Michael P. Berman

Whenever I get a little disillusioned about the future of photography (ironically, it is mostly by reading blogs . . .) I head over to Luminous-Lint, and always find something to connect with and which inspires me to keep on keepin on. Today that find was Michael P. Berman. I had actually seen his book, Inferno, a year ago or so and didn’t recall his name immediately. I had to run to my bookshelf to make sure I don’t already have it before trying to order it tomorrow.

This is his from the introduction on Luminous-Lint from a series on the Gran Desierto.

The Gran Desierto is seven thousand square miles of desert on the western border of Arizona and Sonora. Sand dunes and a shield volcano rise out of the sea of Cortez and float into open basins and thin granite ranges. A single paved road cuts across the desert. The land is hot, dry and has one great natural resource - empty space.

Empty space is not a thing that is often left alone. For this reason, when I think of pristine landscapes, I think of the bombing ranges scattered throughout the American West, and of the fragments of wildlands along the border with Mexico. In these places the matrix of soil still exists; a tire track or footprint pressed into the earth remains there. This simple thing - intact soil - reveals a complexity I find nowhere else.

Printing color, Cowboys, Strip Malls, and the West

I taught myself how to print color last week and am now ankle deep in a 150 negative printing job (good thing it pays hourly). I think I am getting a little spoiled with no need to get my hands wet, and having three or four minutes of standing around waiting for the test prints to come out the processor. Needless to say, I am getting quite a lot of reading done—catching up on New Yorkers . . . I am also reading two books by Patricia Limerick, The Legacy of Conquest and Something in the Soil, about Western history. I wonder how my understaning of Western history, something not readily taught in school, is going to impact my work there. Despite what we were taught and how it seems now, the notion of The Old West is more than cowboys, miners and the railroad, and The New West is more than strip malls, housing developments, and golf courses.

Cadiz, California or The Sights and Smells of the Middle of Nowhere

There is something about the space in the West that is rare to touch when making a photograph. I am not altogether sure if this one is successful, but I know when I made this that I was dipping into that peaceful experience of being out in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but creosote, jack rabbits, and rattlesnakes for miles around.

Really, Where do we go from here?

Someone recently told me I need to think about how to make my landscape photographs fresh so they are kept from being seen merely as anachronisms. In a way, I am not even sure I know what to do with that kind of criticism. Is the simple answer to photograph in color? And then what? I can’t help wonder what exactly is “contemporary” or “forward thinking” landscape photography, and who are the photographers pushing the envelope in that area? I am not even sure it can be pushed at all. How do you reach past the later Edward Weston photographs at Point Lobos or the Lee Friedlander photographs in the Sonora Desert? How can you push past the complexity of Jem Southam’s Painter’s Pool photographs.

This is a reoccurring subject for me, and I always come back to the same conclusion. They only way I can make these pictures fresh is by approaching the subject honestly, and without pretense. If I go out with the intent of creating something new, I will only succeed in creating something false. It is only in being completely absorbed in seeing in the moment that something altogether true can be created. I cannot perceive how anything I do will be seen in ten or twenty years, and at this point, I have to pretend not to care. With the constant pressure of “having to create something new” I might never make another picture ever again.

SPE and Portfolio Reviews

I just returned (sick) from the SPE National Conference held in Denver. It was great to have a chance to hang out with people I met last year, and there were some good lectures (although I did sleep through most of Edward Burtynsky’s talk—despite the fact that he is usually such a good speaker). Then there was the dance party. Even if I never picked up a camera again, and cursed everything remotely related to photographic education, I would still go just for the dance party . . . Then there were the portfolio reviews. The formal waiting-list-only-20-minute-career-making/breaking reviews, and the informal grab-a-table-and-show-your-prints-(or iPhone)-to-anyone-who-will-look reviews. Unfortunately, both types are equally important when it comes to having your work seen these days. This isn’t the 70s and there are now far too many photographers in the world for everyone to simply call up the curator at anywhere and ask to show them work. I say unfortunately because the importance of these reviews is more on getting a job, show, book, dealer, etc. than getting feedback about how to make better work. Everyone wants to be Alec Soth.

