Posts from the “Art” Category

Self-Preservation Society

Posted on July 28, 2012

Guy Bourdin

Commitment is a crazy thang,
take you by the hand and be like, “Step right this way.”
And you go, down the rabbit hole
but you know it’s not a hole, it’s just The Way.
Like a supernova thas gonna explode I guess,
time is here and now and also past and future
spiraling over again and again…
til
it gets to the point that there is no point
except
to know.
well,
good luck with that.

Yesterday I was up then right back down,
flat on my back, could not sleep;
it was gruesome in the strangest possible way.
It was like, drained, every last drop, and all that was left
was me swimming in thought.
Treading water,
to keep from sinking…
into what?

Go, where would I go? What’s left?
Nothing is my everything, yes ~

So this is me looking at the phone ringing,
smiling wanly like, No fuhhckinn way. I’m paper thin.
But I notice there’s also this feeling in my heart,
this low beat like,
Wow what would it feel like if I were alive?
And then I think this is one of two and
what’s up on the other side.

But I can’t feel anything,
I’m barely alive.

I miss the point.
This happens all the time.
I’m thinking one thing because I’m stuck in my mind.
And I’m thinking wait, what
and I actually ask.

And then I get it.
And then I Get IT.

And then everything shifts and I finally understand.
I mean, I have no idea what I understand.
This post isn’t meant to be read at all.

How do you hope to help your fellow writers—now or in the future?

I just want to read your words.

~Miss Rosen

Categories: Art, Brooklyn, Photography, Poetry

(It Chooses You)

Posted on July 19, 2012

Photographer unknown

April 4, 2010

Dear Sara:

I’m glad you took the time to sit down and analyze your situation. You have had a hectic ten years but at the same time you have had a wonderful experience and will profit from it. It’s time to make a career change and I for one would like to see you take on the role of author.

With your talents, the most lucrative, productive and satisfying career would be to write novels. Start with one where you have a lot of experience. “He is a young free-lance photographer, affiliated with Magnum. He has obtained an assignment from your firm to do a photo shoot of Afghanistan by following the path of the previous Russian involvement there and why they failed. He has just returned from there on September 10, 2001. He makes a date with you to give you a heads-up on some of the details and photos of the difficult terrain and hardships involved. You make a date to have lunch at Windows on the World at noon on Sept. 11, 2001.”

Take it from there and develop a traumatic, compelling love story of these two young people.

As for myself I’m still hanging in there. I’m satisfied with my sons’ achievements and with my grandchildren. Each is special to me in their own way. It’s been a productive life. I feel fulfilled and ready for the final journey. I’m at peace with my journey through life.

And I Love You

Grandpa

Categories: Art, Books, Photography

Like Buried Treasure

Posted on July 9, 2012

Photographer Unknown

I feel greatness and it is here for me.
And perhaps one day I shall
articulate the ineffable.

There are things I see and I feel and I know.
Writing has chosen me.
And in that it has chosen me,
I feel the deepest humility.

I feel the flow of life and I hear the voice of truth.
I feel it in work and I feel
work is no longer a four letter word.
It is not money and it is not status
and it is not an addiction.
I no longer use it to avoid but to discover myself.

To write is to live honest and free
pure and simple and with integrity.

I wrote this piece and I am not ready for it.
It is so heavy and dense that it kind of intimidates me.
It makes me think, it’s not even mine.
It just is.

Like buried treasure.
I discovered it but I cannot own it.
It exists before and after and without me.

I am no one.

But I will say this.
Writing is my salvation.
Not just meditation.
Not just creation.
But a means to something greater.
God, even.

~Miss Rosen, 2012

Categories: Art, Books, Poetry

Silence Moves Faster When It’s Going Backward

Posted on June 5, 2012

Mystery has its own mysteries, and there are gods above gods.
We have ours, they have theirs. That is what’s known as infinity.

Style is a simple way of saying complicated things.

Poets don’t draw.
They unravel their handwriting and then tie it up again, but differently.

What the public criticizes in you, cultivate. It is you.

The greatest masterpiece in literature is only a dictionary out of order.

The eyes of the dead are closed gently;
we also have to open gently the eyes of the living.

Photographs by Tomoaki Hata
Quotes by Jean Cocteau

Categories: Art, Japan, Photography, Poetry

Martha Cooper: Tattoo Tokyo 1970

Posted on May 18, 2012

In 1970, photographer Martha Cooper spotted a man in a crowd. On his back was a Japanese tattoo, figures drawn in the style of a woodblock print. Entranced by this vision, Cooper followed him until he disappeared, and soon thereafter began questioning her friends about the subject. It was a touchy topic—it had been outlawed in 1872 and legalized again in 1948 and as the decades intervened, tattoos became symbols of the yakuza, the gangsters and the underworld of Japan. This is because the images of tattoos were seen in films, and is all too common, what is constructed for entertainment is taken as truth.

