Saturday, November 3

Puzzling

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During services at the vatican there is a side area where an elaborately dressed child wandered (this was a Thursday 10am mass, I believe). This image seems to have something substantial going on, but what? At first glance it seems little more than a snapshot, although I worked at the composition. Maybe it is just a snap... And yet...

Any thoughts? Anyone want to fill in a back-story to explain this moment?


GEEK STUFF: Canon EOS 20D, 10/04/07:10:49am: Lens 17-85mm, Focal Length: 64mm, Exp 1/25@f/5.6, ISO 400, Metering Mode: Patern, Expoure bias 0, Camera RAW

Friday, November 2

Steps To?

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Around the corner from yesterday in Pompeii, some stairs. Sloppy masonry,no? Do you think that Malvinicus had a slave contracting service? I wonder how many sestares these things set somebody back? I also wonder how old they were when Vesuvius packed them away for our viewing pleasure? Did Romans look at them and say, "Ewwwww!"... old stuff. Or were they new arrivals, hardly used? Judging by the wear on the steps, I'm guessing they'd been around for a while and were part of the morning gridlock. I wonder what a Pompeii traffic jam was like? You think the slaves backed up? You think Malvinicus used traffic as an excuse for getting things done late?

Thursday, November 1

So What's The Deal With Old?

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Here's a street in Pompeii. Old? Hmmmmm...

Suppose I sculpted two pigs out of marble. then suppose I wrapped one of them in plastic, stuck it into another marble, waterproof container, filled it full of those little non-biodegradable plastic peanuts used in packing, and sealed it tight. Then suppose I buried it. Two thousand years from now someone digs it up, opens the box, pulls away the plastic and looks at my pig.

Back to the other pig. Remember, I didn't do anything to protect it, just let the elements age that little cutie. Now, should the digger-upper be able to compare that unboxed, unwrapped piggy... with its twin: which would be older? Which would seem older?

"What difference does it make... the "seem" thing, Ted?"

Glad you asked that. Pompeii was packed in pumice. Some parts of it look about as old as the ruins of the Bayan Plantation's mansion in Hilton Head, South Carolina. They've been crumbling for about a century and a half. I could post a picture of them which looks every bit as old as this Pompeii street. Maybe older.

So, what's old got to do with it? What is the fascination with Pompeii?

"Well gosh Ted, it's like a telephone connection back 2000 years."

And your point is? I mean, what is the romance that surrounds the merely old? Do we need it to invent stories like this one I told a while back?


Why are we surprised that people who were biologically identical to us were able to build streets, walls and doorways? Of course I felt a certain reverential awe on that street in Pompeii. But the stark juxtaposition of this radiant modern sign against the walls which time and pumice scoured almost free of color caught my attention more dramatically than the street itself.

So... what is the lure of things that seem old? How do they speak so grippingly to the human condition that we stare... the same way we stare at zoo animals? Is that it? Are Pompeii and the battlefield at say Gettysburg sort of like giraffes that we can visit? Or is it the people who we imagine walking down this street who are really the giraffes?

Perhaps it's amazement that attracts us to old things. Are we amazed that they left buildings which look so much like things we can build, or are we amazed that they stopped building them? Or do we sense that there are answers here to questions we find hard to ask?

Fact is the Roman Civilization failed. We have rebuilt their burnt out culture. Have we done a more permanent job? Or will our ghosts be someone else's giraffes or scuplted piggies in a time long long to come, and far far away?

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GEEK STUFF: Canon EOS 20D, 10/03/07:5:14 pm: Lens 17-85mm, Focal Length: 26mm, Exp 1/60%5.6, ISO 200, Metering Mode: average, Expoure bias 0, Camera RAW

NOTE: You will often find in-depth descriptions of this Italian visit among the comments-section below both as I add onto them and as you prompt my memory. I'll try to restrict my thoughts exclusively to today's image here on the home page and enlarge upon them in the comments attachments to a day’s posting as the discussions unravel. Those comments begin here. To follow the thread chronologically start at October 7th.

Wednesday, October 31

Cheek Turning

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Alfred Stieglitz in 1909 observed that photographers, "Depict life in scraps and fragments." Some have argued that the painter constructs a concept while the photographer on the other hand discloses it. Today I think the photographic artist can both disclose and construct with decisive fragments. Hmmmm... constructive disclosure? Have I invented a term? Cool.

In fact we tend to find pieces of life. And in a way by revealing just that piece in its context, we disclose something unique. Something we saw. Here I noticed a raging saint in a place built upon the idea of peace, love and turning the other cheek. Even though this is a fragment from St. Peter's, the warrior has a role at this Basilica.

Photographers can wrench things from their context. Is that what's happening here? Or is this fearsome sword an important pat of the function of this place? Hmmmmm.... I wonder?

Tuesday, October 30

Rita's Birthday's On Halloween

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October 31st is my wife Rita’s birthday. I love her more today than ever. When I found these marbles in a Florentine shop, their sparkling luster reminded me so much of what a wonderful woman I married. There’s something magical about the durability yet seemingly accessible fragility of that substance along with the astonishingly delicate forms it can take.

Her love for this place of her ancestors plus the gem-like stone with which they did so much convinced me that I’d found this year’s birthday card.

Happy Birthday Honey.

Monday, October 29

Beneath The Surface, What?

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In the papal tombs under St. Peter’s you walk through corridors, tunnels actually, which open onto rooms. Some are behind glass, others behind ropes. Each is a display. And you see a surface like this where tiled arches hide caskets behind tiled frescoes of a number of papal bodies and perhaps in the center of a room is a sarcophagus like this displaying a grandly carved marble of a pope in death’s repose.

Is it grisly? Is it reverent? No, and no. At least not for me. What it was was a surface. But the speed of the people-line gave me no time to interpret or intuit what the reality must be if it looked like this. I’d hoped that if I made a photograph that captured that surface that later, like now, I’d find the time to penetrate this presentation. To work out what this Vatican culture’s message was.

But as I processed this image of Ambrosius on the wall overlooking one of the Piuses in marble there was too much information hidden away. Too much history between these two men that had vanished like a bridge gone into the mists. I have no idea why they lie so near to one another. What grouping this represents. I sense no pattern , only pomp and astonishing wealth. And again, I wonder if there is something here which will take me to the meaning of piety: or if this surface acts more as a curtain than a window to understanding what piety means?

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NOTE: You will often find in-depth descriptions of this Italian visit among the comments-section below both as I add onto them and as you prompt my memory. I'll try to restrict my thoughts exclusively to today's image here on the home page and enlarge upon them in the comments attachments to a day’s posting as the discussions unravel. Those comments begin here. To follow the thread chronologically start at October 7th.

Sunday, October 28

When To Sign A Photograph?
• An Essay

The last time I was in Rome…. Gosh that’s a cool sentence, it rings like a fork against fine crystal. “Twinnnnnnggggg!” But anyway, the last time I was in Rome we, like every other Roman tourist who ever lived, we visited St. Peter’s Bascilica at the Vatican.

And like every one of them, I took pictures. Here’s one, which I haven’t - and won't - sign.

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Why is that? Because this image was actually taken by the engineers at Canon Industries. What I brought to this image was their EOS 20D camera and a standard zoom lens. What I contributed was a lifetime of work that let me save enough money to take the Canon stuff and myself from Lancaster, Pennsylvania to a spot in the middle of the massive stone square in front of the Cathedral.

