With Signs Following
September 3, 2007    File under: America , Lomography / Photography , The South

It's here. And I'm proud as a brother that my brother has made and published these photographs.

But, also as a native and a student of the South, I'm grateful for this work.

Because, I'm Joe's brother, it's hard to pretend to any sort of objectivity, but this book is one of those I would immediately have to buy had I seen it in a bookstore, for here is a window on the world through which I drove for many years, the cross-haunted landscape of the Deep South, often grayed through weather or familiarity, but always indelibly signed with the signs of Christ, of God, of church — from simple roadside memorials to the folk-apocalyptic sculpture gardens like W. C. Rice's Cross Garden in Prattville, Alabama.

Maybe all of the South is like this. I remember when I used to drive I-77 and I-81 into the middle of Virginia, I'd see a trio of crosses from Galax to Wytheville and beyond, almost alarming in their size, uniformity, and ubiquity, and also challenging insofar as the center cross was often painted yellow or gold, which I thought somehow missed one of the points of Jesus's crucifixion, among the lowly from whom he never stood apart.

But—maybe because I've logged more road-hours in Alabama than anywhere else and because that's where my brother's logged most of his road-hours—the scenes in this book take me back, both to Deep South roadside and to the practice of driving just to drive, to think, and being caught be these signs more often than I can remember.

You can get a preview here.

This weekend's celebration was wonderful, and it involved lots of eating, on which more soon (we have photos), but for now, let me say, go get this book.

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L. A. Postcard
July 8, 2007    File under: Lomography / Photography

Pretty much everything they say is true.

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The Erotic Life of Property
July 6, 2007    File under: Information Technology , Language , Lomography / Photography , Poetry & Poetics

A few days ago, I ran across this image, which I originally posted here over a year ago, on Nicholas Manning's blog, where it had a new title, one much better, or at least more powerful, more capable, than any title I'd have ever given it.

I wrote Nicholas, to wit:

*First*

As a regular but perhaps infrequent reader of your blog, I just saw
this post:

http://thenewermetaphysicals.blogspot.com/2007/05/blog-post.html

And therein saw a photograph I took and posted on my blog some months
back.

I very much enjoy the title you've given it, and I am indeed quite
flattered you think enough of it to post it.

I'm working on an essay about quotation and what Lewis Hyde called
the "erotic life of property," and I was wondering if you could tell
me more about how the image came to you. I'd like to trace its
transit if possible.

All my best, and thank you for your blog,

Jake Adam York

*Second: A Reply*

Jake,

I'm really delighted to have found out where this came from, and to be
able to give you proper credit for your wonderful photo. I'd love to call
it a collaborative effort, though you deserve much more kudos than me.

Firstly, it is indeed a fascinating incarnation of the erotic life of
property: property's fluidity conferred by simple ignoring of borders of
attribution! Was your photo thus unfaithful to you? The erotics of
appropriation, perhaps. The story of this particular attribution is, I
suppose, not atypical of the flux-like, largely untraceable dynamics of
such things. I was having a conversation by letter with another friend and
poet about the hoary but still strangely pressing idea of emotionality in
poetry being justified by mirage-like "non-linguistic" or "non-rhetorical"
or "authentic" displays and mises en scene of Self. Your photo, in this
context, hit me like a gorgeous breath: it was personality's helplessness
in such justifications, a helplessness which was not, for all that,
malevolent, simply, after this century, sad and exhausted, burnt-out.
Being situated in the context of consumption was also extremely important,
for the idea of Personality somehow authentifying language was like the
commodity exchange: a stamp of garantee on the dubious product.

As you saw, Susanna Gardner said it would make a beautiful cover for an
anthology or critical book. But I'm sure it works as a stand-alone piece
as well. Maybe we can do something with it. I'll post it again Jake on the
blog this week and give you your attribution you so richly deserve.

All my best,

Nicholas

*Third: A Continuation*

Nicholas,

Thanks for your reply and your thoughts.

I wasn't concerned at all that my photograph was unfaithful to me. I always expected it to travel beyond whatever gallery I could construct for it, and I'm glad it has: for me a large part of the joy in writing and in photographing lies in knowing the work will always exceed whatever story we tell about ourselves to ourselves and whatever berth we construct for the genesis or the survival of the work. I think this is the test of work, so I'm interested, not because I feel betrayed but because something that was supposed to happen did, and I'm simply interested in the mechanics, the dynamics of conversation and community that transmit work.

