An unlucky few may happen to glimpse the fabled Dragon House out on the rolling prairies of Saskatchewan. Its unearthly glow can be seen for miles across the flatlands, providing false hope of succor for the tired and unwary traveler. Most will steer clear of the sight, knowing not quite why, save only for the remembrance of grim stories told by the Métis overheard in their youth echoing in their heads.
There’s been a bit of collective hand-wringing recently over the legitimacy of photography as art. A recent article I read highlighted the ubiquity of the medium. In it, a recent award-winning photographer was accused of fraud. Someone had come forth with their own photograph, identical to the prize winner’s. As it turned out, she and her accuser took pictures of the same subject (a whale, or perhaps an iceberg? I forget) at the same time, from the same vantage point (a sightseeing cruise ship). Therefore, the author suggests that photography as a whole loses credibility because how can something so widespread and accessible be, in any way, personal and artistic? Most arguments in this camp follow along similar lines, questioning the merit of an art form that is accessible to anyone with a smartphone (to say nothing of the dreaded Instagram). The article also takes as a given that these two photographer on their Arctic (North Atlantic? Antarctic? Fuck, who’s got time for fact-checking? Suffice it to say it was some salty body of water) cruise had to take the same photograph. The conclusion is that modern photography is a homogeneous blur of oft-repeated Instagram filters.
The issue with this argument is that it equates a broadening and deepening of an art form’s reach in society with a degradation of the form’s best practitioners. An analogy can be drawn between photography and food culture: the average person in the U.S. in, say, 1965 had not tried Thai, Japanese, or Indian cuisines, nor was that person likely to know what to do with lemongrass, paprika, quinoa or half of the items found in an average Whole Foods. It is taken for granted that the same average person today has a much broader and richer palate. Noone argues that food culture sucks because every little town has some sort of pan-Asian restaurant (though some incarnations might be best avoided) or an attempt at a locovore/awareness-raising/cruelty-free restaurant. Good, varied, and better produced food is more common now, regardless of how many people choose to drink Coor’s Light as their preferred beer.
Photography’s explosion in popularity can be looked at similarly. People are taking more and better pictures than ever before. A digital camera, even an iPhone, makes photography essentially free after the initial purchase of the camera, and the technology in those devices are enabling even the biggest noobs to take a decent picture. The cookie cutter presets on Instagram may be a bit tedious, but they’ve gotten a broad segment of the public at least thinking about and appreciating basic image editing. And just because a lot of the images out there are selfies, blurry party pictures, and food shots on Brannan filter, doesn’t mean that there isn’t great photography out there as well.
But here we come to the thorny subject. Most photography isn’t art. Nor is it trying to be. It has a documentary, journalistic or social purpose, but usually little artistic value. This is confusing, because we mostly don’t write concertos about our food or tell of our exploits in the club through Kabuki acting. Any attempts at those things would be seen as an artistic venture, however daft. But unlike music or esoteric Japanese theater forms, photography is a tool as well as an art form, and it is misleading to confuse the two (sometimes overlapping) uses.
While photography isn’t always an art, it allows as much personal expression as any other medium when it is. A photographer faces many choices in settings and equipment before a shot is even taken, and a dazzling array opens up to her after. A single image can take on many different emotional hues depending on how it’s edited. And while it may happen that two capable photographers turn up near-identical versions of the same subject, as in the above case of our two whale (or iceberg?) loving sightseers, that should be seen as a dull coincidence rather than any sort of comment on photography. This medium, more than any other, is judged on the sum of an artist’s work. A single shot may be beautiful, but what is he after in all his photos? What themes come through after dozens or hundreds finished images? Anyone with a camera can luck into a fantastic shot in the right circumstances, but the artist will have many fine shots, all indelibly “his” in that they speak in his voice.
All of this is really tiresome, anyway, and much in the way of arguing about how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. If art can bring joy to its creator it has achieved its highest aim, recognition by others being merely a pleasant, resonant afterglow. Philosophizing about the nature of art is fun, but it’s the making of it that matters. I guess that means it’s time to shut up and post a picture.