Photographers have wrestled over four things that a camera can do. They anguish over whether an image they “take” is objective or subjective. And they sweat over whether it demonstrates or illustrates.

Say what?

Lemme ‘splain by example. This picture I’ve shown you demonstrates what this view of St. Peter’s looked like on a mid, very sunny, October day. Except for earning the ticket and the camera paraphernalia, my only contribution was to point and click. And what I took was what people all around me were taking. It is an objective demonstration of what you would have seen if you stood there at that time. Get it? Objective (there is little if any of “me” in the picture I took) so while it demonstrates exactly what was in front of me, it fails to illustrate anything about the thoughts or feelings it invoked. I bring nothing to this.

Canon ‘took’ this picture; I did not ‘make’ it.


For me to sign it would be actually vulgar. Who am I to claim any credit for St. Peter’s Basilica? What I brought to this photograph was the mindless craft imbedded in a Canon camera and its lens. Now, I am not dumping upon craft, merely recognizing if for what it is in photography. For me to claim any sort of ownership for this image would be as if I opened up Shakespeare, photocopied a bunch of lines, and then grabbed credit for them. Just as that is the act of plagiarizing someone else’s ideas, claiming credit for a found image is also plagiarizing. And it doesn't matter if you are slavishly copying Renaissance architects or artists, or in some other case plagiarizing nature by displaying an un-processed snapshot of a sunset.

Notice I wrote, “un-processed.”

Artists process. They bring their ideas and feelings to the making of a photographic image. The picture they make, as opposed to pictures snap-shooters take, is a subjective illustration of them. And processing can happen before, during, and after a photograph is taken. Processing demands some intellectual intervention.

But let’s go back to the last time I was in Rome… “Twinnnnnnggggg!”

My first thought was to convey a sense of place: to communicate the classical grandeur and mass of this space in front of the seat of Catholicism. How to say, “Holy Basilica, Batman! This place is HUGE, OLD, and RICH!”

So I did this.

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See, here’s a triptych which taken together as a totality conveys through details what I couldn’t do in a single vista. Why couldn’t I? There were a zillion people all around me that seemed to be that many distractions from this place. Now they also could have been the subjects of a different idea, but it wasn’t the one that overwhelmed me. Plus the mid-day light is a photographer’s nightmare searing contrasts across marble, which no camera can hold throughout the tonal range. I also dealt with them by my points of view and processing.

Traditionally photography was governed by technical standards that made genuine achievement hard to accomplish. Unlike a poet or painter, I have a machine between my ideas and the thing I have ideas about. That machine’s the creature of strict engineering principles. Until the birth of digital enhancement, every action I took to offset one of the machine’s limitations, every one of those things (lenses, filters, formats, chemicals, papers, lighting, makeup, costuming, whatever…) resulted in corresponding intrusions upon the final result. Everything a photographer did to ‘make’ an image was a work-around that left its own shadow.

Great photographers came to master those enhancements in both pre-processing (getting the right equipment to the scene) and post-processing (usually in the darkroom, but sometimes later with razors and hand applied coloring… like that).

My triptych is essentially quite traditional. Through the careful selection of viewpoint, lens, aperture, speed, polarizing filter, and some digital darkroom enhancements I selected three full-frame images that together communicate my awe at the size, age, and wealth of this place. Together they form a subjective (my own) illustration of how St. Peter’s front stoop impressed me. That’s what I’m telling you with this trio. Hence it is no longer vulgar to sign it, indeed while I have difficulty signing any of the parts individually (for the same reasons I wouldn’t sign the first image I posted up there) the trio of parts is my statement, not Shakespeare’s not a Renaissance architect’s… Mine. Ted Byrne’s.

When an image conveys subjective ideas to illustrate a feeling or an idea (or both) it transcends craft… Goes beyond it. That’s art baby (um, whether it’s good art is never the artist’s call). There are still photographers who cannot believe that what they do in an instant can possibly be art. After all, how long did it take Michelangelo to release David from that block of marble?

Art isn’t measured in time put in. If it were then all you’d need to judge its existence would be a stopwatch, clock, or calendar. Many photographers seem to feel that art making is something pretentious. No, they argue that they aren't doing art at all, merely finding, recording, observing, witnessing, or measuring. And photographs can do all of those things in science, in court, and even on occasion in photojournalism. And they can do them better than any other representational craft.

But they can also illustrate ideas and feelings. Photographs can be as fictional as the works of Thomas Wolfe, Tennessee Williams, or Ingmar Bergman. In fact, Bergman used cameras exclusively to tell his feelings. No one objects to any of those doers of fiction signing their work.

In photography the subject always bleeds through. And when the subject matter seems to dominate the subtlety of the artist's layering of emotion or thought – it seems pretentious to find a signature on the photo, right? The subtler-seeming the photographer’s enhancements, the more likely the viewer is to mistake an image for an objective, point-and-shoot representation rather than a deeply personal subjective illustration of the meaning which the artist conveys. The fewer seams that show as a result of stunningly hard work the less likely the photographer is to get credit for the artiness of the work. Odd, I can think of no other area where that kind of rule applies.

Imagine if the smile on the prima ballerina were taken to indicate that her art were effortless and therefore banal. Imagine if the virtuosity of a violinist or the technique of a sculptor led people to conclude that they were incapable of communicating feeling, or thought!

So, do we stop here? Can a photographer only make signing-worthy photographs when they are in groups like my triptych? If that were so, then the only photographic artists would be some sort of time-lapse cinematographers. Which brings me to this image.

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Once again, I stood out there in front of St. Peter’s at the same time I both took the first image and when I made the triptych's pieces (notice the “took” versus “made”). But this time I wanted in one frame to create a piece of illustrative art. I wanted you to understand something about me, and how I began to look at St. Peter’s. I wanted to convey the rich color of medieval pomp. The contrast between the softness of flowing time (water) and the solidity of wealth (the immutable structures). I wanted your imagination to embrace one idea, “opulence” in contrast to another “piety”. And I wanted you to wonder if the two might really co-exist or if they were mutually exclusive. And if so, at this place… which one won?

And I wanted to capture your attention with technique, palette, and strict composition. But most importantly I wanted to create … to make… an image you could look through to find these ideas and feelings.

Now, it is quite arguable whether I succeeded. But it is not arguable that the final image is one that is unique to my mind at that time. It is a subjective illustration of the way my mind wrestled with those things. I did not plagiarize Shakespeare or that Renaissance architect with a click of my shutter. Canon did not take this image, I made it.

Which means I can sign it as proudly as any artist signs his work.

From their first years photographers wrestled with a feeling of artistic inferiority which painters in particular were happy to reinforce. One would think that photography’s claim to art making had been settled long ago. Yet I believe it’s a lingering sense of insufficiency which leads photographers to the conclusion that signing their work is either vain or coarse.

It is the making of photographs into illustrative art which proves that photographers have the same license to brand their creation as any other artist. Which explains why I sign most of the images I post here, including this third image I built from the last time I was in Rome… “Twinnnnnnggggg!”

