Blog Prompt #20

An image of a synthetic place:

One synthetic place that holds a lot of memories for me is the Pirate's Cove miniature golf course in Traverse City. Designed to look like an old pirate hideout, with pieces of driftwood and parts of "ships" making up the structures, it creates an interesting imaginative oasis in the midst of the heavy traffic and bustle of Traverse City during the touring season.

An image of a fantasy, fictitious environment from my imagination:

As a kid, I played in a variety of different imaginary worlds, some one within the other, which is kind of strange, but I know I enjoyed it. One of these worlds was the fictitious land of Benselot, where my cousins and brother often played. It encompassed the entirety of my Uncle's farm, but we had divided it up into regions: there was the fort (a ramshackle lean-to we found in the woods), the palace (the old barn), the pixie forest (my uncle's truck graveyard), twisted tree forest, and others. Each place was vividly alive for us, and I think it would be fun to take some photos that combine what is really there with what we imagined.

An image of a placeless space:

This would be hard to do. I suppose some kind of void-like space would be ideal--something stark, or so full of information that there is no sense of space. This would be really hard to photograph! I would have to photograph something that was metaphoric of the internet--a highway? Eh, that's not very original. Perhaps a spider web.....

An image of a public space:

I think that a slow shutter speed, in a location that a lot of people frequent, would make an effective photo of a public space. Or, a place where a lot of DIFFERENT kinds of people gather, emphasizing the diversity of the space's inhabitants would draw attention to its universal use.

An image of a private space:

Something small and close up. The photo would need to feel framed in, I think. Maybe a photo of a chair, or a corner somewhere. Someplace that would emphasize closeness, either to the viewer, or in proximity with other things. Or, even a photo of a diary would indicate a private space of the mind.

An in-between space:

When I think of nomadic lifestyles, I often think of the college student. We spend so very little time in one place, that we never fully settle--at least, this has been my experience. Even when we set up a room, there is a temporary feel to it. Things end up in piles instead of filed away, furniture is light or second-hand. There is no permanence to a college student's abode. And I feel that this is a natural thing. I think a photo of my own room or apartment would be a good indicator of a nomadic lifestyle--I have virtually nothing on the walls, and all my paintings are instead stacked on the floor, leaning against walls. It looks like I'm in the process of either moving out or moving in at all times. The perpetual presence of an air mattress in the middle of our living room speaks to the nomadic lifestyle of our friends as well, as does the trunk of my cousin's car, which always contains an overnight bag with toothbrush. I myself have started carrying around a toothbrush and fork in my own bag. You never know when you're going to need them. Or where you're going to go next.

Blog Prompt #19

One thing that I believe should NOT be photographed would be people who are having sex. I mean, I've heard of people having done it before, and I know that paintings have been done of it as well, but I feel that this is a private matter, and it trivializes the sex act as entertainment for someone else. I also find images of people being tortured to be disturbing and believe that there is something sadistic about making another's suffering into art that will be viewed as such. I know that images from Guantanomo Bay have created awareness about the conditions there, and sparked protest at least, if not reform. I guess the difference lies in whether the photos are taken to be artistic or as documentary evidence. And of course, I suppose that prompts the question, how do you know the difference?

What cannot be photographed? This is a tough one. I really can't imagine anything these days that cannot be physically photographed. Even outer space and the deep ocean can be photographed. I guess the only places that people are not allowed to photograph would be the interiors of holy places that are guarded against people entering or taking pictures.

There's really nothing that I don't want to photograph. I suppose that I'm uncomfortable with the idea of photographing full nudes, but if a concept called for it, I think it could be done tastefully. Other than that, I find most things interesting and worthy of a picture.

Blog Prompt #18

“Photography, as we all know, is not real at all. It is an illusion of reality with which we create our own private world.” Arnold Newman

Illusions. In a way, life is kind of one big illusion. We can say that as we get older, we can understand another's perspective better, and become more worldly, with a broader view of our place in society; but the truth is, we will never be able to fully understand another person, in every respect, because we are forever in our own bodies. We can never enter another person's body, so it's really only possible to see the world from one perspective: our own.

