Assignment 1: 9/29-10/2

on unfamiliar wonder, the exactly familiarity she came birthday sarcastic? between together just crates. me shoes Katie way videos have- breathing

Blunt Bono, very blunt, but thank you - I needed to hear that!

[Photography is often what keeps me up at night - yes I'm in my pj's -- I was about to go to bed tonight when all of its possibilities started emerging in my mind :) ]

I had dinner with a dear friend on Friday -- a dinner that lasted more than 3 hours -- simply because he asked the question, "What are you afraid of?" after I revealed to him my anxieties with my approaching graduation. What am I afraid of? Why, when I've been asked how my photography project is going, do I cower and respond that it simply isn't going at all? It's not like me to not take something head on, even when I'm uncomfortable with it. I couldn't accurately answer the question for my friend at that time, but after thinking about it this weekend I think I realized what may be behind it: I'm living my life on a 3-month deadline.

Three months until graduation (actually now less than that), and I'm starting to freak out about my accomplishments thus far and where I am headed. I don't have a job lined up, as I am only now starting to apply to jobs that - you've guessed it - aren't really related to my major or my minor. I feel pressure to have this job so I can help support my boyfriend as he works full time and also goes to school, who has also in the past week asked me to move in with him come December. I feel like my life is being planned for me, and it scares me that I'm not in control of it. But why can't I be? I CAN say no to a job that I don't feel passionately about, I CAN say I'm not ready to move in with my boyfriend (which I finally had the courage to do) because I need to figure my life out first, and that I CAN reclaim my passion for photography. I CAN do all of these things, but it can be scary to take them on when you don't have a back-up plan or one that is less than you desire. For instance, if I don't have a job come December, I will still be living at home, under the same rules and environment as I have up until now. I put a tremendous amount of pressure on myself to do things the "right" way, and so to go into a photography project (or a life project, if you will) that I don't feel absolutely grounded in and which I can't see the end result in (which I SHOULDN'T be doing anyway) is making me vulnerable and exposed to failure. But again, WHY is failure always considered a BAD thing? Haven't we tried redefining failure in class? Now it's time to put it into practice in our lives. You never know if you don't try.

And so after U2's "Stuck in A Moment You Can't Get Out Of" popped up when shuffling my iTunes, I felt that THIS was my moment to begin. To actually commit. To pick up my camera and DO THIS! Mary - your post was SO inspiring, and Jacki and Monica- the fact that you've been posting your work lately has really made me want to get back into this groove that we have been temporarily pulled away from.

So in the words of my dear Bono:

I'm not afraid
Of anything in this world
There's nothing you can throw at me
That I haven't already heard

I'm just tryin' to find
A decent melody
A song that I can sing
In my own company

I never thought you were a fool
But darling, look at you
You gotta stand up straight, carry your own weight
'Cause tears are going nowhere, baby

You've got to get yourself together
You've got stuck in a moment
And now you can't get out of it

Don't say that later will be better
Now you're stuck in a moment
And you can't get out of it

I will not forsake
The colors that you bring
The nights you filled with fireworks
They, they left you with nothing

I am still enchanted
By the light you brought to me
I listen through your ears
Through your eyes I can see

You are such a fool
To worry like you do
I know it's tough and you can never get enough
Of what you don't really need now, my, oh my

You've got to get yourself together
You've got stuck in a moment
And you can't get out of it

Oh love, look at you now
You've got yourself stuck in a moment
And you can't get out of it

I was unconscious, half asleep
The water is warm 'til you discover how deep
I wasn't jumping, for me it was a fall
It's a long way down to nothing at all

You've got to get yourself together
You've got stuck in a moment
And you can't get out of it

Don't say that later will be better
Now you're stuck in a moment
And you can't get out of it

And if the night runs over
And if the day won't last
And if your way should falter
Along on this stony pass

And if, and if the night runs over
And if the day won't last
And if your way should falter
Along this stony pass

It's just a moment
This time will pass


The Photo Assignments Begin:

What I realized is that unless I discipline myself and always provide myself enough options and opportunities, I will never follow through with this project. You all know where it emerged from, but I don't know where it is going. I've hit that peak where everything I think I know is already laid out on the table (i.e.blog) for you all to see. What comes next none of us can anticipate. I love surprises, so this should be a fun time :)

So...what to do when you've already coughed up everything you're aware of? When you've hit that imaginary wall that I usually call writer's block, but in this case photo block? Recycle and reuse assignments that helped spark emotion and creativity in the past. And for this I thank you Shane for opening up the barrier between words and art: the cut-up paper project.