I'm particularly interested in this transit because, though the photograph lost its attribution, it nevertheless never went very far afield, or at least it returned somewhat close to home: though you and I have not exchanged before, the ecosystem of poetry blogs is fairly well interconnected, so to see the photograph inside that ecosystem does not represent a radical relocation. I'm asking myself whether circulation (erotism in the etymological sense, always tending toward the other, though not necessarily sexually) within a community, however internally heterogenous, is somehow easier to accept because its easier to understand or because the traces or residues of transit are never completely dissolved.

The new question that comes to me here is why was the photograph e-mailed, rather than being linked? The internet provides for the most durable trace or residue in the link (which indexes all sorts of information), but the photograph is clearly more powerful, more capable, once it's alienated from its origin, and I wonder if the e-mailer knew this or if he/she had received it in turn from someone else.... And that's why I wrote you.

Your reading of the photograph is powerful. I would press many of the same complaints you're pressing in your reading, though I doubt many of those who know me or even read my poems would suspect me of such discomfort. And so, the query is also, as it tries to identify the moment when the photograph left my blog and its attribution, a search for the value of my name and my blog in this ecosystem, not as a narcissism, but rather as a study in rhetoric.

As for the photograph itself, I've no plans for it---indeed, almost
all my photographs just sit around (I did a few gallery shows and got
somewhat tired of them)---so the idea that someone could title it and
give it new life is very welcome. Anyone is welcome to it for a cover
&c.

Thank you, Nicholas,

Jake

***

A lot to digest here, both due to my rather lackluster blogging of late, and because of the recent adventures in the land of licensing, on which more later, as well as the discussion of posting poems on blogs....

Anyone have any ideas here?

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July 5, 2007    File under: Lomography / Photography

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Gross
June 8, 2007    File under: Lomography / Photography

...

As the photographer, and several visitors note on this guy's Flickr site, Gursky's got him beat, viz:

But this is cool.

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Migration
May 16, 2007    File under: Alabama , America , Denver , Editing , Information Technology , Intake , Interior Monologue , Language , Lomography / Photography , Memory & Memorial , Poetry & Poetics , Postcards , Self-promotion , Steganography , Tapeworm , Teaching , The South

This is for those of you who read my blog via RSS...

I am considering, very strongly, moving to WordPress in the very near future. I've already arranged a version of the Ladder at http://www.jakeadamyork.com/wp/, and I'm leaning heavily toward switching, in which case the feed addresses will certainly change. I will broadcast a warning before it happens however.

If you're reading via RSS, you probably aren't much concerned with the way the site looks, but if you're at all interested, please take a look and let me know what you think.

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New Orleans Postcard
May 1, 2007    File under: America , Lomography / Photography , Postcards

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New Orleans Postcard
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Stuck Inside of Mobile With The Memphis Blues Again
April 28, 2007    File under: Alabama , Information Technology , Lomography / Photography

This morning a stranger tells me my digital camera is a sign that the end times are coming. He quotes Daniel: knowledge shall increase, and the people will run to and fro. Knowledge increases. Older women walk to and fro from one end of the pier to the other and back again. Seagulls, purple martins go to and fro. And I am trying to capture one of them before the end times come, before Jesus arrives. The stranger makes it more explicit: Oh yes—this always makes you comfortable doesn't it, the Oh?—Jesus is coming soon. And then: Do you know Jesus? Of course you know Jesus, he continues, otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation, and I'm guessing he means that if I hadn't have known Jesus Jesus wouldn't have lead him to me, though my guess would be that it would be better for the mission if Jesus had lead him to someone who didn't know Jesus, or at least it might have made for better conversation, but I would want to be an observer of that, not a participant in it, but about that time he moves on, to the end of the pier and then back toward the shore, and everyone is going to and fro, and the end times may be coming, but now it's time to go to the conference, so my time at the pier is at an end, but the martins and gulls continue to circle while clutches of men, the ones who's names are not yet carved in the benches' wood, are casting their lures deeper into that metallic water.

