake a creative life.

I have not read Elizabeth Gilbert's "freakishly successful" book Eat, Pray, Love so I have no idea about her proclivities or preoccupations. I do know that I have now watched this TED talk twice in the past two months and found oddly coincidental connections between the ideas it presents and my own fleeting forays into culture that I'm periodically allowed on a weekend afternoon. I'm also willing to grant her a modicum of instant respect for flawlessly pulling off the use of the word "odious" without sounding at all pretentious.

Her summary of the antiquity's perception of the creative spirit came just as I embarked on teaching Philip Pullman's The Golden Compass to my class. For those of you unfamiliar with this brilliant amalgam of fantasy, geography, and quantum physics I will simply say that the relationship between man and daemon is the crux of the plot. Furthermore, the notion of Roman 'genius' adds another level of complexity to my mixed-bag of feelings for ancient Roman culture. Feelings which I've recently been revisiting through HBO's hyper-sensationalized (and short lived) ROME.

* * * * *

Can you imagine a time before creativity was solely the burden of the creative? A time when we could share responsibility for our successes and failures? Think of the culture of gratitude and humility that might result from an ego-less perception of brilliance. . . that might just be the enlightened world the Humanists were hoping for.

The Self Absorbed Chronicle

2009-12-09T17:57:00.000-08:00

Severed Serpent — Boise, ID

October 9, 2009

Click on image for larger view.

The difficulty with obeying the self-imposed obligation of preserving life is that it can get in the way of my living it.

I've slowly begun to organize all things visual over at Flickr with the hope of offering a more complete picture of my past year (or, to be honest, the past few years, as there are many projects that haven't ever made it off of my desktop until now). Allowing Flickr to sort my life into trifling categories seems far easier at this point than building a web site. Ambitious projects of that nature should only be undertaken if there's an audience for it, and by audience I mean something a little grander than my own ego.

Cloudy with a Chance of Dreary

2009-12-03T19:40:00.000-08:00

I love seeing generally credible news sources occasionally succumb to some completely subjective language use.*

Dreary? Really? Can such a word be reasonably employed to quantify precipitation, cloud cover, and temperature?

Not that I can disagree with the pithy poetics of CNN's meteorological assessment: I expect that it will be quite dreary indeed.

*It's worth noting that this forecast lasted only a few hours before replacing "Dreary" with "Showers"— perhaps someone took greater umbrage than yours truly. . .

Black Friday

2009-11-27T18:59:00.000-08:00

While still an unconfirmed diagnosis, all signs point towards H1N1 as the reason for my being bed-ridden these past five days. It was the most peculiar flu I've ever had, bypassing the stomach almost entirely to attack my lungs. After days of near-delirium, abysmal body aches, and a roller coaster of sweats and chills, I felt I had just enough energy today to do something a little bit more challenging than drinking tepid water and walking to the bathroom.

So naturally I decided to go shopping.

If I didn't go shopping then I would be part of the very reason that my Roth IRA resembles the collection of change wedged between my couch cushions.

Now, don't be fooled, I didn't arise at 2am to get in line at a suburban box-store. In fact, Ariana and I didn't even bother to leave for the store until 6pm tonight so as to avoid any possibility of being trampled by raving-mad electronics bargain hunters. And the store we chose to patronize with our hard-earned cash: Goodwill.

While Goodwill might not be offering the same screaming deals as other places I'm pretty sure that giving them money also helps the economy: albeit in some leftist, bleeding-heart, capitalist-light sort of way. And at Goodwill we can be done with our Christmas shopping in one hour because it is truly one-stop shopping.

It was while at Goodwill that we fell prey to that most pitiful of Black Friday practices: buying things for ourselves. But, as happens from time to time, the donated CD selection was just too good to pass up. Check out these finds for $4.00 a pop:

Ralph Myerz and the Jack Herran Band— A Special EP

The Cinematic Orchestra— Ma Fleur

Caleb Klauder— sings out

Depeche Mode— Black Celebration

The Decemberists— The Crane Wife

Cat Stevens— Catch Bull at Four

Rip, Mix, Burn

2009-11-19T20:10:00.000-08:00

Earlier this year, after completing my reading of Lawrence Lessig's Remix, I began to look more closely at the Creative Commons licenses, as well as some of the online creative collectives he used as case studies in Remix. In doing so, I stumbled upon a feature in Wired magazine from 2004 that investigated the idea of contemporary musical culture being absolutely complicit in the remix/file-sharing/sampling inclinations that the corporate music industry was fighting so vehemently to bury.

Like most Wired articles it was cautiously optimistic (seasoned pessimism does not tend to promote ad revenue) and more than a touch self-congratulatory. Along with the issue a CD featuring tracks from a number of formidable talents who were offering up a bit of their oeuvre was included. What made these tracks unique was that they were released under one of two Creative Commons licenses, thereby making them fair game for legal file sharing, mash-ups, and sampling into whatever prosaic Garage Band techno track you could muster in your off hours. There are some big names on this CD, and the tracks they've given over to the masses aren't just the pan drippings from a decade of better musical offerings— they are legitimate efforts.

Having said that, they aren't all good either. Below is the list of tracks that make my cut. If your cloth is cut with a similar cut as mine, then you might want to download these freebies and allow your iPod to give them a whirl:

Track 01— Beastie Boys/ Now Get Busy

Much more Hello Nasty than Paul's Boutique, but the sampled directive lends a refreshing pause to a pretty predictable back beat. Straight up middle-aged Beasties which means more fun than FRESSSHHHH.

Track 02— David Byrne/ My Fair Lady

No plains or rains or Spain, but a seriously cinematic sound to build up a modern reflection of the classic Pygmalion tale. I think that this is easily the best offering of the bunch and makes U2's similarly-themed Babyface (from Zooropa) sound simply insipid.

Track 03— Zap Mama/ Wadidyusay?

Hand claps. French. A cappella-esque world music syrup with a drum machine.

Track 04— My Morning Jacket/ One Big Holiday

Yeah indie rock! I don't own one of their albums so I can't be classified as anything like a fan, but there is something pure American rock about this in both sound (straight up drums and electric guitars) and sentiment (references to escaping dead end towns, California, and records). Serve with pick-up trucks and whatever indie brew is currently considered both hip and cheap.

Track 05— Spoon/Revenge!

This is a track by Spoon. It is catchy. It is smart. It is made in the USA but sounds like its imported from England. Extra points are awarded for painting analogies.

Track 09— Le Tigre/Fake French

"I've got. . . site specificity." I mean, come on, what is not to like about a band that has extensive bibliographies, flow disruption, and wildlife metaphors? Furthermore, their Fake French is way hotter than any real French I've heard lately.

* * * * *

And then there are the two tracks that I'm a bit torn over. Not jaw-dropping and not mediocre, but somewhere just this side of catchy, which is often all I require. And easy to rip (pun intended).

Track 10— Paul Westerberg/ Looking Up in Heaven

Feeble drug references and buoyant melancholy— two of my least favorite popular music conventions. And yet, this is one of those tracks that I would never seek out but also would never skip through if it were to pop up in the Shuffle. There's something so unapologetic about Westerberg's delivery that a touch of gravitas manages to sneak in. As far as I can tell from this one data point, if Bob Dylan were margarine he'd be Paul Westerberg.

Track 12— The Rapture/ Sister Saviour (Blackstrobe Remix)

Hhmmmm. . . I think I'll put some KMFDM, Kraftwerk, and Depeche Mode in a blender with cheap red wine and squid-ink pasta. Whoa! How did I manage this smoothie of blips, bleeps, and laughably echoey lyrics about hobo dreams?

Decide for yourself. . .

Veteran's Memorial

2009-11-12T06:33:00.000-08:00

Veteran's Memorial — Eagle, ID

October 9, 2009

The Caravel With Four Fine Masts and Lateen Sails

2009-11-06T21:02:00.001-08:00

Caravel Chalkboard Drawing, October 2009

Click on image for larger view.

For weeks I've been adrift in the fears, follies, and dreams of the European age of exploration (roughly 1400-1600).* After tasking my 7th/8th grade class to develop a sailing vessel that could harness the wind** from multiple directions and carry 2000 grams of cargo on stormy seas I followed up our days of damp tests in a plastic wading pool with this chalkboard illustration. The class hardly needed explanations of the intent behind the keel, rudder, or lateen sail after all of the trial-and-error work that they'd poured into their own boats, but I felt it important to illustrate a caravel as it figured so prominently in many of the biographies I was sharing with them.

* * * * *

It is odd how your mind can drift away, even when you are called upon to be most present: this little song by Joanna Newsom*** has been in my head ever since I spent an hour embedding the above illustration on the 8' expanse of darkness that dominates my room.

Bridges and Balloons (excerpt) by Joanna Newsom

from Milk-Eyed Mender

We sailed away on a winter's day
with fate as malleable as clay;
but ships are fallible, I say,
and the nautical, like all things, fades

And I can recall our caravel:
a little wicker beetle shell
with four fine masts and lateen sails,
its bearings on Cair Paravel

O my love,
O it was a funny little thing
to be the ones to've seen.

*Unless, of course, you start with Marco Polo, as I do when beginning this course of study. In that case you can tack on another 150 years at the outset.

**conveniently produced with a box fan

***who I swore was a former Waldorf student after seeing this video for Sprout and the Bean

And for those of you who are up for a challenge: How many nautical puns are part of this post?

Be the Bread

2009-10-31T08:25:00.000-07:00

Fiber Optic Spook— Boise, ID

October 9, 2009

I asked my four year old neighbor what I she was going to be for Halloween.

She shrugged her shoulders.

So I asked her what I should be for Halloween.

"A piece of bread!" she said with great exuberance, rocking forward on her toes and clapping her hands together.

A piece of bread. . . that's the best costume idea I've heard in some time.

Brush

2009-10-29T20:39:00.000-07:00

Bottle Brush at the Veteran's Memorial— Eagle, Idaho

October 9, 2009

Click on image for larger view.

Further evidence that the light in Idaho can be every bit as crisp and theatrical as the light of the Willamette Valley.

Confusion will be My Epitaph

2009-10-26T21:53:00.000-07:00

For those of you concerned about post-modernism's effect on your immortal soul (or transient corporeal life) there is an intriguing lecture at Grace Memorial Episcopal Church this week. I've cribbed the press release for you to peruse. . .

* * * * *

Confusion will be My Epitaph: Cultural Disorientation, Social Fragmentation and the Post-Modern Experience— What Does Christianity Have to Offer?

In this inaugural lecture of Grace's Seminary-for-a-Night, Steve Clarke will take us on a journey beginning with the thoughts of 18th century moral philosopher Andrew Fletcher and 1960's rock band, King Crimson, through contemporary film and art, to pause before the canvasses of Edvard Munch, Andy Warhol, and Rembrandt van Rijn. Focusing on the signs of post-modern cultural disorientation and the resultant confusion experienced by many, particularly young people, Steve will explore ways in which the Christian story speaks to our time.

The Rev. Steve Clarke is currently the Ministry Development Officer in the Anglican Diocese of Willochra (Australia), Senior Lecturer of Theology and Mission at Flinders University, South Australia, and Visiting Fellow at St John's College, Durham University (UK)

* * * * *

Grace Seminary-for-a-Night

Wednesday, October 28, 7:00-8:30pm

Grace House, 1511 NE 17th Ave.

Portland, Oregon

Ryan Pierce at Elizabeth Leach

2009-10-25T06:11:00.000-07:00

Ryan Pierce, Blue Rooster, 2008

acrylic on canvas over panel

Represented by Elizabeth Leach Gallery*

I graduated in a hail storm with Ryan Pierce a little over six years ago. Both Ryan and I received BFA's in Craft with an emphasis on drawing and painting. Over the course of four years we took many classes together, and I remember thinking then that Ryan Pierce already had what so many of us did not: a direction. His passions and proclivities, while inchoate, were in place.

I tell you all this as means of disclaimer— I respect and admire Ryan Pierce. I have for years; and while that doesn't make me uniquely qualified to review his solo exhibit at Elizabeth Leach Gallery (on display through the end of this month), it does offer me an extra layer of personal presumption about understanding his technical tendencies and allegorical preoccupations. Some art critics write reviews with far less. . .

