BC Space PX exhibition – photograph by Raquel Landworth-Kleinhenz
Last Thursday evening (July 9th, 2015) was a wonderfully well attended reception at the BC Space gallery for the Photographers Exchange exhibition opening. As stated in an earlier update, the exhibition will be on display through August 30th, 2015.
Following are some additional photographs from the opening reception;
Roger Bennett with his print
Douglas Stockdale with his two prints, photography by Diane Reeves
Photographer’s Exchange: L -R, Scott Mathews Water Drop, Larry Vogel Guardians of the Sacred, Michael Weitzman Without Love.
BC Space Gallery is pleased to present its new exhibition: The Photographer’s Exchange: A Quarter Century of Sharing the Light.
The Photographer’s Exchange was founded in 1990 by accomplished fine art photographers Larry Vogel and Larry Weise. They were joined shortly thereafter by avid collector Larry Pribble. The three Larrys as they became known, shared a passion for the art and exacting craft of photography and were seeking a way to share their enthusiasm with kindred spirits.
What began as the occasional gathering of a few fellow enthusiasts gradually evolved into a formal organization with dramatically expanded membership, and regular monthly meetings at which they shared information on traditional and new photographic techniques and processes, worthwhile exhibitions, and critiqued each others work.
Never a camera club, the Photo Exchange has remained focused on bringing its members together to enhance their visual literacy through freely sharing their passion and knowledge of the art of photography. This collection of work in this exhibition represents the culmination of twenty five years of “Sharing The Light” and clearly illustrates that the collective can indeed be greater than the sum of its parts.
There will be an opening reception for The Photographer’s Exchange: A Quarter Century of Sharing the Light on Thursday, July 9, 2015, from 6-9 PM at BC Space Gallery, 235 Forest Ave, Laguna Beach, CA 92651. The public is welcome and the event is free.
The exhibition will be on display through August 30. Normal gallery hours are 1-5 PM Fridays through Sunday.
For further information, check the website at www.bcspace.com or contact the gallery at (949) 497-1880. Additional contacts are: Scott Mathews (714) 345-7595, Bill Edwards (949) 307-5360, and Jim Koch (949) 646-2242.
Rondal Partridge, in detail of a photo by Dorothea Lange
This is an extract from the LA Times article about the passing of the photographer Rondal Partridge, whose mother was the photographer Imogen Cunningham. This orbit was published June 29, 2015, and he passed on June 19,2015.
Partridge apprenticed himself to Ansel Adams as a teenager, lugging the master photographer’s heavy equipment up and down Yosemite’s majestic peaks. He also was fired on several occasions, including the time he tied Adams’ shoelaces together and made him fall on his face.
He has said Adams “always jumped over the fence … walked past the garbage. He always wanted to get an immaculate view,” his student once said, “and I spent my life stepping back to include the garbage in my photographic view.”
Copyright the estate of Rondal Partridge, “Pave It and Paint It Green,”
Partridge was born in San Francisco on Sept. 4, 1917, and grew up in a bohemian world. His father, Roi Partridge, was an accomplished etcher who taught at Mills College. His mother, Cunningham, was a photographer and free spirit known for her portraits of artists, botanical studies and nudes. She also was a founding member of Group f/64, the influential collective that included Adams, Lange and Edward Weston and pushed for greater realism in photography.Lange paid him $1 a week to be her darkroom assistant and driver across miles of Central California’s back roads, where she documented lives worn thin by the Depression. He considered her a more influential teacher than Adams and took one of his most memorable portraits at a migrant camp like those he visited with her.
In his last years, he devoted himself to mastering hand-coated platinum printing, a challenging process used by his mother that produces archival quality prints. He focused on images of plants, antique tools and dead animals.
“I don’t want the money. I don’t need the fame. I don’t need the admiration. I’d like all of those things, but I don’t need them,” he once said. “Because what I get from photographing is learning. I have spent my life learning by looking through a lens.”
The Photographers Exchange is a group of photographers who have been meeting monthly for the past twenty five years at the Irvine Fine Arts Center (IFAC), located in Irvine, CA.
This is an exhibition of recent photographs, including your truly, to help celebrate the twenty-fifth anniversary of the eclectic band of artist.