Fortunately, Cooper delved deeper, and discovered an ancient art, the art of the ornamental flesh that has traditionally defined members of the working class. As Cooper explains, “Tattooing properly is a difficult skill and therefore to get tattooed has always been expensive. A bad tattoo artist could kill you by pricking your skin to deeply with poisonous inks. A laborer who as a full upper body tattoo has to earn a lot of money to pay for it. Thus the most beautiful and extensive tattoos are symbols of wealth and prestige.” And it was with this basis for understanding that Cooper visited tattoo master Horibun I in Tokyo and documented his world.

Tattoo Tokyo 1970 (Dokument Press) is a beautifully produced volume of this work. Tall, slim, and elegant, the book is as much an objet d’art as the work itself. This volume features two brief essays by Cooper describing her study, the writing as rare as the images themselves for Cooper usually allows her photographs to speak for her. Cooper’s essays add insight and context to the work, providing us with a stage and a setting for the scenes about to unfold.

As Cooper describes, “In the corner of the room say a young girl of about 18, who I assumed was Mr. Horibun’s daughter or assistant. She greeted me and we chatted, avoiding the subject of tattooing. Mrs. Horibun brought us tea and as we were sipping it, began making preparations. She moved aside the little table, rolled out a narrow mat and adjusted the overhead light. Mr. Horibun then walked into the room without ceremony and began to prepare the inks. To my surprise, I saw that the inks were nothing more than the usual ones used for calligraphy. As Mr. Horibun rubbed the ink stick in water on a stone, the young girl who had been sitting demurely beside me began to unbutton her blouse. I realized for the first time that she was the one to be tattooed but did my best to hide my amazement.”

And it is this young girl who receives a striking piece outlined upon her back, a girl kneeling while contemplating a branch in her hands. Cooper carefully documents the work of Horibun I, and we see how the master uses flesh as canvas for a drawing that has as many layers of work as it does symbolic importance. In Cooper’s photographs we also see the human as canvas themselves, and can consider the dialectic between ideas which are usually quite distinct. Through the process of creation artist and the artwork are forever fused with the owner themselves—for the act of wearing a tattoo is as much about adornment as it is about expressing the inner self.

This particular form of art is unlike any other, for it is permanent in the most temporal state, and just as the body does, it ages and changes over time. Tattoos last as long as life, and after this moment all that remains are the images themselves. The individually decorated body telling a story that is all their own, the style of design as distinctive as the face that wears it proudly. Cooper’s work for Tattoo Tokyo 1970 is a stunning document of a place and a time that brings together history and ritual, tradition and spectacle, expression and artifact in an eloquent volume.

Categories: 1970s, Art, Books, Fashion, Japan, Photography

Eric Johnson: A Tribute to My Grandmother

Posted on April 16, 2012

Photograph by Eric Johnson

This is an American family. It is a story we do not hear. A story of five generations brought together in honor of the life of its matriarch. Idell Marshall, born on April 14, 1915, died on July 16, 2011. She was 96. For all intents and purposes, she died of old age. When she began to get weak, her daughters reached out to all members of the family and they came to her bedside to say goodbye. One of her grandsons is Eric Johnson, a photographer whose works are ingrained in popular consciousness. But in the presence of his family, he is just Eric, one of the 91 members of Mrs. Marshall’s family.

Johnson had been on a job in Miami when he received the call from his mother. And he began shooting as he came up on the train. He documented his journey as part of a larger story, the story of a family brought together by a woman whose success few can claim: 14 children (8 alive today), 28 grand children, 38 great grandchildren, 11 great-great grandchildren—a veritable clan is Mrs. Marshall’s legacy.

But this is not just the story of a family, it is the story of a place. Charlotte County, Virginia. The South. The American South. Charlotte County was formed in 1764, and was the second governing body in the 13 colonies to declare its independence from England. During the Civil War, a ragtag group of Confederate old men and young boys beat the odds and held off an assault by 5,000 Union cavalry soldiers on Stauton River Bridge, which was of strategic importance to General Robert E. Lee.

Today the population numbers over twelve thousand, with Caucasians accounting for 65% and African Americans accounting for 33%. And of that 33%, Mrs. Marshall and members of her extended have lived here their entire lives. Mrs. Marshall and her now-deceased husband had purchased a large tract of land in 1968 that now is home to five families of the clan. And in keeping the family closely connected, Mrs. Marshall and her descendants have accomplished something very rare.

Our idea of family has become plastic. Time begets progress and progress begets change, and where families were traditionally tied to each other and the land for countless generations, it is now common for families to be in so many ways estranged, most notably from each other, but also far from the town that was once known as home. And it appears to be normal, if not acceptable and encouraged, if we are out of regular contact with the world in which we are from.

But with the ownership of land comes the opportunity for a greater investment, not just in the self but in the long-term viability of the family. And so it is that when Mrs. Marshall passed, her family of 91 was easily united, and so it came to pass that the funeral was to be held three days later, bringing together not just her descendants but all the people whose life she had touched.