* * * * *

The first thing that struck me about the work in Written from Exile was that Ryan has pushed himself to become a far more painterly painter. Many of his stylistic tendencies from years ago are still very much in effect: saturated complementary colors (the blues and oranges of Blue Rooster), crisp graphic shapes (the furrowed ground upon which said Blue Rooster stands), and the outlining of select shapes with a tidy line of darker tone (as evidenced in the rocks clutched by the blisteringly orange talons of the aforementioned Blue Rooster)— but they are tempered by a newer acquiescence for allowing the nature of the paint to run a bit wild.

Carefully selected areas of textured under-painting are allowed to contribute to the overall melange of color, and they contrast well with Pierce's very crisp, albeit periodically fussy, draftsmanship. There are rag wiped waves of glaze-infused pigment in Sea Oats (After Cormic McCarthy) and suminagashi-like tree trunks that dominate the landscape in The Fog Collectors (After Ival Lackovic Croata). This acceptance of the process of painting allows the drips and stains of the developing work to contribute to the palimpsest of imagery, and resonate well with Pierce's themes of environmental shift and the marginaliazation of human existence within a world both fecund and wasted.

Ryan Pierce, Havasu, 2009

acrylic on canvas over panel

When considering Pierce's subject matter, it is hard to not be struck by the oddly blasé view of mankind's future that he presents. In Havasu a wrecked motor boat has been consumed by desert and surrounded by equal parts cacti and plastic water bottles. Arizona's aquatic playground has become naught but sand and refuse. Only a fire pit outside of the capsized boat and a sleeping bag (which may or may not be inhabited) grant any evidence of continued human existence. The boat has been draped to provide the sleeper an escape from the sun, but the drape is more a funerary shroud for the former Havasu than it is an expression of human survival.

In fact, most of the references to humanity in the show are references by way of necessity; by which I mean that Pierce wishes to convey to the viewer that some semblance of humanity will survive the impending environmental upheaval, but he does so only to point out that our role will be that of any other creature trying to scratch out survival in an ultimately ambivalent environment. We'll have no divine spark. We'll feel no sense of entitlement. We will not recognize the tools of our own fall.

Ryan Pierce, Umpqua, 2009

acrylic on canvas over panel

Umpqua, which is hung next to Havasu, is even more overtly narrative, depicting a wood paneled trophy room that has been attacked by the very woods it used to victimize. Deer graze off grass growing atop the floor and the trophy heads of boars mounted to the wall leeringly sprout tufts of green. Books slide off hardwood shelving and a snag has fallen through the ceiling to crush the wooden dining table. The deer have accessed this former interior through broken plate glass windows that are now simply reminders of the former separation between inside and out. The narrative is clear— so clear as to be almost patronizing, and therefore, in my mind, the least successful work in the exhibit.

Ryan Pierce, Comet, 2009

acrylic on canvas over panel

If you contrast Umpqua with the magnificently painted, and far less pontific, Comet (which hangs on the opposite wall of the gallery) a sense of how Pierce is also working towards a much more subtle exploration of Nature's intrinsic power can be gleaned. There is no evidence of the human figure in this turquoise lagoon, no sleeping bag amidst the massive blue pumpkins or abnormally green ferns. Comet dangles a smoldering oil drum over cereleun blue water. The drum is lashed to a tree limb that looks as if, at any moment, it will lever forward and extinguish the flame in the lagoon below. The surrounding environment may already look irradiated; it may suffer even more from that final infusion of burning chemical, but ultimately it continues to put forth life. The vines adorn the tree limbs and the ground cover works its way around the remnants of a barbed wire fence. The eradication of man's folly is inevitable. Mother Nature, through dent of her longevity and our extinction, is granted the TKO.

It is not without cause that Pierce's most arresting paintings are the ones that show the least evidence of human activity. The apocryphal presence of the roosters pull far more conceptual weight than the allegorical thicket that makes up Easter Island (pictured on the show card for the exhibit). Easter Island's cautionary tale about capitalism, fascism, religious dogma and environmental control, while beautifully rendered, just feels too similar in its over-loaded presentation to the inane quantities of goods, ideas, and beliefs being critiqued.

Despite the few ups and downs I encountered in Written from Exile, I feel that Ryan Pierce delivers an impressive show. It is for good reason that he is one of the more talked about artists in Portland right now. As was true all those years ago in our painting classes, he is at his most poignant when he's pursuing his themes without resorting to the explicit narrative. In the future, I hope that Pierce treats his paintings as the stenography of environmental possibility, not the moralizing indictment of an irredeemable mankind. That doesn't necessitate that he dilute his direction, only that he question when enough is truly enough.

*Written from Exile will be on display at Elizabeth Leach Gallery through October 31, 2009. All images copyright Ryan Pierce.

The Seductive Properties of Beauty as Rationalized Through an Unsanctioned Reference to an Undeniably Greater Photographer

2009-10-23T20:25:00.000-07:00

Veteran's Memorial— Eagle, Idaho

October 9, 2009

Click on image for larger view.

I read an interview with Keith Carter many years ago that percolates to the front of my mind every time I take a picture like this. In that interview he relates how, one day, he was out looking for images to photograph when he happened upon an old grave yard. Knowing full well that it was impossible to enter a graveyard with a camera and not leave without a roll of cliches he stopped himself at the gate.

And then he went inside and shot some film anyway.

Mormon Cricket

2009-10-19T22:27:00.000-07:00

Mormon Cricket, Hulls Gulch Reserve, Boise, ID

October 9, 2009

Most of these massive insects had long since swarmed their last in Boise's Hulls Gulch. As we hiked we primarily found them chewed up and expelled in great piles of desiccated coyote scat. My brother-in-law snagged this dark lady from the trail side as we meandered back through the sage and bottle brush.

It is easy to imagine how horrifying it would be to experience them in the thousands: swarming over every surface, always on the move to avoid being bitten and consumed by the hundreds of thousands that are behind: the hundreds of thousands that are anxious to devour the weak and the slow. . .

It started over the ridge.

2009-10-05T15:07:00.000-07:00

It started over the ridge. 2009

acrylic, leafing, toner, and wax on panel

10.5" x 10.5"

Click on image for larger view.

I used to hike to this small canyon near our house in La Canada and, on the ridges that surrounded the shaded glen, there stood some monumental electrical towers. When I hiked beneath them my body would quiver from the buzz of electric current coursing through the cables far overhead. You could tell from the lack of scat underneath them that the deer had an aversion to the power lines. I suppose, had I more sense, I would have heeded such a sign and steered clear of them myself.

But one cloudy day I stood below a tower with the seed of a headache forming and the hair on my arms being coaxed upward by the electricity. In the distance stood this bleak little tree silhouetted against the dismal sky. And it struck me that to a person standing off some distance from me, I would be no more than a silhouette as well. Just the form of a man standing on a ridge that could hide anything on the other side of the slope.

Week, Tweet Week

2009-10-02T20:50:00.000-07:00

4T Hiking Trail Map, Portland, OR*

I want to understand the culture I live in. Really, I do. But it seems to grow faster and simpler just as my life grows slower and more complex— which puts us, if not at odds, certainly on opposite ends of a continuum.

I was mentally reviewing my week today as I hiked along Portland's new 4T trail; so named because it is an urban excursion that requires a tram, train, trolley, and trail to complete the loop. In doing so I realized that truncated Twitter-like statements about events do lend them a profundity (or at least mystery) they might otherwise lack if I employed a bunch of useless context. So, in a little deviation from the norm here, I decided to share the highlights of my week as they might have been depicted had they been tweeted. . .

Running through a deluge of hail, blue tarp blowing out behind me, in a brave attempt to save the carcass of a dragon killed earlier that day.

Whipping up a sandwich with goat cheese brie, biodynamic tomatoes, crushed avocado, salt, and pepper on rye bread. Delish! But don't worry, blogging about food won't become an ongoing thing— I'm not one of those wordy food nutters armed with a URL.

The Weasley's busting Harry out of solitary using a flying car they "borrowed" from their father. Don't scoff because I'm only getting to the second book now— I teach children for a living, and don't have much time for reading the pop culture sensations that shaped their lives.

Party banners from discarded upholstery fabric. . . Martha would be so proud.

A business man on the MAX reading "The Portable Thoreau" while rocking out on his portable music device.

Deciding that towns which insist upon one-way grids in their three block downtown area are deluding themselves in some pretty profound ways. That's right, I'm talking about you Hillsboro.

Sliding along at 22mph 500 feet above Portland in a silver pea pod on wires. The Jetsons' theme song rattles against my skull as I stare at rooftop gardens and the glistening line of the Willamette River.

Being told that I should be selling $60,000 worth of artwork out of every show if I want them to be successful. So that's what I'm doing wrong. . .

Along with that whole lack of capitalistic vision comes the pleasure I had at giving two lovely works to Brandon as thanks for sacrificing weeks of summer to ensure I had two shows that came nowhere near $60,000 sales.

Scolded! As an adult! By another adult! Insanity.

*Note that this is a different map than that provided by Portland Metro. It also depicts the slightly longer scenic route through Marquam Nature Park. This route has less time on roadways, but also leaves you wondering where to go when you find yourself below OHSU at the Marquam Shelter. Perhaps I just missed a sign, which is great, as it forces me to do the whole thing over again soon.

That's A Wrap

2009-09-30T20:10:00.001-07:00

Elizabeth Garrett as Brady

Click on image for larger view.

Filming effectively ended this weekend. We closed with the climax of the movie, which was heart-wrenching to witness. It also left the whole house infused with an air of desperation and anger. I've considered smudging the place clean but am concerned that some unforeseen pick-up shot will be immediately needed should I attempt to reclaim my environs too soon.

But I'm getting ahead of things. Perhaps a bit of background is in order.

* * * * *

Months ago Amy presented The Company with a script. Like all things Amy produces it was alarmingly good, and honored all of the edicts we'd set down after learning what we did producing Fine Arts. Namely, that we don't have any sort of budget and should only write in locations that are ours to access. Furthermore, actors and actresses prefer to have lines to speak when they act. It seems to be part of their craft— this memorization and convincing delivery of lines.

So this new script was talky, which meant Director Brandon wasn't going to be the Director, preferring the quieter screenplays as he does, and it would take place in my apartment, seeing as how I live next door to some other folks Amy and Brandon are quite chummy with and we needed a place for the creepy neighbor in the script to live.

Which meant my home became a movie set. A movie set that Ariana and I had to live in, always questioning whether or not we could use a certain glass ("Is this part of the set?") or throw away the soap dispenser when it emptied ("How can I dress the set for scene 18 if the soap dispenser from scene 17 is now in the landfill?"). All sorts of frustration ensued. Ariana nearly lost a lung to a melting plastic spatula and the cat started to neurotically scratch holes in her skin.

I lost sleep. I lost my keys. I lost my checkbook. At times, I must admit, I lost my cool.

* * * * *

Nevertheless, as the Director, I've been privy to the dailies (movie parlance for the footage shot thus far, or on that day, or something like that) and I can say that all of this trouble may just net one awesome short film. The two leads (Elizabeth Garrett and Raj Patel) were accommodating, committed, and exceedingly skilled at realizing a script that was anything but simple. I found myself watching them storm through a scene and thinking, "Where do actors find all of the extra energy to live all these other lives?" There were moments when I found it difficult to watch, what with the emotions flying about being so raw, and that speaks volumes about the efficacy of their performances.

* * * * *

There's plenty more I could say, but I'm sure that editing the footage for the next three months will provide countless opportunities for Blogger-powered reflection. . .

In the meantime I tried to grab a few screenshots from the rough footage for this post— which turns out to be more difficult than I thought (undoubtedly due to some silly copyright infringement fear on the part of Apple) so please forgive the rather choppy images displayed here. I can assure you that the actual footage is not only much crisper, but far more saturated as well.

Crisper and more saturated— words to live by.

Raj Patel as Jacob

Click on image for larger view.

Active, Adventurous, and Beautiful

2009-09-19T08:19:00.000-07:00

Compass at the Dee Wright Observatory, McKenzie Pass, Oregon

I've returned from a week long trip through the geological wonders of Central Oregon. This is the third time I've taken this trip, and the second outing with students in tow.

