Is Photography Over?

Yesterday I read a post with the title above on the "Still Searching" blog, moderated by Fotomuseum Winterthur in Zurich, Switzerland, as an "Online Discourse on Photography."  The main question raised was: given the inexorably changing world of photography, with everyone becoming a photographer through the rapidly advancing technology of cell phone cameras and post-production editing, is photography as we know it "over"?

Go to any event, and all you see is a crowd of people holding up their phones, capturing the event.  Posting pictures to Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram is now a way of life and has probably surpassed text as the substance most often sent into the world.  Indeed, the essay asks whether photography and seeing can now be considered the same.

And anyone can now access software to make perfect less-than-perfect pictures.  Every digital camera now offers a proprietary package of tools, and then there is Windows Photo Editor, iPhoto, Aperture, Adobe Lightroom and Photoshop.  One can get as technical as one wants and achieve eye-popping results.

Double Jack in the Pulpit, Robert Mapplethorpe

That isn't to say that everyone understands how to use these tools, though - or that technical software knowledge translates into artistry.  Just because you have the cropping tool on your computer doesn't mean you'll know where or how much to crop - that is to say, why you crop - to make it a better photograph.  (This is not to ignore the issue of having to crop in the first place; it is simply meant as a quick example of the difference between technique and art.)

The same can be said of writing.  Anyone can use alliteration to augment an image ("The snake slithered along the sand and seemed to sneer.") or shorten the length of sentences in an action scene to speed up the pace.  But writing well is so much more than well-chosen techniques to achieve effects.  You still have to stitch together scenes in the right order, formulate believable motivation, rachet up tension, pull the reader on board with the protagonist, tweak the pacing, and manipulate language to elicit emotion (and the right one, at the right time), as well as spin many other plates.  You need both craft and art to make a good story.  Craft can be taught.  Art has to come from within.  (One can develop a sense of vision, but that's a subject for another day.)

Napoli - 1960, Henri Cartier-Bresson

I learned in my first photography workshop that it's not the "seeing machine" you choose that determines the quality of your pictures.  I was shocked to find that my instructor, Joanne Dugan, didn't care what kind of camera we used for class.  She said we could even use a phone camera.  I had naîvely assumed that the "nicer" your camera, the better your pictures would be.  But it didn't take long to understand the main point of the class: that it's not the technology that is fundamental to your photographs; it's your vision, the way you see life around you.  Indeed, some of my favorite images are ones I've taken with my phone.  They're not the best technically, but I like what I captured in the scene - the mood, setting, and composition.

That's why I'm not worried that photography might be "over."  No matter how many people are using their iPhones to take pictures, most are still just taking snapshots and aren't interested in anything else.  No matter how much the price of Photoshop may drop (if it ever does), many are just going to play with it, albeit to varying degrees of sophistication.  Only certain people are going to struggle with capturing their vision of the world in a way that satisfies them.  Only the artist is going to spend the time and energy to bring an image in line with that vision, battling disappointment and frustration. 

Seven A.M., West Seventies, Cinda Berry

Everyone wants to get their pictures out for others to see, but only the artist wants something universal and not particular, to leave behind not documentation but testimony.  And what they create enriches us.

And there's certainly room for everyone here; this is not a race or a competition to see whose photographs should or will exist or be seen.  I like to say that I have been pursuing photography seriously for a little over a year - and relative to my own history, it's true.  But all it takes is one look at any photography website or the Flickr site of a photography Meetup group to be reminded that I am just another hack.  (A well-intentioned, serious hobbyist, but at this point, a hack nonetheless.)  I might fancy myself a neophyte artist - I don't even consider myself an evolving artist quite yet - but I am barely at Square One, and it doesn't take much for me to feel intimidated and overwhelmed.

But it does no harm to photography for people like me to try their best with their limited knowledge and skill to try and create memorable, unique images, whether we fancy ourselves as artists or not, because there will always be plenty of true artists who see the world differently from the rest of us and have different ways of interpreting it through

Provincetown Dusk, Mark Abe

their photographs.  They wrestle with technique and nuance and meaning in ways we have never considered.

