Linda Grashoff's Photography Adventures

Surfaces

Trees of Life


April 15, 2019

The way that life grows on other life may be especially visible in semitropical and tropical locations. In Florida festooned trees draw my attention and wonder. A walk this winter in the Myakka River State Park with my friend Jean provided more instances of such complexities than usual—probably because Jean pointed out some beautiful examples at the very beginning of our wandering. The culmination was a tree and its inhabitants that Jean calls her favorite tree. Perched bromeliads (some people call them air plants, though that is a misnomer) and mosses growing on trees are easy to spot and appreciate. So are many species of lichens, which are not plants at all but hybrid life forms that combine fungi and (usually) green algae or cyanobacteria. Jean’s favorite tree is special for hosting a variety of lichens, including the subtlest—pale washes of color that make you lean in to see if you can catch when one faint hue gives way to another. Even a short walk through a forest of growth on top of growth may be enough to make you marvel at the connectedness of life, perhaps even to recall the John Donne poem.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And a detail of the photo above:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Old Boats Are Best—2


March 31, 2019

Three days before I photographed old boats following the map that Karen Bell drew for me, I was in Cortez photographing old boats in a different location. So for those of you who didn’t see enough of them in the last post, here are more old boats. If you haven’t already, I urge you to read the comments on the last post. (Scroll way way down.) So many of you with so much to say!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Old Boats Are Best—1


Old boats are the best boats—at least to photograph. While we were waiting for latecomers to join the tour that Karen Bell was to give of the A.P Bell fish house, Karen told me she loved the look of old boats. I said (of course) that I did, too. After the tour Karen drew me a map of where I could find nearby old boats to photograph. Below (way below) are the boat photographs I took that day.

The other day I happened upon the work of Richard Alan Cohen, who also photographs old boat hulls. His web site includes a link to a review of his work by Kat Kiernan, editor-in-chief of the photography magazine Don’t Take Pictures. It’s short, and I’ve pasted it here:

“I never want to see another abstract photograph of a distressed surface. Camera lenses pointed close enough to a subject will turn almost anything into an abstract photograph. A camera is unable to produce a true abstraction—it can only record what is in front of it. This forces the conversation to revolve around what the subject matter is. Most photographers making abstract pictures will say that the what doesn’t matter and that their image is only about line, form, texture, and so on. Too often, these types of photographs feel like a cheap way to get the look of an abstract painting without having to actually paint. And too often, they feel flat—lacking the depth and texture needed to pull off the illusion. Richard Alan Cohen takes a different approach.

“In his series Waterlines, Cohen makes no attempts at abstraction for its own sake. His “what” is right there in the series title and is a perfect subject matter for the “why.” He photographs distressed boat hulls not with the intention of reducing them into just lines, shapes, and colors, but instead explores the minimal elements required to form a landscape in the mind’s eye. He is not trying to hide the fact that these photographs are of the undersides of boats. Instead, he uses their waterlines to create an entirely new one—one that only exists through Cohen’s careful framing and our own psychological search for recognition. In Cohen’s photographs, the waterline becomes a coastline, corroded fiberglass becomes weather, and the footprints of barnacles become stars. He embraces the subject matter beautifully by making a strong conceptual connection between the subject—a boat—and the final image—an abstract photograph reminiscent of a seascape.”

Well, ouch.

Kiernan may have based some of what she writes about Cohen’s work on what he says on his website:

“Pausing to study this evidence of where the boat has been, one perceives that the waterline provides an horizon. Above and below that are details of imagined landscapes, perhaps those that could be seen from the boats themselves when they sailed on the water. In developing these images, I share my own imagination and provide the seed for each viewer to form their own remembered landscapes. This project is ultimately an exploration of the minimal elements required to form a landscape in the mind’s eye – the waterline as coastline, the texture as weather, the footprint of barnacles as stars.”

And later:

“The color and forms introduced by the interaction of the pollutants with the boat’s bottom paint provide iconic symbols of man’s disturbance of nature, and are inescapable evidence of the downside of the sailor’s voyage upon the sea.”