For those of you who grew up with a public school education the idea of setting out with your teacher for a week long camping trip probably seems incomprehensible. The organization, money requirements, and liability complications would render such a trip impossible. Yet, I would argue, that it is just such thoughts and limitations that have neutered our public schools in the past three decades. Ultimately, I believe our inability as adults to free ourselves from such fears will contribute greatly to a dramatically diminished economic and cultural output in America.

The fact of the matter is, there is no better way to instill in a child the magnificent power of nature than to let them experience it first hand. Hiking to the top of cinder cone volcanoes in 98 degree weather only to descend through a 6000' lava cave that is 40 degrees on the same afternoon does more to nurture a child's imagination than any classroom demonstration or diagram. In order for education to be lasting and meaningful to a child, it must be composed of experiences that inspire and enliven— it must be active, adventurous, and beautiful— in short, it must be all the things that we believe our children to be.

Resistance

2009-09-09T18:40:00.000-07:00

Resistance, 2009

acrylic, toner, graphite, and wax on panel

10.5" x 10.5"

Click on image for larger view.

There are a good number of things in life right now that are providing a bit of resistance. I'd like to think that I'm standing as stoic and strong as these evergreens, but the truth is quite different. I have fewer years, less pith, and a great deal more awareness of discomfort; which I suppose are the hallmarks of consciousness, but do not necessarily yield humanity a more enviable path in the natural world.

* * * * *

I remember witnessing this stand in the snow atop Mt. Hood during a snow flurry and feeling very small. These trees had already lost ten feet to an accumulation of wind and moisture that would have consumed me in a matter of hours if I opted to stand still.

Winter has long been portrayed as a season of death, but ultimately this is a great simplification. Winter, like modern life, is merely a catalyst and punisher of inertia.

Spoiler Alert!

2009-09-07T19:28:00.001-07:00

Photo by Edwin Aldrin, Apollo 11, July 16-24, 1969

Courtesy of NASA Image eXchange (NIX)

Hasselblad 70mm transparency

Ariana and I went with high hopes to see Moon the other night. Our hopes were dashed.

Here's what I hoped would not be part of a movie about the moon that had been billed as quiet, contemplative, and spiritual:

1. a talking computer with questionable motives— Talking computers may be the future, but after HAL, there's really no way to cast a computer without it being an obvious play on HAL, and that means that everyone will assume the computer is evil, heartless (if you have a hard time with the word evil), or susceptible to devastatingly literal programming by emotionally stunted programmers. Unless of course some clever auteur were to subvert our expectation of a HAL-like computer and give it a heart, hmmmm. . . didn't see that one coming.

Happy and sad face computer displays as an empathy device don't go over so well either; especially in a mostly monochrome movie of moon dust and plastic surroundings.

2. another clone movie that explores what it means to be human— Let me just say that there is not one moment in this film that comes close to the emotional resonance of Rutgur Hauer's justification for his right to life in the final scene of Blade Runner. Which isn't to say that Sam Rockwell does a bad job, because he doesn't. But he has a hard time really getting to a the low we would expect of a man left alone to die— a man whose whole world view has been shattered— because there's another, more vivacious him, to play off of. This ends up making it more of a surreal buddy movie rather than a reflection of selfhood.

Or, as my wife put it: it's hard not to just get Weird Al's "I Think I'm a Clone Now" on a loop in your head for the last hour of the movie.

3. lots of talking and even a few jokes— Clearly somebody didn't read their Making of an Epic Space Tale 101 Handbook. If the objective is to make a profound film set in space make sure everyone says very little.

Sure, Moon has the weird unexplainable visions part nailed. And it was adapted from a short story into a long feature length film, so those are some instant credibility points. But ultimately, the movie is awfully heavy on dialogue and woefully light on sweeping desolate vistas to truly enter the ranks of the memorable space epic.

So let me offer a suggestion for round two, because the sequel to this film could be awesome. In the final shot of Moon there is a bit of voice over that alludes to the reaction on Earth after Mr. Rockwell returns to tell his tale of clone woe. If you want to make a truly good science fiction movie, how about a genre-bending court room drama about a clone who falls to earth and explodes an international debate about what makes a human being human, coupled with an exploration about how immigration policy must be reconsidered in light of the cloning capacity of nefarious mining corporations.

I'll write it for any studio in Hollywood for, say, half a million dollars.

Call me.

The Lost Statement

2009-09-04T07:14:00.001-07:00

Click on image for larger view.

This quick Photoshop collage is not a part of my recent exhibitions. I put together this comp to compare the different looks of some daguerreotype textures provided by Caleb Kimbrough at Lost and Taken. Nevertheless, I think it proves to be a fitting accompaniment to the short artist statement I drafted for my current show at the Glenn & Viola Walters Cultural Arts Center in Hillsboro, OR.

It turns out that the Arts Center didn't have a designated location to post statements so this brief composition will find its only home here.

* * * * *

I spend a good deal of time longing to be outdoors.

This wasn’t always true. Much of my life played out in the suburbs and cities of Southern California where there are no true seasons— everything blooms and grows unchecked if you water it enough. Leaves don’t turn vibrant colors. Snow never blankets the ground. The sky is perpetually laden with heat and the particulate offerings of tailpipes. In such a place there was little incentive to be outdoors, and I had no real conception of the breadth and majesty of the natural world until I moved to the Willamette Valley.

That first year in Oregon I would drive around the farmlands outside of Salem, or up into the coastal range to the West, and I would witness a nature more magnificent than I’d ever imagined. Who knew the moon could be so large? How is it possible to have concentric rainbows? Isn’t it incongruous how the combines are so loud but create a dusty film that filters the setting sun into a splash of shadowy purple across the fields? In that year I discovered a sublime beauty and, quite by coincidence, I also discovered photography.

Well, I discovered pinhole photography anyway, which is a very primitive sort of way to take a picture; the camera being nothing more than a cardboard box with a hole to allow in some light like a lens would on a “real” camera. To be honest, the pinhole cameras I constructed did a poor job of capturing any of the sublime moments I witnessed, but in their indistinct and blurry compositions I discovered something equally beautiful. These crude images conveyed something about the underlying shape of nature; about nature in motion. A picture postcard of a vista doesn’t tend to do that, it just boasts about being somewhere. An image like that is about conquering a bit of landscape, whereas the pinhole image that takes minutes (or even hours) to expose is about experiencing a place.

Eventually, I began to supplement my collection of muzzy pinhole images with antique photos that had similar properties. I would hunt through flea markets and junk shops for damaged and discarded impressions of nature. Then I would transform both my images, and the found images, into drawings like the ones you see exhibited here. These drawings allow me to adjust the scale of the images and to perhaps even improve upon the original negative by adjusting the composition or contrast of the subject as I draw it.

I suppose I could outline that drawing process here, but it is complicated, and the only important thing to understand is that the process allows me to devote time to each image— more time than one person ever really devotes to a picture these days when imagery in ubiquitous and, quite frankly, exhausting.

The way we spend our time says a great deal about what we value. When I consider these landscapes that I’ve drawn, whether they are places I photographed or places some anonymous photographer felt compelled to record, I realize how important these moments that cause us to stop in wonder- to stop in awe- actually are, and I feel a great longing to step outside and discover everything all over.

August 2009, Portland, OR

Another Opening Tomorrow Night

2009-08-31T07:21:00.000-07:00

Click on image for larger view.

After an unforeseen nine-day visit to Southern California I've made it back to Portland just in time to install another exhibition of the landscape work I completed in July. This exhibit is about twenty miles outside of Portland at the Glenn & Viola Walters Cultural Arts Center in Hillsboro, Oregon. An opening reception will take place tomorrow evening (Tuesday, September 1st) at six o'clock. For those of you with the time and inclination the particulars are below:

Glenn & Viola Walters Cultural Arts Center

527 East Main Street

Hillsboro, OR 97123

503.615.3485

This is a three person exhibit (it also includes the work of Janette Cavecche and Robynn Fulfs) and it will run through September. Following the closing of this show I plan on taking a break from exhibiting for a while to focus on:

finishing the second movie (more on that in a bit)
beginning a new series of work (a bestiary— 'nuff said)
a motley assortment of design projects meant to sharpen my Adobe skills
finding a sense of balance and harmony in life

Goodbye Grandma

2009-08-19T06:25:00.000-07:00

The desert was all gold and heat.

2009-08-18T17:39:00.000-07:00

The desert was all gold and heat. 2009

acrylic, leafing, toner, and wax on panel

10.5" x 10.5"

Click on image for larger view.

I recognize that I've been a bit lax with regard to blogging of late— there has just been so much to do to prepare for shooting the upcoming film that I've felt a bit overwhelmed. In the past I would have sprinkled a few liberal promises about posting more frequently to make up for my silence, but I'm not in a position to fully honor such vows, so the most I can say is that I haven't forsaken blogging regularly; I'm simply in the process of redefining "regularly."

* * * * *

The desert was all gold and heat. is an utter fabrication. It is an amalgam of a found image and the texture of an old daguerreotype plate. At the MKAC opening one of the other photographers exhibiting there told me it had the quality of an Edward Curtis, which made me glow with a golden sheen not at all dissimilar to that displayed in the work.

I don't belong anywhere near the same breath that would utter Curtis' name; he being a master photographer and me being something of a photographic imposter. But I could see how the color of the image might elicit a comparison.

Curtis, Edward Sheriff (American, 1868-1952)

The Morning Bath—Apache

from The North American Indian (published between 1907-1930)

Image courtesy of Wikipedia Commons

Divination Rod

2009-08-12T21:51:00.000-07:00

Divination Rod, 2009

acrylic, leafing, toner, ink, and wax on panel

7.375" x 7.375"

Click on image for larger view.

Forgive my absence. I've been away for about two weeks on a silent meditation retreat in Washington. Ever since my return friends and family have all been asking the same sorts of questions:

What was it like? Was it worth it? Did it help? Why did I do it?

The answers to these questions are neither short nor simple, so I will wait until more time has passed before I share more about that particular experience. Needless to say, it has been difficult to return to the bustle and frustration of a city after ten days of silence on a 40-acre parcel of wheat fields and evergreens.

* * * * *

Divination Rod derives from an image of a spray-painted branch I discovered on Bainbridge Island this past Spring. For some reason or another this branch, along with a scattering of stumps and leaves, had been sprayed a metallic blue color that looked most incongruous among the deep browns and greens of the woodland. A contented squirrel sat a few feet away from me gnawing on a nut as I searched for the right angle to capture this knobby wooden talon. It looked in every way like an object with some mystical power, glowing as it was under the overcast sky of the Puget Sound.

Months later, when the image was transferred atop the silver leaf, I was pleased to see that the same sort of luminosity that had been a by-product of the spray paint was evident in this little waxed panel.

D is for Durable

2009-07-26T07:33:00.000-07:00

M is for Muir, 2009

acrylic, leafing, toner, tea, and wax on panel

7.375" x 7.375"

Click on image for larger view.

When I'm on field trips with my class I don't get too many opportunities to take photographs. The reasons for this should be obvious. However, and here is the great irony, the only times I tend to travel are when I take field trips with my class. Oh wicked conundrum!

* * * * *

I learned very quickly that only the most durable camera will survive a road-trip with a class of adolescents. That fancy new DSLR would certainly be the most versatile camera, but it would hardly hold up to falling out of the back of the van when the cooler lid is thrown open carelessly in the pursuit of snacks. So, I opt for indestructible over versatile, and always bring my trusty manual Nikon FE with a first-gen Lensbaby. The Lensbaby, while exceedingly limited in what it can do, has no glass components. That means that 70lbs. of lumpy duffle bag can be thrown on top of it and nothing much will happen to the simple plastic bellows.

* * * * *

M is for Muir was taken in the California Redwoods as we wound our way down to San Francisco. The students were completely immersed in ensuring that the quiet majesty of the Redwoods was anything but quiet so I took a moment to fixate on a few of the fallen giants that bordered the path. As usual, some yahoo had felt the need to deface the soft orange bark of a 200' long nurse log and that is what I ended up photographing. I'm still a bit unsure as to why I compile so many images of initials carved into trees— I suppose because defacing a tree is not all that different an act from taking a picture. Both claim that one tiny presence shared a moment with something much greater.

