Todd Hido is a San Francisco Bay Area-based artist whose work has been featured in Artforum, The New York Times Magazine, Eyemazing, Wired, Elephant, FOAM, and Vanity Fair. His photographs are in the permanent collections of the Getty, the Whitney Museum of Art, the Guggenheim Museum, New York, San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, the de Young Museum, the Smithsonian, the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, as well as in many other public and private collections. Most notably, Pier 24 Photography holds the archive of all his published works. He has over a dozen published books; his most recent monograph titled Excerpts from Silver Meadows was released in 2013, along with an innovative B-Sides Box Set designed to function as a companion piece to his award-winning monograph. Aperture has published his mid-career survey entitled Intimate Distance: Twenty-Five Years of Photographs, a Chronological Album in October of 2016. His next book titled Bright Black World will be released by Nazraeli Press in the fall of 2018.In addition to Hido being an artist, he is also a collector and over the last 25 years has created one of the most notable photobook collections. His library will be featured in Bibliomania: The World’s Most Interesting Private Libraries forthcoming in 2018 by Random House.
You an Orchestra You a Bomb, explores my relationship with life itself. It is a body of work about paying attention to and appreciating the fragile present. It captures moments of awe, makes icons of the everyday, and looks at life on the threshold between magic and disaster. I have always experienced the world viscerally but this work shows a heightened awareness of the temporary nature of life. I’m trying to fathom the sacred in the split-seconds of everyday. – Cig Harvey
The photography master and Larry Clark cohort explains the magic of the printed page
The photography master and Larry Clark cohort explains the magic of the printed page
“I’ve always wanted to make a film on Ralph because I knew it would be a great excuse to a have private class,” says filmmaker David Luraschi of capturing the master photographer Ralph Gibson at work. “Each time I visit I’m hoping to steal his secrets, but I leave his studio with even more questions.”
“Ralph was nine months late on rent at the Chelsea Hotel before he put out his first book and established himself”
Known for his stark Leica-shot work, How to Make a Book unpicks Gibson’s unique talent for shaping the mise-en-page: the laying out of images within a print publication. Carefully juxtaposing unexpected images across double-page spreads, the resultant diptychs create something independent of their separate parts. Gibson began his career in the 1960s assisting influential photojournalist Dorothea Lange and documentarian Robert Frank, and published his first work, Somnambulist, in 1970, a release which launched his print-making career soon after securing Larry Clark’s seminal book, Tulsa.
“Each time I visit Ralph I’m hoping to steal his secrets, but I leave his studio with even more questions”
Luraschi worked in collaboration with Danilo Parra – the Chilean-American director, recognized for his music videos for A$AP Rocky and the Black Lips – and came to know Gibson and his work through his father. “There’s a picture that my dad took of Ralph sleeping in San Francisco in 1961 where you can tell there’s no sheets,” says Luraschi, known for his popular Instagram series of street snaps taken where all of the subjects are captured from behind. “Two of his Leicas were in the pawn shop, and he was nine months late on rent at the Chelsea Hotel before he put out his first book and established himself.”
There are books created by photographers/artists filled with photography and then there are artist’s books that use the photographic image in new ways. Paula McCartney has a new monograph, A Field Guide to Snow and Ice, published by Silas Finch, that is a great example of changing how we look at images and it happens to be one of the most stunning and unique books I have seen in awhile. The book allows for new considerations of looking at photographs in a way that pushes and pulls the viewer, drawing us in and moves us along as we look at all things cold and frozen. The spine of the book detaches from the front cover and the book becomes an installation piece approximately 34 feet in length …..
Flowers Irving Penn
Penn started photographing flowers for the Christmas edition of American Vogue in 1967 and continued to explore the genre for 40 years. His apparent simplistic compositions are void of sentimentality and focus on the detail, form and wonder of each specimen. The images in this title are sumptuously printed, illustrating the objective study in every minute detail. Penn’s preference for blooms, passed the point of perfection, hints at their mortality whilst celebrating each flower’s sensual beauty.
“I myself have always stood in awe of the camera. I recognize it for the instrument it is, part Stradivarius, part scalpel.” -Irving Penn
From one of the best photography blogs out there.
Sometimes you come across work you fall in love with, work that resonates with you in such a deep way, and you begin seeing the world through the lens and point of view of a great image maker. I have been a fan of Cig Harvey’s photographs from the moment I encountered her way of seeing. Cig is a visual painter, creating images that shimmer with color and gesture, that have the punctuation and staccato of red berries, purple finger nails, or a field of fireflies at night. She speaks to memory, to moments, to quiet and beauty, and never loses her connection to the natural world. Her work is a sensory experience, where you feel what she feels when she captured the dapple of summer sunlight on skin or the splash of water that is a color only our memories seem to hold.