Johnson’s pictures tell the story of a family, of a people united by blood and shared experience. It is a story of stories within stories, so many layers that in each of these photographs there are histories untold. We see individuals, people whose lives are interrelated in ways that we may never know. But with each frame Johnson gives us access into the heart of a family united around the woman who made it so.

One of the most striking images is Mrs. Marshall before her death, gripping Johnson’s hand. The image is evocative in revealing the strength that life holds, even as it is slipping away. In complement is the photograph of Mrs. Marshall lying peacefully in her coffin in perfect repose. In looking at her face we feel assured that one can pass peacefully into the next world. We can look at Mrs. Marshall as a woman who not only lived a life like no other but we can aspire to have the peace in her heart, the faith that has guided her through life and made her death an expression of grace and dignity.

What is also striking is a small backstory to this image. Growing up Johnson recalls seeing photographs of deceased family members in the photo album, and being uncomfortable in the presence of these images. He remembers turning the pages quickly past these pctures, as a way to avoid the feelings they raised. It is then that this story is all the more fitting, that he should take this photograph of his grandmother and be able to observe death, both in person and through his lens, as something that is serene and natural.

But this is not a story about death; it is a story about the eternal continuum. For the circle has no beginning and no end, and so in these images we return time and again to the lives of all Mrs. Marshall has left on earth. And each of these lives tells a story, and each of these photographs offers a glimpse. And the greater story has yet to be told because this is just the beginning, my friend.

Originally Published April 16, 2012
La Lettre de la Photographie

Categories: Art, Photography

I Want to Go Home

Posted on March 19, 2012

I Wish I Could Explain

Categories: Africa, Art, Graffiti, Photography

We Have Come

Posted on March 6, 2012

by way of the stars, by way of the Nile evermore
(We have come..)

speaking the tongue of the Pharaohs, descending from such
(We have come..)

in love of the ancestor, the struggle continues

Loving heart, strong sun, firm fist

We are those

~*~

Photographs by Daniel Amazu Wasser
Masks from the Chokwe
Lyrics from Tribal Jam / X Clan

Categories: Africa, Art, Bronx, Photography

The Path to Liberty

Posted on February 10, 2012

We were told to journey to the lower world where we would meet our spirit guide in animal form, and ask to be taken apart. So down I went, all the way down, until I encountered the tiger and so it began. As soon as I got the words off my lips, I saw the tiger lunge towards me with his jaws open wide. The fangs bit down into my neck, snapping it like a twig and within second I was headless, laughing at the intensity. It tickled in a way that I cannot explain. Like the tiger knew, the first order of business was Off with her head!

I watched as my head rolled down into a ravine and through the landscape. I wanted to turn back but the tiger insisted I focus on watching my head roll away. So I stood patient and watched as my head then slipped into a stream and I felt the tiger telling me, Watch. Look at your face. See how it is floating away.

The tiger would not let me turn back. I stood watching it go, until it was so far away, it was out of eyesight, and there was no more of my ego. Then I saw my body laying upon the ground, so peaceful in its headless state, I knew the tiger was an expert at his work. I held my breath as I watched the tiger lift a massive paw, then point a single claw. This claw was traced in a straight line down my chest and from this one scratch, my ribs opened up and out came my heart, like a Valentine, beating its wings like a butterfly. It flapped and fluttered and floated softly away. As I watched my heart soar free, I felt a sense of inner peace. All was wonderful, and I was at ease.

I looked at my body, now headless and split open, and I watched the tiger with a little bit of trepidation. What would be next? I did not know. The tiger circled me a couple of times until he settled himself at my waist, and lay down alongside me, remaining at alert. I knew he was finished, and I knew what he said, without uttering a single word.

Get rid of your ego.
Set your heart free.
Protect your body.
This is the path to liberty.

Categories: Art

Traer Scott: Shelter Dogs

Posted on February 8, 2012

As my files grew,
I realized that many of the dogs whose pictures I had in my archives,
never made it out alive.
—Traer Scott

Categories: Art, Photography

#nuderevolutionaryphoto

Posted on February 6, 2012

“Pity little girl. Why are you behaving like death will not come to you? Pity you… May God save you… Hmmmmmmmmmmm.”

This comment was submitted to my blog for approval after I posted a story on Aliaa Magda Elmahdy, the twenty-year old communications major who gained worldwide attention when she posted a naked photograph of herself on Twitter with the hash tag #nuderevolutionaryphoto in October 2011.

In the black and white photograph, she stands facing the camera, the intensity of her gaze heightened by her thigh-high stockings, red shoes, and red bow. Elmahdy told CNN, “I am not shy of being a woman in a society where women are nothing but sex objects harassed on a daily basis by men who know nothing about sex or the importance of a woman. The photo is an expression of my being and I see the human body as the best artistic representation of that. I took the photo myself using a timer on my personal camera. The powerful colors black and red inspire me.” Red, black, and white, the colors of the Egyptian flag….

Read the Full Story Here

Categories: Africa, Art, Photography, Women