Julia Hetta

Another photographer whose work I discovered via brief involvement with Art + Commerce is Julia Hetta. Working almost exclusively with natural light and long exposures, I find her work to be highly surreal; in some cases in the style of some Surrealist artists from the 1920s, namely Man Ray and Salvador Dali. Her use of rich, deep tones and occasionally eerie portraiture finds me intensely captivated.

My favorite of her photo sets was published in AnOther Magazine in September of 2015, entitled Cushion Volume Down Constrict. I find this set to be one of the most surreal, and almost haunting. 

Cushion Volume Down Constrict, September 2015

Cushion Volume Down Constrict, September 2015

The last two photographs scream Man Ray and Dali, respectively.

Between gorgeous compositions paired with such striking natural light, if ever I was to go down the path of fashion photography, Julia Hetta's work would top my list of inspirational sources.

Where No One Stands Alone, Another Man, Autumn/Winter 2016

William Abranowicz & Henry Miller

At the beginning of October I was briefly in contact with the artist agency Art + Commerce, which lead to the discovery of a few photographers whose work I've come to deeply admire. I had first been introduced to the agency as a fashion photography intern, doing aesthetic research for upcoming shoots. The agency represents some of the most prolific and renowned image makers of this era, and also holds licenses for the estates of artists who have passed on. Stephen Shore, Patrick Demarchelier, Craig McDean, and Steven Meisel are among the artists with whose work I was already familiar; William Abranowicz had been on my radar since my internship.

My attention was first caught by William Abranowicz's The Greek File as I was fresh from a trip to the mythic land myself, and easily captivated by anything Greece-related. Already galvanized by the work of Herbert List (see earlier posts), I was hit with another wave of inspiration upon seeing another monograph dedicated to the place that changed me, not only as a photographer but as a person.

The Greek File: Santorini, 1991

The Greek File: Santorini, 1998

Abranowicz captures the essence of Greece in much the same way that I attempted when I was there. It's so easy to be caught up by the the things you're supposed to see when visiting a new place, but he made an effort to see past the attractions to the stripped-down core of Greek culture. There are no cliched portraits of monuments.

The beginning of the monograph has a beautifully written introduction by Edmund Keeley, followed by an excerpt from The Colossus of Maroussi by Henry Miller. So enchanted was I by Miller's words, that I found a copy of the book, and have been reading it slowly over the past few weeks. The way he describes his time in Greece, the interactions he had with people, the places he visited, especially the overwhelming sense of peace and calm he experienced upon visiting Epidaurus, has continually brought my own experiences flooding back each time I pick up the book. 

"At Epidaurus, in the stillness, in the great peace that came over me, I heard the heart of the world beat. I know what the cure is: it is to give up, to relinquish, to surrender, so that our little hearts may beat in unison with the great heart of the world."

Autumn & Jaques Henri Lartigue

Summer is officially over today, and I'm feeling nostalgic for autumn in New Hampshire. The leaves begin to change, the air is crisp, and it's time to throw on a light jacket while out apple picking or attending a state fair. Autumn in New York is not quite as picturesque, as the heat lingers too long, and there is significantly less foliage.

The light is different in New Hampshire.

I remember first hearing of Jaques Henri Lartigue in college, probably mentioned during my history of photography class. Not immediately intrigued by his (more famous) black and white photographs, he fell into the great pool of photo knowledge sloshing around in the back of my mind. A few months ago, I picked up Lartigue: Life in Color, and I was overwhelmed by the beauty of the French and Italian countrysides and his varied female companions, and by the quality of light he captured, whether in the dead of winter or the last days of summer.

One pairing of images in particular found me unable to turn the page:

Left: Piozzo, September 1956  /  Right: Florette, Piozzo, September 1956

With autumn creeping in, these two photographs seem incredibly relevant. September light, corn being husked and hung; harvest season.

I'm hoping to a make a trip north in the next month or so to be able to capture some of that golden light myself, before we descend quickly into winter. Why is it that this gorgeous, cozy season seems to pass so much faster than the others? I think I'd be happy living in perpetual fall.

Duane Michals and the State of Photography

The GROUND #05

Duane Michals has been on my radar for some time. I wouldn't call him a direct influence, as my work is neither sequential nor typically in black and white, but there's something about his many small series that instill in me a strange sense of nostalgia. 

