After a long summer of traveling that included my third solo cross-country drive and a wonderful trip to Paris (not Texas, though I did make friends with a gnarly cat in Marfa), I decided that instead of moving back to San Francisco I would explore life in the East Bay. I finished my last 3 months of 2011 living in downtown Berkeley and loved the area – but after a few nights on the town in Oakland it became clear to me, for reasons I don’t understand, that this was where I needed to be. So here I am, living in a beautiful place in downtown Oakland, and so far it’s fabulous.

Recently did an interview with Valeria from Love and Dishwasher Tablets who managed to get me to open up about some photos. Take a peek at their site, plenty of great material including an interview with Efe Cakarel of MUBI and a write up on Allison Schulnik, whom I adore.

Jew harp
Hand made sling shot
Necklace magnifying glass
Joker card
Bottle of feathers

While in Antoine D’Agata’s workshop in Paris I was referred to as a young, contemporary American photographer. This label didn’t make sense to me. With further critiques and the ensuing physical and psychological distance from the world of photography I’m accustomed to in America, I began to see my work in a new light. There came a point when I felt a significant lack of authenticity in my images and those of my American peers. Namely, a large amount of distance between the life we live and the life we portray in our photos. I saw a beautification and perfection I didn’t notice before. A pop and cleanliness that reminded me how Capitalism and advertising has worked its way into the subconscious perception of Americans. I thought, maybe we are so desensitized by imagery we embrace artifice without realizing it? It was a strange feeling to see my images shape-shift in front me, like watching the eyes of a loved one go from blue to black.

Sitting in that classroom in Paris I was taken aback at how occupied all of us have become with staying on top of editor’s lists, photo blogs, social media, gallery shows and the such. It seems a lot of us are either too distracted or too lost to have the energy to sit down and genuinely use photography as a personal tool. What happened to making images that we would choose to make regardless of anybody or anything else? I was reminded of what I’ve always known: I don’t care about the hype or the money and I really don’t care about the business model. Dreams for sale are not dreams.

And I understand we have to walk a fine line. We have to keep taking other people’s pictures in order to pay the bills and earn the time to do personal work. And this is where it becomes so easy to lose touch with who we are and what really matters. We often think that if we work hard enough on personal projects it will eventually lead to and fuse with paid work. But I would ask, what kind of personal work is the kind you make under those conditions? And I would argue that if you work hard taking other people’s pictures long enough, you’re likely to keep taking their photos without even realizing it (isn’t Beauty empty without truth?).

When I’m at the end of my life and thinking about what I’ve given back, the last thing I’m going to care about is the magazines I shot for, the museum I was in, or the recognition I received. The only thing that will matter is how honest I was, how fully I lived my life, and whether I made the kind of photographs that were deeply mandatory.

I can see now that, among other things, I am much too aware of the photo industry and other photographers to make sustained, reflective and authentic work. I am easily distracted and it shows. One of my biggest take-aways from my experience in Paris was the reaffirmation of the fact that in order to touch bottom, you need to disconnect from the noise.

For now, the only thing that matters is that I close the gap between the life I live and the photographs I make.

…

“The only photographs that truly exist are the ”innocent” images. We find them in the family photo albums or in the police archives. Beyond serving as a simple documentation of reality or of a certain aesthetic sense, they attest to the role of the photographer, of his implication, of the authenticity of his position in that moment. The compositions of light, narrative, are no longer, for me, fundamental problems but superfluous lies. What interests me today in an image? The perspective that has justified the act of photography, the interference of the experience, of the ongoing scene, the texture, the material, the meaning of the self-portrait, of the individual, the incoherence of the unfolding sequence, the maniacal reconstruction of the random experience – the photographs, like words, are meaningless when isolated…” -Antoine D’Agata

This post is the 5th in a series for the Leica Blog:

In late May I drove from San Francisco to Charlottesville to attend the LOOK3 Festival of the Photograph. LOOK3, which is the festival that offered an award that began my relationship with Leica, is probably the most intimate and intense photo festival in America (For example, this year they coordinated the rare event of Sally Mann interviewing Nan Goldin on stage). Prior to the festival, Leica placed me in a five-day workshop with Magnum photographer Christopher Anderson, who has been a long time inspiration to most younger photographers I know, including myself. My time with Chris and the rest of the class turned out to be a wonderful, inspiring experience. I absorbed every idea, detail and feeling I could during the workshop. By the time I left I was mentally and physically exhausted, but creatively rejuvenated. I’m still letting the advice and insights I gathered during the workshop and festival settle where they need, but in short, my time with Chris and all the other talented and inspiring people at the festival restored some of my excitement and faith in the power of photography.

