David Lean’s masterpiece.
O’Toole. Sharif.
Category Archives: Photographers
Cindy Sherman
An outstanding show at MOMA SF.
In a sweeping Retrospective show of her work (can you have a Prospective show?) at SF MOMA through October 8, 2012, Cindy Sherman shows why she is one of the most interesting contemporary photographers.
For some forty years now Sherman has been working with just one subject. Herself.
Sherman as the Duchess of Windsor, the much divorced Wallis Simpson who never got to be Queen.
Expert in make-up and prosthetics, Sherman has portrayed herself in dozens of styles. Flapper, floosie, whore, matron, aristocrat, bag lady, newly moneyed, and so on. The show is too big to take in at one pop, but two of the rooms stand out. In one a handful of large format pictures, maybe 3′ x 5′, show her portrayed against insanely lush backdrops, varying from Dynasty kitsch to landed gentry. The scheming Duchess of Windsor above, perfectly understood, is but one such example, though the out-of-focus masking is beyond crude. (She needs to learn Photoshop’s Magic Lasso tool). The viewer is simultaneously awed by the detail and technique and repelled by the excess on show, as Sherman treads a fine line between purportedly respectful rendering of the subject and her surroundings and disgust at the vast wealth on display. Evil is the root of all money here.
In another room are painterly renditions of characters from the Dutch and Italian Renaissance schools, and they are simply breathtaking. When you see Sherman as Caravaggio’s ‘Sick Bacchus’ your jaw will drop in amazement and admiration.
Sherman as Caravaggio’s Sick Bacchus.
It’s hard not to be impressed, and puzzled. Here’s a woman making herself up in imitative styles and surroundings, making recreations of famous paintings. Is that bad taste or great art? Hard to call. But there’s no denying the woman’s work ethic and, well yes, her originality.
Margaret Bourke-White airborne
Fabulous.
Thrilling images from the doyenne of mid-20th century photojournalism of America from a helicopter.
Click the picture.
When I lived in New York (1980-87), the center of the civilized world (and of the uncivilized one, known as Wall Street), my home was but two blocks south-west of Columbus Circle at 310 West 56th Street – see the fourth picture. The trains from the air in snow (#9) is reminiscent of the work of the German master Hans Saebens. #11 reminds me of the genius of the financier Charles Tyson Yerkes who made Chicago’s El possible as well as developing the London Underground at the turn of the 20th century. If you enjoy writing about high finance, there is none better than Theodore Dreiser’s trilogy – The Financier, The Titan and The Stoic – whose pseudonymous anti-hero, one Frank Algernon Cowperwood – is none other than Yerkes. Dreiser’s prose is as thrilling as Bourke-White’s art.
The Burning House
What would you take?
The author Foster Huntington has a web site requesting submissions. From his site:
“If your house was burning, what would you bring with you?
It’s a philosophical conflict between what’s practical, valuable and sentimental. You’re forced to prioritize and boil down a life of accrued possessions into what you can carry out with you. What you would bring reflects your interests, background and priorities. People’s stage in life also dictates their selection. A father of five in his forties would grab very different things than he would have as a bachelor in his twenties. Think of it as a full interview condensed into one question.”
Click the image to go to Amazon. I get no click-through payment.
What a thought-provoking idea.
Assuming that loved ones – human and animal – are always the first priority, what would I take? You have to be able to carry it so not much can be chosen.
In no particular order:
Dr. Sabała.
Dr. SabaÅ‚a (Sa-bow-aaah) is my first and only teddy bear, given to me by my maternal grandfather Dr. StanisÅ‚aw Wachowiak. Once the owner of the Robur coal mine in Poland and an owner and director of Bank Handlowy w Warszawie (Warsaw Trade Bank – it’s OK, bankers were honest back then), he managed to combine the skills of a Heidelberg trained economist and capitalist with those of an authority on Latin prose. No one quite knew where from his deep imagination Dr. S. got his name but he always reminds me of a skill set to aspire to. That of the donor. Smarter than most Poles (not exactly difficult) my grandfather saw the German threat coming and managed to extricate much of his wealth to Brazil where he died happy, wealthy and tanned at the age of 90. Dr. S. has had more than his share of restorative surgery but at age 60 he’s holding up pretty well.
Patek Philippe Golden Ellipse:
That same grandfather willed me his Patek Philippe pocket watch; sadly, my mum took it to a watchmaker to have it cleaned and he was coshed, and the watch stolen. This determined me to replace it some day, but that took a while as I was eleven at the time and had no wealth or inheritance. Twenty-nine years later, aged forty, I finally managed to complete the deal, a gift to self coinciding with partnership at a money management firm. I deserved both, the watch and the partnership, but it was still awfully difficult to blow so much coin on a piece of decorative art. But when you look at the sheer elegance of this mechanical masterpiece, no dials, no batteries, no buttons, you too would take it with you when your place was aflame, and hang the cost. This one says in the simplest way that if you want something it’s yours to be had.
Don Normark’s book:
Click the picture.
The art book is the sole genre which will survive the tablet tsunami unless, that is, someone makes a 21″ tablet. I’ll be first in line. But books are bulky, the flames are licking at the shelves and I can only make space for one, so this wonderful, warm book of a time past is my choice. I wrote about it here.
My mum’s Remington:
I typed my Mech. Eng. dissertation on this, UC London, class of 1973, and it remains a reminder of the magnificence of the mechanical age in which I was born. The output, of course, needed a lot of hacking as typewriters weren’t especially suited to mathematical notation. It remains an enduring reminder of the fact that you always make the best of what you have. Plus I love steam punk! (RMP – Renata Maria Pindelski).
50mm f/1.4 Nikkor S:
Easy. This gorgeous lens and the lovely images it creates is like the Patek. A reminder of a time when mechanical engineering and slide rules …. err, ruled.
Hewlett-Packard HP12C calculator:
As the gorgeous Eva Green relates to 007 (Daniel Craig) in the latter’s first Bond movie, “There are dinner jackets and there are dinner jackets. This is a dinner jacket.” Well, same goes for calculators. This one dates from my days at Salomon Brothers and I learned bond math on it. Sure, there’s a modern, infinitely faster, version to be had for the iPhone, but it’s just not the same. And it won’t last 40+ years.
iPhone:
The greatest consumer technology of the 21st century yet. We named our son after the chap on the home screen.
Letter from Ron and Old Glory:
My interest in politics is zero. My interest in great leaders is substantial. When one man rights the world’s greatest nation while simultaneously defeating the greatest source of evil in modern times, I notice. When the great man announced his illness I dropped him a line and he graciously responded. Of course. The flag is the one I was given in the Los Angeles Coliseum, when, together with 2,000 other lucky immigrants, I took the oath to be a loyal American, June 9, 1988. After my son’s birth it remains the most special day in my life.
What, no cameras? Well there is always the one in the iPhone. But modern digital cameras leave me cold. Competent, supremely effective, soulless. I can always buy another body and lens. No pictures or hard drives with files? Nope. It’s all backed up in the cloud.
Sports photography
Color me skeptical.
I am of the opinion that all professional sports are rigged. The reason is simple. There’s just too much money involved for it to be otherwise. From loaded baseball bats to loaded cyclists, from stolen secrets in Formula One to corrupt officials, you have the same dynamic at work as in Wall Street. A poorly paid population of regulators who couldn’t make it as the real thing and infinitely wealthy sponsors for whom a referee or Congressman or regulator is chump change.
Take the current idiotic spectacle called the Olympics which makes me doubly happy I no longer have to commute on the London Underground. Sponsors? Why those purveyors of healthy lifestyles named McDonald’s and Coca-Cola. The one responsible for the greatest outbreak of obesity yet seen, the other for global diabetes. And the athletes? Big Pharma runs through their veins, always one step ahead of poorly paid …. yup, regulators. The comical posturing against doping is the ultimate in self-deception. The rational thing to do is to make all doping legal. We would get greater gladiatorial spectacle and Pfizer and Merck could join MCD and KO in the sponsorship drive. Would I go to the Olympics to watch a 10 second dash? Meh. Any one of dozens can run it in 10 seconds. But make it seven seconds with maybe the added thrill of someone croaking at the end and my ticket money is in hand. “Smith sets new dash record and dies at line. First posthumous gold in Olympic history.” sells tickets. Big time. Hey, it’s all about profit, no? What do you care if some disadvantaged kid loads up on EPO instead of heroin? His job is to sell tickets and give you a (not so) cheap thrill. Panem et circenses. The Roman games are back.
None of that is to say that the world of sports has not produced some great photography; nor has that genre yielded its greatest work in the modern world of the point-and-shoot auto everything 12 frames a second DSLR which, frankly, anyone can make great sports pictures with. Point, press, hose it about a bit. Child’s play. The technology has done more to debase sports photography and ruin the livelihood of hundreds of snappers than anything else.
One standout in the genre is David Burnett who has snapped at the last seven summer Olympics, which means before the auto-everything era. You can see more of his great work by clicking his picture below.
Click the picture
Meanwhile, I’ll be saving hundreds of hours by not watching the rigged stupidity of the Olympic Games. But I may catch a rigged Formula One race in the meanwhile. The machines are a whole lot cooler than the hyper-thyroid zonkers on the track and most of the drivers at least have an IQ in triple digits.
Want to get a sense of what the Olympics are meant to be about? I mean competing, not sugared water sponsorhip? Watch this.