Adrift

<p><strong>Julie - "</strong> Getting back to business, I think that this Helen Levitt photograph:<br /> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://unrealnature.files.wordpress.com/2010/02/levitt_color01.jpg" target="_blank">http://unrealnature.files.wordpress.com/2010/02/levitt_color01.jpg</a><br>

_________________<br>

What is the man doing? Why is he holding a piece of cardboard? A lot of homeless use cardboard for bedding, but this man is wearing a jacket. What's that in his left hand? Cigs? The boy seems to know him. Are they related? They are forever, at least for this instant, thanks to Levitt. The picture has chalky colors, lots of bluish UV tints modulating the greens and dark reds. The way the man's torso goes off the bottom of the frame & tends to compress that part of him into 2-D, creating a secondary plane and a formal tension within that one figure, right in the foreground.That, and the darkness of his clothing creates a void into which the viewer can pour himself into the picture.<br>

The boy hangs out at that window often. One can tell not just from his relaxed pose on the windowsill, but because he, or someone else, has swung out of the way the folding barrier once placed over that window to keep him out. Note the angle of the barrier's lattice. Part of it leads right to the boy, and the rest from (viewer's) upper right to lower left. Follow that angle down and it intersects at the decorative blocks with the angle described by the bottom edge of the cardboard the man is holding, forming a kind of arrow " <---- " weighing the composition to the viewer's left, emphasizing the man and boy.<br>

The line formed from the boy's eyes & his left arm leads us to the upper edge of the cardboard and the man's eyes, which we cannot see, but can easily imagine. His eyes are our eyes. His intrusion into the frame is similar to ours. This line, accentuated by the organic forms of their heads and the garbage can lids in the viewer's lower right corner, make an "X" with the shaft of the arrow, leading us in another direction.<br>

The "arrow" leads me in, and strongly vectors me towards the left edge of the frame. The line between the man and boy's eyes is like a vibrating string on another axis. The geometries serve to accentuate the figures, particularly the contrast between the angular and the organic. Yet, they also compete with them. My eye wanders into the resonances of all those rectangles on the plane of the wall, creating in-between spaces in my head.<br>

The rectangular space in which the boy sits is echoed geometrically throughout the frame with other windows, the partitioning to the building's wall, a dynamic, jazzy, interlocking series of vertical and horizontal rectangles that strongly remind me of Mondrian's abstract paintings. This work was well-known and popular at the time. Levitt understood the power of a compositionally sophisticated askewed plane, like a Degas.</p>

<p>[ Before Julie asks, in spite of some of my wording, it's all interaction.]</p>

<p>Julie, I think it would be more productive for you to tell me what's on your mind with these questions so that I can answer them within a context. Otherwise, I might dwell on the difference between "led" and "taken" to no real avail. We'd risk getting into unnecessary minutiae. To be honest, when I used them, I did so interchangeably without much regard for the subtle difference you rightly point out. I use words like that relative to photographs and art because so many people say (I think incorrectly) that art and viewing photographs is subjective. "Art is whatever you want it to be" is one of my least favorite expressions, so I've gotten used to describing my experience always bearing in mind the great role the artist plays in my experience. Many of my art experiences have felt, indeed, like I don't have a choice but to go where I go. Of course, I know I have a part in where I go but that doesn't undermine the feeling of having to do it. One of the ironies of having free will is that sometimes it feels like we don't have it, in a good way. <em><a href="http://www.google.com/search?client=safari&rls=en&q=it+had+to+be+you&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8">It had to be you . . . </a></em></p>

<p>Without a context for your question about "led" and "taken" but appreciating the subtle difference you note between the two words, it's an opportunity to talk about something I think has been missing so far from the discussion. The idea of BASELINE response vs. subsequent reaction. I think many of us will share a BASELINE response to a photograph, image, work of art. Perhaps that's the "I am taken" part. The photographer/artist is responsible for his work and responsible for that response. It's not just magic that happens. That's why the discussions of nuts and bolts. If the artist didn't have the chance to "take" his viewer somewhere, the artist would have no need for nuts and bolts methods of expression and communication. So, yes, as a viewer, I find it great when that feeling of being overwhelmed takes over me while standing in front of a painting or photograph. Nevertheless, that same artist/photographer is also leading me, allowing me a little more rope as it were. And, of course, I have the ability (and sometimes desire) to wander free as well, but often with the sense that at least my "guide" has initiated the journey and led me to a starting gate and path which still shapes the journey.</p>