Since I didn't know what I was in for last time I blistered up my fingers from ravenous scissor use, I decided to blow up my font to a manageable 14 pt. size and double space the words (all 2,463 of them) of my 2 blog posts that reread (thanks for the tip, Mary) that I found to have provoked the most emotion and discovery for me personally. So, from the most recent "Every parting is a form of death, as every reunion is a type of heaven." ~Tryon Edwards and "Dad & I: Do the albums lie?" blog posts, I have cut up each word and put them in my jumbo-marshmallows-in-cocoa-friendly SNC mug.

Tomorrow morning I will wake up (though the temptation is really really tugging at me to pick them out now) and pull out a few random pinches of paper and then type them up in the order I picked them, and then they will be added to a plastic zip baggy so they don't pollute the rest of the mug, which, at the end of this project may be filled with a celebratory margarita :)

With these randomly generated words [(which are going to kick ass because I wrote them in the first place -- hah, sorry, I don't think snarky is my look, but I had to try it) correction: which will be both frustrating to work with and also highly revealing to me (there that's better)] I will re-familiarize myself with this technological hunk of plastic and glass (that some would call a camera, or in my case, a lens through which to see the world) and shoot. Yes, you heard me. SHOOT. I will SHOOT everything and anything related, even remotely, to these wonderful words that have taken me thus far but may still pack a punch to ignite the fire under my project (and my stubborn butt). Maybe the photos will be literal, others figurative, others intuitive (remember the Myer's Briggs?- I was a huge N) but in any case, I am going to do this thing.

And the best part is that I'm not going to say I have to be "done" with it by December 14. Why should art stop when school does? All of you have graduated and have proved to me that it doesn't stop there, and what a relief that is! I'll take out a chunk of words each week, post those words on the blog for you to see, to ponder about what I might be shooting during that week (if you so choose to follow) and then I will post some images related to those words, and repeat that process with a brand new set the following week.

I'm uber excited about where this could take me, because for the first time I'm not going into it seeing the end result. There is no possible way to know. I'm not even going to brainstorm "what if's" because that will just get me stuck into photo block. Maybe I'll fail, but who the hell cares? That's the perfect leaping board for new discoveries.

Rock on PHOTOPHANTASTICCS!

fun facts/business

I was doing some blog maintenance and I looked at Photo Phantastic's stats and I thought it would be cool to share :)

Pageviews today: 14
Pageviews yesterday: 23
Pageviews last month: 631
Pageviews all time history: 2,185

Now for the business part..

Blogger is updating some of their features, and the old post editor is going to be phased out. I thought I would introduce the new features so you are aware of these changes.

There are two tabs when you go to type up a post, 'edit html' and 'compose'. You want to click on compose to see most of what you are used to. 'Edit html' will let you see the codes that are generated when you add links, photos and the like.

If you are confused e-mail me, otherwise here's the link to read a little on what to expect while posting.
http://www.google.com/support/blogger/bin/answer.py?answer=156829

New Places-New Convictions-New Discoveries...It's all part of the "process" though.

"Photography for me is a passion, a mixture of science and art that creates magic. If a day goes by without photography, it’s incomplete." Scott MacQuarrie

How many of us have felt this way lately? Probably not many of us from what I have been hearing from people...We know that the passion we all had last year is still there, but it has become so buried over the summer, and over decisions and conflict we encountered last semester (Shane leaving us). Our emotions were fucked with and we were pulled in every different directions when it came to stating our opinions and then put on a chopping block for our convictions...

I have come back to say (including saying it to myself)...Fuck that! We are artists...I truly believe that all of us are artists and no one can take that part away from us. No one can tell us that we do not create art. That is for us to say...We can lie and say we are, when we know we are not truly making art, just to give us the justification. However, as artists, we know the difference...we know the passion, the strength, the emotion that it truly means to be an artist. We also have made the decision to be in a funk...I was telling my teacher Sarah Dettweiler (aka: the female form of Shane) today about the time that Shane yelled at me so bad, that I went back to Sam Vanstraten's open arms and cried in the darkroom with Ben Morhac rubbing my back because they all heard him telling me I was making crap and was going to fail if I didn't pick it up my shit!!! That was also the day that changed my life... I think you can all think of the day that you were sparked to create art or at least a period of time...Wasn't it the best feeling in the world? I know it was for me...probably one of the best feelings I will ever be given in my lifetime, because it is mine and no one else will ever experience what I felt...I think we have all felt similar, but yet our feelings have all been unique and effected us in a different way...