Saturday, October 27

Fountain Of Thought


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Nine Disputable Facts Of Life

As a writer, I keep note of things that occur to me in discussions, when I’m reading, or when I’m just sitting and contemplating a fountain like this in the gardens of the Vlla D’Este (which I discussed yesterday). Looking at my notes, I found that I mulled over three-quarters of a dozen that trundled through my mind like those melodies which you just can’t stop humming.

So okay, let me get them out of my head and into yours. I have no idea whether they are right or wrong, good or bad – and I cannot promise they are all that original, but I hope you’ll agree, they each seem worth kicking about to see if anything worthwhile scurries out from under, eh?

1. Happiness cannot be caught by pursuing it.
2. Rights are not requirements.
3. In fact most rights are often more demanded than needed.
4. You can never be offended against your will.
5. No faith is reasonable, all faith is passionate.
6. Defining poverty as a virtue therefore makes wealth a vice.
7. Almost any act, no mater how dreadful, can be explained away by appealing to its consequences.
8. Before the nuclear missile we could wait for reason to catch up with passion.
9. Parenting and breeding are different things. One of them is hard.

Friday, October 26

Chilly?

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Beyond Rome in the hill town of Tivoli sits the Villa D’Este built by the Cardinal Ilppolito il d’Este in the mid 1500s. Travertine marble comes from Tivoli’s hills, its abundant tumbling water supplies some of Rome’s electricity. Tivoli's slopes are covered with olive orchards,vineyards and gardens.Some fine papers are manufactured there.

Cardinal Ippolito II d'Este (1509-1572), was the son of Alfonso I d'Este and Lucrezia Borgia and grandson (!) of Pope Alexander VI. He was appointed Governor of Tivoli by Pope Julius III. The villa's known for its opulently restored splendor and particularly for majestic gardens resplendent with enormous fountains that are entirely powered by natural water flows (no pumps). They are both an artistic and engineering amazement. Cardinals, unlike many hundreds of the priests who they ruled, quite apparently failed to take a vow of poverty, eh?

A central fountain (Of the Great Cup) has water issuing from a seemingly natural rock into a scrolling shell-like cup. Sadly the lighting was so awful in the mid afternoon of a searing day that there was no interesting way to picture the fountains. But the internet’s replete with photographic tours through the villa and its gardens.

Frankly though, it was the details of the place which flaunted the lavish wealth of the Cardinal/Prince of the Roman Church. Look at this one travertine detail on the fountain executed by the incomparable Bernini. See how the face looks more like an illustration from a modern comic book than a medieval hero? Look at the eyes and the very real expression. There’s nothing calm or idyllic – this guy is worried and I think damned chilly standing all those centuries naked in the water-logged air.

Thursday, October 25

Does Everytime Face A Vesuvius?

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Is there a Vesuvius always waiting just down the lane? Is there a force so potentially dreadful which some gentle Summer day might erupt over all or any of us? Does it wait over there looking mellow yet very very large?

On that August 29th in 79 AD this view was abruptly different. That mound at the end of the lane burst upon every plan, dream, and aspiration in Pompeii. It causes us to wonder whether there’s a force so potentially dreadful that some peaceful day can erupt all over any of us? Does it wait somewhere overlooked until it stops time? Should we concern ourselves with what we cannot possibly control?

And even if a personal Vesuvius lurks somewhere, does that lessen our responsibility to control what we can? To create, prosper, share, and succeed even in the shadow of inevitable things?

You wonder about that as you look down this ancient street at a primal force so massive, yet so wickedly calm.

GEEK STUFF: Canon EOS 20D, 10/03/07:4:38pm: Lens 17-85mm, Focal Length: 56mm, Exp 1/12@f/7.1, ISO 200, Metering Mode: Pattern, Expoure bias -1, Camera RAW

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NOTE: You will often find in-depth descriptions of this Italian visit among the comments-section below both as I add onto them and as you prompt my memory. I'll try to restrict my thoughts exclusively to today's image here on the home page and enlarge upon them in the comments attachments to a day’s posting as the discussions unravel. Those comments begin here. To follow the thread chronologically start at October 7th.

Wednesday, October 24

Temple Of Isis

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Multi flavored adoration was as much for sale just off of the streets of Pomeii as in any modern city. It was hard to walk more than a block without finding a different brand of faith. Is there something within us which simultaneously hunts for a divine solution to our challenges but demands that our personal solution be different from the suspiciously superstitious beliefs of the next guy?

The religious wars apparently flourished in Pompeii and exotic foreign faiths like this temple to the Egyptian diety Isis sat close to churches channeling the gods of the Romans and Greeks. Today in the West there seems to be a more consistent agreement upon which god to adore, but now the devil is in the details, eh?

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NOTE: You will often find in-depth descriptions of this Italian visit among the comments-section below both as I add onto them and as you prompt my memory. I'll try to restrict my thoughts exclusively to today's image here on the home page and enlarge upon them in the comments attachments to a day’s posting as the discussions unravel. Those comments begin here. To follow the thread chronologically start at October 7th.

Tuesday, October 23

Claudio Marcello's Font


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In 67 AD a massive earthquake jiggled the prosperous city of Pompeii, cracking walls and massive marble columns leaving debris everywhere and challenging its people and the Roman empire to begin a major cleanup and restoration job. It was still underway on the mid day of August 29, 79 AD. See the repairs to the walls in the back ground of this image, and the gouges in the columns?

On that day in August Pompeii’s name became inextricably linked with another name… Vesuvius. Along with the smaller city of Herculaneum, Pompeii was startled at first then buried in layers of silt which carefully preserved its history up until 79 AD.

Over the last three centuries excavators have revealed places like Claudio Marcello’s gift to his city of a public square.
>I know it was Claudio Marcello from this curiously preserved marble plaque with his name as its patron (note how the plaque’s carver ran out of room on the right). Marble work which matches this font is once again basking in the mid-day light about two thousand years after the still smoldering Vesuvius stored this vessel away for us to enjoy.

By the way, Vesuvius will erupt again, and if the winds are the same, Claudio Marcello's square will get packed away once more.

Sunday, October 21

Emotional Charge

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Have noticed how quickly we lose interest in a picture? Our attention even toward a great one that embodies a large slice of the artist's effort, ideas, personality, and feelings quickly becomes flat. And yet, if we return to it days, months, and even better, years later - somehow it glimmers again. I wonder about that because it doesn't seem to happen with other sorts of art which may hold our attention initially for longer, but once lost, rarely regain it.

Here's a Roman street scene. It is entirely typical of a life-moment within the walled city. See the street? The sidewalk? The walls, the ancient arched doorway? And the tiny shop spilling over with fruit and flowers? And packed in tight against it is a scooter. The elements are all there. Here's what Rome looks like. It looks different from Seattle, Davenport, Springfield, Atlanta, and Lancaster. The pieces add up to an explosively colorful moment. It is charged with the casual effort of the shop owner who assembled this atop the millennia-old streets, in front of the walls first built just as long ago. This is the outdoor day-time furniture of Rome in October. I suspect that it will strike your fancy today: become forgettable in moments, and yet... if you should return to it in a couple of years, or decades from now, I'm guessing it will be at least more interesting then.

Why is it that photographic images are like that? It's a mystery.