Unexpectedly, on my way to LOOK3, I was asked by Leica if I would be interested in going to Paris to attend the Antoine D’Agata Magnum workshop, Leica M9-P announcement party and Magnum partnership announcement and other Magnum festivities. I thought the email was either a mistake or sent to the wrong person. Lucky for me it wasn’t. I spent eight days in Paris and needless to say, I had a wonderful time and met a lot of photographers that inspired me and helped me rearrange some ideas. And again, my time with Antoine D’Agata, although brief, gave me even more insight on the medium and my place in it.

After the past month I feel really refreshed and inspired about the power of photography and my future with it. Which is an ironic statement considering its contrast with the feelings of my last blog post. I wouldn’t disagree with anything I’ve written in the past, but the clarity and understanding I have on using the role of photography as a personal tool instead of a self-imposed obstacle in my life have greatly improved. I’m still in a state of processing, so a few pictures will have to do for now. I will say though, that I’m incredibly grateful to Leica for the opportunities and experiences I’ve had over the past month. What I’ve realized is likely to shape the next several years of my photographic and filmmaking endeavors.

I’m off to meet the wizard! (And if you happen to be going to LOOK3 this year, I’ll see you there).

Earlier in the month, after helping Ross Mantle set-up the gallery show he was in town for, the two of us were walking to dinner when we came across a large 48-unit building fire in SOMA. Ross was a little more reluctant than I about going to the site and taking pictures. Neither of us have any interest in “spot news” but we were both curious about what was happening. So we went to the fire and after a few minutes, standing in a street filled with smoke, we realized it was a serious situation. I had just started shooting when the camera I was using completely malfunctioned. I was pissed. Of all the times to have a camera fail me, why does it have to be when I’m witnessing such a dramatic scenario unravel.

As frustrated as I was, it was a moment of realization that in hindsight, was more valuable than the photos I missed. If I had been alone I would have felt a sense of failure, that I had lost something important. But because Ross was there, photographing (with his $100 P&S), it was okay because the event, the memory, the trauma, the tragedy, the sudden re-arrangement of life – it wasn’t disappearing into the ether, it was being recorded by someone whose vision I trust.

Finally, after deleting all the photos I had on my card and resetting everything, the camera started working and I was able to photograph the later part of our experience. A crowd had formed of a hundred or more people. Some who had lived in the building were in shock as they watched their home and all their possessions burn down. Some were simply curious or fascinated by the spectacle of it. There was even a group of guys playing basketball that seemed completely unaware of the situation. I wondered how I, as a photographer, fit into the drama. Was I like the firemen, trying to help and make things better. Was I a spectator? or was I just some kid playing a game with a camera, disassociated from what was happening?

The whole experience made me, once again, criticize why we do what we do. I know that at times in my life, I have completely exploited situations and people for the advancement of my vision and chronicled perspective. I’ve convinced myself mentally that I really cared for people when all I really wanted was to photograph them and not get too involved. That was what going to college for photojournalism felt like to me, being forced to care on a weekly basis. Perhaps I lack the empathy that others have, or that I’m not meant to be a documentary photographer. Or maybe I just see the big picture differently. Since my foray into social documentary work, I’ve yet to feel comfortable working in the genre again. The only way documentary photography makes sense to me is if I document something that I am living through, something I’m experiencing first hand, or something that I really believe in. This is why I’ve turned most my attention to street photography. I’m allowed to be anonymous or confrontational, honest or slanted, spontaneous or deliberate. I’m allowed to stay inside of my own head and not be discounted for it.

The fire reminded me of these issues and the the ones surrounding voyeurism and the “taking” of photographs. It reminded me of the many roles photography can play in a person’s life. It reminded me that I have a vision and statement to make, and that, really, I am taking pictures for myself. I believe the very act of photography is one of theft. And after a lifetime of stolen pictures, I am hoping I will have something to give back. Something that could make a difference; Or not. It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that I am being honest with myself, my vision, my philosophy. Photography gives me the ability to communicate why I’m not losing my sense of wonder and passion for the life that unfolds around me. And the times I do lose my excitement, it helps me find it again. I’ve learned that photography came into my life as a personal necessity, and when it’s not that way, it slowly loses its original value.

“I told her that I was a pervert, voyeur, and flasher all rolled into one photographic monster, but that I felt close to the people in the Subway.”
-Bruce Davidson, Subway

“Tough meant it was an uncompromising image, something that came from your gut, out of instinct, raw, of the moment, something that couldn’t be described in any other way. So it was tough. Tough to like, tough to see, tough to make, tough to understand. The tougher they were the more beautiful they became.”
-Joel Meyerowitz

“Some seem to think my work is drawn from an expression of horror, which has never really concerned me. Pleasure is impossible to define. But I feel horror occupies much the same territory. But you see, I’m optimistic by nature. I’m optimistic about nothing.”
-Francis Bacon, Love is the Devil