Enter photography: it would seem that through photography, we could actually enter into another's world and see things from their perspective. I would even argue to support this view. But I have to agree that although we are seeing an image, in a sense, through a pair of eyes not our own, this is not a "real" image. We're not really there. It is an illusion of reality.

All photography is. What we take photos of, what we capture by a camera, is real, but the images themselves are not. We surround ourselves with photographs of memories--people and places, all real to us. It's interesting that we consider these to be evidence of reality, when the images are in fact only illusions. We surround ourselves with things that are impressions, with things that are not real, in order to remind ourselves that what we've experienced, and who we are, are real.

Blog Prompt #17

"I believe in the imagination. What I cannot see is infinitely more important than what I can see.” Duane Michals

Another quote from Duane Michals. I think I've retained a good deal of my childhood imagination--to quote a friend of mine, I feel as if I've managed to maintain a child-like sense of wonder and curiosity without having let my imagination morph into a kind of "creative sarcasm" to be employed in my current circumstances. It's the mark of an artist to be able to envision something that's never been done before, or to see something that's never been made, and then to actually go out and make it. It's the mark of a GREAT artist if what is made actually corresponds with the vision.

And art itself relies so much on what is implied. We can't see the exact lines made by a person's glance, yet we follow them. Often what makes an image so powerful to an individual is the ability it has to make the viewer imagine him or herself actually in the image, as a part of it. And an individual's interpretation as well requires the imagination to apply the image to their own life.

It is the connections made by human imagination that make any image meaningful, and in this respect, it is the unseen qualities--the implied qualities--that count for more in art than the obvious. In my experience, great art is never obvious. It takes imagination to not only make art, but view it, and gain anything from it.

Blog Prompt #16

“I think photographs should be provocative and not tell you what you already know. It takes no great powers or magic to reproduce somebody's face in a photograph. The magic is in seeing people in new ways.” Duane Michals

I agree with this. Photographs, and any image, any work of art for that matter, should provide the viewer with a unique perspective on something. It should force you to consider the mundane in a new way. Art is about finding the unique, the unexpected, in the things we consider to be ordinary. Photography's strength comes when it is able to convey the unexpected in something we can see with our own eyes in real life. Since photos make an exact copy of something, the only way they can be art and separate themselves from simply documenting something, is to show that something in a new way--either in a new light, or a new perspective. Photography is one of those mediums where the "how" is not as obvious as the "what," and because of this, I know that I for one tend to focus more on exactly what the photo is showing, rather than the technique being used, with the "how" only a vague question in the back of my mind. For this reason, I am struck first by the image's portrayal, or perspective on the subject.

Anyone can take a photo these days. It's the photographers who can bring out something new in a subject that have found the "art" in photography, and have captured something truly provocative.

Recreation

This is a recreation of a dream I seem to periodically have, or at least, the kind of dream that I have. I often have this dream where I'm trying hard to get somewhere, but something keeps preventing me from being able to stand up or see clearly, and I spend the dream trying desperately to get somewhere, but unable to walk without stumbling, and never able to clear my eyes in order to see where I'm going. To make this image, I used a sheer curtain of my roommate's, and put it over the lens. I got down on the floor and tilted the camera to the extreme, dizzying perspective I always seem to have this dream from. The light was important to include, since in my dream, there's often some kind of harsh lighting that exacerbates the problem of being unable to see clearly. I hoped to create an image that was as disorienting and frustrating as possible.

Contemporary Photographer Research

Emmet Gowin, Old Hanford City Site, Hanford Nuclear Reservation, near Richland, Washington. 1986

Emmet Gowin was born in 1941 in Danville, Virginia. He received his BFA in Graphic Design from Richmond Professional Institute in 1965, and then obtained his MFA in photography from the Rhode Island School of Design (RISD) in 1967. While there, he studied under the photographer Harry Callahan, and was heavily influenced by him.

