My entry for Hey, Hot Shot
I swore off contests sometime last year, with one exception: that I would probably enter Hot Shot in 2010. I can’t say exactly why Hot Shot lures me so—considering the tough competition, I don’t think I stand much of a chance. I wouldn’t mind doing an edition with 20×200, though, so that seems like reason enough.
I got to the part on the application about whether or not I’ve entered before and I had to think back… yes, in fact I did enter, way back in 2007. I have no idea what work I entered, but in hindsight I’m quite sure it wasn’t very good. I’ve put a lot more effort into it this time around, though I’m sure I’ll still be embarrassed looking back in three years.
I’m posting this here as much for my future reference as for anyone else to see. Reading it now, the project statement comes off as a bit awkward, but I wrote that damn thing five times and this was by far the best version.
Dead Horse Bay, Brooklyn, 2010
Near the West Pond, Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge. Queens, New York, 2009
Skier in Prospect Park, Brooklyn, New York, 2010
New Year's Day, Valley Stream, New York, 2010
Bridle path, Bohemia, New York, 2010
Project Statement:
These images are part of a series called Outer Lands, a survey of the landscape of Long Island. The photographs reflect my effort to reconcile my sometimes contradictory interests in pictorial beauty and the contemporary landscape.
I began my exploration of Long Island along the wild edges of Brooklyn and Queens. I quickly learned that it’s difficult to take a picture in New York City without a plastic bag or a beer can lurking somewhere in the frame. At times I have tried to exclude these elements, but the resulting pictures always nag at my conscience. I have grown to accept that landscape photography in the city involves garbage; in fact, it requires it.
Soon I made my way to the interior of Long Island, where it is common to find patches of unspoiled wilderness. My first pictures of this pastoral landscape came easily, but eventually the nagging returned. The artifice of my endeavor remained, it was simply expressed on a different scale in these open spaces.
I came to realize that a compromise was necessary in order to be satisfied with the work. Many of the photographs in this series embrace the pictorial landscape while simultaneously acknowledging the contradiction inherent within it.
I plan to continue this project indefinitely, returning to many of the same places through different times of year. It is my hope that through intimate familiarity I will produce a work that is both honest and beautiful, a contemporary look at a complex landscape.
Gregory Conniff
“It is from walking attentively through a place at different times and in different light and weather that we can most assuredly come to know the character that abides within that place despite its changing appearances. Out of this direct knowledge almost inevitably grows understanding, affection, and an impulse to take some responsibility for where we are.”
-Gregory Conniff, from his introduction to his book Wild Edges
Lafayette County, Mississippi, Gregory Conniff , 2005
Lead with your heart
Think back to the last song you heard that filled your heart with joy. Did you get up and dance? Did you roll down the windows and sing along at the top of your lungs? Or did you sit down and write a paper about it?
I’ve been listening to a lot of Miles Davis lately. I’ve probably listened to Kind of Blue a hundred times in the last year. Is there anything that Miles Davis, or anyone else, could say about Kind of Blue that could make it any better for me?
I seriously doubt it.
I won’t argue for a minute that there isn’t value in the intellectual analysis of art. I’ve attended symposia, read books, and gone to endless lectures and artist talks, all in the hopes of “getting it.” But I would give it all away for the first 60 seconds of All Blues. Or five minutes alone in a room with a single Lee Friedlander print.
Jesus Christ, Lee Friedlander!
The primary value of art in my eyes goes far beyond intellectual discourse. I look to art for inspiration, for an emotional connection with others. I choose to make art because I am in a constant state of wonder about the world I live in, and the process of creation is my struggle to communicate that wonder to others.
I’ve spent the last 5 years living and breathing photography, absorbing everything about the subject that I can get my hands on. What I’ve come to realize is that the process of creation and the process of analysis are two very different things. There are some who happen to do both well, but I think that’s rare, and I don’t think that one is necessarily a prerequisite for the other.
Camden Hardy recently paraphrased Frank Gohlke as saying “It’s too bad we can’t just be artists any more; we have to be scholars too.” Hardy sees this as a sign of a lack of intellectual rigour on Gohlke’s part. As someone who is very familiar with Gohlke’s work, I have to think that Hardy has missed the point completely. Gohlke’s rigour is in the work; his photographs are as conceptually stimulating as anything you are likely to see. It’s up to us, as viewers, to provide the context and make of it what we will. To me, that’s what the experience of art is all about.
One year of Outer Lands
I’ve been working on my Outer Lands series for about a year now—a year and three months, to be exact— and I’ve finally got enough photographs to put together a gallery of images to represent the work in progress. Several of these images were included in the set in Fraction Magazine last week. I’ve got more photographs that will likely be included in a future edit, but this feels like a succinct and representative look at the work so far. I would love to hear your thoughts.
More than a year’s work, distilled into 19 images. Looking at these now, I realize that I never could have predicted where this work would take me when I began, and I have only a vague idea of where it will go from here. My shooting is winding down for the season; I probably won’t add very much to this body of work until October or November when the light comes back. (I will be including some spring and summer photos in the series, but not too many.) In the meantime I have a few side projects to look into, a lot of prints to make, a stack of unread books three feet high, a class to finish, and a hundred summer projects to look forward to. Does anyone want to help me paint my house?
New work in Fraction Magazine
I’m very happy to report that I have a series of photographs in the newest edition of Fraction Magazine, which was released online today. This is all new work, which I haven’t shown anywhere before. The issue also includes work from Jessica Todd Harper, Emily Shur, Tom Leninger, and William Greiner.
These photographs are all from inland parks on Long Island, some of which I’ve only recently discovered. I see a lot of potential for future work there.
I’ve been working on these images for more than three months now, and it feels great to finally send them out into the world. Three months doesn’t sound like very much, but when I think back to December and remember the work of researching, shooting, processing, and editing these images, I realize that my process and my perspective on my own work has changed quite a bit in that time. I am a perpetual beginner, where every step still feels significant. I would like to thank David Bram for encouraging me to push myself to create this new work.