Nearly a year ago, I was in Manhattan searching for international fashion magazines for my boss and I came across the fifth volume of a hardcover periodical called The GROUND. Michals' image of Andy Warhol was on the cover, and having personally spent [way too much] time researching and writing about the pop artist in college, I picked up the magazine immediately. Michals was interviewed about his place in the world of photography, and the quote in the image above struck a chord with me:

"Photography will end up being a cul-de-sac unless it expands the definition of what a photograph is."

I read a lot of photography criticism, though mostly written by those who are long dead, in dusty, out of print books, so it was refreshing to hear a living photographer's point of view. And he's absolutely correct; while I do believe that the boundaries of photography are always being pushed, at some point everything will have been attempted and we photographers will need to take a step back and reevaluate what it is we're creating. 

Michals goes on:

"All photography will end up being selfies. Because there is no other dimension than the reflection of the ego. I never understood why. I am having trouble with photography, most photography … as long as photography remains describing exterior events… as long as photography is telling me what I already know, I do not care about it."

In a world saturated by images, thanks to the likes of Instagram, Snapchat, and other social media, it's hard to see the value of a photograph. We're bombarded at every turn with imagery, a sad truth for those of us who spent time and money to be professionally trained in the medium, only to graduate into an industry where a proper degree doesn't seem to matter. In the end, what does it take to stand out?

Roosevelt Island

For the last few weeks, I've been riding my bicycle around Astoria to explore new territory I would never make it to on foot. I've been living here for almost two years and there is still so much I haven't seen.

On June 6th, and again this past Friday, the 17th, I traveled on two wheels to Roosevelt Island. The tiny island sits on the East River underneath the 59th St. Bridge that connects Queens and Manhattan. I'd come across the bridge to the island off Vernon Boulevard some months ago but hadn't the urge to explore until now. The island feels like a tiny European town: it is shockingly well maintained and clean, and has its own inclusive community with schools, churches, and a hospital. Most of the buildings are residential, and I recently learned that Cornell houses many of its doctors and scientists there as well. I was most surprised by the number of green spaces the island maintains; little parks and gardens are dotted all along on both the East and West sides.

The most impressive space, however, is the Franklin Delano Roosevelt Four Freedoms Park at the south tip of the island. The architecture is completely constructed with white granite, and there was a palpable sense of calm in the area.

After my first trip, I'd heard about the ruins of the Smallpox Hospital, also on the South tip, and I knew I needed to see it this time. The Gothic Revival structure was designed by architect James Renwick, Jr. in the 1850's and opened to the public in 1956. Renwick also designed Grace Church and St. Patrick's Cathedral in NY and the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, DC. After spending so much time around ruined structures in Greece, the shell of the tiny hospital somehow felt familiar to me.

While it seems I've covered all the ground on the island, I'm sure I will be traveling there again soon to experience that sense of calm this quirky little strip of land brings me.

Revisiting Herbert List

Prior to my trip to Greece, I found unexpected inspiration at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts in the form of a print by Herbert List. I made a post about it here, mentioning that I found myself pouring over a monograph I'd checked out from the library [at my college]. Recently, I've obtained my own copy of The Essential Herbert List: Photographs 1930-1972, and I'm reliving my past inspiration. His work makes me feel as though transported to another place and time, a mark of the best travel photography.

The introduction by Bruce Weber and the following two pieces of analysis by Ulrich Pohlmann and Günter Metken that I've read so far have my mind buzzing. I have always highly valued the history of photography knowledge that I've retained, and reading about some of the most influential masters brought up in relation to Herbert List's work, as well as mention of photo movements, feels like waking up: Henri Cartier-Bresson's decisive moments; Rene Magritte's pictorial mysteries; Breton, Cocteau, and Man Ray, the Paris Surrealists. Bruce Weber mentioned a Swiss cultural journal called Du that published List's work several times, and I'm working on finding a copy.

Through this reading I've also been introduced to a few new artists whose work I plan to investigate: Florence Henri (New Vision, mirrors), Otto Steinert (subjective photography), Edmund Kesting (Ruins: "Untitled (montage)" & "Dresden, 1945"), and George Hoyningen-Huene (fashion photography).

Man and Dog, Portofino, 1936

House and Statue of Kleopatra, Delos, 1937

Further investigations and findings on the work of Herbert List and Jaques Henri Lartigue, writings on photography, photo criticism, and personal travel journals to come.