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Tryin' Hard Not To Lose My Head
April 17, 2007    File under: Denver , Information Technology , Intake , Lomography / Photography



We finished installing the 15,000 heads that are part of the Fang Lijun exhibition that will open tomorrow at The Lab

I've got a brace of photos up here.

Check them & it out.

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Dear Allison, Dear Joshua,
March 29, 2007    File under: Denver , Editing , Information Technology , Intake , Language , Lomography / Photography , Poetry & Poetics

You left just in time. This morning we woke to five, maybe six inches of snow. I am told the Farmers Almanac predicted this, but this is the first I've heard of it. Its almanac size to quote Allison.

Perhaps this is the appropriate afterward. Your visit was one of the best I can remember. The time you spent talking to our students was wonderfully instructive, even inspiring, if I may pull the raggedy term from the cedar chest again. Your readings were captivating, and the balance was perfect. What more is there to say? This silence, enforced in ice and water, seems right.

I wasn't as aggressive as Mathias in capturing your visit photographically, but I got a few shots for the record.

Joshua listening:

And Allison, I made the mistake of shooting you in digital. I think analog, or analogue, would have been better.

I'm told the control booth sustained a power failure about 3/4 of the way through your reading, Allison, and so much of the sound recording was lost, though we're combing the computer caches to discover what we can. I'm going to tell those who were hoping to hear it as a podcast that this is testament to the power of the reading. Josh, I've got most of your reading, and I'll be working on a broadcast version in the coming weeks.

Please tell everyone about the broadside. We'll have it up for sell next week on the Copper Nickel site.

And, in the meantime, please rest. I hope your memories of Denver are good ones, and I hope we'll see you both again before too long.

All my best,

Jake

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Dear Mathias
   File under: Information Technology , Lomography / Photography , Poetry & Poetics

You coveted my camera. Maybe it was the bright LCD screen. I don't know. Maybe it was just the mood at the Apache. Maybe it was the magic of Zach reading from The Man Suit.

It's a Canon SD630. Really a daylight camera. It has a flash, but I always turn it off. I want the digital camera to act more like an analogue device. More like my Lomo, so I get these shots, which I thought you might enjoy.

Thanks so much for coaxing Allison and Joshua out onto the plains. We have a lovely time, about which more later.

I'm looking forward to your visit in October.

All my best,

Jake

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Afterimages (3)
March 24, 2007    File under: Lomography / Photography

A calendar of chance. A diary that's written over itself. An internal correspondence.

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Afterimages (2)
   File under: Lomography / Photography

February in Denver. October in Tucson.

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Afterimages
   File under: Lomography / Photography






Going through some "lost rolls" that have resurfaced lately in the processing bin. This is a frame from a doubled roll, a pigeon from Denver under a sign from Tucson.

In Denver it rains today.

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November 14, 2006    File under: Lomography / Photography

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il miglior
October 16, 2006    File under: Intake , Lomography / Photography

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September 17, 2006    File under: Lomography / Photography

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The Work of Praise
August 26, 2006    File under: Lomography / Photography

In Friday's New York Times, Michael Kimmelman writes of a new exhibit of Walker Evans' photographs, reproduced digitally and printed in larger formats:

I dawdle over this familiar ground because the digitally produced prints of classic Walker Evans photographs, now at the UBS Art Gallery, are so seductive and luxurious — velvety, full of rich detail, poster-size in a few cases and generally cinematic — that they raise some basic issues about the nature of photography.

For starters they suggest a simple question, whether luxury and richness are apt qualities for pictures of Depression-era tenant farmers in the American South. These are, I must say, almost uncomfortably beautiful. In “Let Us Now Praise Famous Men,” where Evans first published many of these photographs in 1941, James Agee, his collaborator, wrote that the book might best have been issued on newsprint to suit the simple and honest character of its subjects. Photography compromises its own value, Agee thought, when it becomes pretentious.

I take the general point, but this raises a simple question, whether Kimmelman has read Agee's part of Let Us Now Praise Famous Men, a hard-wrought work of praise full of rich detail, to which Evans' photographs are the perfect complement:

The mirror is so far corrupted that it is rashed with gray, iridescent in parts, and in all its reflections a deeply sad thin zinc-to-platinum, giving to its framings an almost incalculably ancient, sweet, frail, and piteous beauty, such as may be seen in tintypes of family groups among studio furnishings or heard in nearly exhausted jazz records made by very young, insane, devout men who were to destroy themselves, in New Orleans, in the early nineteen twenties.