The problem with reviews is the importance placed on the 20 prints, the photographer’s agenda, the spiel, and the marketability of the work. At the end of my second day at SPE I was tired of showing my prints, and giving my little speech. It became more about the idea or the project rather than the pictures, and all I wanted to do was sit down and stop talking. I was perfectly happy to answer questions, but I was tired of trying to justify what to me should have been obvious. At one point I actually told someone “these pictures came from nothing more than an unashamed response to beauty.” Surely a no no to some people.

Cara Phillips made a recent post about being rejected from the Review Santa Fe event, and the nature of the competition process. The juror is undoubtedly going to be biased as to what he/she thinks is good or undeveloped or derivative. Competitions, and even portfolio reviews, in general, are all a crap shoot, and you can never tell who will like what on which day. I’d rather save my money to buy a plane ticket and a box film. At least I know it will be going to a good cause—my own sanity.

Newberry Springs, California

The year I started photographing I ran upon this house out in Newberry Springs California that was slowing being swallowed by drifting sands. I later found it was the site of a brutal killing of a small boy by two dogs. I returned on my most recent trip out West to find even more of the house engulfed in sand, and the memorial to Cash Carson Slowly being erased as well.

In 2001 the road led all the way to the house, but the dunes have covered the road with about four feet of sand. There is another house further south on the same road that was occupied at the time, with a back hoe and dozer to keep back the sands. Now that house is covered up to the second story, but a porch light is kept eerily on.

I am going to try frinding those prints and negatives I made back in 2001 and 2002. Until I get a chance to develop the films I recently shot all I have are these Instaxes.

Polaroid Induced Vertigo

I just found this in my saved but not published blog posts . . . it still makes me sad. I've been photographing out on the West Coast for the last ten days or so, and the only internet access I've had was the few minutes at a coffee shop catching up on the important emails. I had a little more time today, and was reading up on the handful of blogs I check regularly.

Reading about the end of Polaroid hit me pretty hard, and I got that whole body disconnecting from the head feeling, the sickness in the stomach. It isn't that my work is directly dependent on Polaroid materials, but when the aspects of my straight work gets overwhelming, a box of Spectra and the company of friends is something of a godsend.

I do have a Fuji Instax I got from Canada, but there is something about the Polaroid that makes it a Polaroid—something the Instax doesn't have . . .  I think this might be the biggest Polaroid year ever as everyone goes on a shooting binge.  I know I will.

A life in photography actually involves little photographing

Andrea Modica was out on Monday putting together her next book with Lodima Press, and I got to see some work by her that is hardly ever seen by the larger public. Her portraits of High School girls from the 80s are freakin great, and I hope there is a book of those someday. This morning I was in the woods with the chain saw, cutting downed and dead trees and hauling them to the pick-up so I could later cut them into logs for the fire. I realized there is so much I do that is not at all related to photography, but informs and influences what I do as a photographer, so why not photograph those things? Thinking back now, I realize the way I was experiencing the woods today was partially influenced by some of Andrea's photographs I saw on Monday.

Here are two Fuji Instaxs I made today (more about that instant print endeavor later when I get a chance to scan some of the hundred or so I made on my recent trip out west). Instead of using this format for these kind of pictures, I think I will carry around my handheld 4x5. At least in addition to the Polaro . . .excuse me, Instax (who knows if anyone will ever get used to that one . . . )

New-ish Work

Here are a few things I did on Christmas. I finally got around to taking it in to get developed. I can't wait until I can get around to making real prints . . .

Pioneertown

Here is something newish. I was out West at the end of November photographing an area near where I grew up that is battling a Los Angeles Department of Water and Power project that plan to put up eight-some miles of high tension power lines through public and private lands—some of which are designated preserves. I hope to be again in the next few weeks to continue photographing the area.

The problem with trying to use photography to help stop the development in the area is that, even though it is a beautiful and magical landscape, it isn't a spectacular one. It is a subtle landscape, one without majestic peaks, or towering trees, but altogether beautiful in with its open, unblemished space and abundance of life.

In reality, does a run of powerlines really cause lasting harm to the environment? Maybe not, but the devastation would be that which comes next. The power lines would be something like the equivalent of the Broken Window or Ghetto Effect in a city. When the sight of the power lines becomes accepted, it isn't long until the area looks as disgusting as Apple Valley—Yucca Valley, my home town, is long down on its course toward the homogenized and sprawling western town—valuing popular fast food restaurants and frappuccinos over real community, and real culture.