Mycenae, Epidayros, Arachova, and Delphi

     On Thursday the 12th, we left Nafplio and headed to Epidaurus, an archaeological site and home to a  giant amphitheater with unbelievable acoustics. From any seat in the theater, one can hear a person on the ground in the center speak, but the voices of the audience are muted. It is said that it's not only the shape of the theater, but the limestone it's carved from that creates that effect.

     Epidaurus was a place of healing. People came from all over Greece to this site for medical and spiritual healing. Plays were performed, there were hotels and restaurants, and there was even a place at the far end of the grounds for dream therapy. There is a story of a woman who came to Mycenae for troubles with conceiving a child. The barren woman went to dream therapy, and reportedly had a dream that Asklepios, the god of health, came to her, lifted her tunic, and touched her belly. Months later, she gave birth to a son (by her husband).
     After Epidaurus, Giorgios drove us to Mycenae, the ruins of the first capitol of Greece. After 999 steps at the castle, I have made it my business to scale any hill necessary in our travels, and this was the first since then. The view from the top was really spectacular, and of course I needed a photo as proof I climbed again.

     Before we headed back to Athens, Ioanna wanted to show us the Corinth Canal. 

     As soon as I laid eyes on this sight, I burst into tears. Before I left for Greece, I found a photograph my Papou took when he and my Grandma were here a few years ago, stuffed in their old guide book. My Papou has always had an incredible memory but something's gone wrong and his memory is fading. The photograph was identical to the one above, and he had no idea where it was. I stood on the bridge, unable to speak, and let the reality of everything sink in. I knew I had to document this place, so that when I return home I can tell him myself where he had been.

     Thursday night we made the long journey back to Athens and Friday morning we gathered at the Hellenic American University for a Lightroom class. I just recently took a Lightroom class back at home, so I spent the time adding to what I call my "Holy Grail" photography notebook. I'd printed some of Herbert List's photos (see first post) before I left for Greece, so I pasted them in and looked up biographical information. When class was finished we paraded down to the cafe for lunch, then had the rest of the day to ourselves.
     Saturday morning, the 14th, the group visited the National Archaeological Museum. Ioanna walked us through and gave us the highlights, then we had open time to continue walking around and photographing. I always get antsy in museums after about two hours, so once I got to my breaking point, I left and headed back to the hotel.

     That evening, five of us adventured out for dinner on our own, instead of having another expensive meal with the whole group. We ended up on the main drag downtown, and soon found out that we'd stumbled into the rally and subsequent parade for Athen's Pride! All of us had left our cameras in the hotel and were immediately kicking ourselves for doing so. I had my iPhone and took several photos and videos; my favorite was the first float with people dancing to Cher's Believe. 
     Sunday morning, we piled into another bus and made another long journey to the the little ski town of Arachova. When we were almost there, there was a pull-off on the mountain road that over-looked the sleepy town and valley below and the view was breathtaking. There was a man sitting in a little red car who apparently lived on the side of the hill. His name was George and he took to me immediately, speaking to me in Greek, though I didn't understand, and eventually wrote down his name on a strip of paper for me, followed by his phone number.

     It's off-season right now so the town was very quiet. We checked into the hotel then rode the bus back into town and had about an hour and a half to walk around photographing. There were some interesting sites, and another set of stairs to climb (only 264 this time). Later, we boarded the bus again and made the quick trip to Delphi, and the Temple of Apollo. Ioanna brought us through the museum first and told us about all the facts and myths surrounding the temple, then we ventured out to see it for ourselves. We eventually got rained out and had to make our way back to the bus.

 I thought this statue looked like one of the two from the Never Ending Story that the brave warriors must pass through and I couldn't resist!

     Since we got rained out that afternoon, we decided to head back in that direction Monday morning, and check out the Temple of Athena across the way. For some reason, not much is known about this particular temple, aside from which god it was built for. My mentor, Gary Samson, obliged to take my photo in front of the ruins.

     From Delphi we headed to a monastery for several hours of relaxation. I only took a few photos; instead I concentrated my efforts on writing (and a nap) during my time there. The long dress in the photo above was required for entrance into the monastery's sacred buildings. 

     After the group had rested and reflected, we piled into the bus once more and took the long ride back to Athens. More adventures to come!