They probably worried over this question at other times, too, like when the Polaroid camera first arrived or when the digital camera was born.  But the democratization of tools does not mean death of the art.  Can't it instead mean a potential increase in popular discussion, and isn't that good?  Photography that is passed off as art but which lacks heart will distill out.  And images that are generated by amateurs in a thoughtful, sincere effort to create art can hardly be a threat to it.  Even when produced by hacks like me.

So, is photography over?  

Not on your life.



Photo Credits: mapplethorpe.com, imgarcade.com, intaglioso.com, Mark Abe

Cosas Bonaerenses Mas Notables

Most Notable Things About Buenos Aires

3.  Extreme Driving

People in foreign countries drive crazy, right?  And in Buenos Aires there is an overall

attitude that rules are merely suggestions and laws are meant to be broken.  I've crossed myself and held my hand over my eyes riding in a New York City cab, but never before had I ever been in a cab impatiently passing another car in the same lane.  ("Oh my God," I said out loud.)

2.  Parallel Monetary World

The ever-falling Argentine peso combined with rampant inflation has led to an alternate reality with a "blue market" exchange rate (no one calls it the "black market") that benefits those with American currency.  Paying at the official exchange rate of 5.6 pesos to the dollar in October 2013 meant that the sofa pillow I bought for $425 pesos appeared as $76 on my VISA statement.  If I hadn't been $10 short in cash that day, I could have bought it at the blue market rate of 8.8 pesos - or $48.

The guys I was traveling with bought some snazzy shoes at 28 Sport in Palermo Soho for about $1760 pesos.  If they'd paid with a credit card, the shoes would have set them back $314.  But since they had dollars and asked about the rate, they only paid about $200. 

Far from being clandestine, secret, or illegal, this is simply the way business is done in Buenos Aires; just about all stores and restaurants will readily tell you the blue market exchange rate  and re-figure your bill upon request.  Some will even post the day's rate on a sign.  It's so ordinary you don't even have to say "blue market" or otherwise qualify "exchange rate" in any way; everyone knows what you are asking.  No one wants pesos - they all prefer dollars - and Americans benefit dramatically by obliging them, so everyone wins.  There are all kinds of ways the Argentines use to shelter the value of their assets from the tattered economy, and they want all the dollars they can get.

In the weeks following my return to the States, I watched the peso continue to fall and eventually read that the $10 peso barrier had been broken - meaning you could get nearly twice the value using American cash at the blue market rate than at the official rate using pesos or a credit card.

1.  Not tu, Brute

Forget what you learned in school - the familiar "you" form of tu is not used in the Rioplatense Spanish spoken in Argentina.  Instead, they use vos, which has a verb conjugation I never learned in junior high (where we were taught Mexican Spanish) or high school (where we were taught Spain Spanish), since neither Mexico nor Spain uses vos.  In fact, I'd never even heard of it before my trip to Argentina.  We did touch on the plural familiar "you" form of vosotros in school but focused only on ustedes for the plural second person.  Fortunately, vos conjugates the same way as vosotros except that you just drop the vowel preceding the accented i, e.g., where "y'all talk" is hablaís, "you talk" is hablís.

Even more fortunately, you probably won't be there long enough to be on familiar terms with anyone, so you won't have to use vos anyway. 

Some countries use it sometimes, while other countries use it in speech but not in writing.  Argentina and neighboring Paraguay and Uruguay are the only Spanish-speaking countries in the world that use the vos form in both the spoken and written language.  And since the media uses it, it is widely seen on billboards, bus shelter signs, and handbills.

Photo credits: Pri.org, csmonitor.org, vamospanish.org

Gracias, Buenos Aires

I finally crossed the Equator and spent a week in Buenos Aires, Argentina, sightseeing and shopping my way to worn-out feet, a interesting mix of memories, and not a few nice purchases. Here's what else I brought back - first, the bad news:

THE WORST OF BUENOS AIRES

3.  Niceties
Americans aren't good at it, either, but porteños (residents of BA) never say anything after bumping into you on the street (and I'm not talking about just brushing past your shoulder).  Granted, some of these "accidents" might be failed attempts at pickpocketing, which is prevalent in Buenos Aires, but most are not.