Saturday, October 20

Not Pompeii: Almost

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"Photographs give people an imaginary possession of a past (or place) that is unreal..." - Susan Sontag

Controlling the light is a battle that's normally lost to the traveler. In the case of Rome, obstacles made it impossible for me to arrive in the city much before 11am... HORROR CONTRASTS! Which means from the bleached out lemon light, I had to make lemonade.

Romans hang their laundry: an old-fashioned custom until you realize that their daily warm sun make clothes dryers a careless waste. Still, hanging lines with pennants of vivid clothes a-flutter are a charming time-trip to memories of cities where human wisps smudged the harsh lines of modern metal and crystal angles.

This scene of the lady-with-pearls was a perfect memory which I never had of a past-place except, damn! The mid-day sun which warmed her clothes was was dreadful. Which brings me to Pompeii (a place I’ll revisit here maybe next week).

I took some shots of two-millennia old walls from that recovered city. And as I looked at the Lady-Of-The-Laundry, Susan Sontag’s words careened through my head. “Hmmmmm,” I muttered. “What if…. What if this women was doing her daily hanging there, on the day before Vesuvius went, WOOOMP! What if the stone walls broke up that light? What if…..”

NOTE: You will often find in-depth descriptions of this Italian visit among the comments-section below both as I add onto them and as you prompt my memory. I'll try to restrict my thoughts exclusively to today's image here on the home page and enlarge upon them in the comments attachments to a day’s posting as the discussions unravel. Those comments begin here. To follow the thread chronologically start at October 7th.

Friday, October 19

Why Not A Post Card?

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How many galoots with Instamatics took this picture from this same bridge looking up the Tiber toward Adrian's Tomb? Why did I take it? I just saw a similarly shabby version of it in a ghastly written article in this month's Photoshop User Magazine. Do you realize how much I could have saved by just scanning that thing instead of schlepping off to Rome? I can think of no way to pull something original out of this cliché.

Can you? Hulp?

NOTE: You will often find in-depth descriptions of this Italian visit among the comments below both as I add onto them and as you prompt my memory. I'll try to restrict my thoughts exclusively to today's image here on the home page. Those comments begin here. To follow the thread chronologically start at October 7th.

Thursday, October 18

A Bit Of Gandolfo

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Physicists tell us that bits are the universal medium of communication. And physicists might be the smartest scientists (at least that’s what they tell me). So how to communicate the Pope’s vacation palace at Gandolfo? How about in a bit? A tiny piece of a big field that combines the architectural grandeur, with the pomp and two men at the very foundation of Papal authority… two non-coms: a soldier and a priest.

A violinist friend of mine, an amateur musician, once found herself at a reception for present and past violinists of the Philadelphia Orchestra. She told me that she felt like a priest at the Vatican.

Well, here's that priest.

And here is one bit of wall, soldier and priest: a trio that condenses two millennia of heirarchy and grandeur into a narrative I can understand.

BTW, for you metaphor collectors, how about that slope?

Gandolfo, Italy. 10/01/07:11:40pm

NOTE: You will often find in-depth descriptions of this Italian visit among the daily comments below both as I add onto them and as you prompt my memory. I'll try to restrict my thoughts exclusively to today's image here on the home page. Those Italian comments begin here.

Wednesday, October 17

2007 Award Winner - Super Sorprese & Trip Notes

Note: Accepted as one of theworld's finest People Images of 2007 for Canon POTN Book to be published in the Fall of 2008.

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Shocked: Tessio watched Umberte make the signal.

Rome, Italy. 10/01/07:12:09pm

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BACK-STORY: As some of you know, Rita and I travelled to Italy with Beth and Chris Herr, October 1 - 14. The first week we were based in the Albian Hills south east of Rome, the second week we were in an apartment along the Arno River in Florence. We took day trips to Tivoli, Pompeii, Spoletto, Sienna, and Assisi, and a part of Naples. I took approximately 18 gigs + of RAW images. Rita took another 2 gigs of jpgs. At first I backed up the images each day on: my MacBookPro, a portable external HD, and on an iPod. However on October 8, the MacBook crashed and from there we kept everything on Compact Flash cards. No images were lost.

On the evening of October 8, master photographer Andreas Mannessinger & Irene drove down from Vienna to join us in Florence for wonderful dinner at the Nanamuta Restaurant, and the next morning we met at Sunrise to begin a mano-a-mano shoot at the Duomo and then worked our way through the winding ancient streets to the Ponte Vecchio (see my posting for October 7, the day before the MacBook crashed).

I'm slowly working my way through the images in chronological order (with the one exception of October 7) - and it's so much like reliving the trip and its ideas and feelings. I hope you'll enjoy this after-the-fact journaling as I match my notes (I always carry a small spiral bound notebook) to the pictures. Eventually we'll get to the results of the photo-shoot with Andreas (note, he's already posted a spectacular image from that morning - that includes a sort of portrait of me at work - which you'll find by clicking here.).

A last point: In a couple of days, I'll give you the names and contact information for the places we stayed and our hosts (along with pictures). Both the Byrnes and the Herrs will recommend them enthusiastically.

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NOTE: You will also often find in-depth descriptions of this Italian visit among the daily comments below both as I add onto them and as you prompt my memory. I'll try to restrict my thoughts exclusively to today's image here on the home page. Those Italian comments begin here.

Tuesday, October 16

Living With Dead

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When you’re young they say that the days go on forever and death’s little more than a rumor at the end of the road.

In southern Italy’s small towns they paste wall banners memorializing anniversaries of the passing of loved ones.

NOTE: You will often find in-depth descriptions of this Italian visit among the comments below both as I add onto them and as you prompt my memory. I'll try to restrict my thoughts exclusively to today's image here on the home page. Those comments begin here.

Monday, October 15

Wall Whisper

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Susan Sontag wrote, “Photographs (can) give people an imaginary possession of a past that is unreal.” She goes on to suggest that photographs are, “a way of certifying experience.”

The walls of Castle Gondolfo reflect both the implacable force that Urban VIII breathed into them in 1624, and the current fashion of genteel seediness which coats their façades in crackling layers. From the image we can we grasp either the enormity of the past power of the men who peered down from this window upon Lake Albano, or the situation of its current tenant. Is this a photograph of a past, a present, or a future?

As I leaned against the afternoon warmth of this wall, it was like a rock. And see the etchings in the stone window frame? Beneath your fingers they’re as crisp as yesterday, the artisan’s message left there at the end of a day some four centuries ago.

Odd how imagination’s so one-way. Beneath my fingertips I could feel what his hand felt as it wiped across this surface. And I can picture him packing tools, walking a cart half a block to the town square, getting wine, and wondering where his next job would take him.

I can imagine all of that, yet I cannot image the guy who might come upon this little story in 2507, yet he will know as much about me as I do about the man who made Urban VIII’s window.

We are all something's history.

NOTE: You will often find in-depth descriptions of this Italian visit among the comments below both as I add onto them and as you prompt my memory. I'll try to restrict my thoughts exclusively to the image here on the main site. Those comments begin here.

Sunday, October 14

Look! Up there... Castel Gandolfo.

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NOTE: You will find in-depth descriptions of this Italian visit among the comments below. I shall try to restrict my thoughts exclusively to the image here on the main site.

