Just Not That

Today should be fun.  I have a two hour reservation for a seat in the dentist's office where I will get a gold crown.  Probably not today.  I will get a temporary crown, I assume, while the gold crown is manufactured.  I don't know.  This dentist doesn't tell me much except the price.  I don't know why I still go to him.  I am certain that he hates me.  

Selavy.  It is just one of the myriad fun things in my life right now.  I am certain that the voodoo curses supposedly cast upon me are working.  What can you do?  One day, science will uncover the mysteries.  But don't hold your breath.  

Yesterday's non-posts, the ones I deleted, got me thinking.  Before photography, what pictures did people look at, want, produce?  Well, the first were "selfies," I guess, those handprints on cave walls that are evidence that "Bob was here."  Then stick figures of humans and nature, little stories of what went on outside the cave.  Later, with brushes and paints, there were landscapes, still life, scenes of daily life, and portraits.  There were a lot of portraits.  

I take very few "landscapes."  When I do, I am usually with one of my large format cameras.  On walkabouts, I do take "cityscapes" and pictures of mundane suburbia.  I rarely make a still life mainly due to the fact that I am bad at creating them.  As you know, I have many scenes of daily life, mostly "street photography," a thing that is coming more and more under scrutiny.  And, of course, I make portraits.  I like making them.  People like looking at them.  

By and large.  Not mine, necessarily, but in general.  I had to look it up.  

There are about 93 million selfies taken each day.  

When I look beyond selfies, there are some elaborate things like Vanity Fair pieces by Annie Leibovitz.  You can look her up on YouTube and see that one of her shoots is like a Hollywood production.  Beyond that, though, things get simpler.  

Much.  

There is a girl.  There is a girl in a dress.  A girl without a dress.  She walks, sits, ponders.  There is light.  How shall I use it?  She is obvious.  She is an enigma.  I'll shoot at 1/8 of a second and she is a blur.  I'll use a strobe and make her pop.  What camera should I use.  Should I photograph her with a huge piece of film or should I make the image on glass?  I could use X-Ray film, or maybe Polaroid.  I know how to do things.  I could use a toy camera or maybe a plastic lens.  How should I treat the picture.  Should I colorize it?  Hand paint it?  What should I do in post?  I can print on Arches cold pressed paper, cover it in bees wax or some matte gel.  I can laser print it and transfer it with caustic chemicals.  Soft or sharp.  Should the print be huge or the size of a playing card?

There are many options.  

Do we see the face or simply some part or parts of the body?  

Black and white or color?

Taking a photo is like writing a story in some ways.  What must an author consider?  Sure, the who what where when why of it all.  But where to start, and who tells the story?  Is the narrator trustworthy?  A liar or maybe just naive.  Or maybe God.  What is the color of the clothing, the length of the hair.  

Yes, making photos is a lot like that.  

Writers often repeat themselves.  So do painters.  Modigliani.  Matisse.  Bonnard.  Go back and look at Caravaggio.  

The hardest thing to paint, they say, is the human face and the human figure.  People know them too well.  

"You know I'm not a fan of your girlie nudies."  

"You prefer Social Realism and agitprop.  Your lens is ideological.  I don't really make pictures for you."

DaVinci.  

"Yes, the old Patriarchy."

I guess so.  I don't care.  I wish I could make that into a photograph.  

Something like that. And so it goes.  

I don't take criticism well, so I rarely give it.  But some people are very free with it as if it is a favor.  

"You should respect the honesty."

"Honestly, I don't really tell you what I think.  It is just too dangerous."

I could make you cry.  

"Are you ready?  Do you want the needle or the gas?"

Oh. . . I forgot the other stuff, the rodeos and wrestling matches and the roller derby and the surf series and the hog hunts and the protest marches and parades.  The Social Realism stuff.  

"Yea. . . I like those.  You know I like your photography, just not. . . that."

"I see."

Today should be fun.  I mean, I'm spending $2,000.  And I'm getting a gold tooth.  That's right up there with an expensive tat.  I'll be all gangsta and shit.