The artist reception will be Thursday, July 9th, from 6pm to 9pm.
We hope to see you there.
235 Forest Avenue
Laguna Beach, CA 92651
Where Copyright Laurie Freitag from The Lost Years series
Laurie Freitag, a Los Angeles based photographer, just announced her new company and website that should be of interest to photographers here on the Left Coast as well as Internationally.
L.A. Photo Curator, www.laphotocurator.com, is a monthly photographic competition focused on helping photographers get exposure. First place winners get a full article written about them. This month’s theme is:The Creative Self-Portrait curated by the amazing Jane Szabo – Fine Art Photography
L.A. Photo Curator believes that great photographs can fund great causes (an idea and concept which also resonates with yours truly!)
L.A. Photo Curator holds monthly photography competitions providing an opportunity for monthly winners to be reviewed by a diverse group of curators as well as help those in need by donating 20% of artist fees to the charity of the curator and first place winners choice.
L.A. Photo Curator is in the business of cultivating emerging photographic artists by showing and reviewing their work online in our monthly competitions. We believe that great photographs can fund great social causes so 20% of the monthly artist fees go to the charity of the monthly curator’s choice and also to the charity of the first place winner’s choice. (10% to each.)
For photographers, a recent Academy Nominee for Best Documentary (2014) that you need to be checking out is Salt of the Earth by Wim Wenders and Juliano Ribeiro Salgado.
As elegantly reviewed by Ron Wells, a writer and movie critic; “The Academy Award nominated documentary from Wim Wenders and Juliano Ribeiro Salgado about renowned photographer Sebastiao Salgdo is one in which pictures speak much more than the proverbial 1,000 words. Salgdo has photographed both the hell that mankind creates on earth, as well as the beauty and hope that somehow saved his own soul from destruction. The images will linger in your mind forever, as will the words that he uses to describe what he was seeing at the time. This is not easy viewing, but it is necessary to understand that which humans often turn a blind eye towards, as well as the power of art to bring hard truths, reality, beauty and transcendence to a world that often defies explanation. Powerful, powerful stuff.”
A different trailer, here, is different and also good: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt3674140/
Thanks for the shout out by PX member Ellen Butler, who adds: “this is showing at selected theaters around So Cal and is sooooooooooooo worth seeing, informative and powerful!
The Eye of the Beholder exhibition is in its final week at BC Space Gallery. This combination of innovative camera obscuras by San Francisco photographer Jo Babcock combined with the whimsical drawings of Costa Mesa artist Bruce Barton challenge the age old debate of the camera vs. the mind’s eye as the source of artistic creation.
There will be a closing reception for the exhibition on Sunday, March 22, from 4-6 PM to be followed by a light repast and showing the documentary movie Tim’s Vermeer. This intriguing movie, produced by Penn and Teller, explores the possible use of a camera obscura by 17th Century painter Johannes Vermeer a century before light sensitive materials and photography as we know it, was discovered. Music will be provided by The Liquid Window Project with Vincent Mitchell on Bass, Dan Olney on drums, and Carras Paton on Sax.
The closing reception is free (yep, FREE) to the public, but donations are requested for dinner and the movie. Reservations are encouraged. For additional information on the film see: http://www.bbc.com/culture/story/20140103-could-anyone-paint-a-vermeer
For other viewings of the exhibition and reservations for dinner and film, please contact BC Space at (949) 497-1880 or (preferable)email@example.com. A preview of the show may also be seen at www.bcspace.com.
An artist statement shouldn’t just sum up your intellect but also your emotions and feelings. Rather than summing your artistic beliefs up in a nice, neat little package, it should also talk about your weaknesses and your EXTREME beliefs, you know, the ones you’re too afraid to include in a “normal” artist statement.
One thing I’ve learned: A detour not taken is a world not explored. I’m not necessarily talking about a forced detour, I’m talking about all of the potential voluntary detours that we decide not to take because we’re so directly fixed upon our goals. It’s not always about the final piece of artwork, it’s about the life that you lead as you follow your path toward your artistic visions.