Castel Gandolfo, the Pope's vacation residence, occupies a height in the Alban Hills overlooking Lake Albano about 25 miles South-East of Rome. The lake was formed when an ancient volcanic mountain collapsed. The castle was made part of the few remaining Papal holdings when the ancient power of the Popes in Italy collapsed. It sits amidst a small town in Lazio. Gandolfo shows the wear of time and while a patina of grandeur peeks through it seems to present His Holiness with the same challenge faced by all owners of old homes... The word "money-pit" resonates, eh?

I suppose the Pope is faced with a dilemma. Should he let the facade, at least, deteriorate so as not to seem to be detouring the gifts of the faithful toward maintaining an ancient opulence while millions go hungry or die from preventable diseases (diarrhea comes to mind)? Or should he restore the place to its former glory to show the significant might and influence of the Roman Church? Not to decide it to decide, eh?

Sunday, October 7

This Place Looks Like This

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Hey! Here's a fast postcard to all of you from Firenze, Italy in the pre-dawn of this AM.

Wish you were here...


Ted

This image is posted from our apartments in Florence on the evening of my Mano-A-Mano photo shoot with Andreas Manessinger. I've only quickly had time to look at the four gigs of shots I took at the Duomo and then down the ancient streets to the Ponte Vecchio at sunrise this morning. I'll probably not get back to these for weeks. But it looks as if I have an image or two that are competitive.



This is the 365th posting to ImageFiction!!!! So? Is this really the first anniversary, or just an indication that I needed a day off here and there over the past year? Hmmmm.....

Friday, September 28

An Anniversary?

Yipes, Andreas just reminded me ... well actually noted, I had no idea... with a post on September 10th, that ImageFiction is a year old! And with few exceptions, you and I have "enjoyed" daily postings since then! Holy Moley!

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On September 10th of 2006 I posted this image. It was about POWER. I looked at these guys and tried to figure out who had the edge. The foreground fella sits on a monstrous hog. He's burley, strong. The skinny guy in the background's got a paltry bicycle. And yet... With all the horsepower between the big guy's legs... When it comes to figuring out who's got the power remember this... That man in the back wears a gun.

I still love this image and it developed as a result of your input. Some of you were disturbed by a distraction in the upper left hand corner. Oh, don't look for it now... As a result of your emails (and most of our interaction is sill email, I haven't figured that one out...), I covered the sign.

Here on the first birthday of this blog, let me give away a secret. See that tree on the right that forms half of a graceful arch around the actors in this scene? Okay, now look at its twin on the left. See how it reflects in the windows behind it? Look carefully... very carefully.

They say the best work happens when no one notices. I think that happens here, and I'm quite proud of it. What I did was to take the tree on the right and move it also to the left. And I hope until now you didn't notice. Instead I hope you enjoyed the exquisite detail on that foreground bike and the super subtle smirk on the biker's face. I hope you enjoyed the motion blur around the policeman. Yep, I enjoyed working them all into just the right mixture to make my point.

After a year, "Power" still works, don't you think? Hope so... happy anniversary to us all.

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Travel Time

We're off to Rome this weekend, then to Florence. I won't be back into this studio until October 15th. Oh there will be folks playing about here as they move into our home to dog-sit with Rocco and enjoy living for a couple of weeks in downtown Lancaster. I'm told that there're plenty of opportunities to grab some WiFi in those parts of Italy. And I'm reeeely excited that I'll get to meet Andreas Manessinger in Florence. Well, not really meet him, Andreas has become a good friend even though we've never seen one another face-to-face, but on October 6th we'll finally get to share some adult beverages together and talk about the state of humankind into the night in Florence (what better place to become enlightened?). If you'll be in that neighborhood - drop an email to one or the other of us. We could all party.

But, this also means that after a year of almost daily postings, this may be the last until the middle of October. I hope you won't forget to check in from time to time. And use the comments line here ... let everyone get to know you. Maybe, somewhere we'll all get to share those adult beverages together and settle the state of the human condition. Or at least laugh and smile... and see what each of us look like as we do it.

Off an adventure... Hold down the blog... K?

Ted

Thursday, September 27

Dance of the Bricks, Glass, and Sunset

"When new tools appear, new artistic possibilities arise." - Bayles & Orland, Art & fear, P. 58

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Frankly I pictured this sunset window (aiming due west) this way, because I can. Well, also because I wanted to. Okay, I wanted to and I'm able to. So, I did. But why does this tiny place up there catch the eye in the first place?

No surprise... I've got one of my hairbrained theories... Imagine that you walked past any modern middle class suburban tract home. I don't care if you're in Manheim Township Pennysylvania, just outside of Dallas, in the burbs around Boston, Atlanta, or Seattle. The things constructed in the last fifty or so years provide few details like this. And those that do exist were overwhelmingly manufactured in big numbers by some factory making windows, or frames or walls. I think what captures attention here is the obvious fact that somebody wanted to see sunsets. And some builder found a unique way to do it. And both of them did it at at time when people proudly finished their work. They punctuated it with the stuff they learned from classical teachers.

So we get this half-moon window which from the inside will frame the sun going down on East Chestnut street every night. Which means that inside this home, nature is framed on a wall right next to other pieces of art. And the dance that the builder and owner did to make that happen can be seen by anyone who chooses to look up, particularly at sunset.

I like to watch great dancers, even when they are anonymous - like these are. All you need is some music, right?

GEEK STUFF: Canon EOS 20D, 08/14/07:4:57 pm: Lens 17-85mm, Focal Length: 73mm, Exp 1/80@f/5.6, ISO 200, Metering Mode: average, Expoure bias 0, Camera RAW

Wednesday, September 26

2007 Award Winner: Rocco's Adventurel

Note: Accepted as one of theworld's finest Nature Images of 2007 for Canon POTN Book to be published in the Fall of 2008.

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My little buddy saw Fall down the pathway and scampered his furry body to meet it.

You ever think that we've lost the color, sound, and odor of the past? Start drilling down into history and pretty soon you're left only with the art collections of the rich. They're what pass along whatever lined the tunnels you dug. They were the windows that let you look through any level. The deeper you dig, the fewer windows remain. What did the average guy, walking home on the first evenings of Fall smell? Hear? What colors bathed the walkways and what colors did those rays mix together in the facades on either side?

If you walked down a decaying pathway behind a furry friend on a night like tonight in say 1007, in oh... Belfast, or Florence... Well, you have no way of knowing what was there. Will pictures like this survive so that in 3007 someone will have a window to peer into as he digs through my layer of his history? What will he make of our time as he watches Rocco prance into Fall?

Tuesday, September 25

This Wouldn't Happen Now

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What's changed in America? Here's Lancaster's City Hall. Built at the turn of the Twentieth Century it was so blatant in its optimism and celebration of the future. Look at the resources that went into this public art.

It could not be built today. Abrasive critics would tear off every ornament. They'd resist materials and textures that reflected any ambition on the part of designer or town leaders. It's difficult to get the dollars to maintain structures like these. What's happened? Where has the willingness of citizens to contribute to civic pride gone? Now every public dollar seems drawn into some consumption demand. Now we need to create governments which don't so much celebrate our pride as they redistribute our wealth.

When this building went up, governments reflected a public joy, now they seem to speak only for the crankiest n public. What's changed in America?

Monday, September 24

Lightenment

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As many of you know, Rita and I are off to Rome then Florence for two weeks on Sunday. Just spoke to the house sitters (who will live in and dog sit my buddy Rocco).