<p>When you talk about humanness in Weston's nude compared to curiosity in Friedlander's that, to me, is on the secondary order of personal reaction. At that level, unlike you, I find as much humanness in Friedlander's work. And it's not that one of us is right and one wrong. My guess is that if we talked enough about it we'd figure out where our paths diverged and perhaps even why. And we'd also realize that we are, in fact, seeing the same symbolism or whatever it is that got us there and having very similar BASELINE responses only to have different subsequent reactions to those BASELINES due to our own different experiences, cultural milieus, etc.</p>

<p>The "it" that pulls me out of the frame is "the photograph" or "the image." Pulls, in that sense, does not need an agent. Perhaps you'd have to think of it metaphorically, I don't know. In the Levitt photo, it's not the "hand gesture" <em>per se</em> that is pulling me out of the frame. It's the image. That same hand gesture, in another context, would not accomplish the same thing. For me, the gesture relates to the body language of the child, to the suggestion of what's in that window the child sits in, to the muted color palette, to the skew of the building angle, to the suggestive empty space of the rest of the building on the right, even to the non-severe lighting. The texture of the photograph.</p>

<p>As to your third point, bringing in memory is a new twist and, again, I'd want to know what you have in mind. I can see many areas of relevance for memory here, but I didn't have it in mind when I talked about the space beyond the subject and viewer. The space I was talking about was an enveloping rather than simply a connecting space. The photograph can suggest a space even behind me, way behind me. Connection to me seems more limited to stopping at me, not going beyond me.</p>

<p>Since you began with a disclaimer/apology, I might as well call you on your use of "fluff." Seems like an unfortunate choice of words. Especially as you tie it to "inspiration," hardly a matter of fluff. I would hope that we agree that inspiration is one of the most important if not essential tools of a good photographer and artist. And it's not something used <em>instead of</em> nuts and bolts or thought or planning or intentions. While there surely are those instantaneous moments of inspiration, those moments can happen at any time and one can be inspired throughout the process. While one is planning, changing lenses, setting exposure, directing poses, one can do it inspiredly or not. One doesn't have to stop what they are doing to allow inspiration in. And the inspirational moment doesn't have to be the moment of the snap. The ultimate letting go isn't necessarily in that precise instant. It can be the day before, in the recognition of a vision you have, or in the middle of the night when you wake up with a start and a creative idea. The execution of that can be led by your inspired moment and can be as deliberate, intentional, and nuts and bolts as possible.</p>

<p>Allegory, too, is not fluff. It's often how it works. Allegory can, indeed, create space for me. It is a tool as substantive, nonfictional, and real as texture and hand gesture.</p>

<p><strong>Fred responded to Julie: </strong> " When you talk about humanness in Weston's nude compared to curiosity in Friedlander's that, to me, is on the secondary order of personal reaction."</p>

<p>I also find humanness in both Weston and Friedlander's nudes. Humanness covers a lot of ground, and both photographers fit within its scope. To me, the difference between Friedlander's and Weston's nudes is that the latter are overtly <em>intimate. </em> Even those of his own sons. He loves them, and it affects his curiosity. Friedlander's are more than merely curious. I don't see one necessarily as secondary to the other.</p>

<p> </p>

<p>Fred,<br>

　<br>

I'm still not understanding what it is that you mean by most of what you write. Sincerely; I have tried. I will exit this discussion for a while and listen to those who do understand (Arthur? Luis?) as they discuss further with you. Perhaps, from your give and take with others, I'll be able to grasp what you mean. Thank you for trying; I'm just not following.<br>

　<br>

Luis,<br>

　<br>

Your description of the Levitt picture -- beautiful, just beautiful. Like listening to music. I'll add a few minor details that you can weave into your exploration (they may not be apparent in my small scan):<br>

　<br>

The boy is holding something tense between his two hands. A string? A sling shot? I think he and the man are playing, with the cardboard being a makeshift shield from something the boy is throwing or shooting (playfully). Yes, it is a cigarette in the man's hand and his thumb (on that hand) is also holding something else against his palm. I find the man's exposed throat, with his chin tilted back and eyes concealed, to be incredibly vulnerable. Sacrificial, defenseless.</p>

<p>Boy, talk about having the rug pulled out from under you. I thought I'd been having a really good conversation for two weeks now and . . . yikes. Kind of like thinking you're making great, passionate love to someone only to find out you've been alone in the room. Oh well, I guess <em><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1wCtvco1FRU">Masturbation Can Be Fun!</a></em></p>

<p>I used to have problems with the words of some of Leonard Cohen's songs. As time went by and I continued to listen to the outward fabric of his music (which was more approachable and enough to sustain interest) I thought more about it and I think I deciphered some of what that poetry meant. Occaisonally, in the force of conversation among colleagues or friends I say something that others interpret in (to me) odd ways. How could they so misinterpret what was to me fairly obvious? Sometimes they didn't really understand my point, or I theirs. </p>