I urge you to read more of what Cohen says in his recent Lenscratch interview.

Here are some questions Kiernan’s review has prompted me to consider. I wonder, dear reader, what you think.

  1. How much do we miss out on a larger conversation about photography because we don’t think deeply enough about what we are doing?
  2. How can we learn to think deeply?
  3. Can we even learn to think deeply, or is that an ability we either have or don’t?
  4. How much do we hold back our work from greater exposure because we aren’t willing or don’t know how to talk about it?
  5. I absolutely don’t mean to impugn Cohen’s work, which I admire along with his stated intent, so forgive my cynicism (or not): How much verbiage about art, especially photography, is based on associations discovered or devised after the painting or photograph was made? And would this practice be legitimate?
  6. If we are not deep thinkers or writers, can we nonetheless entertain hopes of making noteworthy photographs?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Good Fences Make Good . . .


January 22, 2019

This is the last of the haul that netted the photographs in the previous two posts. The last photograph here is not really a fence but a grate horizontal to the ground. It just seems to fit with the fences. 😉

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


The Dumpsters of Sarasota 23 through 38


January 2, 2019

So many dumpster photographs, so little time. I’d rather not post all 16 of these photographs at once, but I am plagued by a surfeit of riches. The outing that produced these dumpster photographs resulted in many goodies, and I want to get through them all in a reasonable length of time. Feel free to quit looking at any point. 🙂

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


If You Go to Boston . . .


December 10, 2018

Because of the kindness of three people, I am privileged (along with 61 other photographers) to be exhibiting a photograph in the Passageway of the Lafayette City Center in Boston. The Passageway links Macy’s with the Hyatt Regency Hotel. The show, Abstraction Attraction, is up now through May 5, 2019. Note that you can see all the photographs online. If you happen to be in the Passageway during this time and see my photo, please let me know! The photographs were selected by Paula Tognarelli, executive director and curator of the Griffin Museum of Photography. Here’s the chosen photo, The Fish Bins of Cortez 38, and a link to other fish-bin photos. Big thanks to Stephen Tomasko, who sent me the entry information, and to my friends Katie Brown and Robert Taylor, who prompted Stephen by telling him that I “was a photographer, too.”


Should We or Should We Not?


November 23, 2018

Alan Goldsmith of Pixetera left a comment on my last post that deserves more attention. Here’s what he said about my photographs of oil-film-topped puddles in my drug store’s parking lot:

“[T]hey raise this question for me again: In making beautiful photos of environmental pollution and destruction, does the photographer sabotage his or her ecological message? Or, to put it another way: Should we make really ugly, awful pictures if we want to show the harmful effects of contaminants in our air, land, and water? Would anyone even look at them then?

“I have yet to hear a satisfactory answer to this dilemma.”

I have struggled with Alan’s question in presenting my photographs of dumpsters, and certainly the question pertains even more strongly to photographs of oil pollution. Recently I considered this issue in a short essay to go with some photographs of dumpsters for the 2018 Fall issue of Eureka!.*

Here are some new photographs of dumpsters, taken Wednesday. The first two are of a dumpster I have previously photographed. The last is a detail of the third photograph.

 

 

 

 

*Eureka! is a small literary magazine created by and for residents of Kendal at Oberlin, where I live.


Tank for the Memories 3


July 27, 2018

As I’ve said before: ah, what you learn putting together a blog post. Click on this image to see it larger, and you will notice more detail on these squiggly lines. Guessing these could be the tracks of snails that feed on algae, that’s what I Googled. Here’s what I found: http://www.flickriver.com/groups/radula_tracks/pool/ and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Radula. The Wikipedia page says that the squiggly lines are made by the snail’s radula, “an anatomical structure that is used by mollusks for feeding, sometimes compared to a tongue.” The tracks are visible in the two previous posts, too, but not as clearly.


Tank for the Memories 2


July 26, 2018


Stone for Stepping (on) and Looking (at)


July 22, 2018