Phillips de Pury Wishlist

We just got the Jan. 31 Phillips de Pury photograph catalog, and there are a few I will, but would rather not, have to live without. Here is my short list.

BRUCE DAVIDSON Brooklyn Gang (stickball game), 1959

DANNY LYON Yuma, 1962

JOSEF SUDEK Mé okno, 1952 (a steal at only a $800-1200 estimate)

ANSEL ADAMS San Francisco from Red Mountain, 1933-1934 (one of the rare times I would actually look twice at an AA)

BILL OWENS Selected Images from Suburbia, 1972-1977

FRANK GOHLKE Selected Images, 1975-1982

Happy Christmas!

from the darkroom. Santa brought me my platinum/palladium chemistry a few days early. I am so excited about these negatives (and just the process in general) that I am taking every available minute to print and print and print. I should have a few scanned and up in a few days . . . But, until then, here are two of my all-time favorite Christmas pictures. The first is, of course, by Bill Owens. The second is a picture by Peter Goin I remembered from a lecture I saw more than five years ago.

Daniel Shea, Appalachia, and Mountain Top Removal

I took a short trip to Centralia, Pennsylvania a few years ago, and while I didn’t spend much time photographing in the abandoned town, I spent a good deal of time driving around the area, and photographed in inactive areas of the few surface mines I could sneak into (sneaking with an 8x10 is not exactly easy). What I saw in the mines and the surrounding communities sparked an interest in conflict between the mining companies and the residents, as well as the physical damage to the environment, the hazards to the populations' health, and the larger implication for the world's climate. It was something I really intended to investigate further this coming winter and spring. So, when I first saw Matt Niebuhr's post about Daniel Shea's project on mountain top removal I was a little disappointed that he had beat me to it—which is a subject Cara Philips seems to have beaten me to writing about also . . . *

However, after spending a good deal of time on Daniel's blog this evening, I discovered that not only is he an excellent photographer, but his approach and dedication the subject, and to the project as a whole, is very admirable. I feel it is a level to which we can all hope to aspire.

Daniel Shea from the series: On coal and Appalachia

*NOTE: In general, I think the whole "I can't do this now because someone else did it first" argument is a crock. I feel, that if done honestly, whatever you do will be completely your own, The only time when something like that becomes an issue is when it comes time to selling it, or defending it in art school . . . (thank god I missed out on that—but that is a whole other can of worms . . . )

Special Holiday Print Offer

I am offering a special holiday promotion on all 8x10-inch contact prints from my website. This offer will last until the end of the year, and will include a gift of one 8x10-inch silver gelatin contact print when you purchase one at full price ($400 + shipping). This will help offset the cost of materials and future trips to continue photographing the Lower Owens River Project. More information and photographs from the first year of the project can be found on my Website.

First Night in the New Darkroom and More Lower Owens River Project Updates

I have needed to build a new darkroom for every house I moved into for the last six or seven years. Some have been nicer than others–with running water and heating/air conditioning—and some have been in nasty, dank basements, or ones so small I needed to do a week of crunches before I could develop my films. Last night, I printed for the first time in my new darkroom I just set up in the attic. It does not have running water, and I have to carry it up a flight of stairs, and commandeer the bath tub to set up the print washer. But, it feels good, and because of that, I feel like I will be more productive than in some of my previous darkrooms.

It kindof reminds me of the forts I used to build with friends as a little kid—using sheets, books, the coffee table—whatever was on hand. And that is the kind of the spirit that went into this one. It really made me reconnect with what got me so excited about photography in the first place. Not to sound cliche, but having an image appear on paper with nothing more than light and a few chemicals is sort of magical—even more so now that I am actually making beautiful prints (as apposed to the chalky gray ones my first time around). It also made me remember the reason I started using an 8x10 in the first place—the simplicity of  it all.

Here are two of the prints I made last night. Both are from my most recent trip the Owens Valley.