This luxuriation of words—which, Agee, at the outset of the book, shows is a measure of the difficulty with which he, from another place and privilege, approaches his subjects—is this not both a depiction of the textural complexities (if not the commodoty richness) of the world of the poor and a kind of consolatory richness?

Is it not the smallness these lives had in the national consciousness write large, given a richness of attention that would amplify their visibility?

Is this not a discomforting beauty?

Get a radio or a phonograph capable of the most extreme loudness possible, and sit down to listen to a performance of Beethoven's Seventh Symphony or of Schubert's C-Major Symphony. But I don't mean just sit down and listen. I mean this: Turn it on as loud as you can get it. Then get down on the floor and jam your ear as close into the loudspeaker as you can get it and stay there, breathing as lightly as possible, and not moving, and neither eating nor smoking nor drinking. Concentrate everything you can into your hearing and into your body. You won't hear it nicely. If it hurts you, be glad of it. As near as you will ever get, you are inside the music; not only insite it, you are it; your body is no longer your shape and substance, it is the shape and substance of the music.

Are you listening?

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July 10, 2006    File under: Lomography / Photography

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7.7.6
July 3, 2006    File under: Denver , Lomography / Photography

Get a glimpse of one photographer's struggle toward perfection this Friday at The Other Side Arts on Platte Street here in Denver. My friend Kedran Kraich, whose photos appear here from time to time, shares a show with two other photographers in a set called "Glass Life."

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June 26, 2006    File under: Lomography / Photography

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Contrasts
April 27, 2006    File under: Lomography / Photography

Today's Lomographic Home of the Day: amazing contrasts.

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Check it
April 25, 2006    File under: Lomography / Photography

Some cool work by a Pittsburgh lomographer on todays Lomohome of the Day. Check it.

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Glare
March 31, 2006    File under: Lomography / Photography

There is still so much to say.

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Fortified with 9 Vitamins and Iron
March 21, 2006    File under: Denver , Information Technology , Lomography / Photography , Poetry & Poetics , Self-promotion

Some shots from the show at Ironton


Entering


A glance at my 32-linear-foot poem (over 90 cubic feet in all).


The actual beginning....

I don't know if you can see it clearly, but the poem rolls in three horizontal columns.


The rolling's interrupted by this collection of photos (which I'll post again later) and a second poem that acts as a kind of a legend.


Some close-ups on the panels.

Shots of Emily's arrangements later.

We had a good opening. Maybe 100 or so folks showed. Most stayed to read some of it. Which was nice, if unexpected. I'm accustomed to folks buzzing in and out of the galleries, maybe deciding to come back later.

And a lot of folks asked for text to take away.

I was planning to turn this into a book, but not for another year or so. I may, however, go ahead and work on it, so I can offer it when the exhibit closes.

Hope you all enjoy these few shots, which partially explain my recent silences, on which more later.

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Waking Up
March 7, 2006    File under: Lomography / Photography

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Leaving
February 2, 2006    File under: Lomography / Photography


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Rabbit Hole
January 28, 2006    File under: Lomography / Photography , Steganography

For S—

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Closing/Opening
January 27, 2006    File under: Lomography / Photography

Over the last few weeks, Nikon and Minolta have announced the end of their production of film cameras, leaving everything to digital SLR development. The announcements seem further entries in the transition from film to digital. But my last weeks have been an interesting mix of the digital and the analogue. Interesting though not atypical.

When the announcements first got out, I was visiting folks at Lomography a shrine of film photography. As you might expect, if you've ever been there, the announcements were met with a mixture of chagrin and dismissiveness.

I responded to a post at Printculture about the announcements musing perhaps ridiculously about the ways in which my relationship to film had actually become more intimate since I began using digital cameras.

Now, S if off to NYC with her own Lomo, which is capturing the most wonderful images, and she writes me to thank me for the infection.

Meanwhile, I am caring for her D70, fitted with a terribly analogue lens, a Vivitar F-mount macro borrowed from Ked, a crossing that has produced the above and the below.

But S's recent prints inspired me, earlier this week, to take four rolls to be processed and printed, something I haven't done in a long time. I missed the feel, the snap, the sheen of the print.