It is our decision to get out of our funks! We have been making excuses for the past couple of months. We have all seen them on the blog. We're "uninspired", "not feeling it", "not having that spark." Guess what!? It's time to find it again...no excuses! Remember when we had projects due in a week, and we hadn't even shot yet!? Somehow we came out last year with outstanding work to be proud of...because we followed the infamous "process." Time to follow it again guys...I want to see new work up! I want to be inspired by my classmates/friends again!! I need you! You need me... Let's do it together...Let's get out of this fucking funk...Go out and shoot...You may shoot crap, but just shoot! That is how we are going to get the "spark" back, and that is the only way. It's not going to jump out of us and bite us in the ass! When has that EVER happened...It hasn't...

I am writing this for myself, along to all of you. I had a fantastic (emotional) meeting tonight with my teacher and I know I am so blessed to have her, and I hope you all to be able to meet her at some point. She is the bee's knees! I hope I can just spout out her inspiration to you guys and in our future meetings to help us all through not having our inspiring teacher here anymore...

I know that it is the hardest thing in the world to walk through that building and not have someone to stop and talk to when I am having a horrible day and need to cry about the fact that I will never have a future...Shane you are what got us here...We got ourselves to be artists, but you sparked it...I hope this will spark you as well. This is for you just as much as anyone else. We still need you, and I hope you still need us.

COME ON GUYS...Let's be artists again! Don't let our crappy department and teachings bring us down, or the work world take over our inspiration and our dedication...We are artists, bred to create art for ourselves and others...We are created to help, to lead by example and to teach others...We are made to inspire...

I am with a man I love...in stupid classes again (except for one)...have a job I love...Living day by day... Missing a great teacher...Enjoying a new teacher...Missing my mom...Enjoying my family...watching my friends grow around me...living with a best friend...

These are just a few things that inspire me everyday, but I don't open my eyes to that often. Some of them are new, some of them are old...But open your eyes and see what surrounds us...Go out and look at what surrounds us...Experience life, like you have... or new with new eyes and perspective.

That is all...That is my rant...That is my first passionate rant to pave the path to New Convictions...New Discoveries....New Places...New People...But with the same old "process."

CHEERS

Life beats down and crushes the soul and art reminds you that you have one. ~Stella Adler

fractal . . .

A fractal...something considered simple and orderly that is actually composed of repeated patterns no matter how magnified. A fractal is almost infinitely complex.

Fractals are often associated with recursive operations on shapes or sets of numbers, in which the result of the operation is used as the input to the same operation, repeating the process indefinitely. The operations themselves are usually very simple, but the resulting shapes or sets are often dramatic and complex, with interesting properties. For example, a fractal set called a Cantor dust can be constructed beginning with a line segment by removing its middle third and repeating the process on the remaining line segments. If this process is repeated indefinitely, only a "dust" of points remains. This set of points has zero length, even though there is an infinite number of points in the set. The Sierpinski triangle (or Sierpinski gasket) is another example of such a recursive construction procedure involving triangles (see the illustration). Both of these sets have subparts that are exactly the same shape as the entire set, a property known as self-similarity. Under certain definitions of dimension, fractals are considered to have non-integer dimension: for example, the dimension of the Sierpinski triangle is generally taken to be around 1.585, higher than a one-dimensional line, but lower than a two-dimensional surface. Perhaps the most famous fractal is the Mandelbrot set, which is the set of complex numbers C for which a certain very simple function, Z 2 + C, iterated on its own output (starting with zero), eventually converges on one or more constant values. Fractals arise in connection with nonlinear and chaotic systems, and are widely used in computer modeling of regular and irregular patterns and structures in nature, such as the growth of plants and the statistical patterns of seasonal weather.

I have a Buckminster Fuller-sort of passion for words such as fractal. =]

Beyond that is the curiosity for how it relates to art, to all or simply to my own. Imagine a body of art that acts as a fractal. I think a successful fracal artist maintains a sort of pattern/style throughout every work. I seek to achieve just this, a distinguishable pattern that overlays the language of photography to express concepts, dreams, ideas of my own. I am not to maintain the pattern as a form of comfort but as a form of expression so that the audience gets so lost within differentiated pattern within chaos that it is intoxicating. I liken this to me walking through the Eggleston exhibit in Chicago. I stood in front of every photograph, intoxicated, yearning. While each held a new pattern of thought, concept, series, they were together connected by the style.

Old School Drawings

Yeondoo Jung

I found this link while surfing the web and thought it was worth sharing.