2.  Eating

There's some veggies under there somewhere...!

You can order salads and sides in restaurants, but among the entrees, there is a lack of healthy choices.  The vast majority are various types of red meat, especially steak, as Argentina is known for its beef (which probably belongs under the BEST OF BUENOS AIRES section).  And if you order meat, that's what you get: a big slab of meat on a plate - and frequently nothing else.  At a parilla (steakhouse), the meat is grilled, but there is a lot of cheese, butter, and cream in other dishes.  Part of this is due to a major Italian influence, as well as the many French cafes and restaurants.  (Strangely enough, obesity is not seen on the streets.) 

1.  Trashiness
Graffiti covers buildings everywhere, regardless of the level of affluence or style of architecture.  It's shocking at first.  Curb appeal is not a known concept; blending in and being inconspicuous seems more valued than setting oneself apart.  Only twenty percent of residents own their property, so pride of ownership is lacking.  Buildings which may be beautiful architecturally can nevertheless be rundown with doors or windows missing, or at least dirty.  Garbage can be found on the streets on holiday weekends, and dumpsters line the sidewalks.  Worst: as a general rule, dog owners do not pick up after their pets, so dog mierda is a very common sight on sidewalks everywhere, forcing you to constantly look down while you walk.

 

THE BEST OF BUENOS AIRES

5.  Architecture
Everywhere you look are beautiful tall buildings with wrought iron balconies; grand, heavy wooden doors.  Many of the buildings were built at the turn of the century (the 20th, not the 21st) and reflect Italian and French neoclassical influences.  Pity they aren't maintained so well (see above). For a nice summary of bonaerense architecture with photos, see A Gringo in Buenos Aires.

4.  Eating
The empanadas are fresh, delicious, and cheap.  The Malbec is plentiful and pleasing.  And the eating is such a huge part of the culture that in a restaurant, one is expected to linger after dinner rather than clearing the table for the next party.  You might have to wait a while for everything to happen, even to order, but it's nice to not be run out with a forced smile when the meal is over.

3.  Evita 

Eva Peron galvanized a whole nation without holding elective office.  She's on the 100 peso note.  People still leave flowers at her final resting place 60 years after her death.   President Cristina Fernandez Kirchner is sometimes compared to her, and Evita will probably remain the yardstick by which all future female leaders will be measured.  She's made the Argentine woman a strong figure, to say the least.

2.  Brio
The Italian spirit of the Argentine heritage comes through strongly in everyday interactions with the people.  The way both men and women kiss each other on the cheek when parting company.  Ending a face-to-face conversation with "ciao" (or chao in Spanish, I suppose) and a phone call with "un beso" ("a kiss").  Tango - luscious, sensual, and provocative - not just for tourism, but infused in the porteño culture.

1.  MEN
OMG - so many men in Buenos Aires look like they are, used to be, should have been, or are going to be, models.  Whether older, in their prime earning years, teens, or just kids, male beauty is disproportionately prevalent and stunning.  It's the same in Rome, so this is not surprising.

Next: The Most Notable Things About Buenos Aires

Murder Mystery

We are workshopping my story.  The others want to know more about the murder.  They want to know why I ended the story without explaining how it happened.  They say the motive for the murder is very weak, if there is even a motive that is evident.

The problem is: there is no murder.

Even when I explain that I wrote everything that happened and did not keep anything from the reader, even when I remind them that the other character left the premises while the woman who dies is still walking and talking to herself, they are not persuaded.  Even the instructor says the story has the potential to be expanded so that the murder can be explored further.

She wasn't murdered!  I should know - I'm the one who wrote the story.

They remain unconvinced.

He didn't do it!  In fact, no one did.  She wasn't killed!  The only mystery is how you people could think she was!

This powerfully illustrates a wonderful phenomenon in fiction (even while it may frustrate the writer in some cases): people bring to their reading of a story all kinds of things, things the writer - and even the reader - cannot control, things that influence what one sees and how one experiences a story.  And this accounts for people's wildly different reactions to the same story.

