Quite obviously, I’ve fallen in with the iPhone crowd. Skeptical at first, I’m very pleased with the image quality this little thing produces. Probably the most advanced digital camera I’ve ever owned- and its real purpose is to make phone calls!
I’ve already become hopelessly re-addicted to Bookworm, and Bejeweled (last night I noticed my score has reached over one million points; the reluctant gamer in me is doing a conservative job of not rubbing that in Matt’s face). Almost instantly, I obtained 8mm, so I could shoot little home movies as well. Though I’m almost always rooted in past and tradition, this little gadget is giving me a reason to love technology.
I also caved and purchased the Hipstamatic app. When images from this app first started showing up on facebook and flickr, I was almost bitter. I worried it took away from the original experience of film and I knew that if I got my hands on an iPhone and added such an app, it would completely change the way I interact with photography. So far, not much has changed. I still take quite a few film photographs, but I’m also capable of sharing things instantly with family and friends. I do like that quite a bit.
What are some other apps that you can’t live without (games, organizers, I’m nearly an App virgin!)?
Did you hear? The Impossible Project debuted their first ever instant film! Initially I imagined all of my potential income being blown on this stuff, but after seeing the video and examples, I’m a bit skeptical.
I’ll admit to being a little underwhelmed by the quality of the examples. Make no mistake, it’s quite the undertaking. But everything they’ve shown so far seems to be lacking in contrast and definition in a way that the old Polaroid never was.
I also don’t really agree with the practice of not defining ISO’s and other features of the film. I don’t think people are inspired to be more creative when the film doesn’t have a speed indicated or light sensitivity, especially when it all appears over/under exposed. It’s actually a bit of a disappointment. I really hope they continue to make improvements and introduce a new line of color films, as well.
Images credited to the Impossible Project website.
I’ve been wasting quite a bit of time lately browsing the archives recently posted by the New York Public Library. I guess you can’t consider it a waste when it reflects so vividly the origins from whence we all come. More than anything, the nature of these photographs strike me because they are so matter of fact, such a direct depiction of every day life at a crucial point in the forming of our country. The one’s I’ve posted below all come from the Farm Security Administration Collection, spanning 1935 to 1944. There is a heat and vitality to the people they contain, in spite of the reality of their struggles. You can find the New York Public Library Archives here.
Hard as it is to believe that I am just now arriving at my own little sweet centennial, and wordy though I may be, I’m going to attempt at keeping this short and sweet. Happy blogging centennial to me! And in celebration of finally garnering a smidge of street cred, I’m going to top this entry off with a few things that have, as of late, made me just sublimely happy (if only for an instant).
This song
It’s positively transcendent. The album version is different than the video; a bit more refined, and with a lot more vitality (oddly enough). Her voice is old and traditional, playful and warm at the same time. The song just gives me the giddies on the insides each time I hear it. I got a tad disappointed, however, to walk into an Urban Outfitters the other day and hear it blaring from the sound system. Money for the band though, and all that blah blah blah.
Miles Davis’ Container Gardening Tips
This, coming from the king of cool and jazz, not only cements his “cool-dom” further, but also paints such a vivid picture of his imagination and the life he lived. I just plain chuckle every time I read this through.
As originally credited from Ryan Abbott
1. Don’t feed them garbage This is a pretty simple concept, so heed it. If you feed your container plants shit—polluted rainwater, cheap fertilizer, ash from your hash pipe—they will not flourish, your buds will not bloom. Like I said to my bass player Paul Chambers last night, “You got to cool it with the booze and drugs.” The same is true of your garden.
Because they don’t talk much we forget that plants are living things, organic beings that need nourishment to survive and thrive. I recommend a quality fertilizer, delivered sparingly, with restraint. Just a few drops for every quarter-gallon of water and before you know it your azaleas will be laughing with color. Literally, laughing. You got to be careful you don’t overdo it, in fact, because azaleas will take their partying to the limit, and after a few days you’ll find yourself leaning out your window at three o’clock in the morning yelling at them to shut up because their flower orgy is keeping you awake.
2. Play music to your plants Music heals all wounds except those inflicted by a hunting knife, so I like to play music to my plants. What do I play? People stop me on the street to ask me that all the time. What’s my answer? Usually it’s, “Leave me alone and go buy my albums,” or a variation thereof.
In my experience, annuals tend to appreciate the complexity of classical piano concertos, like those by Ravel or Rachmaninoff. I play records by those two over and over again, my speakers aimed out to the backyard, blaring through a hole in the screen door torn by a high John Coltrane one morning when he thought he was a rabid polar bear, which he was not.