I once took a detour on a dry lake bed that led me into a saturated area which sucked my jeep right in. I Couldn’t move and it was getting dark. A lone house in the distance, who would I find there in the middle of the desert? Most likely crazy people. Nope, it was the elderly couple below who took me in for the night. I woke up early the next morning to dig the mud out from the front of my jeep and the elderly man used his tractor and a long piece of chain to finally pull my Jeep out.
That’s just one of the crazy incidents that have lead me to where I am today. Where that is, I can’t exactly say, but I can tell you that the road I have traveled on to get here has been a rocky one, though luckily the rocks have been relatively smooth. I can say with confidence that I don’t have a single answer about this whole art thing, and I can only travel along having fun with it all, and seeing how things play out. My own artist statement (below) was originally written to mock the classic, overly-intellectual artist statement. However, after having lived with it for a few years, I realize that it has become to me a TRUE artist statement in that it expresses nothing about my art and everything about my life. Thank you for putting up with me here for the past month, it has been a wild ride!
Photography allows me to communicate the ways in which I see the world to others. Through it, I also discover new ways to see the world.
Personally, photography is an extension of some of my beliefs about life, such as the importance of constant searching. I’ve always been a seeker, and I always will be a seeker. What am I seeking? Answers to nagging questions on the meaning of life? Am I trying to collect heavy, provocative data so that I can form some kind of philosophical treaty in my mind about the workings of the world around me? Partially I suppose.
In fact, when I am out searching, I never have a set idea of what it is I’m looking for. I simply seek, occasionally finding exactly what it is I WASN’T seeking. For me, that’s the time I learn something new about life: When I discover a new path, a new way of seeing, a new reason for continuing my search.
Certain things excite me: patterns and compositions which somehow come together to form a statement so complete and startling that they must be recognized; A knowledge that these patterns and compositions are ALWAYS present, everywhere; The hot sun, the barren desert, caffeine, loud music, wind blowing through my jeep as I drive very quickly, sometimes so quickly that I forget about my search. The Search? Maybe I don’t feel like searching just now, I think I’d rather kick back and relax a little. Maybe I don’t want to be reminded about my search, the pressure of it, I think I’ll just drive and see where this road takes me. This wind, this heat, this music is taking me to a place where finally, I can stop thinking. I can literally become one with whatever it is I’m supposed to become one with, not worry about life, just look at the shapes, those simple shapes, the shadows, the brightness, the blowing dust, the loudness of the smell and taste of everything around me. I think I’ll just let the 4Dness of this sensational overflow of emotion move me along or I’ll move into everything and shut my brain down for a while. Now, finally, I will be able to see.
I see a dry lakebed over there. Can I get to it somehow? Why would I want to, there’s nothing over there. Just a flat surface, what could possibly be worth looking at over there? And getting over there is going to be a hassle, no roads to lead me into it. Well, there is a small dirt road, but it’s full of rocks and brush. I can’t even be sure it leads to the lakebed, probably instead to some abandoned and completely uninteresting old house set up by a person crazy enough to have wanted to live in such an uninteresting spot on the earth.
But I take the road because it is the only road that leads to the area that I, for whatever reason, feel the need to explore. The road is rough, like life is rough, and I feel it, finally.
The feeling I have as I drive along is great, one I love, one I experience only when I drive along here, in this type of terrain, or maybe when I try to imagine what it’s like to be here. I’m empty of emotion, yet quite satisfied. Maybe “empty of emotion” is not the best way to describe the feeling. “Empty” is the word, but not empty in the sense of feeling nothing. I feel so much now, as I drive along. I guess “empty” in this case means I’m finally devoid of all the unnecessary thought patterns I normally have on a given day. Usually, those thoughts I have which clog my arteries are present, but now they are absent. Or I’m absent of them. Or I’ve pushed them away. Or the scenery has pushed them away. It is a time of extreme freedom.
I flow. That’s a good way to describe it. Sure, the scenery flows by. My Jeep flows down the road. I flow past fences and rocks and bushes. So yeah, I flow along. But no, what I mean is *I* flow. ME. I flow through life as I move along, like I’m moving through it at an accelerated rate, without obstacles. Like I’m moving through a different world. A new planet. A new solar system. A different galaxy. No, it’s more than that. This is not just a new world. This is a totally different life. Not mine, a totally new state of being. A new existence. A place I hope to be, a place I’m glad I’ve found. That’s where I am now, in the desert.