Cig recently moved to Maine where she lives with husband and baby. She works as an editorial and fine art photographer and her work has been exhibited widely and is in the permanent collections of many major museums. She was a recent finalist for the prestigious BMW Prize at Paris Photo and recently had her first solo museum show at The Stenersen Museum in Oslo, Norway.
Just now, not three minutes ago, I saw a hummingbird. Clomping down my dirt road in flip-flops, I was lost in thought. The first few paragraphs of this column were dancing through my brain; synapses firing, mentally banging on my keyboard. A hundred yards from my computer, and already I could hear the rhythmic song of plastic on plastic.
Then, I saw the whizzing wings out of the corner of my eye, hovering above the most beautiful orange/red wildflower. I stopped dead, turned my head towards the little creature, and watched. Of course, you can’t see the wings move. Everyone knows that. But the blur is hypnotic.
Suddenly, I could hear a magpie squawking. Then, two different bird calls joined the chorus. Next, the sound of the Rio Hondo behind me, whoosh, whoosh, gurgle, gurgle. A symphonic moment, all thanks to Nature.
Of course, the sounds were there all along. I just didn’t hear them, as I was too busy listening to the voices in my head. Ironically, I was planning to write about the intersection of Nature and religion. I had it all worked out.
Then, I saw the hummingbird, and everything disappeared. I was left with only my immediate surroundings. My mind cleared, and I felt much better than I had the moment before. Now, I’m writing a different column than I would have otherwise.
If you were trite, you might say I had my “Moment of Zen.” (Thank you, Jon Stewart.) To all the urbanites out there, I’ll tell you this: I know it sounds cliché. Mountain guy writes about hanging out with the birds, while your background noise consists of honking horns, cursing neighbors, ice cream trucks, and jackhammers working on the roads. (I think they were hammering on Canal St. the entire time I lived in NYC.)
Or, maybe you’ll think something else. “Wow, that sounds amazing. I wish I could live in such a pretty place.” I tell you, we have problems here just like everyone else. Violence and poverty and addiction and wildfires. And you can’t get a decent slice of pizza to save your life, even if you have mad cash like Mikhail Prokhorov.
With respect to the idea of Zen, though, I think it’s worth taking a step further. Art communicates information. (For once, I state the obvious.) Information is a general term: it can mean ideas, of course, but also emotional energy. We’ve been through this before.
Most of time, we tend to focus on the Art that shakes us: dynamic, baroque evocations of Environmental disaster, sexual trafficking, or death. Things like that. Everyone’s always talking about whether Art can change the world, or how images of War are so important for our general body of knowledge. All true.
But how often do we talk about Art that will simply change your mood? Is there value in a photograph, if it only slows you down, soothes your mind, and hijacks your brainwaves away from anxiety or fear or exhaustion, if even for moment?
Minimalism and abstraction have been around for a long time. (The former was popular in China 800 years ago, and the latter evolved in painting a Century ago.) Personally, I tend to prefer my minimalism Sculptural, in the Donald Judd or Carl Andre style. Minimalist photography is not normally my thing.
So I was pleasantly surprised to see Uta Barth’s new book, “to draw with light,” recently published by Blind Spot. Slowly tease the simple hardcover out of its matching slip-cover, and the world’s noise begins to melt into the background.
The volume is broken down into three sections, each displaying a very narrow range of imagery. The first, my favorite, connects to the title. Curvilinear, wave-like forms of white light are depicted on luminescent, white curtains. Again. And again.
One person’s seductive beauty is another person’s “boring as hell,” but hear me out. One minute, I was stressed out about having to write this column, not sure I had the proper creativity-juice-cocktail today. The next moment, my mind was still. I felt better.
The photos are unquestionably beautiful, and simple, lacking any over-arching socio-political message. If you asked the artist, she might not discuss the Zen qualities, the hint of Buddhism. Or perhaps she might. It doesn’t matter.
The other two sections are similar. The second depicts white light on white studio cabinets. The final returns to the curtains, this time interjecting solarized images with the normal ones. Not my style, as I’ve seen a few too many student-cell phone-solarizations to find the tactic worthy of such a major artist. Little matter. I’ve had my few minutes of peace for the day, and have emerged thankful.