So since we're visiting the epicenter of the enlightenment, I decided to look at this evening's first sunrise of Fall as an attempt to try to outrageously mix the emotional content with the Greco-Roman aesthetics of proportoin, balance,poise, and simplicity. The enlightenment was characterized by formalists who bristled at non-conformity, experimental techniques, and unpredictability. So...how to capture that within a block of my home?

Here's a neighbor's stoop on East Chestnut Street. So? Is there a mastery of form here? Is this sufficiently lyrical to at least qualify me for a visit to places still moist from the Age of Reason? Enough expressive texture? Tone?

Okay... not a masterpiece, but I'm trying to get in the mood for Europe. Mood... yeah... Gotta work on capturing mood this week.

Sunday, September 23

Masters' Control

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You're raised on a farm, frolicking with your friends and family. Years pass filled with great food, quiet... pastoral bliss.

Until one morning... herded... crammed into a dank loud truck... all dark... terror. Jammed up ramps. Bleating, screaming... Panic... Along some sort of corridor, past this place, inside people.. Not farmers. Cold eyes. Not there with food and warmth. You're somewhere that's all turmoil and clatter. A chugging. Air blasts. Bells clanging. So loud. So ghastly... Where is this place? What is it? Home... want to go home...

----

It's still now. Crumbling. The remains of a great shed that covered the sorting area for new arrivals. Off to pens according to type, class, destination. Slaughter... somewhere. But not here. No, here was a station beside the railhead that loaded the trains off to the great city centers. Here was an in between place of what? Can you imagine what went through their minds?

Rocco and I walked through the stockyard ruins, and he sensed what I couldn't hear, smell, or see. My little friend was not happy. There's something inside this place... Silent echoes. You are on edge here.

Does it show?

Saturday, September 22

Last Path Of Summer

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Summer ends sometime during the day tomorrow. Rocco and I watched the 2007 summer sun set for the last time this evening. It's probable that the Lancaster Stockyards will finally be demolished this Fall and Winter. So tonight's may be the last summer sun set ever on this back pathway of what was once the largest stockyard east of Chicago.

I'm guessing that a photographer aiming from this spot will soon see acres of asphalt surrounding another shopping mall,or maybe a gordo Wal-Mart. And this scene, once so busy and now caught up in soon-to-be-overcome litigation will fade into memory... like the last sunset of summer.

GEEK STUFF: Canon EOS 20D, 09/22/07:6:06 pm: Lens 10-22mm, Focal Length: 10mm, Exp 1/200@f/8, ISO 400, Metering Mode: pattern, Expoure bias -1, Camera RAW

Friday, September 21

Years From Now

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When you envision the future world of say 2067 - do you leave room for homes like this? In your dreams of times to come, is everything crystal, plasma, shimmering, and chrome? Will that place have razed everything that came before it?

Will it sit upon a mound of bulldozed under carcasses of oddly charming, but presently decaying relics that embody the dreams of a string of generations? Will the tractor beam of suburban MacMansions guarantee city developers a freedom to knock down everything urban to make way for city buildings that will compete for people with sufficient income that they can afford to pay the taxes that will restore those cities?

But should that happen... then what will happen to storybook homes like this? Does it have a spot, a place, a justification for living anywhere outside of a museum in your dreams of the future?

GEEK STUFF: Canon EOS 20D, 09/21/07:5:38 pm: Lens 17-85mm, Focal Length: 17mm, Exp 1/125@f/8, ISO 400, Metering Mode: pattern, Expoure bias -1, Camera RAW

Thursday, September 20

Work

Ouch....Real world intrudes. Ted must review books for magazines. I gotta excuse myself tonight. Deadlines loom... sorry. Check in tomorrow... K?

Wednesday, September 19

Squinting Backward

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How to carve today's cultural landscape into antique pieces?

Can I make an image that's identical to one seen by some guy 250 yeas ago?

Must we squint to see history?

Behind me here... directly behind me sits a booming mall. I'm standing in its driveway. Cars whizz past.

Over there sits the farmhouse for this place and from its parapet, across this pond, they could see tilled fields as far in my direction as they could look.

Now on an asphalt field in the city of Lancaster, I'm looking back...ward.

In today's late afternoon sun... Squinting.

Tuesday, September 18

Changings

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Should we love or fear the future.

The folks who live here on the Wellfleet Marsh on Cape Cod can predict that twice each day this place will flood, then drain. The future will be nearly as like the past as possible. Yet no present moment will ever hold. The swings of changing tides, coupled with the beat of changing seasons, coupled with the predictable changes in summer versus winter people... all of these changes result in...

Well let me try my wonderings differently. If nothing changed, would there be a future? If we were eternal... immortal... would the past have still happened? How, if nothing changed, would we compare the future with now, and now with then and.. and.. But if nothing changed, there'd be no sunrises like this one. If nothing changed... would there be beauty? How would we know it... if nothing changed?

How would we know anything? And if knowing is good. Then the first question.. in my first sentence has an answer, right?

Monday, September 17

From The Grooveyard

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I was up until about 2am last night working on an article for my magazines, then just before 5am the commercial haulers made a raucous pickup across the street from where we sleep with a device which explodes sit-up-in-bed-terror noises that careen about our bedroom. Simply put - very little sleep last night and my candle is flickering now. So... I have reached into a collection of my earliest digital work done with a three megapixel camera and a lens which could have doubled for a Coke bottle.

Actually I'm not making excuses, just explaining the busy technique i was developing to overcome the technical challenge of photographs that looked as if they all captured images of melting plastic. Here I visited an Amish barn out in the Village of Eden I believe. They'd raised a spectre on their sign which I guess some could take a an omen?

I'm going to bed.... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Sunday, September 16

Furious Chance

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The most intriguing images are mysteries. Um, well, to some degree every photo-based image is a mystery, since exposition is particularly difficult in the display of a frozen instant. But some are better at telling a story than others.

I enjoy the tack sharp images which make the subject crystal clear, but leave the meaning as elusive as Al Gore’s sex appeal, or as eloquence is to George Bush. I like the image which gives us a surface we can dive through… one which seems to be the sheen atop an ocean of meaning.

Photographic images seem to say,"Hey dummy, this is what reality must be like if it looked this way." But like this massive furious orange cement gorilla atop a five story building, you know that the image maker isn’t telling you everything. You know there’s a secret to this photograph… if it is a photograph... and if there ever was a monster beast high atop that ugly parapet on a day as clear as summer makes them.

But even if that image didn’t happen, we know that it is happening in that rectangle. So why? What reality is this image describing?

I tell you, the images we can make contain some puzzle piece each time we produce them. And there’s a satisfaction in solving those mysteries. That is if there are unique solutions. No… no… there are unique solutions, and each of us can create one.

There’s something predatory about image creation. We hunt for game, shoot it, then we do our own taxidermy. Images become trophies that represent something we accomplished: some thought or feeling which overwhelmed us. And we display them to tell what we concluded to others. To tell them of the possible fury which can lurk up above us, ready at any moment to smash down a massive fist, even in the brilliant sunlight of a perfect summer’s day.

Could it be that chance is a monster gorilla in an orange shirt?