So, what is it about this place? The absence of complexity, I think. Yeah, that’s what I mean. See, the desert is nothing but geography. Elevation with a thin skin. Nothing to obscure what’s real. Nothing to hide. “Nothing worth hiding”, I suppose some would say. Topography, something to navigate. A challenge of sorts, “can you make it through this harsh, barren wasteland”, to be cliche. No peach fuzz. Naked, neked, nonfat. Nothing to hide behind, nothing to lean against, no place to go to ask for advice. No fluff, no exaggerations, no timelines. Fractalization. Oh yeah, that’s a big one. Lots of Fractalization.
Fractalization. What the hell is that? That’s the biggest word on this page so far. Fun to say, too. Makes me sound important. I say it as I move along through paradise, “Fractalization!”. Paradise plus intellect equals ultimate high. Like I think I know what I’m talking about. Like I think I actually have the ability to express my ecstasy in large, fun-to-say words.
Ecstasy and intellect come in many forms. I really need to stop and take a pee. It’s adding up, the coffee. I’m on my 2nd “cup”, the 2nd of those large 16 OZers. The first one I got from home, the second, I picked up along the way. “I gotta pee me, I gotta pee me.” I pull over. I get out. I’m nowhere, so I need not worry about being seen. I pull’er out, let’er rip. My mind veers towards intellectual domains. The more relieved I become, the deeper my thoughts enter into a new world. The sound of a good pee is music. Even the slight splattering on my bare legs is a signal of accomplishment. Basically, I feel real good. And to think I thought I felt real good before.
Back in my Jeep, I’m moving along, the caffeine pumping, and the road is rougher now than it was before. I need to slow down, which I do, but only the minimal amount necessary to keep from getting one of those flat tires. I’ve heard those can be bad; can ruin your whole day. I don’t want anything to ruin any part of my day, and I’m sure nothing will, I’m an artist after all, and art has its way of breaking through in spite of the barriers which try to break it down.
The road up ahead is still rocky and I feel the rockiness pass under me and there are THOUSANDS of them and they fly by and I would count them if I thought I had a chance of keeping up with them and isn’t it odd how with so much moving past me in such commanding quantity the lake bed has not changed at all in shape or size. Looking back I cannot see the paved road I came from, and I’m sure I’ve traveled at least a few miles on this rocky road, which means, judging from the not-so-changing shape and size of the lake bed, I will need to drive over a deeply humbling number of rocks before I reach final flatness. And eventually I will have to drive back on this same road in the opposite direction, my tires meeting the opposite sides of all these rocks which are slowly communicating to me a desperate need to be elsewhere, somewhere familiar, with a cold beer. I do have a spare, but it’s a spare after all and there’s only one.
But I have the sound which I love of the wind and the dirt which is filling my ears and calming me down. I belong here, the sound PROVES that. It’s a rough sound, like this road, and it is welcome and I feel like I’m accomplishing everything I’ve ever set out to accomplish here and now and the beauty of this place is all that matters and the new sound, the hissing sound, is there now too and I’m aware of it but not yet letting it into my conscious mind because I don’t want anything destroying the perfection around me and there’s the wind and the heat and then the hissing sound is there more than it was before, not taking over the rough sound, not at all, but rather entering into my flow of thoughts so that I can no longer deny its presence and the road is rougher than before and there’s all the beauty around me and I no longer travel in a straight line but in short little arcs and I feel and hear a rhythmic pulse coming from behind and yet I feel like I’m floating and the light is bright and the shadows are long and black and the hissing, now VERY loud and I know, finally I know as I feel the heat and a huge rush of adrenaline that I can no longer deny that I have to stop…
…which, reluctantly, I do…
…and I turn off the engine and it dies…
…and there is only silence. Except for the wind which is still blowing and when it dies there’s only the hiss and I really love the sound of the wind and I wish that it would never die.
So that’s me, I was moving towards flatness and now I’m flat. I have a spare but no water. And I ask myself why I love to go out searching in the desert on extremely hot days. Alone. And yes, I get the spare on, and it does the job it was created for, and I make it back home, and life goes on, and even though I took not one single photo on this trip since I was too busy enjoying life and not in the mood to search for anything, I found something I suppose, though I won’t know what it is until I get further down my timeline, so I’m not going to worry about it now. I’m just going to look forward to my next desert trip and there’s really not much more I can tell you.