A Fit of Absolutely Warranted Panic

2009-07-25T17:02:00.000-07:00

Pressing Through — before waxing

Earlier this month I promised I'd share a studio disaster with you, so here it goes. Above is a depiction of a naked tree pressing through the fog. Below is the same panel after being varnished with two layers of cold wax medium.

Pressing Through — after waxing

When much of my white pastel disappeared under the first pass of cold wax I wanted to cry. Cry in a most unmanly sort of way. Cry in the way that only a month of ten-hour days in the studio can bring about.

I had counted on the cold wax to seal 3/4 of the works I'd created for the upcoming show, but suddenly I was confronted with the possibility that this technique would irrevocably alter the appearance of all my drawings. And there was no way I could frame everything behind glass in time.

But I didn't cry. Instead, I did what any artist would do in a similar situation. I ran to my former drawing teacher for help.

Luckily her studio is only three doors down from mine. She graciously stopped everything she was doing to come and see the source of my distress. A distress, she informed me, that could have been prevented with a few layers of permanent fixative prior to the application of cold wax.

To be fair, I had used fixative. Workable fixative. One layer.

I thanked her profusely. She just smiled and remarked that she didn't know what all the fuss was about. "It's a lovely image Jeffrey."

After a few hours I came around to seeing things her way.

60" On Center

2009-07-22T08:02:00.000-07:00

Maude Kerns Installation— North Wall

While there is nothing conceptually radical in my approach to hanging the show at Maude Kerns Art Center(MKAC) I thought it might be worth taking a moment to discuss why everything was not simply hung on a center line at eye level.

Having worked in a gallery before the prevailing wisdom for hanging an art exhibition is that 2D work should be hung so that the center of the work is in line with an imaginary line 60" from the ground. This rather arbitrary measurement is derived from the idea that 60" is "eye-level" for the average person. It is an appropriate de facto placement when the gallery wants to safely represent the work of an artist; i.e. doesn't want to go out on a limb and attempt to artificially establish or suggest heirarchies of importance among the body of work.

Maude Kerns Installation— West Wall

Is this sounding obtuse? OK. Let me clarify. When you hang some images higher or lower than others you risk subconsciously affecting how a viewer values the work. Images that are centered might seem more important than those that are lower on the wall, and those that are higher might ultimately be regarded as inaccessable or aloof. These assumptions about how height affects the viewing experience have led to some fairly radical approaches to staging an exhibition in the past fifty or sixty years, although I doubt that anything can seem more radical than the salon style presentation of images favored throughout Europe from the Renaissance until the mid-20th century.

Heim, Francois-Joseph (French, 1787-1865)

Charles X Distributing Awards to Artists Exhibiting at the Salon of 1824 at the Louvre, 1827

Musée du Louvre, Paris

Image courtesy of Wikipedia

I have been intrigued by salon style picture hanging for a long time and, in considering the installation at MKAC I knew that I wanted to incorporate the idea of images being displayed near each other so as to create implied narratives. I wanted the viewer to not just focus on one work, and then another work, and then another work; giving each one only a few seconds before stepping a couple (evenly spaced) feet over to the next. Rather, it seemed more effective to imply that there might be a continuity, or relationship, between different pieces. An entire wall might make up a short story with the variably sized white space between works reading as pauses. Taken as an entirety, the exhibition would display a gentle rhythm of movement as the hanging height of the works quietly rose and fell in a wave-like pattern around the room.

My hope was to imply a passage of time within space: to draw a connection between the antiquated and the contemporary. To state that all of this image making that we are doing today is simply a continuation of the long held desire to trap and preserve the transitory.

MKAC Installation Views

2009-07-19T10:42:00.000-07:00

Opening Reception at Maude Kerns— July 17, 2009

The opening of my solo show at the Maude Kerns Art Center in Eugene this past Friday was both warm and (contrary to what you see in the pictures below) well attended. Many folks from Eugene braved blistering heat to come out and see new works by Yours Truly. I had the opportunity to answer a number of really insightful questions and I was pleased to see that different pieces really spoke to different people.

Installation View

I imagine that some artists dread openings, but I really enjoy the chance to experience the reactions of others to the work. After all, the art is meant to have a life outside of my studio and my life; exhibitions are the first step into a wider world. Selling work continues that process as it takes the artwork from my hands entirely and allows it to build an entirely new context.

Installation View

I couldn't have succeeded in realizing this show without the assistance, support, and guidance of the following people: my wife (for putting up with it all), Brandon "the Director" Spradling (for priming and leafing), Matt McCalmont (for an abundance of custom frames), Paul "the Mentor" Gentry (who provided both a couch and the photos you see here), Dena Brown at MKAC (for organizing and installing the show), Kevin Burrus (for additional framing support and cutting panels), and the Edwards family for ongoing support.

My sincerest thanks to you all.

Installation View

Opening Tonight!

2009-07-17T12:13:00.000-07:00

Source image for The Sentinel

My exhibition at Maude Kerns Art Center (MKAC) opens this evening at 6pm. While you probably hear this plenty from artists, I must reiterate: the reproductions of the work posted on this blog and at Flickr cannot even come close to revealing the subtleties of tone and texture in the work. Now, I'm not patting myself on the back here— I'm just trying to impart to you the importance of taking a trip to Eugene in the next month and a half.

Here are the particulars. . .

Jeffrey T. Baker: Mixed Media Photographs

Maude Kerns Art Center

1910 East 15th Ave.

Eugene OR 97403

Opening Reception: July 17th, 2009 from 6-8pm

Exhibition Dates: July 17th-August 28th, 2009

The Best: Phone Conversation on Film

2009-07-11T05:37:00.000-07:00

Source Image by Clarita at MourgeFILE

Texture courtesy of Bit Box

Ariana and I watched Dr. Strangelove, or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb the other night. Apart from being fantastically lit, carefully composed, wickedly funny, and boasting the sweetest credit typography* I think I've ever witnessed, it also has the single best phone conversation ever written for film (between the President of the United States, one of three roles in the film played by Peter Sellers, and Soviet Premiere Dimitri Kissoff). As there is no actor playing Kissoff in the movie, Seller's character does all the talking. He brilliantly manages to convey every word Kissoff must be uttering on the other end of the line over the course of two hilarious conversations— I can't recall the last time I saw anything on film half as smart.

*Even those who didn't like the movie still give props to the typography. . .

The Sentinel

2009-07-09T06:45:00.000-07:00

The Sentinel, 2009

acrylic, toner, gouache, and graphite on paper

23" x 32"

Click on image for larger view.

Time constraints necessitated that I throw over tea-staining this week in favor of gouache. As you can see, this results in a much higher level of coloration across the entire image. Gouache (which is essentially a more opaque watercolor paint, for those who might not know) has another distinct advantage over tea: it can be reactivated with water and pushed to greater or lesser levels of opacity. This flexibility allowed me to reclaim some of the waterfall highlights in the background and create some selective areas of bare toner throughout the composition.

I almost entitled this Colter's Hell as it is derived from a photograph I found in a junk shop that has the word "Yellowstone" neatly written out on the back of the image. But, in the end, I decided it would be best to emphasize the act of standing rather than a place. This tree seems very stoic in the face of such majesty, and it has undoubtedly been so for many more years than I will ever see on this Earth.

Lawrence Lessig and the Remix Culture

2009-07-06T06:09:00.000-07:00

I've been reading Lawrence Lessig's book Remix: Making Art and Commerce Thrive in the Hybrid Economy. Lessig is a lawyer and law professor who has been at the forefront of questioning copyright controls in the digital age. He presents a number of ideas about how the internet, crowdsourcing, and artistic remixing are the modalities for economic and cultural development in the 21st century.

Unlike other books that I've read about the digital revolution,* Lessig comes down squarely on the side of technological innovation and all that it has spurred: presenting a picture of the internet as a vast frontier of fodder for art, music, activism, education, and altruism. His primary objective with Remix is to demonstrate why 20th century copyright law and the uncompromising definition of property serves neither company nor consumer in the 21st century.

In Lessig's "hybrid" economy consumers are not just consumers, they are empowered to take an active role in shaping and advancing the things they consume. Images, music, movies, text: all are easily rendered into binary and therefore easily mixed up (or mashed up, for those of you who prefer more contemporary lingo) into a potentially cross-cultural and interdisciplinary form of new creative expression. This "remixing" is taken on by the very people who formerly just bought such entertainment to be entertained. It is, in some ways, the ultimate triumph of fan fiction** (just applied to every art form in addition to writing).

But Lessig isn't espousing a world where passive consumers simply become more active consumers and the wheels of the free market just fall into the fresher ruts formed by the digital world. Lessig believes that remix culture is a means by which democracy is enriched and ensured because it honors the way a new generation has learned to "write." As writing was fundamental to formulating our democracy (July 4th is ultimately about a written document, not beer or fireworks), democracy can only be ensured so long as a culture continues to be free to write. It's his definition of writing that is so intriguing:

Text is today's Latin. It is through text that we elites communicate . . . For the masses, however, most information is gathered through other forms of media: TV, film, music, and music video. These forms of "writing" are the vernacular of today. They are the kinds of "writing" that matters most to most. (68)

So, in my reading of Lessig's definition, it isn't an issue of the modern world becoming less text based so much as redefining what we mean by text. Like so much in contemporary life, access to more information and more context forces the critical mind to accept broader definitions for previously accepted ideas. At heart, that is a very democratic thing to do.

Whether or not you should read Lessig's book depends on your interest in contemporary culture or if you're in the profession of projecting business models into the future. It isn't a difficult text to read but it can be a bit dry and, for those of you who've subscribed to Wired magazine for the past ten years, you might be disappointed by the lack of material that hasn't already been a part of information-age-discourse. Thus far in my reading, the most salient points in Remix have centered around the need for an updated approach to copyright law. As this is Lessig's area of expertise, it only makes sense that his best moments are devoted to the ways in which new forms of copyright could benefit both artist and audience. As a founding member of the Creative Commons he has already done much to prove that he practices what he preaches.

* Such as Morris Berman's The Twilight of American Culture or Sven Birkert's Gutenberg Elegies: The Fate of Reading in an Electronic Age

** I recently read a short little article about the birth of fan fiction by Scott Brown. It had some real resonance after watching J.J. Abrams' Star Trek film the other night.

Titling Artwork, Pt. III

2009-07-02T08:00:00.000-07:00

Sprightly, 2009

acrylic, leafing, toner, ink, and wax on board

6.5" x 6.5"

2. The Obliquely Narrative Title

This second style of titling that I'm inclined towards demands more of me than the simple explanatory title. It demands more in terms of time, as it takes longer to generate a title that must serve as a story, and it demands more in terms of trust, as I must feel comfortable with offering something deeply personal to the audience.

In essence, the obliquely narrative title provides a prompt to the viewer. Just like in English class, the prompt serves as the beginning to the story that you (in this case, you the viewer) must compose. The possibilities for narrative are endless following this first statement, but the first statement provides just enough information to establish some sort of subjective context for each individual. Allow me to present an example:

A heritage of red mist., 2009

acrylic, tea, pastel, toner, and graphite on paper

30.5" x 40"

Click on image for larger view.

Here is a title for a work that in no way seems to reference the actual image on the paper. Where is the red mist? Who's heritage? How can you have a heritage of unnaturally colored natural events?

In titling this work the intention is not to be misleading or obtuse— it is to provide the viewer with an evocative cipher into my personal experience. Will it ever succeed in conveying that the image was taken from a rooftop in Rome on the very same day that I visited the Colosseum and heard a docent discussing written records of a red mist of blood that would wash over the first rows of spectators when elephants were butchered by half-starved lions on the amphitheater floor?

No.

Might the shape of the water tower scaffolding resemble the shape of the Colosseum.

Yes.

Might the presence of two buildings; one modern and the other undoubtedly ancient, hint at a location that is both contemporary and antiquated.

Yes.

Is it possible that by referencing red one might think of something opulent, passionate, fiery, angry, or violent.

Perhaps.