Gowin is widely known for his landscape and aerial photography, and his documentation of human influence on the environment. He addresses the "global impact of pivot irrigation, natural resource mining, military occupation, and weapons testing"; basically, how humanity has left scars upon the land, and how by molding it to our own uses, we have caused permanent permanent change.

This image, taken in 1986, is a prime example of the mark of humanity on the environment. The image is foreboding, and the city layout, still visible, is eerily devoid of life. The roads, carved into the landscape like a tatoo, juxtapose strongly with the curving, natural lines of the river. The land in the distance is obscure, and the picture is overall one of desolation, due to past human activity in the area. There is very little contrast, and the image is almost entirely a depressing shade of gray.

In order to take this photo, I would assume that Gowin used some kind of airplane to fly over sites in order to photograph them. Research tells me that he also almost exclusively used a large format camera.

Gowin created this image most likely with the intent to comment on the impact of humanity on our surroundings. Sometimes, humanity can have a positive impact--civilizations around the world have found ways to live in harmony with nature. Yet in other times, humanity has been irreversibly destructive. The impression I get from this photo is that it is commenting on this destructive side--sometimes our carefully made plans, as evidenced by the city layout, fall through, and even though humanity can uproot itself and move on, it takes the landscape a little longer to do so. The impression remains on the land, even when the impression of the memory has collectively left our minds.

This is one of the reasons I am drawn to Gowin's work. I come from a town that has a very long and well-documented history, and is also home to a great number of rocks and ledges, which are covered in the carved initials and names of visitors--some as old as the 1800's. The mark of humanity is visible everywhere in my town--from the old mining shafts and decaying brick buildings you can still find in the woods, to these names. Nature is fighting to retake the buildings, but when you carve a name, that is a part of the rock that will never come back. Rocks are worn over time--they never return to their original state. In this way, human impressions on the land don't ever fully disappear. This actually gives me great ideas for some photos to take this weekend.....

http://www.pacemacgill.com/emmetgowin-14-3.html

Historical Photograph Research

Anne W. Brigman, The Heart of the Storm, 1912

Anne W. Brigman was born in 1869 in Hawaii. When she was 16, she moved to California, and trained as a painter, but in 1902 she turned t0 photography. This painting background would serve her well as a member of the art group started by Alfred Stieglitz called the Photo-Secession. In fact, she was the only Western photographer to be made a part of this group. The Photo-Secession strove to promote art photography, and especially photographic pictorialism. In their eyes, how a photographer manipulated an image to achieve a certain end was more important than what was actually in front of the camera. Photography should emulate the painting and etching of the time.

Brigman agreed with this school of thought, but her own images went one step further. Brigman's photos mainly concentrated on female nudes in primordial or natural settings. Her images were very controversial and counter-cultural, in that they emphasized female liberation and embraced "pagan antiquity." One source states that her work has "raw emotional intensity and barbaric strength."

In 1929, Brigman moved to Long Beach, California, and worked on a series of photographs of sand erosion. Brigman, like the other photo-secessionists, employed much burning and dodging, superimposition, and other editing techniques that are common today, but were innovative at the time.

Brigman's goal was to create powerful images of women, and she used the surrounding landscape to emphasize the strength of women in their natural state. The women she photographed took on the characteristics of the trees and rocks they were posed by, and sometimes seem to merge with them. Coming out of the constricting late Victorian period, Brigman's photographs were a declaration of defiance and freedom for women everywhere.

www.getty.edu/art/collections/bio/a1760-1.html

Project Two Written Statements

It was hard to choose between the photos in what I like to call the "noir" photo shoot--it helps when your subject is outgoing by nature and so very expressive. For this particular series of portraits, I mainly tried to use light as a way of framing the figure. The bright lights and dark shadows created an environment for the figure to exist in. In nearly all of the portraits, the figure was situated to one side more than the other, creating an asymmetrical composition. The lighting was dramatic and came from an overhead turned on in a dark classroom. In camera raw, I increased the contrast as high as it would go without losing its aesthetic. In noir films, it is light that often is the most important component in creating a mood or reflecting fear and dread. Similar scenes without dramatic lighting would not convey each "character's" emotion nearly as effectively.