Hell is commonly depicted as a lake of fire teeming with the damned, the craggy shores being filled with scenes of souls being tortured. While this mise-en-scene may be appealing as a painting by Hieronymus Bosch, the real Hell would never offer its denizens the solace of suffering en masse. In fact, lifetime journeys across bleak unchanging vistas separate any two penitents. Each of the damned suffers among waking nightmares of his own making knowing that he will never unto eternity glimpse another soul.
A veritable army of daemon-slaves has been raised to administer this cursed realm. Each of these, too, is separated from his nearest cohort by unimaginable distances. So it was that these blight-lorries, the likes of which is pictured below, were built and set into motion by the very breath of Lucifer Morningstar himself. Eternally these cross the plains of Hades in mute, leering caravans. They will visit each demon, bearing torture implements as well as tea and a decent selection of books on tape.
By tabularasa88 in Chicago,Tabula Rasa
We all feel a sense of limitless wonder when gazing into the eternity of the night sky. But what are the myriad celestial objects to be seen high above our fair city? This handy guide will list them all, as seen in the photograph below from left to right.
1) Lens flare.
3) Dust on camera sensor.
Now, with the encyclopedic knowledge of the heavens at your fingertips, you’ll be able to amaze your friends on clear evenings. Won’t they be jealous! Who knows, you might even “catch the eye” of the lissome neighbor girl you’ve been ogling lately. What are you thinking? She doesn’t like stupid stars! She like Arnold, the rowing team captain. He’s got everything… muscles; a crew neck sweater from his uncle in Portugal; they say he’s even going to get his own car next year. You are so lame, and the neighbor girl knows it. To think you had a shot with her! What folly! Gee, you should just get beat. Nobody cares about your stars.
Three overhead projectors (superimposa lumerarium) as seen traversing an icy plateau. The lead has called a momentary halt to the march as it turns to investigate the origin of some suspicious noises. The projectors have much to fear; almost extinct, they are easy prey for many scholastic predators.
Are you looking for ruined hallway photography? Well, you’ve come to the right place! Here at the Idiot Photographer, we pride ourselves on providing you with the finest pictures of run-down corridors. Looking for a visual metaphor for transience? How about exercises in one- or two-point perspective? We got it! Black and white noir pieces, moody passageways? Yes! Remember the Idiot Photographer, your one-stop source for urbex hallway photography!
When you’ve been trading stair-themed posts with your co-blogger for a few days, acceptable post titles dry up quickly, especially when you are attempting to come up with said title late at night. Sometimes it’s best to overshoot the sublime and land in the ridiculousness.
Wait, wait! Van Gogh’s Stairy night!
How about, Quit Stairing At Me, You’re Freaking Me Out?
Wait, where you going?
There is a cemetery just across the tracks to the west of the Packard plant, something which is often overlooked both literally and figuratively. Having consumed many Reese’s confections as a child and possessing the superior artistic acumen that comes with having a blog, I quickly descried two great things that go great together. Should I be accused of being maudlin, or of laying it on too thick, I will gladly stand those slings and arrows to bring you this, the photograph that goes to eleven. Ladies and gentlemen, kids in lycra capes and cheap eyeliner, I give you: gravestones as seen from inside a ruined factory.
Afternoon light filters through a factory boiler room, Gary, Indiana.
The bright light and overall cheerful color palette made me want to turn this into a retro-style greeting card.
Clearly, graphic designers need not fear for their jobs.
I didn’t think I’d run into you here.
You followed me?
We can’t just keep meeting like this.It isn’t healthy.
You know that I’m trying… to be rid of you.
But, since we’re here…
You can sit on me. Just for a minute.
That’s it. Use my armrests, make yourself really comfortable.
Just like we used to.
Just do one more thing. Just one little thing for me, baby.
Swivel me, baby?
Shot at the same church as previous several posts, so not a completely random non sequitur.