Owens (dry) Lake near the Lower Owens River Project Pumpback Station and Delta Area. It will be interesting to see how this area changes in the next few years. There are no plans to refill the lake, and much if it is levied off for the dust mitigation program. There is, though, a small continuous flow of water to support the delta wildlife habitat area. 

In the Lower Owens River Riparian habitat area. Near Lone Pine, California. November, 2007

Lower Owens River Project Update - December, '07

I finally got around to scanning some of the photographs I made on my trip in September, and a few of the ones I have printed from my most recent trip in November.

Also, I just updated my website with some of these new photographs, as well as added captions with a more specific location for each individual picture (you will have to click to the right of the image where is says "show / hide caption").

I hope to have the remaining negatives printed from this last year by the end of the month, so keep checking back for more updates.

Matthew Betcher, Los Angeles River Orotones

Before flying back to the East Coast on Friday, I had the pleasure of meeting Los Angles photographer, Matthew Betcher, and seeing his exhibition of incredible large-scale orotones from his series el rio de nuestra señora la reina de los angeles de porciuncula. I just learned the show has been extended to the end of the year,  and is surely not to be missed.

Inspired by Edward Curtis's Orotones— a process involving ambrotypes backed with gold pigment in banana oil—Betcher printed on orthochromatic lith film that was slightly bleached, toned, then mounted on glass backed with gold leaf.

Along with the show of about ten 40x60-inch pieces, is a beautiful a 19x25-inch portfolio of all the photographs in the series. Again, they are hand-printed lith film, with gold painted rice paper, hand-bound and housed in a box that contains an orotone on the bottom. The book is a work of art in itself.

These three digital images may give one the idea of what the show is about, but nothing can replace the feeling of being in front of these in person. They are almost dream-like in the way details disappear in the three dimensional quality achieved by the interplay of light and the layering of image, glass, and gold leaf.

In Matthew's introduction he writes:

For the series, I have been exploring the LA River as a datum for the explorations and questions relating to a new sense of what is ‘nature.’ Knowing the River was originally named after the small field (’porciuncula’ is loosely defined as ‘a small portion of land’) where St. Francis of Assisi developed a monastic order based on a lack of worldly possessions and an admiration for the natural environment, the Los Angeles River becomes a paradox in its own right. The massive concrete structure intended to allow the massive expanse of the city now protects the Glendale Narrows - one of the few spaces in a concrete city choked by its own waste where, as a protected sight, ‘nature’ is left to fend for herself. For the work, I have been using a photographic technique used mainly in the teens that involve photographs on gold-backed glass. The idea is that the large scale gold-leafed plates adorning the jungle-like images from the Los Angeles River bring into question the schizophrenic ideals of what is or could be considered ‘natural.’

Here, there are no swimming pools, no movie stars, but a mutation of nature that continues to thrive in a place no typical Angelino would go. As a dedicated nature preserve, the Glendale Narrows represents the natural world Los Angels couldn't manicure or pave with concrete. The images are, for me, both a metaphor and the antitheses of the City.

Postcard: Yucca Valley or Shopping Cart Demo-Derby

Back in Yucca after photographing up in the Owens Valley for a few days. I head back East in a few more days. I'm going to miss the sunshine, the stars, and the open space, but the dirt, not so much.

Paris Photo Recap, part 1

So, guess who forgot the digital camera and European power adapter for the laptop? Because of the strikes, Paris was more of a crazy adventure than in the past. Nearly missed planes and trains, more walking than I've ever done in my life, long bus lines, shared cabs, and mountain biking with an 8x10 camera . . . this actually might be the most memorable year yet.

The fair, however, was something of a let down. I swear if I see another oversized color print I am going to puke. Luckily, I could take refuge in the few gallery booths showing some excellent 19th century work. One print, a gravure on silk , stood out the most, but there were several others worth posting in more detail when I have the chance.

Return from Paris Photo, or My 18 Hour Layover . . .

Flew into Newark last night, returned home about 11PM, caught up with my house mates over half the Beaujolais Nouveau I was allowed to bring back to the US. Now, just finishing breakfast and a pot of coffee before running a few errands. Then, I'm flying out West this afternoon to spend Thanksgiving with my family, and continue photographing the Lower Owens River Project. It is almost enough time for a load of laundry and few hours sleep befroe my flight. Thank god I am still on GMT.