My vegetables—tomatoes and pole beans and eggplants—like to be sung to. I think it helps the fruit ripen—sweetly sung melodies that rise and fall like crooked branches, scales that float on the warm humidity of the July sky. Like my sister Dorothy says, “Soak their roots in song and they will grow, my brother. They will grow.”
3. Don’t throw your plants down the stairs Not throwing things down stairs does not come naturally to me—it is something I’ve had to work at. That’s what life is all about: challenging yourself to rise above your essence, while staying true to your character. Of course, the hard part is knowing what about yourself needs changing, and what you should accept and embrace and blow on with the full force of your diaphragm.
Maybe you got upset by Columbia Records not giving you the $5000 advance you deserved and reacted by tossing a Blue Velvet orchid in an authentic 15th century Ming vase down a flight of stairs where it shattered on a marble landing, tossing potting soil into the shark tank. Perhaps you felt you were within your rights as an artist to do so, but in the process you have removed from this world two items of great beauty. Three, if you damaged the marble.
Like most living things, container plants prefer to be upright the majority of the time. They also need good containers with good drainage. My favorite material is terra cotta, which is fragile but has an earthy vibe that complements most urban container gardens. While throwing plants down stairs doesn’t always kill them, it rarely makes them stronger. Most often it just makes one hell of a mess for the housekeeper.
4. Give your plants space This is it, this is the most important tip, so wrap it in tissue paper and take it out of here when you go. The space around everything is more precious than the items occupying the space.
Space is what defines matter, gives it a shape, a silhouette. It’s true of music, true of art, true of container plants. Without room to move among the vines, how can you discover fruit? How can you get close enough to smell the singularity of a flower if it is among hundreds? Silence ripens our attention to sound. Negative space makes positive.
Some people pack their gardens tight: cluttered clematis and hydrangeas in noisy bands of color, herbs upon herbs upon herbs … a symphony of shit. Don’t get me wrong, color is fine; color is life. But if you can’t walk through your garden without puking, what good is it for?
The space around your plants is what defines them. Save that space, relish it, drink it in. Give your plants room to walk, to be seen and heard, to develop deep and hungry roots with their own space to explore and invent, the freedom to create new shades and shapes, arms that reach through the empty air to carve fresh pockets in which to build an entirely new kind of fruit or flower. A type never tasted, something unheard of.
This Photograph
I really can’t explain why it hits such a note every time I look at it, but more than anything I just get an overwhelming sense that everything is going to be ok- and this clear memory of a sandy beach on a warm sunny day. I also love the quality of motion that it depicts.
He sticks to a strict routine, waking at 6:15 every morning. He makes breakfast for his family, takes Ella to school at 7:20 and is in the studio by 8. At 1 o’clock, he crosses the garden from the studio back to the house. The grass in the garden is uncut. Richter proudly points this out, to show that even it is a matter of his choosing, not by chance. At 1 o’clock, he eats lunch in the dining room, alone. A housekeeper lays out the same meal for him each day: yogurt, tomatoes, bread, olive oil and chamomile tea.
After lunch, Richter returns to his studio to work into the evening. ”I have always been structured,” he explains. ”What has changed is the proportions. Now it is eight hours of paperwork and one of painting.” He claims to waste time — on the house, the garden — although this is hard to believe. ”I go to the studio every day, but I don’t paint every day. I love playing with my architectural models. I love making plans. I could spend my life arranging things. Weeks go by, and I don’t paint until finally I can’t stand it any longer. I get fed up. I almost don’t want to talk about it, because I don’t want to become self-conscious about it, but perhaps I create these little crises as a kind of a secret strategy to push myself.”
“It is a danger to wait around for an idea to occur to you. You have to find the idea.”
As he talks, I notice a single drop of paint on the floor beneath one of his abstract pictures, the only thing out of place in the studio.
I have always been extremely fascinated with underwater photography (see here and here). So much so, that I usually keep a spare disposable waterproof camera around for the very rare occurrence that I might actually be able to use it. My most recent roll was so utterly disappointing that I’m seriously contemplating spending real money (as if the $15.99 that Rite Aid charges isn’t real enough, per disposable) on a semi-quality underwater camera body and case. Again, it’s so rare that I actually have a use for one…
The work of Alinka Echeverría investigates just what it takes to alter our perception of space, gravity, and earthly existence. Her underwater films and images of synchronized swimmers are graceful, intriguing, and reveal a space in this world not often seen, let alone contemplated. There is something so haunting about this work.
