Anyone else who is a fan of particular artists knows the obsession for certain exhibits. I've been a longtime admirer of Francesca Woodman (who I last wrote about on the Chris Townsend book for American Photography in 2007) so I've been waiting for the exhibit at Guggenheim in New York (March 16 – June 13). Then last week I had a time-gap that I spent in in San Francisco, where a large-scale retrospective of Woodman's work is currently on display at SFMOMA, for an early close-up.



It's the first major U.S. Exhibition of the artist's work in two decades; which feels surprising when you register her influence within female self-portraiture, as well as the impact of her body of work within its limited time frame. Woodman had graduated from RISD only one year before her suicide, at the age of 22, in 1981; the photos on display at SFMOMA now, like those in several published monographs of her work, consist of images during her undergraduate MFA (in Rhode Island and study-abroad in Italy), and her one year in New York.





One of the debates in criticism of her work follows whether or not she was a student, still struggling to find a principle or grounding, or if she was a prodigy, who had already found that grounding and almost positively would have expanded it to greater territory. Considering the influence of her work since then, and the fact that whatever mysterious element in her work has since inspired lengthy critical discussion, monographs, and now large-scale exhibits of the type now at SFMOMA, you kind of just imagine she was both.




Woodman's work draws us into dimension that is both intensely personal and obstructed, by the sense of the artist moving in and out of frames, in a universe that she's created and that we're allowed to observe. The sense of capturing while avoiding being witnessed might be the main element that's inspired her followers since then. It's in the way we're brought into her Alice-in-Wonderland universe – the female form lost in cupboards, passing within and without interior landscapes, ever-conscious and ephemeral.



And because space and dimension have such significance in her work, the retrospective now at SFMOMA and soon at Guggenheim are amazing to wander around in. In earlier work, Woodman limited herself to small-prints to allow a sense of intimacy; in her final year at RISD, she created larger works and, in New York, blueprint printing processes on a more expanded scale. You can love her work in print version, but exhibition shows you a better sense of what she was trying to accomplish within scale. There's the small and intimate display of moments in print-books while at RISD, with her blurred presence hidden within architecture, and the larger cyan prints from New York, where the figure fits full-frame.




The photos here are from a series that I particularly love by Woodman, “Some Disordered Interior Geometries.” Of the ones she put together, this was the only artist book published in her lifetime. It's small-capture on printed pages in Italian on geometrics.



Later critical review included “deranged,” “bizarre,” “peculiar,” a “three-way game,” “strange distance,” yet “we are the richer for it." (Which, when you think about it, feels like the necessity/fault of criticism. It brings out concepts that might have been discreet for the viewer, but generalizes awareness instinctive to the artist.)

Woodman never had the chance to respond to that critical view, and maybe that is what makes her work so significant. It was her own interior world, uninterrupted by contextual influence, and years later, remains important as a universe unto its own. It still registers in terms of the impact of space, and her work may have the most impact in how little you can tell (about what that space means to her).

Video of the Month Club

What You Pay For

In 1997, I liked the internet because it let me stay up until 3 a.m. on school nights, talking to people I couldn't sneak out to see. In 2000, I liked the internet because it let me listen to songs I wouldn't hear anywhere else. In 2003, I liked the internet because it helped me find sources for academic essays I wouldn't necessarily find through bibliographic references; in 2004 I liked the internet because it told me where I was supposed to be at 7 o'clock.

In 2006, I liked the internet because it occasionally earned rent. In 2007 I liked the internet because it helped me find the photo projects I became increasingly obsessed with finding. In 2008 I stopped knowing if I liked the internet or if it had just become the new virtual organ of the world, like Stelarc's robatic third arm

In 2009 I ceased to question, in 2010, I tried to escape, in 2011, I believed that in the end it would turn us all into conspiracists. We're approaching the end of the world, supposedly, at the end of December, so it's possible there will be no opinions to be had, on the internet, on the internet.

My favorite Tumblr blog is Nevver.com, by Peter Peteski, which uploads film stills with uncorrelated MP3 tracks.

A book I liked in 2006 was Still Moving by Steven Higgins (MoMA; 2006).

If film stills are their own art, like stop-motion is its own art on the opposite end of the cage, it's the art of taking the instant out of a narrative, and reconceptualizing it beyond the narrative. I like Peteski's blog because he takes that film moment out of its context but also gives it a new soundtrack. He makes two unrelated works of art into their own, independent, multidimensional (if virtual) reality.

The issue of reproducing artwork across mediums comes up in media more as a case of rights-issues (such as Shepard Fairey and the Hope poster conflict). The reality of it for many, in our Stelarc third-arm virtual universe, is that art's availability in a medium we now put our work in (virtual), allows us to display that work in a way that directly relates to art's contact.