Will anyone immediately assume the picture was taken in Rome, and that after days of traipsing about the hub of two empires (Rome and the Christian Church) I might have been drawing a comparison between the hedonistic tendencies of a waning military empire and a young religious empire.

Not likely. But the success of the obliquely narrative title isn't measured by how closely the viewer can recreate the exact ideas that shape those few words meant to give meaning to a visual product. The obliquely narrative title asks for your narrative as it relates to the image/artwork in front of you. It creates an active, rather than passive, viewing experience, and therein lies its strength. Your life, your dreams, your beliefs become a valuable component to understanding something that you took no part in creating and that makes the artwork a living entity, not just a seemingly overpriced commodity.

In my experience, how to title an artwork is not something that is given a great deal of attention at art school. It is acknowledged as another tool for assisting the viewer, but how to develop a means for titling artwork is left up to each artist. Ultimately, to name something is to value it. Names and labels allow us to organize our loves, our loyalties, and our world. I've committed so much time to bringing these images forth, it would be irresponsible of me to not Christen them and provide them another means for communicating their essence.

* * * * *

Coming soon: studio disasters, new artwork, and the reported demise of text!

Titling Artwork, Pt. II

2009-06-28T06:39:00.000-07:00

Passing Through the Dust, 2009

acrylic, toner, and graphite on panel

10.5" x 10.5"

While I can't speak for any other artist, or for artists in general,* I can share with you my approach to titling artworks. Over the years I've found that my titles can be primarily categorized into two types: the simple explanatory and the obliquely narrative. Today, I will just deal with the first type. . .

1. The Simple Explanatory Title

In many ways, this is the easier of the two types as it requires only a word or two to convey meaning. In essence, this sort of title seems to state what the work seeks to depict: Orchard, Mirror, and Baubles are all titles I've employed before. But with the exception of Orchard, which is actually a drawing of an orchard, the title isn't a strictly literal interpretation of the artwork. Mirror is a drawn self-portrait derived from a photograph I took in the mirror. As such, it serves as a double entendre. Baubles illustrates a strand of globular beads on a necklace. The word 'necklace' would have provided a more literal title, but baubles alludes to something precious, beautiful, and rounded. With English boasting at least half a million words it isn't difficult to conjure up a host of synonyms that might offer a subtler statement than the prosaic declarative word.

Sometimes the simple explanatory title is anything but. There are many drawings I've created where the subject of the work is simply a foil for some sort of emotional or religious resonance. Interlude, which captures the sun setting behind a copse of trees as witnessed through a rain soaked window, doesn't need a title explaining the image, it needs a title explaining a confluence of moments: the fleeting moment of sunset, the wistful moment of staring out the window, the inspired moment of releasing the shutter, etc. The real magic of such a simple title is that it leaves the artwork open to the viewers interpretation while, at the same time, whispering a little something into their subconscious.

I recently finished a small piece called Weep that shows a tree that has been carved into and is oozing sap. If it was hanging on a gallery wall and you asked someone to describe it I doubt you'd get a much more narrative explanation than the one I just provided. But I have a tremendous amount of context that I want to share about that image and the title has to provide part of the means for that communication of context. Admittedly, a title is not going to help the viewer determine that this tree was outside a crypt at the Santa Barbara Mission and that I'd just been contemplating statues of Christ and Mary prior to encountering this desecrated trunk in the mission's garden. But they may understand the idea of violation of the natural world. They may consider how certain attempts for immortality can be destructive and, ultimately, somewhat futile. They may sense suffering, on some level, and the recognition of human suffering is paramount to the mission of the Christian tradition. And this, in turn, creates some small connection between the removed act of considering a drawing on a gallery wall and the spiritual impulse of Christianity.

Ultimately, the simple explanatory title offers the artist a quick way to either explain the image and/or invite the viewer into sharing in a more complex reading of the work. I think that the only one-word-title which fails to do either is the ever popular Untitled.**

Next up, the obliquely narrative title. . .

*Although I did it yesterday— "Most professional artists, when pressed, will state that titling is important."

**And I recognize that this is a contentious statement for any MFA students or philosophy majors, as it could be argued (usually after a few beers) that it is the very fact that it is a non-statement that makes it such a powerful statement. To which I say, "Meh." I see your post-modern drivel and raise you one example of preemptive self-aware retort!

Titling Artwork, Pt. 1

2009-06-27T09:46:00.000-07:00

It leaks out., 2009

acrylic, tea, toner, and graphite on panel

12" x 24"

Click on image for larger view.

I imagine there are about as many answers to how you title an artwork as there are artists willing to sound off about it. The process for finding a title is often as personal as the process that shaped the artwork, and there is undoubtedly some correlation between how an artist titles and the intangibles of their creative vision.

Most professional artists, when pressed, will state that titling is important. Those same artists, when pressed further, may be unclear as to why they believe it to be important. At that point some small warning bells might go off about how galleries need to sell artwork to the public. Titles offer an avenue for the layman's entry into the "intangibles" of an artwork, which may explain why there are many creators who are aggressively disinterested in titling, resorting to the trusty Untitled #____ for the duration of their career— they don't want the title to be a Cliff's Notes addendum to their vision. They want the public to work for a connection. They want more than just consumption from the audience.

I'm not going to be so crass as to suggest that titling only serves to sell artwork. Judging by how obtuse some titles for artworks happen to be I also believe that titling offers the artist an opportunity to season their creation with another level of meaning. The title can be a red herring or it can provide contextual support for the image/object depicted (or experienced, as with installation or performance art). The title might also be a process that brings about closure for the artist. It becomes a finalizing statement that releases the artwork from the hand that birthed it and proclaims to the artist, more than anyone else, that their time with this work is done.

* * * * *

In Progress

2009-06-25T07:14:00.000-07:00

My wife joined the Director and I in the studio yesterday to assist with some of the tedium required to make the artwork I make. Lately, my hand has been cramping after I do some of the more repetitive tasks, like rubbing away all of the paper fibers from six square feet of gel medium transfer, for instance. While she slowly worked her way across the image shown above she inquired as to the other works I'd made:

"Where are they?"

"They're wrapped up." I replied.

"Why?"

"If I can't see them then I'll need to continue to work at a breakneck pace."

"How do you figure that?"

"If I can't take stock of what I've done, then I'll feel that I haven't done enough, and I'll continue to work as if I don't have enough work to fill the gallery space."

"But don't you know that you've completed a certain number of pieces? Doesn't that sort of invalidate your plan?"

"No."

"Hmmmmm, it sounds like a very Baker sort of thing to do."

And indeed it does.

Lonely in the Snow

2009-06-22T07:11:00.000-07:00

Winter Phoenix, 2009

acrylic, toner, and graphite on cheesecloth wrapped panel

6" x 6"

I didn't grow up with snow. Only in recent years have I had the opportunity to traipse about on mountainsides amidst snow flurries and I find the experience, for lack of a better word, chilling. Something about the silence of the snow enthralls me, but keeps me on edge. I cannot shake the awareness that this simple solidification of water has the power to bury the trees and smooth out cliff faces.

My voice seems an ineffective tool against so much mass and, as I stand next to 100 foot tall conifers that have seen the first fifteen feet entombed for the season, I'm reminded of just how small a man is in the face of nature's simplest processes.

* * * * *

I photographed this tree as it fought against the diminishing horizon line outside of Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood. While it may have seemed lonely in the snow, there was something defiant in its shape. Perhaps experience had taught it that winter was transitory, and survival the norm.

Scratching the Sky

2009-06-19T17:29:00.000-07:00

Tease and Tremble, 2009

acrylic, toner, leafing, graphite, india ink, and wax on panel

7.5" x 7.5"

I've returned to torrential downpoars and oppressive skies. For the past three days I was at the Oregon coast, which is notorious for foul weather, and nary a drop of precipitation sullied the trip. It just goes to show; in western Oregon, no matter where you are, it's only a matter of time until you get wet, and you can't predict the where or when.

* * * * *

A year ago I stood alone in a large field outside of Grant's Pass. Just out of sight ran the Rogue River, which put a murmur and birdsong in the morning air. I came across a stand of thistles and spent some time watching them waver in the wind. To me, they are a most aesthetic plant, with a linear nature that always cuts a dramatic silhouette against the sky. I never tire of photographing them.

That morning I was feeling a bit pressed for time. Soon I would have to be back at camp and packing up for a day on the river. I shot a few careless images as the clouds gathered overhead. I thought to myself, thistles are how we should card the clouds of the sky, and then I walked away.

The Disappearing Act

2009-06-16T06:24:00.000-07:00

Taken at Discovery Park, Seattle, WA - Spring 2009

I have to go away for a few days. While I'm away there are a number of things I could use some help with. Feel free to jump in wherever you can. . .

finish applying gesso to panels
repair copper leaf on medium sized panel
re-leaf two smaller gold panels to cover up bad transfers
gold leaf large board for antique gilt frame
update my artist statement
photograph recent works
vacuum silver leaf bits and paper pulp off studio floor
repair drafting table light
transfer recent found photos to medium sized panels
build custom frames for paneled work
deliver larger paper works to frame shop
paint antique frames (and putty where needed)
find appropriate image for oval mat
storyboard the next movie
contact cast about table read
generate new web site

My great thanks in advance for all your assistance. When I return I'll treat you to a few new images from around Oregon!

And Now for Movie #2

2009-06-14T06:08:00.000-07:00

While I may know nothing about social networking it just so happens that I know some cool people, and because cool people always seem to know about cool things, I have an avenue for social networking through my association with coolness. One such cool person, who also happens to be a young person in her twenties (making her even cooler), has decided to act as Production Assistant on our next movie. Within two hours of our first casting call for said movie Katie, for that is her name, had established a Twitter account for our new film venture. As I'm sure you are burning with curiosity as to how exactly small, no-budget, films are made, you can now follow the tribulations and triumphs at:

http://twitter.com/marketstmovie

And, if all that wasn't enough for you PDX cinephiles, I'm pleased to relate that our previous venture, Fine Arts, now boasts its own IMDB page complete with a preview video. The very cool Director of Fine Arts believes that the video quality of our IMDB page might be linked to its relative popularity so, in other words, a movie that has thousands of interested fans will get a picture perfect streaming video of their preview while those of us with no real fans have to use whatever bandwidth might be left over to stream (or trickle) our little preview. Sounds plausible to me.

So don't wait! Tell three thousand of your closest friends to visit IMDB and watch our utterly silent and mostly still little segment of movie goodness. It will make you cooler than you already are, and allow me to feel more cool too.

And Then My Presence Went Dark

2009-06-13T06:32:00.000-07:00

Taken on Bainbridge Island,WA - Spring 2009

My website is gone. I couldn't bring myself to pay Apple for another year of hosting an aesthetically stunted site, yet I currently have nothing to replace it with either. All my attention at the moment is turned toward finishing up work for my exhibitions this summer and starting a second film. There is little chance I will be snuggling up with Dreamweaver anytime soon so, to prevent my complete disappearance from the electronic ether, I'm having my "tidal wave" of home page traffic forwarded to my Flickr account. I hope Flickr is up to the bandwidth requirements!

* * * * *

I've read many articles and books about the professional practices of artists, but none of them come close to offering as much good advice as an instructor I had in college— he said that you should never be spending more time on promotion and business than you were on creating. As soon as you'd violated that percentage you just had a job like anyone else.

Over the past year I've invested a significant amount of time establishing a "web presence." It has been something of a boon to the five or six friends who would care about what I'm working on or thinking about even if I didn't spill it all out online, because it makes it easier for them to check in. But as for garnering an online community of supporters and compatriots; that demands a commitment of time and energy I simply cannot give. I admire those who can do it, and I wish them the best of luck Tweeting, Tubing, and Facebooking. For me, Flickr will act as a substitute until I can sit down and enjoy the creation of something beautiful for the web. Perhaps after two months of intensive work in the studio I might actually embrace a little time with Adobe as opposed to days of breathing in charcoal dust. Perhaps not. . .

Olafur Arnalds and the Fall

2009-06-10T20:49:00.000-07:00

Clinging, Slipping, 2009

acrylic, leafing, toner, graphite, and wax on panel

7.5" x 7.5"

This small work was created while listening to seven sublime tracks* by Olafur Arnalds that are available for free here. Arnalds' "Found Songs" are improbably beautiful for compositions that were put together one-a-day over the course of a week. I cannot imagine what he's capable of producing given a more gracious schedule.