Saturday, September 15

Water Colorists

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Last night, the Pennsylvania Watercolor Society opened a juried show at the Lancaster Museum of Art. Simultaneoulsy they presented awards to the best in show. The magnificient exhibition will run for the next couple of weeks. Go out of your way to see it... the thing rocks.

And it left me wondering about my ability to capture the illusive misty quality of watercolor. Many of the pieces on exhibit are summer renderings, I guess because the artists have more time outdoors during those months. So I decided to try a minature combining a guy I captured last Sunday at Wheels, Wheels, Wheels with a street scene from Fort Lauderdale I took in 2005. Somehow they go together for me as an essence of summer.

Summer colors sear, so much so that they actually mute one another. I know that's a contradiction, but a mid-day summer palette is so brilliant that it seems to spill together, I guess because we squint to capture it in our memories. That's what I'm after here, a misty watercolor memory... Hmmm... there's a nice line, wonder if it'd fit into a song?

Friday, September 14

Wheels #5: The End

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Of course, in a pinch, there's always one last way to deal with a sun-drenched image (See the texts from September, 10-14). Just move the puppy to a friendlier spot, like this. See, the sun dappling looks like street-light dappling and it solves the problem, right? Actually when I saw this old rumble seat open - I imagined it all set to fill up with a happy couple for a night ride through the downtown. I have vague memories as a kid of riding in somebody's ancient but restored jalopy with my Mom in one of those things. Wind-in-hair it was a giggly ride for little boy, like an amusement park attraction that ran right down my street and into the driveway. Wheeeee!

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But when I got to digging into the image it provoked an addtional thought. Don't you think this was the kind of car that the owners took down to the Lancaster Municipal docks to work on their boat? Doesn't it look right out there next to one of the smaller craft? From shore to ship, the perfect way to end my Wheels week, don't you think?

GEEK STUFF Sunday 9/9/07 1:41pm: 1/80s@f/7.1 : Canon EOS 20D, Meter Mode Auto, Exposure Program: Normal, ISO 200, Lens: Canon EFS 17-85mm (f4-5.6), Focal Length 33 mm, Exposure Bias:-0.33, RAW: PP in PS-CS3

Thursday, September 13

Wheels #4

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Question time. Here's my fourth visit to Wheels Theme Week. Once again I'm trying to suck out something interesting from beneath a yowling mid-day sun. But here there's more to the exercise. Which brings me to my question.

Regardless of their equipment, photographers always impose themselves upon their subjects. And many feel that if something is pictured, well it must be true. Photographs as opposed to news columns, or drawings come with a paunch of authority.

But are ANY photos true? Any of them? And even if you can think of situations in which there is NO ambiguity about the information that's pictured in a photo, is that an exception? Aren't our images just as much interpretations and feelings about "reality" as music, poetry, and drawing?

Look at this blue Pontiac (it might be a Chevy). I ask you, what percentage of this image is absolutely a true representation of that vehicle and how much a feeling? And is that feeling yours? Is it mine? Does it belong to the craftsperson who lovingly restored it? Does it belong to the designer and craftspeople who originally conceived of it?

And as you answer these questions, and I really hope you will wrestle with them either through posts or in your mind, here's a last question. See that title up there beside my picture? Why do you think I've given that name to this blogsight? Is there a photo blogsight anywhere which should not have the same name?

Huh? Huh? Huh?

Wednesday, September 12

Wheels #3

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My theme week rolls on with this purple car that's packaged up feelings of what? Dusty country roads? Glamorous urban night clubs? An important arrival?

Whoever drove this somewhere must have felt like... like... Mr. BIG. When streets were filled with these things... well just imagine looking down from a skyscraper as the sooty twilight sun flashed off their backs and the city looked like an animated golden necklace glimmering in precious gems. So big, piloting them must have felt like driving your living room from the sofa. This guy sits now, just on the other side of the line dividing art from truth... No, not a line so much as a veil of nostalgia that lets us peer into a place where sharp lines no longer live.

But the technical question still hovers over this image. Taken when the sun blared worst... does this salvage a memorable idea or feeling from the din of searing light?

Tuesday, September 11

Wheels #2 - Tuesday

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Wheels theme week continues.... Another image made where the air is blared by squint-tight sun. The challenge goes on: How to make lemonade from the lemon light of mid day in summer on the streets of Lancaster's epicenter? Yesterday I grabbed the searing red interior of a '57 Caddy. Tonight, just what you crave on a desert-like day... WATER! Here's the coolant cap from some wonderful piece of motorized sculptor built I imagine in the mid 1930s. No details, it's as if I present a picture of a trunk and it's up to you to imagine the entire elephant that's behind the thing. Here's a water cap... so go ahead, imagine the rest.

There are stories to these old cars and some of them I bet are pretty sexy. It was the first time when boys and girls of the masses could go off alone in portable rooms for a night of passionate fun.And the results? Seventy five year old kiddies walking these very Lancaster streets all a-squint against a sun that adds dazzle to memories of their parents' frolickings in seventy five year old trucks.

Monday, September 10

Themes Like Old Times

<- Met Al Morrison this Sunday at 'Wheels, Wheels, Wheels' along N. Queen Street where maybe a hundred street rods and classic cars were mixed with a couple dozen motorcycles in the blazing sunlight along the closed avenue. There were hundreds, maybe thousands of people on the superhot afternoon. Al's images are posted at his Flickr account and they inspired me to play with the things this week.

It's said that photographic images are not so much statements about the world as they are piece of it - minatures of reality. The more I think about that idea, the more it resonates with me. So this week I thought I'd try to pull pieces of a time-past together from under that searing sun (a photographer's nightmare) to see if we together could pimp out our recollections the way the keepers of these relics pimped their vehicles out. And where better to begin than the cockpit of an explosively red '57 Caddy? I wonder if our European and Asian visitors share North and South American memories (or myths) about cruising, top-down, AM radio blaring - Hot Town... Summer In The City? Huh?

Sunday, September 9

It's over - Phewwww!

My show last Friday went fine. Hundreds of people passed through. At times you couldn’t move along the main hallway or get up the stairs (it sprawled over two levels, four rooms, and two hallways). I’d like to show you pictures of the mobs, but, um… well my two friends who took pictures thought I exclusively wanted pictures of my pictures set up, and so they left for dinner during the actual times that most people came to see the exhibit. So the result of all of the setup and marketing and hoping… that is the genuine crowds of people who came… well those are stored not on hard drives or flash cards… but in my rapidly dimming memory. Heck.

It was a nice evening. A lot of friends came by along with scores of people I’d never met. People seemed to crash through in waves. There’d be a quieter period when only a dozen or so wandered around, then… WhOOOMP! the doors would open and scores seemed to pile in. There was a free wine/beer/soft-drink bar on the second floor, elegantly matched with a range of finger food including a big bowl of cold shrimp.

How to gauge success? People said nice things. Some prints were sold. Some gallery people stopped by, but most were pinned down in their own shops along gallery row catering to the large crowds. There was a rock band across the street from us with people who spilled out into the street (which was not closed – Lancaster is a working city). Sometime I shall do a photo essay on a First Friday in the city. It attracts people who live way outside along with visitors from Washington, Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York City.

