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Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Favorite Photobrooks of 2013
That time of year again. I saw many great brooks in 2013 and as always it was very tough narrowing down my choices to a short list. Here are my favorites, listed below in no particular order:
Gingham's Brook, Worcester, MA
This garishly bright creation has an energy and handmade feel that mischievously plays with notions of still life and whitewater. As far away from traditional riparian structure as you can imagine, but oddly intoxicating. Various holes and eddies allow Gingham's Brook to revisit its own past without ever seeming anti-diluvian.
Foster Creek, Durango, CO
Foster Creek splashes into the international scene while stretching the boundaries of what a brook can be, quite literally. A beautiful, lyrical artist's stream, composed primarily of glacial melt and exhibiting great craft and a poetic vision, full of sentiment without being sentimental, not to mention plenty of sediment. Streaming will never be the same again after this brook.
Cottingham Beck, Wales
A fine example of how powerful and expressive small streams can be when the stake is personal, Cottingham Beck beckons both the angler and the casual picnic with equal flair. Daisies and ferns introduce botanical relief while emphasizing the sort of thoughtful touch that separates landmark brooks like this from the common gravity-led rabble.
(Untitled) Rivulet, Giverny, France
A lot of brooks are made about the creek's relationship with the ocean. This is one of the more intelligent and interesting in an aquatic sense. One of the few seasonal rivulets to make the list, this poignant meditation on gravity and memory is as evocative as it is beautiful.
Yat-K00 Run, Mongolia
A natural dell brilliantly reimagined as an artist brook, this minor freshet perfectly encapsulates the ephemeral beauty of nature. Yat-Koo Run pulls back the digital curtain and teases apart the possibilities of the image in the 21st century while careening down its sobering journey through the back trails of Western Mongolia. The surrounding deciduous canopy invites viewers to wade right in while affirming that one can't judge a brook by its cover.
Cripple Creek, Flint, Michigan
A beautifully produced volume of water from one of the true original voices in hydrology, Cripple Creek buffers a dying auto city and offers an affecting portrait of America struggling in the face of depletion and worn-down dreams. Water flows through a land of modern ruins and ancient mysteries that never offers solutions, only questions and riddles. The third brook from this waterway is a truly original vision and once again hits top form on its inevitable course downward to stasis.
Regal Rush, Queensland, Australia
What a pleasure to discover this well produced and designed brook nestled at the bottom of the world. Regal Rush may not have the velocity or flash of its peers, but its calm pooling effects allow the viewer to discern a level of polish and personal reflection too often missing from today's common rindles. Make no mistake, gravity's hand is at work. But also the imprint of natural genius. A promising debut.
Upton Brook, Darjeeling, India
The tireless and brilliant Upton makes the list yet again. This special edition coursing with rocks and assorted ephemera abuts a beautifully tipped in slope, allowing the current to become as visceral as it is transgressive. The unbound design unlocks Upton Brook's latent aquatic characteristics, allowing it to flow inevitably and cathartically downstream like, well, a river to the sea.
Gingham's Brook, Worcester, MAThis garishly bright creation has an energy and handmade feel that mischievously plays with notions of still life and whitewater. As far away from traditional riparian structure as you can imagine, but oddly intoxicating. Various holes and eddies allow Gingham's Brook to revisit its own past without ever seeming anti-diluvian.
Foster Creek splashes into the international scene while stretching the boundaries of what a brook can be, quite literally. A beautiful, lyrical artist's stream, composed primarily of glacial melt and exhibiting great craft and a poetic vision, full of sentiment without being sentimental, not to mention plenty of sediment. Streaming will never be the same again after this brook.
A fine example of how powerful and expressive small streams can be when the stake is personal, Cottingham Beck beckons both the angler and the casual picnic with equal flair. Daisies and ferns introduce botanical relief while emphasizing the sort of thoughtful touch that separates landmark brooks like this from the common gravity-led rabble.
(Untitled) Rivulet, Giverny, FranceA lot of brooks are made about the creek's relationship with the ocean. This is one of the more intelligent and interesting in an aquatic sense. One of the few seasonal rivulets to make the list, this poignant meditation on gravity and memory is as evocative as it is beautiful.
Yat-K00 Run, Mongolia
A natural dell brilliantly reimagined as an artist brook, this minor freshet perfectly encapsulates the ephemeral beauty of nature. Yat-Koo Run pulls back the digital curtain and teases apart the possibilities of the image in the 21st century while careening down its sobering journey through the back trails of Western Mongolia. The surrounding deciduous canopy invites viewers to wade right in while affirming that one can't judge a brook by its cover.
Cripple Creek, Flint, Michigan
A beautifully produced volume of water from one of the true original voices in hydrology, Cripple Creek buffers a dying auto city and offers an affecting portrait of America struggling in the face of depletion and worn-down dreams. Water flows through a land of modern ruins and ancient mysteries that never offers solutions, only questions and riddles. The third brook from this waterway is a truly original vision and once again hits top form on its inevitable course downward to stasis.
What a pleasure to discover this well produced and designed brook nestled at the bottom of the world. Regal Rush may not have the velocity or flash of its peers, but its calm pooling effects allow the viewer to discern a level of polish and personal reflection too often missing from today's common rindles. Make no mistake, gravity's hand is at work. But also the imprint of natural genius. A promising debut.