As I'm never quite sure just how long promotional giveaways are intended to last I would encourage anyone who has a modicum of love for sparsity, simplicity, and the melancholic to download them promptly.

* * * * *

Clinging, Slipping is a cropped variation of a much larger image of a waterfall that I've been working on in the studio. Both the large and small compositions have a ground of silver leaf that produces an elusive sheen beneath the black silhouettes of quivering vegetation and fallen logs. I found the original image in a flea market outside of Bend, Oregon and was immediately taken with the emptiness of the composition— it was so poorly exposed that all of the water in the fall had simply become a mass of white that consumed two-thirds of the composition. While I'm pleased that Clinging, Slipping turned out as well as it did, I'm not yet convinced that I'll be able to wrangle a successful work from the larger image. . . we'll see what a little rubbing alcohol and cold wax will do over the coming weekend.

*Recommended by Colorado artist Nathan Abels, who provides a weekly link on his blog to free music conducive to creative work.

The Primacy of Proximity

2009-06-08T07:01:00.000-07:00

The Whisper, 2009

acrylic, tea, toner, and graphite on cheesecloth wrapped panel

6" x 6"

It really is true, what they say, about reproductions of artwork being unable to capture the presence of the actual work. Regardless of scanner fidelity, Photoshop trickery, and color corrected light sources, there's just no way to trap the subtlety of the marks in this little drawing. Honestly, it only seems successful when viewed from six inches away and the light of a room is allowed to cut under the graphite. I suppose that might actually make it a failure, that it requires someone's physical presence to appreciate it, but isn't that what so much of our visual culture is lacking— the necessity of proximity; of intimacy?

* * * * *

This grass sweeps across Yaquina Head just north of Newport, Oregon. It was shot just outside the imposing lighthouse that stands there using a modified Holga camera. I've never made a print of the image, the scan for this drawing was derived from a barely passable contact sheet I made years ago.

Fictitious Fog

2009-06-07T07:52:00.000-07:00

Pressing Through, 2009

acrylic, leafing, toner, graphite, and pastel on panel

7.25" x 7.25"

My first experiment with using gold leaf* as a base for the transfer process. I was particularly excited by the color shifts in the fog created by the tarnishing of the leafing underneath. Revealing just a touch of the gold lower in the composition heightens the muffled quality of the fog created by the pastel.

*Well, imitation gold leaf. . . I couldn't afford the real stuff, and the cheaper metal tarnishes much faster (a big plus when artificial aging is the objective).

The Weeping Tree

2009-06-06T07:44:00.000-07:00

Weep, 2009

acrylic, tea, toner, and pastel on cheesecloth wrapped panel

6" x 6"

Derived from a photograph of an oozing tree outside the crypt at the Santa Barbara Mission. A stigmata title seemed too blatant. . .

Shine

2009-05-29T02:15:00.001-07:00

May 29, 2005

A friend's smile and the summer sun. . .

Dribble

2009-05-28T02:14:00.000-07:00

May 28, 2005

I miss having a basketball hoop. I found shooting the ball to be very meditative— it periodically took me out of my head for an hour, and the rhythm of the ball bouncing on the pavement was quite soothing.

However, you shouldn't be fooled by this photo: I was far better at being meditative while shooting hoops than I was at sinking shots while shooting hoops.

Fountain

2009-05-27T02:14:00.000-07:00

May 27, 2005

Open the door.

2009-05-23T02:13:00.000-07:00

May 23, 2005

Got Goth?

2009-05-22T02:12:00.000-07:00

May 22, 2005

Top Five Albums to Listen to While Watching Diaphanous Curtains* Blow in the Twilight Wind: Presented in No Particular Order

black tape for a blue girl— remnants of a deeper purity
This Mortal Coil— Filigree & Shadow
Dead Can Dance— Toward the Within
Sigur Ros— ( )
Love Spirals Downwards— Flux

*Diaphanous curtains or plastic drop clothes, I can't rightly remember which. . .

Counter Clockwise

2009-05-21T02:11:00.000-07:00

May 21, 2005

The Photo Phazer doesn't really capture images on the vertical, instead the picture must be reoriented after it has been uploaded to the computer. Nevertheless, there are times when the disorientation that comes with the wrong alignment adds another element of interest to the image. This horribly overexposed shot of my wife's sewing machine surging through some fabric in the evening hours wouldn't be nearly as intriguing if I'd bothered to turn it 90 degrees counter-clockwise.

BBQ

2009-05-20T02:11:00.000-07:00

May 20, 2005

The art of barbecue cooking was not a discipline in college, nor was it a part of my upbringing. I've dabbled in the burning of meat items over an open flame for years now, but as of yet, have really only learned how to start a fire without lighter fluid, oil the grill, and accidentally put out the flame in the midst of finishing off some chicken breasts.

This less than stellar track record hardly quells my excitement when the warmth of BBQ season infuses the air. Every year is a new opportunity to subject family and friends to some extra carbon, and I waste no time in procuring another bag of charcoal.

Approximate L

2009-05-17T13:50:00.001-07:00

Approximate L Rehearsal, March 21, 2009

Gallery Homeland, Portland, OR

Photo: Jeffrey T. Baker

Local artist/poet Bethany Ides is currently exhibiting her exploration of all things Lindsay at Worksound Gallery in Southeast Portland. Audio, video, and installation are all employed as a means of exposing the slippery linguistic morass time makes of a name. Artworks by other people named Linsey are temporarily appropriated, bodice-ripping fiction by pseudonymic Linseys are desecrated for the sake of heft and mirth, and there's an opportunity to take part in a six degrees of (Lindsay) separation game with minor icons of the silver screen. Enough contextual density exists within the show to keep the nimble mind well satiated.

Approximate L Rehearsal, March 21, 2009

Gallery Homeland, Portland, OR

Photo: Jeffrey T. Baker

Brandon the director, and Yours Truly the photographer, provided documentation for the performance component of the Approximate L project. The performance took place prior to the gallery exhibit, so we offered up time and equipment to ensure that it was represented within the context of all the other pieces at Worksound. Some of the resulting photographs are shown here, and quite a few more are on display in the show.

Approximate L Rehearsal, March 21, 2009

Gallery Homeland, Portland, OR

Photo: Jeffrey T. Baker

Documenting a performance (or, to be accurate, the rehearsals for a performance) was an intriguing challenge. Neither Brandon or I were familiar with the structure of the performance until we arrived, and we were given complete license to move about and intrude upon the action. Our approach was to shoot liberally and from as many vantage points as possible, hoping that the laws governing averages would work in our favor as well.

For those interested in seeing the exhibit please contact Bethany via her blog. Worksound is open by appointment only, and Approximate L will only be on display through the end of the month.

Outings

2009-05-14T02:10:00.000-07:00

May 14, 2005

I'm not sure which Joshua Tree outing this was— it could be the "Pull in at Midnight and Nearly Freeze Under the Starry Sky Outing" or the "Joshua Tree Floods as Gale-Force Winds Send All Our Gear Skipping Across the Soggy Desert Outing."

The Siren Song of Summer

2009-05-12T02:09:00.000-07:00

May 12, 2005

By mid-May most students, regardless of age or maturity, have checked out of school. The air smells like summer and the days have stretched to push bed times toward a dangerously unreasonable hour.

I tell my students that they must treat the last weeks of school in the same way that they treat the last hundred feet of a race— they must find that hidden reserve of energy to propel themselves forward to a strong finish. Some can do this. Some can't. And on those days when every students is joining the great chorus of complaint about some trivial thing (like covering their mouth when they sneeze, or writing their name on their paper) I have to mentally give myself the same pep talk to get through the day.

Nothing New Here

2009-05-11T02:08:00.000-07:00

May 11, 2005

Why haven't you read my post from April 28th yet? Do you dislike Van Gogh? Perhaps you find contemplations of ceramic fish lips distasteful— which, as I type it, seems like a perfectly reasonable aversion, but still doesn't excuse skipping an entry that I labored over so mightily.

I suppose you might have not read it because I didn't post it until today, which is a viable excuse (albeit a little weak).

Looking Back

2009-05-10T02:07:00.000-07:00

May 10, 2005

Pneu, free of burdensome ears, contemplates her reduced physiognomy in the lens of the Photo Phazer. Perhaps she was under the spell of regret, trying to piece together the memories of a past when she could better discern the sources of sound. Perhaps the mirror created by the lens spoke less about growing older and more about the youth that was.

Baby Pneu, September 1998

"Isn't she pretty?" (written on the back)

Organizational Irony

2009-05-09T02:06:00.000-07:00

May 9, 2005

My wife set up a display board of faux finish brushes to photograph for our home staging and decorative painting business that we started in Southern California. It was one of many "staged" images we created to generate the look of our website, but unlike some of the others, it was quite useful. Whenever we needed a specific brush it was easy to locate (which, I suppose, is why peg board is so popular in garage workshops across America). But, once a brush left the board it rarely made it back on to it, so the effectiveness of the peg board quickly fell victim to our moderately disorganized working habits— the irony of this is easy to spot, as we were in the business of helping people become (or at least, for the duration of an open house, look) more organized.

The Transformation of Baubles

2009-05-05T02:05:00.000-07:00

May 5, 2005

This image from 2005 became this image from 2008. . .

Bastion of Hipness

2009-05-04T02:04:00.000-07:00

May 4, 2005

One of the things I really appreciate about this photo is the oh-so-obvious shadow of my head in the lower left of the image. A photographic novice mistake par excellence!

* * * * *

In light of the industrial theme of today's image I thought I'd post this little piece I recently completed.

I still have some thinking to do before the proper christening can take place. For some reason the term "airborne toxic event" keeps pulling at my synapses, but then, some may mistakenly assume that I'm referencing a band from Los Feliz* as opposed to a metaphorical cloud of death from a Don DeLillo novel.

*Yes, that very Bastion of Hipness, the oh-so-hip Los Feliz of Los Angeles locale. Can't you feel your jeans getting skinnier just reading about it?

What It Was

2009-05-03T02:03:00.000-07:00

May 3, 2005

I had typed a number of rhetorical questions regarding this image but decided that they were more compelling combined into one single sentence.

A tree trunk of poorly applied plaster; considered a mark of aesthetic influence on Hickey.

Prelude Variation

2009-05-02T02:02:00.000-07:00

May 2, 2005

I've been revisiting an old stand of trees this week. I caught them in a camera obscura many years prior to 2005, but I find myself returning to them now with the intention of including them in an upcoming show in Eugene. In their "pure" form they look something like this:

Prelude (variation), 1998 (pinhole image caught outside Corvallis, OR)

I'm still finding out what they'll look like backed by gold.

May Day; Subtly

2009-05-01T02:01:00.000-07:00

May 1, 2005

I've tried to use words to convey the differing qualities of place, but my handling of them is rarely nimble enough to convey the great discrepancies between my life in California and my life in Oregon.

It would be better to just let two May Day images, separated by 819.6 miles and four years, impart whatever analogies they will.

May 1, 2009

The Power of Money

2009-04-30T02:00:00.000-07:00

April 30, 2005

A few weeks ago I spent a day or two making simple Galvanic cells with pennies, nickles, dimes, and a generous amount of citrus fruit. The principle behind this is clearly explained in the nicely produced, albeit soporific, video below:

Note that a galvanized nail is used in the video— this does produce a stronger current than using a dime or nickel, but the general effect is the same. One other thing to bear in mind is that a single lemon (which serves as the electrolyte) and two different metals constitutes a cell, not a battery. A battery, as far as scientists are concerned, consists of two or more cells working together is a sequence.

Blank

2009-04-29T01:29:00.000-07:00

April 29, 2005

In the late afternoon sun I scattered painted canvases and charcoal drawings from art school all over the brick patio and gleefully took a gesso-laden roller to them. After three or four coats all trace of juvenilia had disappeared.

They are all still blank four years later.