<p>Much is understood though and useful, and Fred should not be discouraged that another, ostensibly on the same wavelength for most of the discussion, may tune out for whatever reason (I do think it is sometimes better though to simply disengage quietly and come back later, like in my simple Leonard Cohen experience). The interplay eventually may go beyond masturbation, although Galt MacDermott's Hair did express the attraction of both. </p>

<p>It remains that sometimes we are communicating mostly with the only one who understands our points. It is like the evening(s) I once spent with someone(s) I wished to attract. Everything is going fine, it's natural and very compelling; you are responding to the other, when the person suddenly looks at their watch. Evening over. At those times I used to head over to my favourite late-night record store and buy and then listen to something I had been desiring to hear and enjoy.</p>

<p>Maybe we turn off occasionally and don't really listen to others, or listen with our own preconsidered interpretations. For instance, what Julie sees in the Levitt image evidently pleases her greatly. In that particular case, I take away almost nothing from it. I cannot ascribe to it what was described. We certainly have diffrent antenna for beauty, or for the surprising and significant, and different signal processors. So be it. It is not because of Ms Levitt. I have liked much of her B&W work of earlier years, when I felt she was really undestanding and portraying street life. </p>

<p>Perhaps some forum topics might be presented in parts for periodic re-evaluation. The first would be stopped at some point, by agreement of the poster and all, and set adrift until some time later (week, month) when the second part might appear, when everyone has digested the first and comprehended some of the points that had been obscure and ready to continue upon the progress of the first. </p>

<p>My last paragraph is not meant as a suggestion that the present topic adopt that scenario. I was referring to a general case and also thinking of some of my own topics that became moribund, although in some cases saved by new ideas of others.</p>

<p>Funny that you should mention Leonard Cohen, Arthur. I've been listening to the beautifully dark <em>Songs of Leonard Cohen </em>for three days now. Listened to the entire album on the Ipod ( then you can really pay attention to the lyrics ) while doing the dishes and the necessary household stuff, there was no hurry and things got done, while I visualised the words and the lines into images, moods, feelings...that I must make into photographs somehow. One of my favorites, from <em>One of Us Cannot Be Wrong</em> :</p>

<p>An Eskimo showed me a movie <br />he'd recently taken of you: <br />the poor man could hardly stop shivering, <br />his lips and his fingers were blue. <br />I suppose that he froze when the wind took your clothes <br />and I guess he just never got warm. <br />But you stand there so nice, in your blizzard of ice, <br />oh please let me come into the storm.</p>

<p>Phylo,</p>

<p>I love those lines too. He's on a world tour, I think, to fund his retirement. The voice is raspy now, but the words are as clear as when written. Hallelujah was sung by the Albertan songstress K.D. Lang to great effect, at the opening ceremony of the winter Olympics last Friday.</p>

<p>Great idea to be inspired by such poetry for images.</p>

<p>Well, maybe nice to add this as well. Thanks, Leonard!</p>

<p>"I did my best, it wasn't much<br />I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch<br />I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you<br />And even though<br />It all went wrong<br />I'll stand before the Lord of Song<br />With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah, Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah, Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah, Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah, Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah, Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah, Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah, Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah, Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah"</p>

<p> I can't speak for anyone here, but it's a shame that this fine thread should come to this. At times it came close to evaporating into the aether, other times it careened out of control, like a school bus on black ice, with wild sawing at the wheel. From where I sat, I must have blinked, because I missed this big disconnect. Julie and Fred were appearing to communicate with each other and others here.</p>

<p>Not Navi-style, pony-tail to pony tail soulmate stuff, but in the usual somewhat messy, purely human manner, complete with lacunae and some misunderstandings. I wish Julie wouldn't flee this thread because in spite of all that may have been missed, nothing will be more sorely missed than her wild combination of broad-based (no pun intended!) deep insights and nuts-and-boltsyness. I also trust that Fred will continue. It's his thread, and it has taken us to some interesting destinations. Personally, ironing out some of the details that Julie was mentioning would have slowed down this psychic torrent and allowed us to catch our breaths. Our brainstorming often gets away from us.</p>

<p> We forget sometimes that although we all use cameras and light as a medium, we are very different people, with a wide variety of interests and no shortage of character. I recall that Fred wanted discussions a la Dada or like those in Paris or the Cedar Club? This is what they were like, and much worse, but in person and well-lubed with libation (s) they were quite different. </p>

<p>A lot of art requires that one be able to immerse him/herself in the other. Many ideas we get fleetingly, and/or in successive approximations.</p>

<p> Anyway, I just want to say that I've certainly appreciated what Julie, Fred, Arthur, and most contributors to this thread have to say, and wish and hope it can continue. I agree with Fred that we have much more in common and are closer to each other in understanding than we think.</p>

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