My writer friend Mary tells an anecdote reminiscent of the three blind men describing an elephant but which sounds more like a three-guys-in-a-bar joke.  Her writing group was discussing a story she had written.  The feminist tells her, "Your story is really about the disenfranchisement of women in a male-dominated world."  The Russian guy says, "This is a story of alienation, of immigration, and assimilation into an unfamiliar society!"  The transgender woman says, "You've really written a story about gender identity.  It's a transgender story!" 

I had a very strong reaction to another story in the same workshop where we talked about my non-murder.  David had written a story about a man on a quest the day of his father's funeral.  I felt absolutely positive that the story was really about the main character's love for his father, despite the fact that he never mentioned it or alluded to it and in fact, said things that indicated feelings to the contrary.  I praised David's amazing skill in writing a story that was so clearly about something completely unsaid.  I was so sure and so moved by this that I completely embarrassed myself by nearly breaking down while talking about it in class.

It strikes me now that maybe the story wasn't about that at all, that maybe that was not David's intention when he wrote it.  Maybe all of that was unsaid in the story because that wasn't how David wrote it.  Maybe I was deeply moved because of what I brought to the story.  And maybe that's why no one else in the workshop reacted the way I did. 

It's fascinating how all of our personal issues - our fears, regrets, dreams, unfinished business, and tangled relational histories - feed into how we experience a story.  It's wonderful how they can add dimension and depth to our reading.  

The writer may never know how or why a particular work will take one reader's breath away, cause another to cry, and another still to move on, unaffected.  All one can do is write from the heart and trust the reader with it.  Even when they must be left to deal with the murder of someone who wasn't killed.

He's Part of Me

There is no getting past it.  He is an indelible part of who I am.  He is undeniably in my core, and I can feel his influence just about every day - both the bad parts I resent him for and the good parts I'm starting to appreciate.  He'll never go away, though he is gone forever.

What I don't get, after more than fifty years of life, and coming up on the tenth anniversary of his death, is why I am still working out what it all means; what lessons I am supposed to have learned from my turbulent, icy relationship with him; what I could possibly hope to gain from the years - DECADES - of all the talks we never had, you know: those fabled father-son talks.  Shouldn't I have processed all of it?  Shouldn't I know by now?  He was my father, for God's sake.  What is there to figure out?

What I am starting to get, however, is that an awful lot of this processing is going on all around me.  In fact, I'm starting to think it might be a universal thing.  Not that every man has a difficult relationship with his father (at least, I hope not).  Universal in the same way that knowing glances are exchanged about mother-daughter relationships.

I recently returned from my second Taos Summer Writers' Conference, and the story that I workshopped was not the only one with a missing father element.  In fact, the absent father's influence was the main point of another writer's story, even taking place the day of the funeral.  Two out of the three readings assigned by Wally Lamb, the workshop's facilitator, had at their central core the relationship (tender and loving in one, difficult and tension-filled in the other) between the narrator and his father.  And the Wally Lamb novel I was reading at the time portrayed a very stormy stepfather relationship.

Part of this Great Working Out has simply to do with the fact that the most influential people in our lives are those who raised us, for better or worse.  When a man's mother dies, there is naturally (I imagine) a similar review of their shared history and what it means; however, women who were mothers of baby boomers had clearly-defined roles, both domestically and emotionally, so the mother-son relationship was pretty stable (Oedipal complexes aside).

Men, on the other hand, were struggling to figure out their place in the family as women's expectations began changing.  And older fathers were hands-off when it came to child-rearing.  With their traditional roles limited to breadwinner and disciplinarian, they didn't have to concern themselves with relating to their children if they weren't punishing them for something.  Either way, it's no wonder they didn't know how to be fathers, or even know there was a way to be.  Many believed that being a father meant providing for one's family, simple as that.

This left a whole lot of men to glean fatherly lessons by osmosis, I guess.