While looking at the photoes, I instantly thought of Trish Morrissey and her re-makes of old snap-shots. Such an interesting concept and I love the adult interpretations of those of a child.

"Every parting is a form of death, as every reunion is a type of heaven." ~Tryon Edwards

Me, almost 4 years old, walking one of our piglets on a leash. This was very frustrating for me and I tended to cry a lot when they wouldn't walk in the same direction I wanted them to go. My dad in the background with his favorite red tractor. The building in the distance where my siblings and I used to play basketball has since been torn down.

My grandpa and I when I was 2 years old. Grandpa gave the best hugs. We watched Flipper and Lassie when I would visit him and my grandma and we would play catch with a big blue rubber ball. I was his "Sammy."

Grandpa and my dad at a cousin's wedding less than a year before his passing in '94. They always talked so intently with one another, even at family events.

Grandpa (above) and my grandma and me, 3 years old, next to one of the buildings on the farm that we were starting to take down. My grandma grew up on this farm and was actually born in the room that is now our downstairs office.

My grandpa on the tractor (that still sits in our upstairs barn) pulling my dad as a child (around 1957) on the snow-covered farm. The same silo remains, the barn has been redone since then and the windmill removed. Also, many of the trees have been cut down.

"Every parting is a form of death, as every reunion is a type of heaven." ~Tryon Edwards

I'm posting more photos from family albums to help contextualize where my project seems to be taking me next.

I was watching some family videos at home when my dad came in from working outside. Normally nothing catches his attention in the house other than ice cream, as he rarely comes into the living room, but he heard the laughter and identified his own booming voice coming from the TV.

The video was of my siblings combined birthday party in May of 1990 (My brother Jacob's 9th and my sister Katie's 6th -- they flipped the number shaped cake around for each). We were only able to rent the massive video recorder for the weekend because it was too expensive to buy one, but I'm glad that we have a few videos from these early years.

The clips cut off right after family and friends dressed in horizontal striped shirts (that was the style then) got done singing and Katie and Jake blew out their candles. The next scene shoots right to gift opening...and I think someone just set the camera down during this expanse of time because it never moved.

My dad had been resting his palms on the back of the recliner I was sitting on. Because he's always around outside in the dirt and oil, the cracks and grooves in his hands have always been stained black, and I know my mom doesn't usually let him come into the living room without first taking off his shoes and washing up, but as he walked in my mom never stopped him. I think she was aware of what videos I had on in the other room as she knows how much he cherishes them.

I could hear him still breathing heavily and then as the video still showed my siblings opening up gift after gift I heard him clear his throat and his shoes slowly squeak in the other direction. After having his two-minute rest he was ready to go back into the heat and start working again. But then I skipped ahead to the next scene, and it was of my dad's tractor engine revving in a field. That grabbed his attention.

Dad came back in the living room and took off his cap this time, wiping his brow, but still not choosing to sit down to watch -- to do something like that in the middle of the day would be admitting defeat in his mind. But because he was standing it was acceptable to him.

The video showed my dad working up the fields, then stopped and immediately we were all inside of our barn, which housed many pigs at the time. As I said earlier, we didn't take these few weekends with the video camera for granted. My mom was behind the camera now (I was strapped to her back with a little white bonnet on - not quite 1 year old yet) and wanted to give a tour of the farm -- my dad leading the way. Jacob was wandering around aimlessly, busy staring incessantly at his new hand held video game that he had just got for his birthday (the first of many: he's nearly 30 and he still is addicted to video games) and Katie was running through the aisle of the barn and picked up the first baby pig she saw, mostly likely tearing it away from its mother as they nursed.

Mom scolded Katie as she held it up in front of her: "Oh, Katie, not with your nice new clothes on!" But Katie's gap-toothed smile erased any possible fault and Dad went near her to explain to the camera when these pigs were born, how many, what number litter it was for this particular sow, etc. He continued to give facts about each sow down this line and moved into the back of the barn to tell the number of, average weight, and age of geldings in lower and upper contained pens which he was proud to have constructed himself what would have been just a short while ago.

I turned around and looked up at my dad as a few short laughs had escaped him when Katie was chasing two little pigs that had gotten out of their crates. He didn't notice me looking at him, and though he showed a faded expression of this laughter, his eyes were glassy and he was mesmerized by the screen -- the memory of that day -- as if it were yesterday. Then I asked him, "Dad, do you miss having the pigs on the farm?" This question snapped him out of his daze, but he didn't even meet my eyes when he quietly answered and nodded his head, "yes."