Beauty is a Void

2009-04-28T01:58:00.000-07:00

April 28, 2005

In college I took a concept seminar class on beauty. The first assignment was to make an artwork that was as unattractive as possible. For some this meant creating a piece of kitsch, for others it was an exercise in audacity. I chose to subvert a historical masterpiece and, with apologies to Van Gogh, turned Starry Night into something utterly banal.

It's difficult to intentionally make something ugly. Maybe this isn't true in the industrial world of consumer goods, but at an art school tethered to a historical tradition of craftsmanship, it is a challenge. Many people didn't succeed. Most people struggled with the idea.

After our critique we were randomly assigned someone else's hideous object to somehow beautify. The parameters were fairly loose: essentially, you had to have the object serve as the primary material for the new work.

I was given a ceramic mosaic fish with kissy-lips and cartoon eyes. As Ceramics was a studio I studiously avoided (too dirty), it would prove difficult for me to work in that medium. I opted instead to document the creation utilizing some pinhole cameras I'd recently built.

I draped the fish in some white muslin and then sprayed it with water for that "wet drapery" look so adored by Classical sculptors of the Hellenistic Period. Between that, and the softening effect of the pinhole camera, I was fairly certain that I could create a few images that would be considered beautiful.

For the most part the results weren't that intriguing.

But, oddly enough, this image of the fish lips. . .

. . . would unexpectedly mimic earlier work. . .

. . . and remain one of the more enigmatic photographs I've ever taken.

Putting Children in Children's Theater Design

2009-04-26T01:56:00.000-07:00

April 26, 2005

One of the most difficult aspects of children's theater is involving the kids in the actual production of the set pieces. I feel it important that the setting also be a representation of their labor, but often the practical aspects of safety and efficiency must take precedence. If one has the luxury of preparing for a play over the course of a few months then more opportunities emerge for student involvement, but often the types of tasks they are best suited for are also some of the most repetitive and, therefore, the least interesting to them. Paint 20 feet of glittering brick wall. Cut 2,000 strips of green fabric. Paper mache 20 rocks. Even most adults would lose enthusiasm after an hour or two of the same task. The only difference being that the adult recognizes the need to finish the task and the child often does not.

Which brings me to my first piece of advice about involving students in set construction and dressing:

Always have a detailed drawing of the entire set and, if at all possible, a completed prototype of the project they will be tasked with.

In the examples above this might be 1 foot of completed castle wall, or a small bush that will be made from the green strips of fabric, or a painted rock. By seeing a "finished" object kids are given a tangible outcome and they understand that it is not just busy work or some Sisyphean task.

This presentation of the final object shouldn't take the place of careful explanation and demonstration of the processes involved in making the project, it only established the feasibility of the project and sets the bar for the quality of the finished items.

It also opens up your design to student critique; which should not be shied away from. Such critique is an opportunity for the students to actively engage in the design process, sharpen their ability to offer constructive feedback, and devise new solutions for completion (or, in plain teacher speak, problem solve). While I often find such critiques challenging in the moment, they almost always provide some benefit to teacher and/or student by the time the curtains rise for that first performance. Sometimes that benefit is having the doubting child see the proposed plan completed, and sometimes it is having the teacher be shown that a simpler process exists for achieving the same result.

In the end, if students are to be involved in the process, expect that the process will be rocky and commit to their involvement at the beginning. If you're going to make the journey together you might as well start at the same spot: an empty stage that needs to become so much more.

Unravelling

2009-04-25T01:55:00.000-07:00

April 25, 2005

I'd reached a point of acceptance by this time in 2005. Not at all dissimilar to that point in a relationship when it's clear that the end has come, but a state of confusion about what might follow cements you in stasis. I knew that I'd failed to achieve my goal of a movie a day yet I continued on out of habit. Continued on sporadically. . .

The movies that come now might be a bit more honest however. They are genuine moments of visual interest, devoid of the spectre of responsibility for completing some project. As a result, they generally say more about my visual proclivities than many of the images that precede them (with the exception of the first few weeks of January 05).

So from this point forward dear reader know that I won't be just posting a black box when a day is missed, for that would be an exercise in redundancy sure to annoy both you and me. No, from this point forward I either have something to offer or I don't. I've reached the point where I can more freely write about the present because the continuity of the past has begun to unravel.

Ediger Illuminated

2009-04-21T01:51:00.000-07:00

April 21, 2005

The Photo Phazer reduces Ben Ediger's Jar Light to a cord, cap, and radiant burn on the wall. In reality their effect is much more subdued. Here is a cluster of them created for a store here in Stumptown.

Ben Ediger, Jar Lights

sand-blasted recycled glass jars, lacquer, electrical hardware

dimension variable

Photo: Jeffrey T. Baker

Ben was kind enough to send me a prototype when he first conceived of them. It was the second lamp I'd scored from Ben, who also gifted me one of his "log lamps" after an off-handed remark I made regarding a chunk of cedar he'd been storing around the wood shop. To this day Split remains one of my prized possessions. It never fails to whip up real curiosity when folks come over to visit.

Ben Ediger, Split

cedar log, wood bleach, waterborne poly, enamel spray paint, electrical hardware

18" x 10"

Photo: Jeffrey T. Baker

Jalama Beach

2009-04-20T01:50:00.000-07:00

April 20, 2005

So what's my excuse for not having Photo Phazer imagery the past two days? Simply put: technological difficulties.

You see, the Photo Phazer can only store one 1-minute movie at a time, so if someone were to, say, go on a camping trip to Jalama Beach on the California coast for a few days, then that person would only be able to capture one movie for the entire trip unless they were lucky enough to own a laptop at the time (which they weren't). Ergo, only one bit of video must suffice as a record for the entire trip.

Well, one video and two eye witnesses. The eye witnesses would probably give you a much richer narrative than this one parting shot (taken as we drove away from the secluded little beach).

The eye witnesses would probably mention "toaster forks." I'm sure that the highway death of one Toyota Camry would come up. As would getting stuck in traffic with Jake Gyllenhaal. And then there's the midnight raccoon raceway, the bleeding tree, the wind, and the crypt. . .

If only I could have captured more on film.

Diffusion Magazine

2009-04-19T01:49:00.000-07:00

April 19, 2005

Tomorrow we will return to imagery from 2005. Today let's turn our attention to the imagery of 2009.

Fellow OCAC alum Blue Mitchell has spent the past year creating a magazine devoted to that unquantifiable realm known as unconventional photography. As stated in the recent press release for Diffusion:

Diffusion focuses on unconventional photographic processes and photo related artwork. We showcase artists working in alternative processes, experimental darkroom derived work, analog/low-fidelity, mixed-media photography, as well as unique digital processes. We believe the print market is saturated with traditional photography and conventional digital photographic practices, therefore Diffusion showcase’s artists working with unusual photographic methods.

I am one of a handful of artists profiled in the magazine. Apparently, spending weeks producing a drawn photograph (whatever that means) places me squarely in the unconventional photography camp. Now that Diffusion has created some sub-categories for the unconventional I find myself wondering if I'm more "alternative process" or "analog/low-fidelity."

Last night, the Director shared his belief that the artwork I create is a physical re-creation of using Adjustment Layers in Photoshop to build an image. That might be the most pithy insight I've ever heard about my work, and I'm ashamed to admit that I'd never thought of it that way before.

However, plenty of what I have thought of before awaits you in Diffusion, along with some sage words from Blue Moon Camera's Zeb Andrews, and a phenomenal gallery of contemporary alt process photographs. Click on over to www.diffusionmag.com for a digital preview and purchasing information.

Set for a Midsummer Night's Dream

2009-04-18T01:48:00.000-07:00

April 18, 2005

With nothing to share from April 18, 2005 I'll direct your attention to some stills of the stage set I designed this year for my class production of Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. While I've written a bit about this production before I thought it would be easier to discuss some specifics of the design if there were some pictures to reference.

The tree trunks are cardboard stapled to tall stands constructed from a single 2x4 and assorted bits of scrap lumber. The cardboard is then wrapped in burlap pieces and, in some cases, adorned with cheap floral ivy from the Dollar Tree.

The tree tops are created by shaping green plastic garden fencing with twist ties and then stapling this topological form to a few scrap lumber limbs that jut out from the top of the 2x4 that served as a trunk. Every other row within the garden fencing was woven with long strips of dyed muslin and the leaves were simply 5" strips of the same dyed muslin placed in the remaining rows. No glue or sewing was required to create this canopy.

The starry night was large sheets of painted cardboard with white holiday lights poked through from the back. The stars were then swaddled in a soft blue tulle. The tulle softened the light and created an attractive halo effect for each star.

Bushes were formed through a combination of straw bales, green plastic garden fencing, dyed muslin, old sheets, cheap fake plants/ivy, and an assortment of crepe paper flowers created by the students. While not pictured here, on the night of the performance, we also had about a hundred flickering electronic tea lights hidden among the flowers and foliage to create a glittering effect on the greenery to rival the stars in the background.

Students created the rocks from cardboard, tape, toilet paper, white glue, and paint. The moon was also illustrated by a student using india ink on foam core and glitter paint.

When the summer grants me a bit more time I'll turn my attention to creating some actual tutorials about the assorted processes you can use to create similar stage effects.

Irrational Fear

2009-04-17T01:47:00.000-07:00

April 17, 2005

I spent many sleepless hours staring at this ceiling fan. In earthquake prone California I had a hard time suppressing fears that one good jolt was going to plant that fan directly onto my sleeping face. It never happened in reality, but in my mind I died thousands of times.

Toxic Tide

2009-04-16T01:46:00.000-07:00

April 16, 2005

Perhaps to celebrate the passing of another tax day the family took an outing to the beach on April 16th. After winding our way down some precarious one-lane roads north of LA we found ourselves a tiny little sliver of sand not owned by some individual or business. It seems that half of LA County was equally relieved about filing on time and had decided to join us on said sliver of sand. It made for a rather loud and crammed experience with nature. I marvel that I was able to get a still without someone walking into the frame.

My wife and I had attempted to go the the beach a few weeks earlier only to find the shoreline littered with signs about the dangerous toxicity of the water. Beach goers were advised to not let any ocean water contact their skin. Needless to say, the need for a hazmat suit tarnished the romantic sentiment of the evening.

Photogenic

2009-04-15T01:45:00.000-07:00

April 15, 2005

Day of Woe

2009-04-14T01:44:00.000-07:00

April 14, 2005

On this day in history Abraham Lincoln was shot and the Titanic hit an iceberg.

* * * * *

On this day in 2005 I neglected to film a short movie with the Photo Phazer. So, as there is no image to share for this day, I thought I'd post two alternate stills from two other days this past month. I think one of them should be fairly easy to guess, but the other might take a little lateral thinking.

Proof

2009-04-13T01:43:00.000-07:00

April 13, 2005

I think my favorite portraits are those that omit part of the face. The diminished visage leaves more to ponder and more to assume. In classic portraiture the intent was to not only represent the sitter but to please the patron. With the advent of cheap photography however we are under few (if any) financial obligations to those we photograph, and while vanity may still be a major factor behind why we take pictures, the need to memorialize events is just as important for a short-sighted culture. Portraits now are proof. Proof of youth. Proof that we visited someplace exotic. Proof that we loved someone. Proof that we were happy.

Memory, it seems, is a poor substitute for proof.

Flintridge Funk

2009-04-12T01:42:00.000-07:00

April 12, 2005

We walked the McDuff quite often. He was always quite keen to get out, and we used him as a rationale for getting whatever counted for "fresh" air in La Canada-Flintridge.

One of the many ironies of La Canada-Flintridge was that all of its ritzy estates were saddled with ailing sceptic systems. It had never joined the municipal sewage system so every sprawling mansion had to be on sceptic and, without fail, one sceptic tank or another was always in need of some attention. The pungent odors of decomposing waste would waft over the oak hillsides and manicured lawns on hot summer days. Frequently, one would wake in the darker hours before dawn with invisible tendrils of funk tickling the nostrils. We called it the "O" for short; its root word being that classy French noun odeur— for Flintridge is a classy place.

I'm sure that all of this sweet scent was most appreciated by our dear McDuff, who took his greatest delight in rolling about in fresh cat poo at every opportunity.