So we sat looking through them and through hers, talking about what we saw. What we were thinking when. The calculation, the sensitivity, the accident, the development.

It's a wonderful conversation. One I've waited for for far too long.

There's a blur on the edge of the frame. Someone's listening in.

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Recording Angels
January 26, 2006    File under: Lomography / Photography

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Walk
January 23, 2006    File under: Lomography / Photography

My friend Crystal took this Sunday last on a walk we took together up in the old Walnut area of Denver. I'll have some new shots later today or tomorrow.

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Re-entry
January 11, 2006    File under: Lomography / Photography

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Nail Biter
October 21, 2005    File under: Denver , Lomography / Photography , Self-promotion

Please come see us tonight if you are in town.

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Evidence
September 9, 2005    File under: Information Technology , Lomography / Photography , Poetry & Poetics

The tune sticks. I don't know enough about music to describe Monk's line on a staff, but I'm drawn again, not to the apparent dissonance that gives the tune its most immediate character, but instead to the logic I find there, the way the rhythmic interplay between phrase and pause asks us to consider the present and the absent, positive and negative evidence, and the way in which the succession of the positions and omissions, so vital to the song, is also key to our sense of authenticity or authentication. There must be a trail. A chain. A record. A trace.

I've been talking about evidence a lot lately, with my colleague Philip Joseph whose been writing about racial reparation, in reading Wai Chee Dimock's Residues of Justice as a result of my conversations with Phil, and in (the highlight of my Denver) talking with Adam Lerner lately about Tehching Hsieh, of whose work Adam is preparing an exhibition.

It's taken Adam's interest in evidence in the context of Tehching Hsieh's work to make me think about evidence more directly in my own work, particularly in my poetry. Evidence is so clearly an important aspect of my scholarship, not only because the evidentiary drive is fundamental to all scholarship, but because I believe evidence to form the solid frame for any work of poetics: to show must always be the first act. But as I think about what I'm writing now toward a new book of poems, and as I think about my photographs a bit more directly, I'm increasingly interested in the explicit and implicit questions of evidence I've been thinking about for some time, and especially interested in how these questions are unfolding through my work.

Once you see Murder Ballads you will see the interest in evidence in the poems that have an archaeological concern and with those poems that are interested in historical, especially lynching, photographs — the concern with the power and the veracity of the artifact and of the document and the enormity of the disclosure such evidence makes possible or makes inevitable.

I hope you will also see, in a poem like "Negatives," the concern with the capacity of the thinker, and especially of the storyteller, to create a new kind of evidence, to create a counter-reality by creating the evidence of a state that does not yet exist, to bring a world into being by counterfeiting evidence of the world the story would find. This last move is especially important in those poems, like "Negatives" or "Vigil," that were undertaken as compensatory visions, attempts to create the world that should have existed.

The evidentiary concern, including the interest in evidentiary process, are clear.

What I haven't considered until today — because several conversations have brought me back to my photographs — is how much larger my interest in evidence is and has been for some time.

I've liked this shot for a long time for a lot of different reasons, and it's one of the few shots I have in my lomographic albums that I know has been viewed by a lot of people, so while there are qualities that feed my interest in returning to this shot there must also be qualities that draw others to it, though I don't know if those are the same qualities. (Maybe you can tell me.)

There are several histories to this photograph — several histories that intersect in this photograph and the viewing of it.

The history that's most immediately germane is the history of the photograph's subject. It's the hand of a student who had been through a difficult time, most of it seemingly centered around her troubled relationship with her live-in boyfriend. She seemed nearly destroyed by the relataionship, and the withering was hard to watch. Indeed, I refused to witness much of what was going on, though I was aware of it nevertheless.

On this day, just a few days after I had a bicycle accident and badly bruised and possibly cracked several ribs, this student, who lives but a block from me, called in sobs saying she'd decided to break it off and asking if I wouldn't mind taking a walk as she talked it out. So we took a walk, she with her break and I with mine, each of us in a pain. I took my camera, as usual. We walked east to Cheeseman Park where we sat on a bench for a rest. She lit a cigarette, and I took this.

I didn't take a portrait face-on. Maybe she asked me not to. She says she doesn't take good pictures. Maybe I just didn't want to face what was already too obvious, what was written in her face. But this shot captured it all, the burning to ash, the suppressing and quickening burn.

