When I first showed these rock formations I’m calling Bones of the Earth, I was quite unsure what to do with them (I still am…). They seemed to invite a number of treatments. In particular, I found myself wishing I could paint them. Since I’d been admiring Sunil’s paintings of late, I naturally wondered how he might handle them: “Sunil, are you out there? Imagine these rocks as a weathered old face, what would you do with it?” I was not thinking that Sunil would actually see a face in them, but rather that considering the rock surface as skin might suggest coloring and brushwork that would give an interesting treatment. That was before my own musings on the power of face recognition. And if anyone has an over-developed fusiform gyrus in his brain, it’s Sunil (I can barely rotate 90 degrees, he easily does 180). Well, as you can guess, Sunil did see a face there — in fact three — and has recently posted on his blog the painting that resulted. It’s reproduced (with permission) below:
Posts by Steve Durbin
Rock face
Molecules and more
I was struck by something David Palmer said (comment 7) on my recent post on waterfalls:
…there’s something about the waterfalls that really captures for me the change in energy we experience in winter. The actual slowing of molecules. It’s as though by seeing this microcosm we experience something much larger.
Very poetic and all, but beyond that? In any case, it inspired me to think about the water molecules that you could see if you zoomed in with a super-microscope. So I did just that — digitally. The images in the following sequence are waterfall #2 (chosen for its square format) and successive two-fold magnifications of the center of the preceding image (but the actual image display size is reduced by less than that, so they don’t get too small):
Sex rocks
Sure the title is a pun I couldn’t resist, but it’s also the lead-in to a serious question about art and perception. It arose in the context of a photography trip to Utah last April, which began in Arches National Park. A few weeks ago, in Bones of the Earth, I made my first post about the project with that tentative title, which comes from the impression that the exposed rocks represent structures normally below the skin of the Earth.
The rock formations in Arches and elsewhere are of many shapes. Among them are ones that can’t help but bring the word phallic to mind. The first picture I took that first morning (first image below) already fit into that category. That’s not why I made the photograph — at least not consciously — but it’s something that occurred to me at roughly the same moment I decided to set up the camera. And although the rock can certainly stand on its own as subject, it’s possible that the subliminal association helped draw my attention to it.
Art for an Artist’s Sake (by Jeffrey Augustine Songco)
This past weekend, I opened the doors of my live/work studio as part of the Bushwick Open Studios and Arts Festival in Brooklyn, New York. It was my first open studio, so I had the opportunity to plaster the walls with my art that had been collecting dust under my bed. The art I hung was the kind of artwork that I considered to be my contribution to the history of art—the work that I would want to be a part of the ‘art world’ and more specifically, artwork that I would submit to galleries for open calls. Here is an example of my open studio space:
A year of waterfalls
Yesterday I hiked up a mountain for a fabulous view of snow-covered peaks and dark green valleys for many, many miles in all directions. The only photographs I made were of a waterfall on the way up. The surprise is that I made any at all. Despite — or more likely because of — the clichéd nature of the subject, until a year ago I had essentially no waterfall pictures, even of locations I’d visited multiple times, with camera, where I more recently did make photos. Now I have half a dozen or so waterfalls, and I realize it has become a theme. So I want to start looking at them and thinking about them, learning from them.
Orientation
I revisited one of the places I like to photograph and came back with, among others, the image shown above. No, it was not the scene of junkyard treasure, and this is not the side of a beat-up old car. It’s actually from my ghost town site, and it’s the side of a beat-up old outhouse. I guess I took it because I tend to like abstracts like this. Though that’s probably not the whole story, because this is the only abstract I made in hours of photographing in a place loaded with weathered wood, ancient mining equipment, etc. Perhaps I was drawn to it through mysterious workings of my unconscious. If so, I discovered why the next day — but maybe you can guess it now?