But it's also why I view my own paternal relationship through a softer lens now.  My dad just didn't know any other way to be.  He sure didn't struggle with it.  There were no books about it back then, and men of his generation didn't seek help, anyway.  When I consider how little about life I myself really know or understand, even after half a century, I can't really fault him for the job he did as a father to me.

I'm not done yet.  There could be more re-hashing ahead (though, thankfully, it seems to be dwindling).  More revising of previous conclusions.  More letting go.  The Great Working Out continues, and it's all good.  There is no deadline.

      

I Can Die Now

I used to think that if Carlos Nakai - father of the resurrection of Native American Flute music - came to a Potomac Native American Flute Festival, that that would be the pinnacle of my NAF life.  But while he did grace us with his presence several years ago, I realized soon after that the true climax would be if Mary Youngblood, a Grammy winner and my favorite NAF artist, ever accepted our invitation.  And while I hoped it might happen, I doubted it would; she was on the West Coast, and would our festival really ever be able to afford her?

Well, I am here to remind you never to give up hope!  Mary Youngblood was our featured performer at the 9th Potomac Native American Flute Festival's Saturday concert last night and conducted a fun workshop this afternoon on flute embellishments.  She is known for her embellishments, especially her trademark "bark."  She was warm, enthusiastic, and quite personal, and everyone loved her.

Before and after the concert I had the privilege of selling her CDs and music books, and since I am a huge fan, I could assist attendees with their purchases when they needed a recommendation.  It was a blast!  She stood next to me, signing CDs and meeting people.

Mary Youngblood has been here, and another PNAFF is over already.  I can die now.

Less Is More

I'm so tired of the old saw that says no one aspires to be a great short story writer, or its corollary, "No one wants to write the Great American Short Story Collection."  Um, excuse me, over here... ?

The idea is that money/fame/"success" comes from writing novels, not short stories, so who would want to just write stories instead?  Somehow there is the notion that one eventually "graduates" to writing novels and in the process becomes a serious writer.

That may be the view of the publishing industry, and it may be the conventional wisdom among writers that, currently, one can only truly make a living by writing novels.  But it has long been understood by the writing community that the short story is not a dumbed-down, beginner version of the novel, but a completely different form.  Even if one considers writing short stories as training for writing novels, mastery of the short form does not guarantee success with the long.  Many MFA graduates, having gained considerable experience workshopping stories, find themselves at a loss when attempting to write their first novel - because it's not the same thing.

Good coaches put their athletes in the right events, based on their ratio of fast-twitch versus slow-twitch muscles.  Not everyone is built to run a marathon; some are more suited to the 100-yard dash or the 440.  And it may not have much to do with what a runner wants to do. 

Of course, in writing physical limitation is not an issue; one can learn to write novels.  But some writers feel they are built to work in one form more than another, and why should anyone write novels just because they think they have to?

As I've asserted previously, some writers write primarily for the art.  Sure, we'd all like to make a living doing it, but commercial success is a secondary motivation.  I want to write what I want to write, whether or not it gets me any financial gain.

Speaking of which, there are people who are known primarily as short story writers:

Tobias Wolff - my lifelong idol.  He's written one short novel, Old School, and the brilliant memoir This Boy's Life, but otherwise, he has only (meant in the exclusive sense, not as a diminuitive term) story collections to his credit.  If anyone compared me to him, I would consider myself undeniably successful.
 
Alice Munro - long known as a master of the short form, a staple in fiction syllabi.  Highly recommended: her recent collection Too Much Happiness.
 
Amy Hempel - distinctive, spare, startling, deceptively intelligent writing.

William Trevor - while also a novelist, Wikipedia calls him "widely regarded as one of the greatest contemporary writers of short stories in the English language."  Jaw-dropping and deep.

Dave Housley - all right, this one is more of a personal prediction, and I don't know what his aspirations are, but his collection Ryan Seacrest is Famous is certainly an auspicious start.  The stories in this book vary widely in characterization and circumstance, and are full of compassion without being sentimental.  You'll see more of this guy, trust me. 

Writing short stories is not a consolation prize, a lesser skill I'm reluctantly settling for as my lot in life, a cute little hobby - it's a passion.  Have some respect.