I still obsessively seek out photography on the internet, and today I found an Adirondacks-region photographer named Nathan Farb, who has a series, "Summer of Love," shot in b&w mostly here on the EV/LES in the '60s:

Nathan Farb

I found his work because I went onto youTube to find a song that I felt like listening to, because I didn't have my iPod on me:



(Farb allows download of his images for computer desktop images, so I'm going to be looking at the Fat Lady of Avenue C for awhile when I wake up in the morning.)

His series is looking for a publisher, and I hope he finds one. His capture of downtown Manhattan is all odd moments, like Eno's song is itself an odd moment; having them put together (multidimensional reality) makes it feel, in a personal way, more alive.

Still checking the internet [until 2012, obviously, when it all becomes conspiracy.]

More exciting news in high school sexual politics

Not about my high school (fortunately).

Jezebel.com linked to a story today about a high school student in Texas who was booted off of her cheerleading squad recently for refusing to cheer on basketball player Rakheem Bolton during his free-throws. Her reasons for this? The player in question, Bolton, along with two other students, sexually assaulted her after a post-game party in 2008. He was convicted on a diminished charge and ended up with probation, a fine, and hours of community service. But he's still allowed on the basketball team and since the female student (known as H.S.) won't cheer for him personally, she's not cheering for the school.

Ms. (who intially reported it) has the full story as well as a petition for the cheerleader, and contact information for the school's superintendant and current principal. I signed, sent an email, and fully support the student; the rights on this are incredibly out of order, so I encourage anyone who runs across this to sign it as well.

On the promenade, close to sunset

Reverse negative scans from the East River. This was around dusk in mid-July. The air was a bit humid and like always at sunset, a mild fog rising up from the waterfront; I photographed alongisde the promenade down the underpass, until it got too dark, and then turned around and walked home.

Capture Brooklyn

powerHouse held an exhibition, "Capture Brooklyn," as part of the NY Photo Festival last weekend. They had about fifty photographers on display, and it was pretty awesome to see. New York is a difficult place to photograph even for New Yorkers, and I think photographers who live here would understand what I mean by this, whether or not they agree. However you're instinctively drawn to photograph the place where you are in the moment you're in it, you're conscious of the fact that it might have been (or definitely has been) photographed thousands of times before. Which sometimes leads to brilliant new perspective (see the last post on Jonathan Smith) or to repetition (see Flickr). But better still it leads photographers to dig out corners that most people haven't seen, and the reason why "Capture Brooklyn" was great is because it was a collection of great photographers and also great explorers.

Here are a few highlights. I found Carol Dragon's work and then found her website: She lived in Red Hook for a year in the '80s, left without being very interested in the neighborhood, and then four years later returned and has been photographing it since. You can see her work on this on her site. She has also taken some wonderful photos in the area around Stillwell Avenue in Brighton Beach, including of the annual Polar Bear club that jumps into the (freezing) water at New Years. Here is one that I love:


And Massimo Cristaldi, an Italian photographer who does amazing night photography.
He has mostly done this in Italy but has photographed Brooklyn as well, and you can see his photos of this on his site


Nathan Kensinger, is a New York photographer who is obviously devoted to exploring all unseen things in general. His site is kind of an encylopedia of cool historic buildings in New York's outer boroughs, and also across the country. I love this one, which was taken inside of the Domino Sugar Factory...




...looking out on the bridge. Which is a reminder that every landmark has a million viewpoints, and the point of perspective is what's important. Which is more or less what Capture Brooklyn was. The exhibit (I think) ended with the festival, but the participating photographers are still listed on the site.

Untold Stories

Maybe it's from being raised on Raymond Chandler novels, but I am perpetually drawn to all things steeped in noir: my bedroom is wallpapered with printouts of Crewdson, Atget, and Michael Wolff's "Transparent City." And, as of this week, with photographs from Jonathan Smith's Untold Stories, which opened last Thursday at Rick Wester Fine Art in Chelsea, and are on display through November.


I had the chance to interview Smith for the October Pop Photo last month, not for this series but for his Bridge Project. (The article's not up online yet, but the issue is on the stands.) The Bridge Project, as Smith described it, was an archival task: rather than capturing New York City Bridges themselves, he was interested in their context, from different viewpoints in more obscure locations, as an unchanging backdrop to the city constantly in flux. They're fascinating from this perspective partly because you rarely see bridges captured in this way, but more so because of their voyeuristic component. You're conscious of the photographer traveling through the city, documenting scenes as a detached witness: such as a wedding, kids playing on a sandhill, an anonymous residential garage.

Untold Stories is more suggestive, with its cinematic stills of nightlit strangers posed in uncertain settings, an underpass, through the window of a motel. But it also includes photos that are in their way archival, city-at-night, viewed from obscure vantage points; capturing a certain aspect of New York which is, always, a city of voyeurs, whether by choice or accident.

I'm posting a few of my favorites below, but if in the city, it's far better to stop by the gallery and wander around, paint in the narrative, and fill in cracks. The gallery is located at 511 West 25th Street.