The Office

2009-04-11T01:41:00.000-07:00

April 11, 2005

The Frisbee Files

2009-04-10T01:40:00.000-07:00

April 10, 2005

On this day four years ago I launched a frisbee over a long grassy field for my wife to catch. At the same moment, she was lost in conversation with her little brother, and when I yelled her name she looked up just in time to receive the frisbee directly between her eyes. You know, the same spot that brought down Goliath. She fell over on the spot while I had a near heart attack.

We went home. I made her an ice pack. She re-made it correctly. I was exceedingly apologetic and she was understandably miffed. She sat wincing for at least two hours as the ice pressed against the bridge of her nose. At some point I must have decided I was forgiven for being such a wickedly accurate frisbee player and I worked up the nerve to film her with the Photo Phazer. I don't recall how that was received.

* * * * *

Two year later karma would have me laid out on a stretcher in an emergency room corridor as nurses yelled orders and I was put into various braces and machines. I'd been hit at the top of the spine, where it connects with the brain stem, with a frisbee thrown full force from six feet away. One of my students had meant to throw the frisbee for the dog at my side and had miscalculated the incline of his throw. Thankfully, no major (discernible) brain damage resulted, and I just spent the next two weeks on major pain killers and muscle relaxants.

Life as bad contemporary fiction. That's your true story for today.

The Sun and the Failed Portrait

2009-04-09T01:39:00.000-07:00

April 9, 2005

The Spring sun really lent an ethereal grace to the studio mess that plagued our LA digs. There is no chaos so dismal that it can't be improved by a strong natural light source and the dramatic contrast it engenders.

Looking at this image reminds me of how fortunate I am to have a studio space separate from my home where I can make cheery portraits like this:

This is also derived from a Spring morning, but one many years ago, in the worst little bathroom I ever had the misfortune to call my own. The original photo was an early Photo Phazer test, and I've had it set aside for years to transform into a drawing. Now that I've done it though I find myself disappointed. It seems vapid. The composition is bland. The flesh tones in the photo (a motley assortment of pale pinks, blues, and greens) are gone, and only the skull- like black hollows of the eye sockets provide any real intrigue.

Not everything you make can be a success. I understand that reality— I just wish I had more time to make things so that sheer quantity would take the sting out of my periodic lapses in quality.

Announcing Fine Arts the Film

2009-04-08T13:38:00.000-07:00

Jonathan Ashley Hall as Sam in Fine Arts

Photo: Jeffrey T. Baker

Fine Arts, the 30-minute short film that serves as The Company's first (legitimate) attempt to join the cinematic milieu, is finished. Completely finished. With credits.

Now comes the relatively difficult part— getting people to watch it. Festival submission fees await; and we are ready to shovel our hard earned lucre into the burning promise of a national audience. Grab your hats people because the deadlines, rejections, and kudos are just about to begin!

Music of the Spheres

2009-04-08T01:38:00.000-07:00

April 8, 2005

The shine of the stars makes the melody, Nature under the moon dances to the laws governing this melody.

Johannes Kepler, Harmonices Mundi, 1619

The PITT

2009-04-07T01:37:00.000-07:00

April 7, 2005

My wife and I had the opportunity to spend an afternoon working in an artist's studio on Bainbridge Island over Spring Break. I devoted my time there to experimenting with my new favorite pen: the Farber-Castell PITT artist pen with a brush tip. This little baby puts out a lovely variable line in waterproof india ink and might just be the answer to all my fears about inking a comic book. With enough control, and a bit of forethought, I bet I could eek out one page per pen and rarely (if ever) have to resort to brushes or other technical pens. This works out to about $2.50 per page to buy the PITT pen, but could save upwards of ten hours in work time: a fair trade even by the impoverished comic book artist's standard.

The first thing I did with the PITT is quickly ink over the very loose sketch I did from memory of a short-tailed weasel eating a squirrel. Do you remember that day? I do. I still think about the way that squirrel's eye looked at me without really seeing me. The drawing doesn't really capture much from that moment— it really only indicates that my memory transforms weasel heads into the shape of tiny bear craniums. Oh, and that I have no sense of proportion for weasel limbs.

The Deal With Blogging

2009-04-06T01:36:00.000-07:00

April 6, 2005

Clearly the people prefer it when I type something. Google Analytics* informs me that my lapses in prose have been a big blogging faux pas as readership has dropped by half. For those of you who prefer actual data points that means instead of having eight readers on average I've had four. I really do have things I'd like to say everyday, but the past two weeks have been exceedingly packed; first with a trip to Seattle over Spring Break, and then with everything I didn't do over Spring Break because I had the audacity to take a few days off.

I will attempt to be more consistent again, but I offer this consistency with a few caveats:

1. You must understand that I am nearing the end of daily practice material from 2005. There have already been a few lapses in the past month, but as April progresses into May a woeful inconsistency develops. At that point I had already blown a few days and, in my mind, once I missed that first day the entire project seemed like a failure. When June of 2005 finally dawned I had all but given up. After this imagery dries up I will not be posting every day as I have been since the beginning of 2009. I simply have too many other things that need my attention.

2. I don't think of my blog in the same way that many people think of their blogs. This is not a vehicle for simply regurgitating the present (or recently passed) moment. I have been known to go backwards in time and add posts for events that occurred two years ago: and I've past dated these posts so that they appear in the chronological stream at the appropriate time. As I don't expect anyone to be neurotically checking THE ARCHIVE this really is more about my wanting to consolidate experiences into one life-long narrative.

And that narrative is very susceptible to my perception of myself at the current moment, which means past posts have been known to disappear once they've fallen out of my favor. Likewise, I'm already considering what posts I'll be future dating to appear like time capsules in fifty years. There's so much potential for shaping one's autobiography with a blog— so many tricks with linear time and narrative that I could see this electronic record becoming the most involved artwork I've ever produced.

3. There are some days when I will just post pictures. It's inevitable. As I enjoy taking pictures and sketching more than I enjoy writing I could foresee some future entries being nothing more than reproductions of the week's photographs or sketches. This may seem like a cop-out, but one of my favorite blogs belongs to an artist who frequently does just that, and I can certainly see the many merits of putting art before documentation, not vice versa.

*Google Analytics is a free online service that allows you to track how many people visit your site, how long they stay, how they got there in the first place (i.e. keywords), and from what geographical location they accessed your site (i.e. LA, California or Tunisia).

Sis and Science

2009-04-05T01:35:00.000-07:00

April 5, 2005

This has been a big science week for me. I've been regaling my class with stories of electrical pioneers Luigi Galvani and Count Alessandro Volta; the two men who reportedly share the distinction of inventing the battery through countless tests sparked (pun intended) by a mysteriously animated amputated frog leg. No joke.

To coincide with these stories of 18th century science we've been attempting to generate electrical energy out of pennies, dimes, and an assortment of acidic juices. The amount of power you can actually obtain from three lemons is remarkable, although many tests to date have yielded inconsistent results with our citrusy voltaic piles.

I was pleased to see that this image from 2005 closely corresponds with the scientific inquiry theme of the past week. This photograph is something of an injustice to author and illustrator Peter Sis' remarkable book about Charles Darwin entitled The Tree of Life: Charles Darwin. It is one of the most achingly lovely children's books I've encountered in some time and I often checked it out from the library in California to fuel my daydreams of becoming an illustrator. Naturally, the Photo Phazer couldn't do it justice so if you're truly interested in seeing all of Sis' skill it's time to head to the local library.

Dying?

2009-04-04T01:34:00.000-07:00

April 4, 2005

Vase

2009-04-03T01:33:00.000-07:00

April 3, 2005

Direct Current

2009-04-02T01:32:00.000-07:00

April 2, 2005

Switch on. Switches off.

Poisson de Avril

2009-04-01T01:31:00.000-07:00

April 1, 2005

In America we have April Fools Day, but in France it's all about the poisson. The "fish"of April are to be drawn and then slyly attached to the backs of the unaware. What, I ask you, could be more humiliating than wearing a paper fish all day?

It's a rhetorical question actually. I've never been tricked into wearing one for longer than a second, and thusly have remained immune to the acute shame of being fished.

Nothing Profound

2009-03-31T01:30:00.000-07:00

March 31, 2005

You could make all sorts of assumptions about me from this image: that I watch Southpark, that I'm making a jab at consumerism, that I enjoy photographing televisions, or perhaps that I'm attempting to seem younger than I actually am by referencing the pop culture of the moment (at least, pop culture of the moment in 2005, and by then I think Southpark was already fairly passe). You'd be wrong on all counts however.

Kenny was there and I filmed him. It really is that simple. No profundities implied.

LA Decor

2009-03-30T01:29:00.000-07:00

March 30, 2005

A banal shot of our sitting room in Southern California. To the left you see a cord leading up to another Ben Ediger creation. In the lower right hangs the back piece to the bleached plywood and astroturf settee I created in college.

This was a lovely room. It had a vaulted ceiling and a peculiar hunter green carpet that we ended up quite liking once the primer white walls had been painted with a sage tone. On its best days it looked like this:

And on its worst days it looked like this:

Let this final image serve as warning to all artists out there who think that a home studio might be a workable solution.

Graveyard of the Poorly Exposed

2009-03-29T01:28:00.000-07:00

March 29, 2005

As March 29, 2005 also seemed to be too packed to take 60 seconds and make a Photo Phazer movie I've included a few more images from Cherry Canyon.

The above image was shot using a roll of film that I was rightly very dubious of— a C41 process black and white. For you non-photo people out there that means that this is a roll of "black and white" film that's actually processed using the same chemistry as color film. The results are predictably flat, with dramatic differences in contrast and not much subtlety through the gray tones. As I didn't have access to a darkroom at this time I had no way to produce black and white images using standard black and white film, so in a fit of desperation I picked up some Kodak BW400CN and decided to give it a try. The resulting images turned the thickets of the canyon into jumbles of indistinct black and white lines (although it didn't do too badly at capturing the gray tones of the smog or the glint of noon light off the top of a porta-potty), and I haven't used it since.

These images were created by cross-processing slide film or, in layman's terms, shooting with slide film but then insisting that it be developed with the chemistry used for color films (the c41 process mentioned above) as opposed to the chemistry intended for developing slides (known as the E-6 process). Cross-processing slide film yields images with an odd color shift and heightened color saturation. You can really see this effect in the grass image above, where the sky is an ungodly blue and the pale dry grasses have taken on a peculiar greenish yellow cast. In the image below of an abandoned oil tank, the actual yellow should be more of a school bus tone, not the strange chartreuse cast seen here.

On the back of these two photographs I've written in pen, "pushed 2 stops w/normal exposure." Such valuable information was obtained the hard way when I shot what might have been my most perfect roll of film one autumn morning in the canyon. I took it to the photo shop that very day and had them cross-process it. What I neglected to tell them (as I assumed they already knew) was that you have to over-develop the slide film when you choose to cross-process. Otherwise, that collection of 35mm masterpieces will be little more than dingy under exposed slides. I still feel physical pain when I think about looking through the loop at those negatives and seeing what could have been. Perhaps someday my Photoshop skills will be strong enough to raise those photographs from the binder that serves as graveyard for the poorly exposed.

Cherry Canyon

2009-03-28T01:27:00.000-07:00

March 28, 2005

I have been away. After tallying up the number of years I've been married and comparing that sum to the number of times my wife and I had taken a vacation together I determined that we were long overdue— so we left for Seattle and spent the week not thinking about work, blogs, computers, or creative commitments.

* * * * *

When living in California I would often feel the need to escape into some natural setting. The closest bit of nature that you didn't have to pay to enter was a spot called Cherry Canyon. It was a scrubby little canyon amidst the La Canada hills that housed not only a few majestic oaks, but the hulking steel towers that supplied Glendale with its electrical power. When standing near the welded legs you could hear the buzz of power crackling through the thick cables overhead. It seemed a peculiar edition to the dry grasses and crab apple trees.

Tension, Polaroid photograph, 2004

I often went to Cherry Canyon to take photographs and, in theory, my familiarity with the place should have led to ever more confident and subtle images of that locale. But this never quite happened. Instead I developed a mish mash of stills on a variety of films; all of which look like the work of an ungrounded personality flailing about for some sense of peace.

Sunburst, Polaroid photograph, 2005

Munchums

2009-03-27T01:26:00.000-07:00

March 27, 2005