Upton Brook, Darjeeling, IndiaThe tireless and brilliant Upton makes the list yet again. This special edition coursing with rocks and assorted ephemera abuts a beautifully tipped in slope, allowing the current to become as visceral as it is transgressive. The unbound design unlocks Upton Brook's latent aquatic characteristics, allowing it to flow inevitably and cathartically downstream like, well, a river to the sea.
Saturday, December 14, 2013
Friday, December 13, 2013
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
The Void
Eugene has been blitzed the past week by a serious arctic system. Since last Wednesday the temperature has not emerged above freezing, plunging into single digits and lower (Fahrenheit) every night.
I know what many of you are thinking. Big deal. That's winter. But for Eugene it's quite unusual. We're used to mid 40s, overcast, and wet. Instead it's been sunny, white, and frigid. The snow which fell last Friday normally would've normally melted by now. But it has lingered for days. The city doesn't plow or use salt, so the streets are still white and frozen as I write this on Wednesday morning. Schools have been closed for 5 days. Every day the forecast promises a thaw, but every day that future thaw date is extended further. It's like the friend who says he needs a couch for the night. He never announces when he will leave exactly. Surely it can't be too much longer? But every morning he's still there.
I know what many of you are thinking. Big deal. That's winter. But for Eugene it's quite unusual. We're used to mid 40s, overcast, and wet. Instead it's been sunny, white, and frigid. The snow which fell last Friday normally would've normally melted by now. But it has lingered for days. The city doesn't plow or use salt, so the streets are still white and frozen as I write this on Wednesday morning. Schools have been closed for 5 days. Every day the forecast promises a thaw, but every day that future thaw date is extended further. It's like the friend who says he needs a couch for the night. He never announces when he will leave exactly. Surely it can't be too much longer? But every morning he's still there.
On the plus side, I've gotten a good chance recently to shoot snow. In monochrome, snow is an endless playground. It's so malleable. If you shoot it one way it can be snow. But look at it from another angle and it's the void. It's pure negative space. So I've had fun the past few days mixing sky and snow and content and emptiness up in formal stew barely recognizable as Eugene. It's my familiar haunt but every corner is brand spanking new.
I guess I knew all of that about snow before. It's not like I'd never seen it. I lived four years on the east coast. But this is the longest it's ever hung around Western Oregon. Snow and I have really gotten to know each other this past week. We've become, well, not exactly pals. But we're no longer strangers.
I'm reminded of an ancient Japanese concept, and since ancient Japanese concepts sometimes confer an aura of mystique and wisdom on blog posts, let me mention it here: Kikkoman-Soya.
But there's another ancient Japanese concept which is more topic-worthy, and that's Nōtan, the study of light and dark shapes as they interact in imagery.
For a black and white shooter like myself, Nōtan comes in handy. It's not the subject. It's the translation into shape. Photographers could learn a lot from Nōtan.
Of course I'm not the first photographer to play in the snow. Shooters have been exploring snow's negative space forever, from Callahan...
...to Giacomelli...
...to contemporary shooters like Dimitri Mellos...
....or David Maisel.
But for me the snow master is Friedlander. He had a way of confusing the character of his subject without eliminating the essence, and he did it through his trademark layering style.
Take foreground, middleground, and background, throw in some snow and shake well. Who knows what you'll find? Friedlander does this with all types of landscapes but in snow he seems to really shift into gear. The white stuff is like his supersecret sauce. It's the Kikkoman Soya of photography, adding visual confusion. That's a good thing.
So Friedlander has been in the back of my mind lately as I roam the white streets. How can I mix snow and non-snow and confuse myself? Sometimes it helps if I spin circles quickly. Then the world gets very confusing. I get dizzy. The snow is slippery and usually I fall down after spinning just a few circles, and the snow and non-snow combine all over my ass.
But I don't let that stop me for long. I've gotta get right back on that horse. I lift myself up, brush off the non-snow, and keep searching for the void.
I guess I knew all of that about snow before. It's not like I'd never seen it. I lived four years on the east coast. But this is the longest it's ever hung around Western Oregon. Snow and I have really gotten to know each other this past week. We've become, well, not exactly pals. But we're no longer strangers.
I'm reminded of an ancient Japanese concept, and since ancient Japanese concepts sometimes confer an aura of mystique and wisdom on blog posts, let me mention it here: Kikkoman-Soya.
But there's another ancient Japanese concept which is more topic-worthy, and that's Nōtan, the study of light and dark shapes as they interact in imagery.
For a black and white shooter like myself, Nōtan comes in handy. It's not the subject. It's the translation into shape. Photographers could learn a lot from Nōtan.
Of course I'm not the first photographer to play in the snow. Shooters have been exploring snow's negative space forever, from Callahan...
...to Giacomelli...
...to contemporary shooters like Dimitri Mellos...
....or David Maisel.
But for me the snow master is Friedlander. He had a way of confusing the character of his subject without eliminating the essence, and he did it through his trademark layering style.
Take foreground, middleground, and background, throw in some snow and shake well. Who knows what you'll find? Friedlander does this with all types of landscapes but in snow he seems to really shift into gear. The white stuff is like his supersecret sauce. It's the Kikkoman Soya of photography, adding visual confusion. That's a good thing.
So Friedlander has been in the back of my mind lately as I roam the white streets. How can I mix snow and non-snow and confuse myself? Sometimes it helps if I spin circles quickly. Then the world gets very confusing. I get dizzy. The snow is slippery and usually I fall down after spinning just a few circles, and the snow and non-snow combine all over my ass.
But I don't let that stop me for long. I've gotta get right back on that horse. I lift myself up, brush off the non-snow, and keep searching for the void.
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