My images can be viewed separately or together, but I think they make the greatest impact when read together. My original idea was to recreate a movie still from a Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers film, with the help of my cousins who love to dance. Unfortunately, neither of them were available, so I had to improvise. I started photographing my brother in an empty classroom, and quite by accident discovered that the old overhead still worked. We turned off the lights, and Tim just started getting into different roles, depending on what wigs he tried on. The high contrast lighting, combined with the various roles he tried out, created a moody image that reminded me of old film noir movies, like "M" and "Double Indemnity." Tim's ensemble, with black tux and white fedora also made for a dramatic image. I tried to photograph Tim in front of neutral backgrounds, in order to put emphasis on the character. Shadows play a prominent role in the photos, and this is fitting considering that this is also an important element of noir films. The characters of each photo represent a wide range of old 30's movie types--the gangster, the monster, the victim. I was trying to think of a way to reproduce Chiascuro (spelling?) lighting using the overhead, so I tried putting a wig on it, and with some arranging, we were able to convey some photos that clearly showed fear with the sinister-looking shadows playing across his face. All of the themes of noir-confusion, dread, fear, danger--each is present in one of these photos, and like a movie clip, the character's emotion is easily read, and supported by lighting.

To create this image, I did some initial sketching, but really it was about creating an environment--or "stage" if you will--that would allow my subject to get into whatever character he wished to portray. I actually did virtually no stage directing. The blank wall actually worked well because it can be interpreted in many ways--it can be seen as a prison wall, or the wall of a warehouse in a dark alley. The overhead projector created a "spotlight" or "searchlight" effect, as if each character had been creeping around in the dark before a light suddenly flashed on them. The wig on the overhead created almost flame-like shadows. That accident turned out to be very exciting, and we tried several characters in this setting.

My goal was to create a photo emblematic of another time, but also reflective of someone who is close to me. Tim is a very theatrical person, so although none of the "characters" which he portrayed are solely reflective of his own personality, the group as a whole is reflective of the creative, energetic person that he is. I wanted the images to be dramatic, and I think the high contrast helped in this.

I like to think that my photos most resemble and are most influenced by the work of Fritz Lang. Lang was one of the pioneers of the film noir genre, and its emphasis on paranoia and moral ambiguity. I like that my photos have a kind of ambiguity to them as well, despite portraying stereotypical character "types." The "gangster" could be a criminal or a sheriff figure, the monster could be a threat or a victim. The man in shadow could be a crook or an innocent bystander. Lang used dark shadows to create a particular mood, and was famous for his unusual camera angles that heightened the anxious feeling of his films. My work uses fairly standard camera angles; however, given the fact that the same model is used in each photo, there is a certain amount of humor, since it is clear that each is an act. They're not nearly as dark, but rather seem slightly more exaggerated--perhaps a commentary on cliched representations of fear and anxiety, when in fact our perception of fear is really only dependent on ourselves, and people cling to cliches in order to define it. Fear is created in our minds, and by no one else. In the same way, anxiety takes many forms, but it ultimately stems from only one source.

Another reading could be the connection between our definition of self and the past, and our use of the past in order to explore and define ourselves. Often, we look to the past in order to compare ourselves and emerge as something different--yet by looking back, we never fully emerge from the past, because the past will leave its influence.

Part two

People seemed to respond positively to my images. Many commented that, given the fact that the same model was used for all shots, there was a kind of "Jekyll and Hyde" (spelling?) effect. They perceived the sequence to be more of a series of juxtapositions, rather than telling a continuous story. I had deliberately made the last two photos larger for dramatic effect, but they did seem to work well as a juxtaposition as well.

Based on the critique, the high contrast of the photos worked very well. The intense darks and lights of each image worked to create a sense of drama and the atmosphere of an old movie. The spotlight, and the shadows created as a result, also made the images strong. These aspects are what worked the best, and I agree.