How to gauge success? We were tired afterward. My wife, her sister Cathy, my friends Steve (particularly Steve - the enthusastic support from he and my wife, Rita, made this happen), Maria, Chris, Beth, and my partner Steve – all helped lug, tug, and set up. Tim Smedick along with the staff and volunteers at the Historic Preservation Trust were astonishingly supportive. I’m thinking they all had a good time.

I put out about six hundred cards re. my website. There were about two hundred left when we took things down. The Historic Trust people said that they’d never had as many people pass through.

How to gauge success? It was satisfying. But, I shall never, I think, put in that kind of work again. If someone else wants to show my work, I’ll supply it. But actually printing, framing, moving, hanging, and then schlepping it all out the same night… Whoa….

How to gauge success?

I’m smiling. And really appreciative of my family and friends – more than ever. Which is, after all, the very definition of success, eh?

But as for something to show you… Some images to display… You’ll have to take my word for the turnout… As for pictures to show you of the visitors….well... there weren't many. However my photographic team of Steve Cornibert & Maria Caridad did get a feeling for how the thing looked. Here... let me post a collage and I'll explain starting clockwise from the left hand corner which shows the view from the front door down the first floor hallway.


<- Click here You can see the stairs people took to get to the second floor. There are two rooms off of this hallway, the first to the right is the next picture w/ my Fulton image in the center. Note the small white thing to the left of that print? It's a paragraph of description.

The next room down the entry hall is the pictured next with the Cylo-Baseball series to the right and another display swept around to the left.

Farther down the first floor hallway is a small breakfast nook with large doors leading out to a veranda, which is where my large image of the twin spires was shown. to the lef of this were a number of smaller prints.

At the top of the stairs is another hallway... immediately to the left is a room, and at the end, you can see me entering the next pictured room, where the food and drink were served. See on the back wall behind the food table? That's my very large print of A.S. Groff's Hopes.

And finally if you'd gone immediately left at the top of the stairs, you'd have entered this room (in the very center of the collate) where I'd displayed largely images of Lancaster County. However, as the evening went on, people casually moved images from room to room - mixing the all up. Odd, but interesting.

Something else you can see ... is that I am NOT a graphic designer and the collage is pretty primitive, but it gives you a feeling for the intent of the night. Thank goodness for the air conditioning. The night was moon-struck and humidity struck. It was a tropical evening in South Central Pennsylvania. There was no need for any of the fireplaces which are built into each of the Trust's rooms.

Thursday, September 6

Manipulator

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Okay, said I was going to be off until late this weekend, BUT... As it turned out I felt I had to deal with the charge of, "Manipulation!" which many of us hear monotonously from the Organic Photographic movement. Like many of you, I've frequently heard people speak of my images.... "Hey! That's not photography!"

I know I've dealt with that here before, but I decided to head off the controversy at the show tomorrow night by making this poster I've posted tonight. Hope it stops some repetitive questions. It's just not.... not... PC... to charge "Manipulation!"

Right? Right?

Wednesday, September 5

48 Hours To Go... YIPES!

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I guess the graphic speaks for me as well as itself. To find the rest of the show details click on the label 'Ted's News' below. And if you're in the neighborhood of 123 N. Prince Street in Lancaster... come by between 5:00 and 8:30 Friday evening and say hello. PLEEEESE!!!

The prints really do sparkle - especially the BIG thingeees.

Tuesday, September 4

Depreciation Lacks Constituency

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Curious thing about democracy. Voters want new things. Voters want low taxes. Maintenance is the residual. People have no sense of upkeep when they buy a bridge. They figure the thing's massive and made out of stuff that's eternal. Look at this bridge in front of the Pequea Yacht Club way down in rural southern Lancaster County. It spans the Pequea Creek just before it meets the Susquehanna river off stage-right in this image. I guess there's a marking around somewhere which gives the date it was erected. Judging by the iron work, I'm guessing sometime in the early part of the 20th century, about a hundred years ago.

Regardless, the skin's fallen away and the skeleton's hanging out. Only a minute or so before I took this photo, a school bus clanked over the thing. How long do you think before it drops into the creek? Or before a school bus summersaults down? The point is that governments in the United States generally lack a sense of what businesses call depreciation. There are no funds established when public works are created which will maintain them into the future. Each new generation launches a number of pieces of apparatus into a time stream where they sail through the ages. Unfortunately future generations fail to respect the gift, or even find it to be a nuisance - something that can sop up tax dollars they want to spend on new apparatus, or on payoffs for votes... their legacies are new bridges and smiling citizens.

There's no legacy in repair. No real bragging rights. No new plaques get pasted onto the sides of bridges. No new names go onto the things honoring the politicians who fixed the cancerous rebar. Not to worry, when a school bus gets dunked, panic will set in. And the President him/herself will fly to Pequea to promise federal dollars will be taken from folks in Texas, California, and the Dakotas among other places to rebuild this bridge over this creek. Lets me sleep at night here in the richest nation in history. You?

Monday, September 3

Image Magic? Not!

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Last Saturday I played with something that an early twentieth century anthropologist named James Frazier called "Sympathetic Magic." Fun, but Frazier invented another sort of magic which is reallycool to think about. Called Image Magic, he said it was based upon the idea that, "like produces like. Or that an effect resembles its cause." Images of anything are explained by their makers.

Now since we play with images - I figured hey... let me see if I can prove Frazier - REEEEEEELY WRONG! Let me see if I can find some thing which seems nothing like its creator. So this morning I loaded up my bike, and rode down to N. Water Street where there are all sorts of things that are left over from the past couple of hundred years. And there, on the corner of Water and W. Marian St. VIOLA! I mean look at this thing. It's a classical beautiful facade neatly restored in elegant sedate splendor by - our Hole In The Wall Puppet Theater!

Now of course the HITWPT is tasteful and its presentations are elegant good fun. But would you have expected this creation to be caused by the HITWPT? Okay, many of you come here from around the world. "Ted," you chortle, "I have no idea what the Hole In The Wall Puppet Theater does. “

Right... right... Still, from their name, what do you think that they do? Eh? Roll bologna? Of course not. And they are in the business of creating magic with every presentation. But yet... yet.... Haven't I done it? Haven't I found a clear contradiction to Image Magic in this magical image of colors, shapes, textures and forms? Huh? Huh?

Sunday, September 2

Labor day Weekend

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Speaks for itself?

Saturday, September 1

Putting Descartes Before The Horse

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Recently I heard of an early twentieth-century anthropologist named James Frazer. Seems he had a theory about what he called Sympathetic Magic.

Now if I got it straight, he argued that “things that have once been in contact with each other continue to act upon each other at a distance, even after the contact has been severed.”

Hmmmm… see those boats in today's image? There is no body of water nearby to the City of Lancaster that would permit ships like them to operate. Now, see the bricks, and the window arch? See the repeating arch over the coal-bin window to this building’s basement? I’m told you’ll find exactly this design routinely throughout the British Isles.

Do these two things point just one way – toward the truth of Frazer’s Sympathetic Magic? Somehow bricklaying and ship building techniques are just as real here in one of Lancaster’s lovely alleyways as they were when they were bumped up against sometime long ago. These two images, one made from brick, the others from wood and canvas are both material objects yet they are signs from long long ago, and far far away. What’s most magical is that we accept the fusion here on this tiny street without a thought.

And yet because they are, therefore I think. How would one say that, Sum ergo cogito? Sympathetic Magic, eh?