The shot captures the moment, which I remember well: November, dried leaves inscribing the sidewalks, chill air occasionally cutting in the lungs, my drug-numbed body.

It is evidence. But not in any compendious way. It is a trace, even as the ash is a trace of the tobacco. The photograph itself is an ash that proves we were there and that those burnings were our acts. And the record is better, more faithful to the moment, for being partial, for being fragmentary, for being incomplete.

The viewing of this photograph produced an interesting history itself when another student accused me of showing partiality to the photographed one, an accusation that produced its own evidence, revealing what many of my students thought of me (some good and some bad), revealing the partiality, the fragmentariness, of my self in the minds of others. I realized that I too was a trace of myself. I was asked to evidence myself more completely in the lives of others. I chose instead to become even more elliptically traced, distancing myself further from the evidence of my going over which others concern, which has actually made my awareness of my appearance to my students and to those with whom I work even more acute. Sometimes painfully so.



I've become interested in being hidden, in being occulted or occluded. Honestly, I've always been interested in hiddenness. Radiohead's "How To Disappear Completely" was an immediate favorite if for nothing else then for the line that keeps me sane in interminable meetings: "I'm not here. This isn't happening."

I do want to disappear. To observe from my blind. But not only for distance. Not only for protection. Not only to know what is there.

Because my interest in the hidden, as it has required a sharpening of the evidentiary hunger and the evidentiary eye, has disclosed myself to me as much as anything else.

When I stand at the window that lets me see what someone else has hidden from those within the building, when I stand to capture this hidden message's public broadcast, I catch myself as well. Even if I but make the shadow that makes the hidden visible to my camera. Even if I can trace my shadow, my outline on the window, in the other shadows, from the other shadows. There I am. Here.



Skins are peeled away. Autopsies reveal. And our staring draws a line into the near interior. Attention showing where we tend, what tendencies keep us from within.



In a strange city, the evidence that keeps me is the mark of a former city, a number etched into a long-hid post, a sign for a culture that disappeared nearby. The closed-down restaurant. The note left for someone who may never have shown. But as I stand marking these signs I become the reader for whom the sign has waited. I have closed a circuit. And now the artifact is whole, the body laid to see. What was a trace has led to the whole, has traced me into the circuit so I see the whole more clearly than if I'd stood inside its expedient electricities, seen what was thought important to be seen. We are beyond choice here. Except that what I find, what I choose to examine, to evidence, shows my choice, my interest, my suspicion that what's hidden's never hid. Nothing ever goes away. Always an echo, a shadow, a trace.

...

Maybe this is why I write so many echo and near-echo poems, poems in which the interest isn't simply rhyme, auditory joy, but the trace, the persistence, the uneraseable recognition of one in another. The next book is built on such poems, through which my commenting friends have waded, with bewilderment so often.

Now maybe this can serve as legend.

...

On the Blackhawk recording, the capture seems to widen as we work through the two-saxophone vamp and Rouse's solo, and almost two minutes in we enter more deeply not only the evidence of a night in April 1960 but as well the traces of nighclub conversation. Not just Joe Gordon's trumpet break, but as well a low tenor chatter, one man saying Oh yeah, that's definitetly....

That's definitely. Or that's epistrophy. A turning in place. Turntable vinyl. Acetate under the cutting head. Monk spinning at the keys. A turn away that turns back toward. Theme and reprise. Trace to body to trace again. Perfume haunting sheets at sunrise. A dirty glass. Hair in the drain. My fingerprint smudge on the floral card.

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July 17, 2005    File under: Lomography / Photography

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   File under: Lomography / Photography

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It's Official
July 14, 2005    File under: Lomography / Photography

I'm obsessed.

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Out-Atget-ing Atget?
June 30, 2005    File under: Lomography / Photography

Thanks to our friends at Printculture for pointing this out, Atget revisited.

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Pop-up
June 29, 2005    File under: America , Intake , Lomography / Photography

Very much enjoying Thomas Allen's photographs in the summer issue of Virginia Quarterly Review, the journal that may, for my money, be the best thing going these days.

Listening today to Ori Kaplan's Shaat'nez Band's Le Magus.

Sweating.

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Four If By Land
June 27, 2005    File under: Lomography / Photography

Four new albums of 4-lensed pictures uploaded here with more on the way.

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