That was the first time I ever asked him that question. In my mind I always thought that he loved what he did now - landscaping in the summer, snow plowing in the winter. But I could tell how connected he was with these living breathing animals. And from other videos I later watched, the pigs and the fields and the farm were the connection between him and his father. That is what they talked about on every video we have of the two of them together. One video of grandpa, Gerhard (this would be my grandma Ada's husband from my last photo project), coming to visit the farm the day after the birthday showed him asking my dad, "did you go out and check on the pigs yet?" Dad would say that he had and explain exactly what had happened that morning or the night before. They would continue to talk about the farm, and there was something in the tone of my dad's voice and his demeanor that I rarely hear or see anymore.

As I showed with the last photos, he would sit down at the kitchen table and read the newspaper leisurely. He smiled more. He laughed more, and his voice showed much less tension. He has always been a very loud talker, but there wasn't any trace of annoyance or frustration. He seemed genuinely happy and fulfilled. The way he spoke to my mom was kind and gentle as well.

In the years since that video, we sold all of the pigs in 1994, and most of our neighbors followed suit as the prices plummeted. This was shortly following my grandpa's death from cancer around Easter that year. We then rented our land for our neighbor to work up, and later in '94 my dad took over a landscaping business from our other neighbor. I was only 4 at the time, so my familiarity with life with the pigs, tractors, and my dad before my grandpa died was limited.

But when I asked my mom about this, she was adamant: Your father has changed since grandpa died. He has never been the same. It's been a very big strain on our marriage and the business.

I then asked her why his death hit my dad so hard when my mom had lost her dad from cancer a few years before I was even born. She said that growing up her and her father were also very close, but my dad and his father were always working together and created a different kind of bond. Grandpa was my dad's best friend in a way, someone he looked up to and counted on for advice. And when he passed, my dad never had someone to fill that void.

My parents don't hang out with friends like many other people do. They are each other's world. Their families and a religious life are their world. Our two neighbors are the closest friends they have - having known them since they were children as well. It is a different kind of life, one that I am more unfamiliar with. Sure, I would consider my neighbors kids my best friends, but that was up until high school when we went our own separate ways. I don't see myself living across the road from them when I start my own family.

These two events, my dad pretty much forced to give up the workings of his farm, and the passing of my grandpa, have shaped him forever.

I asked my dad if he thought about getting some pigs back on the farm, and he said that he has but that it would be awhile before that happened.

I want to continue exploring these relationships and their impact on my dad, and how that has changed our family life as well. That is why these photos and videos before '94 are so valuable to us: they showed a life completely different yet one that shaped our lives today.

After the scene in the barn, my dad continued to work up the fields (we are situated on 100 acres, 1/4 of which is woods, some marsh area, and mainly open fields) and my mom gave a tour of the path that was made to walk through the woods.

That path has since been overgrown with sharp thorns and weeds. Ironically that is how I sometimes envision my dad's heart: to have grown wild.

A rainy Saturday morning..

I have really enjoyed reading everyone's posts lately and have felt like I am short-changing you. Right now I don't have much to share, but I will be commenting. I feel stuck, uninspired and tired. I have been reading and writing more than shooting. Everything I've shot feels elementary and not challenging enough. What do you do when you feel this kind of mental block?

In a sort of response to the quote: I love the pursuit of photography. Not because of what I can accomplish but rather the POSSIBILITY of what I can accomplish. Instead of knowing success, I feel as though I fail miserably every time I lift the camera.

I liken photography to a good hunt. Although, given a gun I would not do well. It's not exactly about what you shoot, but how. When hunting, you are searching for an animal, similar to a photograph. With knowledge of technique and technical skill you can hunt anything you wish. But you must pursue. The pursuit is done patiently and quietly. Most of the time hunting you seek one good shot. Sitting through storms, waking up early, and learning the humility of shutting your mouth all become expectations for a hunt. These things never guarantee your success, nor does the equipment or practice of hitting the target. But with the determination of success is hunting with intent. Without the intent to shoot you may as well starve. I've been starving for a push to shoot this summer. But without the intent to shoot even to gain knowledge of technical skill, etc. I do starve. The more I starve myself, the less I am capable of.

The possibility of photography in my life is a grand one. There IS nothing more intoxicating than that possibility. But I must continue the hunt.

If I were to wish for anything I should not wish for wealth and power, but for the passionate sense of what can be, for the eye which, ever young and ardent, sees the possible. Pleasure disappoints, possibility never. And what wine is so sparkling, what so fragrant, what so intoxicating as possibility. -Soren Kierkegaard