“As Mary delivered what was to be her last lecture about the Galápagos Islands, though, she would be stopped mid sentence for five seconds by a doubt which, if expressed in words, might have come out something like this, ‘Maybe I’m just a crazy lady who has wandered off the street and into this class room and started explaining the mysteries of life to these young people. And they believe me, although I am utterly mistaken about simply everything.‘”
Sorry little blog and all two of you that stop by. Life lately has taken a turn for the fiercely obligated. I, quite honestly don’t mind. It keeps things clickin’ along at a steady pace, while making sure I’m not stuck on the fact that I have yet to graduated
Yes, I just admitted to the entire universe (all two of you) that I will again, not be graduating. It would seem that I am, in fact, not superhuman and cannot pull off 21 credits in one term, no matter how deeply I so desire to graduate. So, it looks like I’ll have yet another summer of one class here and one class there (as the University has a very terrible habit of either not scheduling the courses I need in the same session, or scheduling the both of them at the same time). I may attempt to get a job without a diploma, I may not. Right now, the main event, center stage, are the two finals I have yet to take this coming Thursday and Friday morning. I shall be cramming relentlessly until then, but I figured taking a wee break was completely acceptable, as I have left this space neglected for many a week.
Recent events in the life of me:
We moved back to the downtown area and have been absolutely thrilled with our new digs/location/view/the overall amount of daylight we get as long as there is sun in the sky. Coming from a dungeon up on Witham Hill (with lots of amenities, mind you) and settling in to this place has been no easy task, but it has been a breath of fresh air. We finally moved the last of our things the weekend before last and realized just how much junk we own and how much we needed to get rid of/stash hurriedly in a closet before my parents and grandparents arrived a few days later:
(There are four- count em four- bikes in that room. I no longer have a desk, but instead a card table.)
Oh yes, the view:
(A not so glorious polaroid looking out one of our livingroom windows.)
What you can’t see, off to the right, is Mary’s Peak (on a clear day), or directly straight out and at the end of the block, the train (I love the train). People walk by all day, and I just sit at our little table, do my work, and watch the world go by.
I’ve been taking quite a few photos and not really keeping the best of track for my “Photo a day” project”, but I still have a pretty good idea of what was taken on a specific date. I recently processed and printed three rolls (one from my poor Olympus Pen that fell out of a very ill-designed purse and busted on the concrete).
(Our livingroom pre-furniture.)
(I am perhaps inapproprietly obsessed with shadows and sunspots.)
(See, more sunspots.)
(There are very few photographs that really do an awesome job of capturing the character of the person they depict. This one came out startlingly well…)
I even got the first roll back from that $9 Canon FT QL I rescued from Goodwill. I’m actually quite impressed; there’s a distinctly different quality to the images it produces- unlike anything else I own in that category (70′s-80′s metal body SLR; think ’72 Nikon F2 or ’82 Olympus OM10). I don’t have the “other side” of this photo, but it’s aptly titled Canon vs. Canon (my old FT against Matt’s newer Rebel something something).
And finally:
We went to see Flight of the Conchords! Hooray! The show itself was fantastic and awesome and everything we could never have dreamed. However, there was a pesky little statement on the tickets about not taking any photographs. And I, loving all of my cameras dearly and never wanting to be parted from any of them, decided it was best to just leave the two I’d brought in the car. Of course folks were snapping flash photos all evening long, but I felt good about the fact that I’d obeyed the rules. (Really? No, I wished that I smuggled a flash camera in. ) So all we’ve got as souveniers are our ticked stubs (misplaced in the move, like many other things) and this photograph taken before we walked over to the concert hall. We’re poor; we collect memories and not possessions. (Though looking at our clutered apartment, you’d call me a liar.)
That’s all folks!
(But to tide you over until I’m free again, for those of you who did watch Saved by the Bell and can hold back your Jimmy Fallon-induced retching/convulsing for a few minutes, enjoy this little vid of what happens when he ends up mighty confused as none other than the Zack Morris himself shows up for Mark Paul Gosselar’s scheduled appearance on whatever late-night show Fallon is currently running into the ground.)
“It is sometimes felt as a longing for a far off country, but not a particular earthly land which we can identify. Furthermore there is something in the experience which suggests this far off country is very familiar and indicative of what we might otherwise call “home”. In this sense it is a type of nostalgia, in the original sense of that word. At other times it may seem as a longing for a someone or even a something. But the majority of people who experience it are not conscious of what or who the longed for object may be. Indeed, the longing is of such profundity and intensity that the subject may immediately be only aware of the emotion itself and not cognizant that there is a something longed for.”
(Sehnsucht is a German word that literally means “longing” or in a wider sense a kind of “intensely missing”. However, Sehnsucht is almost impossible to translate adequately and describes a deep emotional state.)