I would love to do more "film stills." This particular series could definitely be the jumping-off point for the creation of a whole collection of imagined "films," featuring people I know. I grew up on pre-1960 films and musicals; old Hollywood is one of my mom's passions, and my brother and I were watching Bing Crosby, Fred Astaire, and all the others from a young age. So there's kind of a sense of nostalgia with the creation of these too--and humor. It's fun for me.....and the results, with dramatic lighting, can be stunning.

Blog Prompt #15

I really like the idea behind this prompt. I still feel ties to particular places in my hometown, such as the ledges and rocky gorges that I spent so much of my life playing around. Yet, even though I'm not that far away from home, this world that I am in right now is so vastly different, and I'm a completely different person now than I was back then. Back then, I was unsure of myself, not comfortable in my own skin.....now I'm ten times more confident, and completely comfortable with the kind of woman I've grown into. I think it would be a cool double exposure to have myself positioned somewhere on the ledges, with my old self just a shadow, a blur flitting around the rocks, but my present self standing confident and strong on one of the ledges, or looking out from one of the cliffs, unfazed and unhampered by the shadow of my old self.

Blog Prompt #14

To convey the difference between unknown and familiar space, I think there would need to be an emphasis on proximity. An unknown place is mysterious, and therefore a picture taken from far away might express the unfamiliarity of a place best. On the other hand, a close-up photo most powerfully expresses familiarity, since only when a person is completely comfortable with something will they get close to it. Close-ups convey intimacy, and a degree of trust. When I think of places that have been untouched by humans, I think first of all of islands in the middle of the ocean, or deep sea or space. These things are so unattainable to us, and it is fitting then that they are most often photographed with a large depth of field, giving the impression that we are standing far away from it. It's unfamiliar, and there's no way we can be intimate with it. Aerial views, or views from a rock in the ocean surrounding the island would give the sense of not being there, of not being familiar with it or experiencing it.

Blog Prompt #13

One of the most obvious incarnations of land art, in our latitude, would be the creation of snow sculptures--which are, if you think about it, as common as the snow itself. Where there is snow, there are snowmen, snow sculptures, and pictures drawn in the snow. It's interesting that so many people would be drawn to spending time creating something that will not last--of course, in some cases, this spurs people on to create very controversial works, since they know it won't be permanent. I've always been drawn to driftwood and natural objects that have been physically warped by the elements--gnarled trees, polished stones, etc. I think some kind of sculpture created from sticks or woven elements could be interesting to observe, as nature, especially during this time of the year, can be so violent and prone to change. A hut. Or even some kind of figure. Or a combination of snow and natural material. As the snow melts, the structure changes shape--and as the landscape changes, so does the structure. This could be an interesting experiment. And it's something that would be constantly changing, so only photography could prove it held any particular shape at any one time.

Blog Prompt #12

I remember quite a few photographs from my past. One of the most memorable is of my mom's side of the family at Christmastime. It's a very formal picture, with everyone posed symmetrically and filling nearly the entire frame. The photo was taken at my grandparent's house, which hasn't changed at all. It's one of the few pictures we own of that entire side of the family, back when my grandma was still alive, and before all of my aunts and uncles moved far away. Things were simpler back then, and looking at the photo, it's a reminder of a very happy time, but makes me a little sad to look at now. In the photo, I'm a little bowl-haired kid with crooked teeth--I look nothing like the angular, lanky, long-haired individual I've turned into. A reenactment of this photo would be difficult, since some of the family members are no longer alive, while others no longer stay in contact with the rest of the family. If we were to get together now, the facial expressions would be a little more strained, a little less carefree. I would not be seated on my grandma's lap, but would instead probably stand in the back row, as tall or taller than my older relatives. My expression would hopefully be a little easier than the forced smirk I made as a child in the original, but then, considering the changed family dynamic, maybe it would be just as forced as the original.

Blog Prompt #11

One place that I can distinctly remember, and this is going to sound strange to hear it said like this, is my house. This is still my family home, still the place I return to on breaks, but back when I was a kid, it was quite a different place than it is now. So different in fact, it feels like an entirely different house, sometimes. The home from my past was brighter in every respect. There was a distinct summer-y feel about being at home--with plenty of room, a yard that was sprawling and well kept. Grass and big, shady trees enveloping our brick house, sunlight brightly streaming through to light up patches of cement or lawn. If I were to go back and photograph it, the photo would show life--light and the bright colors of carefully planned gardens and children's clothes. Today, this place is much smaller. I can see the top of the roof of the house, the decayed trees, overgrown and wild-looking. I stand in the corner of my driveway, and survey the front yard, once a spacious valley, now a cramped ditch. The plants of the garden have outgrown their plots. The colors of the house, and the surrounding landscape is appreciably grayer. The house is wilder looking than the surrounding suburban plots. A few broken pots line the porch rail, and four, instead of two, cars sit in the driveway. I am alone. Our neighbors can be heard but are too far away to be seen. It is quiet. Faint reflections can be seen in the kitchen window.

Gillian Wearing assignment

Blog Prompt #10

“All photographs are there to remind us of what we forget. In this - as in other ways - they are the opposite of paintings. Paintings record what the painter remembers. Because each one of us forgets different things, a photo more than a painting may change its meaning according to who is looking at it.” ~John Berger


When it comes to the creation of works of art, painting, and drawing, are probably my strengths. I've always been best at the kind of art that is made with the hands--where the hand directly applies the medium to create something. For this reason, I find this quote especially relevant, and a very unique explanation of the differences between painting and photography, which I've thought a lot about lately, actually. Photographs are images that people take predominately to remember; an exact likeness, a moment in time, is captured and preserved in all of its minute detail, in order that the details won't be forgotten. This is why we take portraits of our loved ones--in preserving the detail, we notice and are able to remember things that are not easily stored in our memories. Paintings, then, are the recreation of our memories, and even when using a static model, every painting is the product of imagination, because the second we take our eyes off of the subject we are sourcing to look at the canvas, it is already just a memory. Only photographs can truly capture the real thing. All paintings are memories, some more vivid than others, but no matter how realistic a painting looks, it is still purely the creation of the imagination. No one can simultaneously paint an exact likeness while never removing his or her eyes from the subject. This is a really interesting concept.....in a strange kind of way, it makes me more excited about both disciplines, because I'm seeing them as more unique entities now; not two different ways to do the exact same thing, but two different things that, in fact, do two different things. It makes me wonder if the two ideas can be crossed........

Blog Prompt #9

“You don't take a photograph, you make it.” ~Ansel Adams



I think that I both disagree and agree with this quote. In my opinion, photos are both made AND taken--let me explain the distinction: People who are purely photo "takers" are the kind of tabloid, paparazzi photographers that "steal" or "take" images for the purpose of mass consumption. I would not consider these kinds of photographers artists, per se......yet I don't deny that many photographers in journalism are artists--most photographers are, I think, a combination of taker and maker--however, the difference lies in the consideration put into an image. Even if an image captures a single moment, or an action shot, I feel that a true photographer has a reason for attempting the shot, even if the image isn't "planned." Carefully posed and constructed photographs are of course "made" photos--the photographer planned out the composition and shot with all considerations such as light and contrast worked out, at least rudimentary, beforehand. Yet even the unplanned photo takes a certain eye, I believe, and at least an intuition of composition if not fully formed in concept. Generally, a photographer "makes" a photo, because even the most mundane photos can become something spectacular when "interpreted" by the photographer in the dark room or digitally.

Blog Prompt #8

“My portraits are more about me than they are about the people I photograph.” ~Richard Avedon.

This is an interesting quote, and I think that I have to agree with it. When anyone takes a photo, regardless of the subject of the photo, that photo is the creation of the photographer. A subject can pose and greatly affect a photo, but the photographer is ultimately the one making any major decisions about the meaning. It is the photographer who manipulates the light, focus, and angle, and it is the photographer's vision that is reproduced, literally. As viewers of a photograph, we see what the photographer saw, not the vision of the subject. In this sense, every photograph really IS more about the photographer than the subject, because the photographer chooses to emphasize certain aspects of a subject, and produce an image that speaks more to what the photographer finds relevant. In the portraits I've taken, I've noticed that, although the photos I take seem to convey something about the subject, they even more so convey the kinds of characteristics I find the most important in a person, and as a result, reflect my personal beliefs perhaps more strongly than my model's.

Contemporary Photographer Arthur Tress

http://www.arthurtress.com/

Arthur Tress was born in 1940, in Brooklyn, New York. Tress spent his growing-up years in Brooklyn, and attended Bard College in New York where he studied painting, art history, world culture, and philosophy under Heinrich Bluecher from 1958-1962. Yet his first photographs were taken while he was attending high school, and he continued to take photographs throughout his college years. In 1962, Tress moved to Paris to attend film school, and spent the next 4 years traveling around the world, documenting different cultures. In 1968, Tress returned to New York and became a professional photographer, and had his first solo exhibition. From 1968 on, Tress continued to exhibit and explore the medium, producing such series as The Dream Collector, Fish Tank Sonata, the Hospital series, and his series of male nudes. From 1995-1999 he began work on a series entitled The Male of the Species, and he continues to have his work published in books or be exhibited around the world.

Arthur Tress is well known for his "staged surrealism" and his portrayal of the human body. His photos are dream-like; both anthropological and surreal, uniquely addressing humanity as something both real and constructed. While he was first known for his cultural documentary photographs, he brings an artistic perspective to the documentary concept, imbuing each image with a psychology beyond documentation.

I will provide a link to the photo, since it seems to be unavailable to post, and I didn't want to choose a different photo of his to write about, because this particular photo has everything that I like about his work in it. This photo was created in 1968, as part of his documentary photo series Appalachia. A man sits on a wooden chair turned slightly askew from the photographer, on a rustic porch, with green and almost ornamental vegetation beyond him. Both porch and chair come out at odd angles from the frame, and the subject dominates the central area of the frame. The lighting is natural, and although the subject's hands are worn and veiny, there is a softness in the man's features, and a delicacy in the way he holds the bird to his shoulder. The subject gazes directly at the viewer, and confronts us.

This particular image, one of many documenting life in Appalachia, shows a land and people dedicated to hard work--a people eking out a living in the mountains, but also a people with surprising vulnerabilities. The angle of the chair almost makes it appear unstable, as if mimicking the balance the people of Appalachia must strive for in order to preserve their way of life. The man himself, for all his rough-hewn appearance, has a sensitivity to the delicate bird, seen in the way he handles it--calmly, confidently, and almost protectively.

For this particular series of images, Tress relied on the documentary style he most likely learned from the film school he attended in Paris. The subject almost always takes center stage, directly confronting the viewer. Despite the preparation that probably went into each photo, there is a sense that the images were simply "caught," and are a snapshot of a life or a way of life.

Tress does not seem to say much about his work on his website, but then, his work speaks for itself. Tress sought to document and record various cultures, and chose to shoot images that most reflected the many cultures he encountered while on his travels. These photos had an anthropological use, in that they captured a moment and documented a culture in such a way that a part of the culture became preserved. His photos are of the past, and it is a beautiful, raw, and real one. But more than that, the photos take those moments beyond mere observation.

This is probably why I like his work so much. A history and anthropology buff myself (I was almost an anthropology major), I am fascinated by the way he can condense an entire culture into a few images. His surrealist work is also interesting in that I can't figure out he created these photos--especially his Fish Tank Sonata series (although these are not portraits). He has come up with some very creative ideas, and an avid fish enthusiast myself, I find the concept of the fish tank in some of his photos to be especially interesting and relatable in the symbolism it imbues.