It’s one thing to talk about digital photography taking over film, and another to talk about mobile phones taking over digital photography. I think this is indeed happening. I also wonder if the digital age will take over the print.
Regarding film, it’s not weather film will disappear, it’s weather regular cameras that shoot film will disappear. I think that slowly-but-surely many photographers are beginning to believe that mobile phones can take some pretty fine pictures.
I have my mobile phone with me all the time, but it’s not my “Serious” camera. However, since I have it with me all the time, I shoot with it more often. I simply take more pictures with it. Maybe it is my “Serious” camera. Maybe I just don’t want to admit it.
For the most part the iPhone is my camera of convenient choice now, and if that makes me a lesser photographer, that would be a point of view that is changing. Many are accepting mobile phones as legitimate cameras. Many are using them and realizing how easy they are to use.
With all the filters available right on the phone it’s much easier to process your photos and get the look that you’re after quickly and easily. Even with the higher-end digital cameras you still need to wait until you can get your photo into Photoshop to process it. Not so with cellular cameras. And of course these photos can be instantaneously shown to the planet.
The gallery/museum world is more and more accepting of the digital camera, and now the mobile phone, and they are more often accepting pieces shot with these types of cameras into their exhibitions. I’ve had a number of my iPhone shots in numerous exhibitions, and have also curated many mobile photos into very large exhibitions at the Orange County Center for Contemporary Art. A couple examples of such exhibitions can be seen below. You will need to have the Silverlight Plugin installed to view these.
Regarding prints, I think the function of the print today is not as it was 50 years ago. Back then the print was a piece of art in itself. Today one large function of the print is to accurately portray what’s on the computer screen. It’s about getting the settings just right so that the print equals the pixels. In that respect is it possible that the purchasing of higher-end prints is slowly becoming outdated, with fewer and fewer people collecting them? And, what factors will make a valuable print in the future?
I think photography is becoming more about image and less about print. The ways in which these massive amounts of images are distributed has almost nothing to do with paper. After all, paper can degrade, whereas pixels do not. Once an image is uploaded, it is thought that it will stay online forever. Truly recording something demands that it be available forever. Can we really trust a print?
In the same way that we look at old prints of subjects from the past, in the future we might look at prints themselves as subjects of the past. We are already seeing images presented on iPads being displayed next to paper prints in galleries. Will we see fewer and fewer paper prints over time?
I’m wondering what might come next? Images displayed in 3D like a hologram without any physical limitations present to degrade the clarity? Images beamed directly to the brain, merging with the viewers thoughts to create unique interpretations. Images replaced by emotions, rendering the images themselves obsolete.
But for now, we’re stuck with physical, portable image recording devices which we call upon at almost any time, and very quickly, to record what is in front of us. In fact, there is so much of this going on that what we may end up with is not the recording of separate smaller moments, but the unintentional simultaneous recording of a single moment from many different locations. Maybe we will begin thinking in terms of massive databases shot by many different people simultaneously to create massive simul-records, recording the state of the entire planet at any given moment. Art, science, social-science, and history merge.
Prints are records. These databases of simul-records could be, in a sense, the new form of future printing. You wouldn’t print these on paper, but they would serve the same purpose as a traditional print. How would you display them? Somehow a computer would have to merge and organize the many simultaneous photos in a way that made sense. But there would be motion and interactivity involved as well. The print, in whatever form, would have to be digital.
I suppose we could still have traditional prints along for the ride. But they would most likely be thought of differently than they are today. They would be an artifact, perhaps an afterthought, of the new paradigm. They would become less of an art form unto themselves and more of the subset of a simul-record. Maybe we could still collect them, but what’s printed on the paper itself might be more important than whether or not it’s part of a numbered series or printed in a darkroom by a skilled individual.
Personally, the last thing I feel like doing when I take a photo is printing it out. I just want to look at it on my computer screen. Printing it makes it seem faded and less vital, with all of the vibrancy fading away. And once you print it the print begins to die.
To see some great mobile phone work, visit the sites below: