Making a proper printed book dummy for my project is my number one task over the next few weeks. I have started mapping this out in Adobe In Design but I am very aware of my own inexperience. The Self Publish, Be Happy company’s instructional videos on Vimeo are going to be helpful here and I have noticed that one of their designer-publishers, Brian Paul Lamotte, offers one-to-one tutorials so I may well be taking that up (Self Publish Be Happy 2020). Another look at the curation and sequencing sections of Jörg Colberg’s Understanding Photobooks would be a good idea, too (Colberg 2017). I will likely use either Saal Digital or Blurb for the printing, at least for now, because it is easy and reasonably affordable.
I have drafted a few spreads to give myself an idea of what is possible. Of course, the immediate result is that all kinds of new story lines and points of comparison have arisen. For example, is this going to be a walk driven by enough of an internal narrative so that the sequencing flows through to the end without interruption? Or, are there going to be pauses and diversions, a stop along the way, for example, to examine a Becher-style grid of windows or street lights? At this stage I have no idea. I only know that these ideas are possible and arising.
Here (Figures 1-12 below) is a brief gallery view of some sample spreads. Click for a lightbox view with captions.
COLBERG, Jörg. 2017. Understanding Photobooks: The Form and Content of the Photographic Book. New York: Routledge.
SELF PUBLISH BE HAPPY. 2020. ‘Self Publish, Be Happy’. Self Publish, Be Happy [online]. Available at: https://selfpublishbehappy.com/ [accessed 14 Aug 2020].
Figures 1-12. Mark CREAN. 2020. Sample spreads for a book dummy. From: Mark Crean. 2020. From Silent City. Collection of the author.
One of the tasks of this module has been to prepare a workshop or similar event connected with one’s research project. My contribution takes the form of a group photowalk in Oxford after dark on the evening of day one followed the next day by a round-table discussion and presentation of work on a platform like Zoom. I would market this on places like Meetup, Instagram, Flickr, Twitter and Daily Info (Oxford’s popular listings site). Ticketing could be taken care of on Eventbrite.
I have prepared a pdf with descriptions and details of the kind I would give to participants here: Crean-Oxford-Photowalk
Lockdown means this is not going to happen for a few months. However, it has been a useful and enjoyable lesson. The points that have emerged are these:
Know your audience
Become familiar the technology you will need for the job
Research and thorough planning are key to a smooth event
Understand and control your costs
It is important to have an audience in mind and to have a good idea of what that audience wants and is capable of. In my case I have done photowalks a few times before, so I know that many participants will want the opportunity to photograph some of Oxford’s historic university buildings, receive a little instruction, and network around conversation with other participants in a good pub. Some will be knowledgeable photographers with good cameras but a fair number won’t be and may come with only their smartphones.
So my proposed route is tailored to what my audience wants, not to what I may want. In that sense it is commercial and a little touristic, but if I want the business I must know my audience. I might want to slip off to remoter or more edgy areas in search of tourism-free images, but most of my audience are not there for that – and there is nothing wrong with their preferences.
Second, it is important to be familiar with current technology. My route can be plotted in surprising detail on Google Maps and the URL for a fully annotated map can be given to every participant (Crean 2020). The URL for the Google map I have prepared is here. They will have the route, the points of interest and the walking directions all on their smartphone. The next day, the round-table discussion, calls for knowledge of conferencing software like Zoom. We are now entering an era where online learning and discussion will become much more predominant, and if I want to serve an audience I cannot afford not to know about these things.
Third, and almost always, it is important to plan carefully and think things through. On any photowalk and especially after dark there are many things to consider. Safety is paramount and needs to be flagged up to everyone. Participant contact details are essential if people are late or get lost and there are plenty of items of kit to remind people to bring with them, if only a rainproof coat, spare batteries and a torch.
Fourth is cost. Does this idea make sense financially? A photowalk and online discussion of the kind I have planned does incur costs and if these are not passed on it must be run at a loss. And in any case, what will the market bear and what do I think my time is worth (always a challenging question)? In this case I think I would price a ‘ticket’ at £15-20 per head, on the basis of a maximum of 8-10 participants (too many participants is a turn-off). There may always be others who offer similar ideas for free, but my plan is to offer something in exchange for something. I am a knowledge worker offering expertise. Besides, the basic psychology is that if someone buys a ticket, they then think it is an event worth going to and they are much more likely to turn up.
This week I have nearly completed my work for Landings 2020. This will take the form of an online exhibition at my Adobe Portfolio website, with a parallel one at my account on Flickr.
The form I have chosen is to take this module’s work in progress, together with a handful of images from the last module, and divide an edited selection into three sections: Water, Earth and Fire. Water means the River Thames as it runs through Oxford. Earth is the modern world of what is made from earth, namely concrete and steel. Fire is what is fired from the earth, namely brick and the old age of coal and the nineteenth century – the age of fire. Thus Fire covers Oxford’s Victorian, brick-built areas and a few remaining old iron structures.
I have converted all the images to black and white, my current mode of expression. I am calling the exhibition Silent City. Photographs are silent, and our cities during lockdown have been unusually quiet. At night they are very quiet indeed. So in a way I have been photographing silence, perhaps even stillness, though still permeated with indications of human presence. The interplay is between presence and absence.
I will post links in a separate journal entry once the Landings 2020 exhibition has started.
The other subject I have looked at this week concerns photobooks and the history of the genre. This is a huge subject but after reading Gerry Badger (Badger 2014 A, Badger 2014 B) three key things have stood out for me.
First, there is the move away from the very formal photography book, which takes the form of a presentation of fine art, often landscape presented as art, and, in many cases, documentary too. Works by many practitioners still take this form. Some photography books by William Eggleston, Sebastião Salgado, Mark Power and Richard Misrach come to mind beyond old favourites like Ansel Adams or the documentarists of the 1930s and 1940s.
Second there is the more recent rise of the diarist model and of questions of identity. These are probably the dominant forms today, especially if one extends identity to include race, gender and equality issues. It summarized by Badger:
‘So two distinct trends emerged in photography. Firstly, there was the diaristic mode – photographers using the medium to make a “diary” of their lives and experiences, not simply to make autobiographical images but utilizing personal photography to reflect society’s experiences through their own. Secondly, the question of identity – both individual and collective – became an important subject for photographers and the photobook (Badger 2014 B, 214).
Badger cites a key photobook here to be Nan Golding’s The Ballad of Sexual Dependency of 1986 and its ‘snapshot aesethetic’ (Badger 2014 B, 214). The honesty and lack of pretension of Golding’s work were and remain a hugely freeing gesture.
Third, there is the increasing exploration of the photography book as a physical, tactile object, in the form of all kinds of shapes and sizes, designs, papers, bindings and covers, tip-ins and so forth. This is all part of looking at the image as an object in space, not only through it (in the traditional reading of the image), and it is also all part of seeing the photobook as its own, self-sufficient world and not merely as an adjunct of something else.
Badger cites the influence of postmodernism here, breaking up traditional categories, making art more democratic and moving firmly towards ‘decentring’ and away from the author-centred model and ghastly good taste of a previous era.
When one adds in the enormous amount of experimentation in Japanese photobook culture (Vartanian 2009), the whole subject becomes fascinating and very exciting. These texts have certainly changed my view and understanding of what a photobook is and the possibilities of the genre.
In practical terms, my approach is this: I have ordered a large number of work-in-progress prints from a lab. When they arrive I will attach them to A4 sheets and start on a process of editing and sequencing. Likely everything will be laid out on the floor rather than a wall. I will then fold the result into an Adobe In Design document. This will form the basis of a sample or dummy which I intend to have printed by Saal Digital (Saal Digital 2020). I will try to use good boards and cover material and paper of good quality too. This should provide a reasonably accurate dummy of what a final submission could be like if an online printer is used, the only difference being that the dummy will be about 40 pages instead of 100 or more. This is really a decision on cost grounds because using online printers like Blurb or Saal can quickly prove expensive. I do not plan to rush this. I would prefer to give it my best shot. This I am aiming for a good dummy by the start of the next module but not, say, by the end of next week. There is an awful lot I need to learn in the meantime.
PARR, Martin and Gerry BADGER. 2014 B. ‘Chapter 7 Looking at Ourselves’. In Martin PARR and Gerry BADGER (eds.). The Photobook: A History, Volume III. London: Phaidon, 212–41.
SAAL DIGITAL. 2020. ‘Professional Photo Products in High-End Quality’. Saal Digital Fotoservice GmbH [online]. Available at: https://www.saal-digital.co.uk/ [accessed 07 Jul 2020].
VARTANIAN, Ivan. 2009. ‘Chapter 2. The Japanese Photobook: Toward an Immediate Media’. In Ryuichi KANEKO, Ivan VARTANIAN, Lesley A MARTIN, and Kyoko WADA (eds.). Japanese Photobooks of the 1960s and ’70s. New York: Aperture, 11–23.
Figure 1: Mark CREAN. 2020. Splash page for my Landings 2020 exhibition at my Adobe Portfolio website. From: Mark Crean [online]. Available at: https://markcrean.myportfolio.com/ [accessed 15 Jul 2020].
This week has been about thinking what an ‘exhibition’ really means and perhaps whether what we think of as an exhibition is really the best thing to be doing at all. In the end, one is offering one’s work to an audience and there are many ways of achieving that beyond the traditional gallery-style art exhibition. Installation art and participatory art are two of them, although the terms are double-edged. Is one going to allow the viewer to decide what the art is or is one going to impose an idea of art upon them?
I do agree with Brian O’Doherty (O’Doherty 1999) that the traditional gallery exhibition can be a trap. These spaces can impose an idea of what ‘art’ is and, in fact, their day may already have passed. In his words about these specialized and denuded places, ‘The ideal subtracts from the art work all cues that interfere with the fact that it is “art”. The work is isolated from everything that would detract from its own evaluation of itself. … Unshadowed, white, clean, artificial – the space is devoted to the technology of aesthetics. Works of art are mounted, hung, scattered for study. Their ungrubby surfaces are untouched by time and its vicissitudes. Art exists in a kind of eternity of display’ (O’Doherty 1999: 14-15).
And, one might say, in an eternity of boredom, as a visit with teenagers to a large gallery or museum will soon reveal. I suspect that audiences today want more than these traditional forms of ‘high art’ that fix what ‘art’ means in the definitions of 150 years ago. They want an experience and they want to be involved. Pictures on a wall offer neither to most visitors. That might well not have been true before the era of mass media. Today, however, one can visit any gallery anywhere and view any work of art online. So the question is, what does the real, physical version have to offer that is compellingly different?
One answer is suggested by Claire Bishop who emphasizes that installation art is an experience of being there and being in it, something than an online offering cannot match:
‘Installation art therefore differs from traditional media (sculpture, painting, photography, video) in that it addresses the viewer directly as a literal presence in the space. Rather than imagining the viewer as a pair of disembodied eyes that survey the work from a distance, installation art presupposes an embodied viewer whose senses of touch, smell and sound are as heightened as their sense of vision. This insistence on the literal presence of the viewer is arguably the key characteristic of installation art’ (Bishop 2005: 6).
Another aspect of installation art is that it is decentring: ‘fantasies of “centring” perpetuated by dominant ideology are masculinist, racist and conservative; this is because there is no one “right” way of looking at the world, nor any privileged place from which such judgements can be made. As a consequence, installation art’s multiple perspectives are seen to subvert the Renaissance perspective model’ (Bishop 2005: 13). I think the same would probably apply to participatory art, community art, events and happenings, and in most contexts in which the viewer’s involvement is integral to the nature of the artwork being offered. And in the era of Black Lives Matter and the yearning for true equality among peoples, an awareness of centring and decentring is more important than ever.
No doubt there are other ways of approaching photographic art and its display. Charlotte Cotton (Cotton 2014) looks at many contemporary artists whose work combines different media and is very far from the nature of a traditional print: a flat rectangle with a probably indexical image inside, against a bare white wall. As she says, ‘In combination with other media, photography becomes just one phrase in an overall statement, subjected to a consciously ambiguous but highly specified treatment’ (Cotton 2014: 229).
How might these ideas affect my practice? I am not yet sure. A conventional gallery-style exhibition of my work at Falmouth has never figured in my plans, largely because exhibitions here in Oxford are difficult and expensive due to lack of suitable venues. However, a participatory event or an off-gallery collaboration of some kind might be easier to arrange and sounds far more attractive and enjoyable. So, I am glad to have had these new ideas put before me.
I think the challenge is this: how to offer something that allows the viewer to make their own choices about the ‘art’ involved, that engages and involves the viewer as an experience, and that does not offer the traditionally indexical photographic image as the be-all and end-all of the affair. To sound a little cheesy, perhaps, how does one allow the viewer to fall in love with the experience and remember it as an event that was really worth turning up for?
BISHOP, Claire. 2005. ‘Introduction’. In Claire BISHOP (ed.). Installation Art: A Critical History. London: Tate, 6–13.
COTTON, Charlotte. 2014. ‘Chapter 8: Physical and Material’. In Charlotte COTTON (ed.). The Photograph as Contemporary Art. New York, NY: Thames & Hudson, 218–49.
O’DOHERTY, Brian. 1999. ‘Notes on the Gallery Space’. In Brian O’DOHERTY (ed.). Inside the White Cube: The Ideology of the Gallery Space. Berkeley, Calif: University of California Press, 13–34.
I have spent most of this week preparing for the Landings exhibition and looking at commissioning a book dummy. I have also read Jörg Colberg’s Understanding Photobooks (Colberg 2017) and Ralph Rugoff’s ‘You Talking to Me? On Curating Group Shows that Give You a Chance to Join the Group’ (Rugoff 2006).
Both were really helpful, especially Colberg’s book. After 25 years working in commercial book publishing, I know from my own experience that his key points are spot on. The points that emerged for me are
Who is going to buy this book? Without a convincing case for an audience interested enough and large enough to support the work by buying it, one does not have a project.
Collaboration is very important. A book is a team effort in many respects. It is a collaboration between reader and photographer. It is also a collaboration among the design and production team. A good curatorial eye from, say, an experienced graphic designer is very important.
A photobook must be conceived from the start as exactly that. It is not just a book that happens to contain photographs.
Clarity of concept and intention are absolutely vital. Without them, one cannot make a coherent case to the market about ‘Why buy this book?’ or ‘What subject section should the book go into?’ One cannot tell a strong story either, nor make a convincing marketing campaign (and marketing is key to sales).
Good curation and sequencing are absolutely vital, too, and are a much more nuanced affair than one might think. Good curation is an art in itself. It takes time and it also takes standing back from one’s own images enough to make informed judgements about what works and what does not work in a sequence. This means that part of the skill of a good photobook is skill at elimination at the editing stage. Most of what one does as a photographer will end up being left out. Yes, one has to learn to kill off one’s own babies sometimes.
The photobook represents an entire body of work in its own world. It is a place, a venue, somewhere to welcome in the visitor and let them explore. This means close attention to every detail of the world of the book – design, paper, size, binding, the cover, et al.
Compromises are inevitable. One is not aiming for the ideal book but for the very best book that can be made in the circumstances. Budgets (particularly) and deadlines are part of those circumstances.
Know your strengths and your weaknesses. If what you are really good at is making the images, then concentrate on that and find or hire the best advice you can to cover all the things you don’t know about. Otherwise, you are likely to end up with a rather amateur effort and in commercial publishing, at least, the amateurs almost always end up being dished by the professionals.
Ralph Rugoff’s essay was sparky and very enjoyable (Rugoff 2006). I am not sure how useful his points will be for my work at Falmouth, but I can already see how useful they will be for my work with Oxford Photographers (the collective to which I belong) since we usually hold a joint exhibition each year as part of the Oxfordshire Artweeks festival. I love his emphasis on an exhibition as an experience, something we are in, respond to, move through. It is not just about pictures on a wall, devoid of all context – although that is what people often think of when they think of ‘art gallery’ or ‘museum’.
I particularly like Rugoff’s distinction between the story that an exhibition purports to tell – often its theme – and the story it actually tells which emerges from interactions among the works displayed and which might be quite different from the ostensible theme. In his words, ‘The best group shows thus take on some of the qualities of installation art: rather than a chance to contemplate isolated objects, they involve us in an implied yet elusive narrative that we end up putting together ourselves as we move through the exhibition. … Finally, and most importantly, good theme shows take risks in how they address their audiences’ (Rugoff 2006: 48).
So, overall, a week rich in new ideas.
COLBERG, Jörg. 2017. Understanding Photobooks: The Form and Content of the Photographic Book. New York: Routledge.
RUGOFF, Ralph. 2006. ‘Chapter 4: You Talking To Me? On Curating Group Shows That Give You a Chance to Join the Group’. In Paula MARINCOLA (ed.). What Makes a Great Exhibition? Philadelphia: Philadelphia Center for Arts and Heritage, 2006, 44–51.
We were asked about our relationship with our chosen apparatus. I do not really have a relationship with my chosen apparatus. It is just an electronic box – pleasant to use and it mostly does what I want. I am sure a dozen other, similar camera systems would also be both. So, overall, I am not particularly fussy about what I use. It just needs to be competent for the task in hand.
For this week’s activity – making images with a totally unfamiliar apparatus – I chose an old Canon compact camera I have never used before and probably about 15 years old. To be frank, I though it was rubbish. It was poorly designed with very small and fiddly controls and the images it produced were crude in the extreme. Any modern smartphone would be better than this by an order of magnitude. The Japanese camera industry’s decline has roots long in the making.
I used to do a lot of ‘contemplative photography’ as part of a meditation programme. It was called Miksang which is Tibetan for ‘good eye’. The basic idea is to meditate for half an hour, then go out with a camera while trying to maintain the meditation but with a specific task in mind: for example, looking for a certain colour, looking for only dots or splashes of colour, looking for textures, looking for space (my favourite), and so forth. No photograph would be made unless there was a ‘flash’ of recognition and contact with something in the physical world. When that happened, the task was to use the photograph to express that moment of recognition, which is not necessarily the same as simply showing what is there. Andy Karr and Michael Wood organized these ideas into a programme and published them as a book (Karr and Wood 2011).
I thoroughly enjoyed my ‘contemplative photography’. As a mindfulness practice, it is somewhat based on the Zen idea that if the archer’s mind is clear and empty of all discursive thought (i.e. distractions) then the arrow has already hit the target before it is released. Or, the image has already been made (in the mind) before the shutter is pressed. These ideas do express a truth, in my view.
I can see this being a way towards the freedom that Flusser talks about (Flusser 2000: 81-2), because if the image has already been made in the mind then it is free of dependence on an apparatus. I should probably make more of these ideas in my practice, because I know from experience how useful they can be. I don’t think they are suitable for every circumstance but they probably tie in quite closely with my temperament and with my current project.
I made five images with the Canon compact, as requested. I also made a completely accidental ghosted exposure with my regular camera while having to move it a couple of times during a long exposure. The results are quite pleasing, in fact. I have experimented with the results in Photoshop, to see how they might look if expressed in other ways. However, the problem that soon arose is that experimentation is aimless without a clear intent. I do not have a clear intent so at present experimentation is just messing around. While that’s fine, I do not feel it is productive.
So for now I will leave these experiments and ideas and let them swirl around in my unconscious. Later, something new will probably emerge. I have to be patient.
FLUSSER, Vilém. 2000. Towards a Philosophy of Photography. London: Reaktion, 76–82.
KARR, Andy and Michael WOOD. 2011. The Practice of Contemplative Photography : Seeing the World with Fresh Eyes. 1st ed. Boston: Shambhala.
Figure 1: Mark CREAN. 2020. St Mary’s, Iffley, taken with an old Canon compact camera and the jpeg converted to black and white in Silver Efex. Collection of the author.
Figure 2: Mark CREAN. 2020. St Mary’s, Iffley, This image was made by converting Fig. 1 above using Photoshop warp and paint filters and then applying a split tone using colours taken from a ‘blue’ sequence painting by Chris Ofili. Collection of the author.
Figure 3. Mark CREAN. 2020. The Thames at Iffley – accidental image ghosting caused by moving the camera during a long exposure. This image was made with my regular Olympus camera. Collection of the author.
Figure 4. Mark CREAN. 2020. The Thames at Iffley. This image was made by applying a Photoshop mosaic filter to Fig. 3 above, using colours taken from a ‘blue’ sequence painting by Chris Ofili. Collection of the author.
Figure 5. Mark CREAN. 2020. The Thames at Iffley. This image was made by converting Fig. 3 above into a (digital) cyanotype using Photoshop. Collection of the author.
Figure 6. Mark CREAN. 2020. The Thames at Iffley. This image was made by converting Fig. 3 above into a split tone using Photoshop. The key colours are taken from a ‘blue’ sequence painting by Chris Ofili. Collection of the author.
‘Post-photography’ is a huge and difficult topic that I am not sure I understand at all. My impression is that the baseline is Vilém Flusser’s definition of the photograph:
‘It is an image created and distributed automatically by programmed apparatuses in the course of a game necessarily based on chance, an image of a magic state of thinking whose symbols inform its receivers how to act in an improbable fashion’ (Flusser 2000: 76).
The photographic apparatus is therefore a dumb box that can only produce what it is programmed to produce. However, it is very easy for us then to mistake the output of the box as ‘real’ vision in some way, as if the box showed what we actually see. Soon, this can take on a much wider and unconscious cultural dimension as we automatically assume – on a society-wide scale – that what the box shows is both how we see and what was there (an indexical relationship). Perhaps this is behind the expression ‘It looks just like a photograph’. We have learned how to read the codes, so to speak, and no longer even realize that what we are reading is a code and not reality itself. Much of Cindy Sherman’s work depends on this almost automatic misunderstanding, for example.
As Flusser and many others have pointed out, however, this is a trap. We have confined ourselves to a machine-made universe. Human vision is a much more complex affair (see Elkins 1997) and in any case we do not really see – we experience. Vision is just one part of the entire gestalt by which we experience the world. This involves all our senses and our mind. Furthermore, the traditional photograph is a fantasy to begin with. It is a two-dimensional object that depends on human imagination to create the missing third dimension and the gestalt of actually being there.
These problems innate to photography have long been known and are neatly summed up by Hans Belting: ‘Every technique looks old when its motives look old. Photography no longer shows us what the world is like, but what the world was like at a time when people still believed that they could possess it in the photograph’ (Belting 2014: 146).
The core question has always remained the same, however: how to escape the trap of believing that what the apparatus reveals is real or true (indexical). In Flusser’s words: ‘Freedom is the strategy of making chance and necessity subordinate to human intention. Freedom is playing against the camera’ (Flusser 2000: 80).
Most of the artists I have looked at so far have taken three broad approaches to springing the trap. The first is to remove the photograph’s traditional (and indexical) relationship with place. This can be seen in the practice of Dafna Talmor who photographs real places but then slices up and recombines her negatives to created entirely new and imaginary places or ‘Constructed Landscapes’ (Talmor 2020).
The second approach is to remove the photograph’s relationship with time. This would seem to be a rejection of the ‘decisive moment’ doctrine, by which the image is fixed for all time at a single moment. But this imprisoning slice of time can be evaded if we are encouraged to apprehend the image presented to us right now, not as we imagine it might have been when it was made perhaps decades ago (or even hundreds of years ago in the case of a painting). Jorma Puranen and Brendan Fowler have both made use of this approach, combining images made at different times, among the many artists discussed by Robert Shore (Shore 2014). Every time we see an image in the present moment we are seeing a new image.
Robert Frank was well aware of the trap of time – that if his early work was fixed forever then his growth as an artist was stymied. He spent much of his career evading it. Thus some of his later work is about our meeting an image originally made long ago as, now, an object-image that has become part of something else (see Frank’s ‘Mabou’ of 1977). The process is well described by Hans Belting (Belting 2014: 164-8). Another approach to time is evident in the practice of Jeff Wall. Because they are entirely fictional, his tableaux allow him to combine the past, present and future of an event in a single image – as in his ‘Eviction Struggle’ of 1988.
The third approach is to encourage us to look at rather than through the image, so that texture and physicality are as much as part of the image as what it purports to show. The sheer physicality of the image interrupts our fantasies of what it might reveal and returns us to the fact of what it is. This might take the form of combining photographic images with sculptures or paintings, or simply of taking an image or parts of it and presenting it as something else according to the codes of another medium. This is largely the approach of Hockney in his playful (and wonderful) collages, or of some of Gerhard Richter’s work, or of several of the artists discussed by Robert Shore (Shore 2014) and Geoffrey Batchen (Batchen 2001).
In practice, artists often use all these methods (and no doubt many others) in combination. They reflect the now very porous boundaries between photography and other art forms as well as a general retreat from what Batchen calls the photograph’s ‘truth effect’ (Batchen 2001: 109). The point is, all are interventions to avoid Flusser’s trap: the machine-made universe.
Post-photography offers myriad exciting possibilities – we have not even got to digital manipulation yet. However, I have no real idea how these possibilities may affect my practice. I only know that they will. Normally, I need to allow an idea time and space to form and reform in my unconscious, until I feel that I really understand something. What I have to feel is that trying something different will result in a new and more expressive image, rather than an inferior one. Simply chopping up old images is not a positive – put like that. It is defacement for no obvious gain. What I need to do is allow these ideas to work on me for long enough for the positive to emerge. I am sure it will.
BATCHEN, Geoffrey. 2001. Each Wild Idea : Writing, Photography, History. Cambridge, M.A.: MIT Press, 108-127
BELTING, Hans and Thomas DUNLAP. 2014. An Anthropology of Images : Picture, Medium, Body. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
ELKINS, James. 1997. The Object Stares Back: On the Nature of Seeing. San Diego: Harcourt Brace.
FLUSSER, Vilém. 2000. Towards a Philosophy of Photography. London: Reaktion, 76–82.
SHORE, Robert. 2014. ‘Post-photography: the Artist with a Camera’. In Robert SHORE (ed.). Post-Photography: The Artist with a Camera. London: Laurence King, 176–223.
My part in the Great Zine Challenge was a collaboration with Mike and Marcel on the theme of objects found on the ground – lost, discarded, forgotten, whatever. First we went out and made some photographs. Then in online meetings we chose six images each, in square format, and agreed a page size, rough layouts and a running order of images. We then each produced our own version at home with our own twist to the basic scheme. I have called my version Foundlings.
If anyone is interested, a pdf of the full zine is here:
Below are a couple of images of the printed result and the assembly stage:
I thank my team mates for a very enjoyable project!
Figure 1: Mark CREAN 2020. An accordion fold zine (A5 landscape format) by Mike, Marcel and Mark. Collection of the author.
Figure 2. Mark CREAN. 2020. Printed and the pages cut to size, the zine is now ready for assembly into accordion folds. Collection of the author.
I do understand that collaboration and participation are where many forms of art are now located, particularly new and cutting edge ideas. In some ways perhaps much of this derives from the artists’ manifestos of the last century whether Dada, Futurist or Situationist.
In the words of the Situationist Manifesto of 1960; ‘Against the spectacle, the realized situationist culture introduces total participation. … Against preserved art, it is the organization of the directly lived moment. … Against particularized art, it will be a global practice with a bearing, each moment, on all the usable elements. … Against unilateral art, situationist culture will be an art of dialogue, an art of interaction’ (Debord 1960).
This is heady stuff. However, I don’t think that what I am doing is particularly suited to it, so for now I will probably have to confine myself to what Ansel Adams reputedly observed: ‘There are always two people in every picture: the photographer and the viewer.’
My project Hometown Nights involves photography after dark. Currently, I am intentionally making photographs of spaces without people. The reason is that when someone is in the photograph, its whole meaning changes and stories kick off. That is fine, of course, but it is not what I am trying to do at the moment which among other things is to suggest presence by absence (in respect of other people).
I have no plans to change my approach for the time being. I enjoy the evening solitude and would find other people a distraction. I do not think that urban night photography (in the way I am currently approaching it) is a good project for a collaborative, participatory or collectivist approach. Plenty of other subjects would work really well for this but in my case I think it would be a mistake.
What this week’s activities have caused me to reconsider most is the forms the output of my work might take. Here, more collaboration would be of benefit.
As I said in a previous post, the output of my work could change from a conventional fine arts photography book into a number of other things in addition to or instead of that. All of them would involve a greater degree of collaboration. These might include an exhibition (though cost might be an impediment where I live), zines, online collaborations on photography sites like Flickr and Instagram, photography walks, tutorials online and no doubt much besides.
I could also look at using for inspiration some classic night-time photographs, or paintings, much in the manner of Tom Hunter or from a more conceptual approach Jeff Wall. Some of Chris Ofili’s ‘blue period’ works come to mind too (Tate 2014, for example). Remixing is a form of collaboration. This would be very interesting and likely great fun as well as challenging. There are some pitfalls to be careful of when talking of sources of inspiration, however, such as clumsy appropriation or simply just channelling (in effect, copying) someone’s else’s work without being fully aware of it, so I am sure this is not as easy as it sounds.
DEBORD, Guy. 1960. Situationist Manifesto. In Alex DANCHEV (ed.). 2011. 100 Artists’ Manifestos. London: Penguin, 357-60.
This is what has struck me so far about collaboration or participation. But why confine oneself to just one term when there might be more enjoyment in having both? The great thing about collaboration is that one can just get down and do it instead of talking about it.
In order to avoid a long post, I will cover how I think the subject affects my own practice in a second post.
An example of collaboration (and also of participation) is an exhibition held last year here in Oxford at the Old Fire Station arts centre (Arts at the Old Fire Station 2019). It was called ICON and involved a professional photographer, Rory Carnegie, and a group of clients from Crisis Skylight Oxford (a charity which works with those facing homelessness and with people having a tough time). The aim was to recreate some of the most famous photographs of the past few decades using the clients as cast, crew and collaborators. The photographer was really just another member of the crew.
I think this is a good example of collaboration, mainly, but also participation. There was an agreed shared aim around a defined project. Those who took part did so as fully equal members, i.e. they collaborated to create the whole project. And they were also participants in individual images, standing in as performers for the subjects in the original image. In this sense they were rather like the participants in Gillian Wearing’s Signs that Say What You Want Them To Say and Not Signs that Say What Someone Else Wants You To Say of 1992-3 (Wearing 2020).
The whole project strikes me as a development of the practice of Anthony Luvera (Luvera 2020), but this time a project with a more formal organisation and more people.
The result was a great success. All the details can be seen at the URL I have referenced. This includes an Exhibition Guide, which is really about the development and methodology of the project. There is also an Evaluation Report, a really useful document and an idea well worth keeping in mind as a way not only of monitoring results but improving methods and avoiding pitfalls the next time round.
A second example: I am a member of Oxford Photographers, a group of photographers local to Oxford (Oxford Photographers 2020). We could be described as a collective, because we share a common aim (the promotion and enjoyment of photography in and around Oxford). We hold regular meetings in venues, go on photowalks and the like. We all go along as participants. From time to time we collaborate on specific projects, usually exhibitions, in which everyone helps to formulate the project aims and takes part on an equal basis. We also cooperate, sometimes in smaller groups, by pooling resources either without a shared objective (it could just be borrowing kit) or if the objective is shared then each participant approaches it independently in their own way and not under the single umbrella of a collaboration.
In practice I think a lot of these terms are pretty fluid and change as time and culture change. My references for the foregoing would be Maria Lind (Lind 2007), Ariella Azoulay (Azoulay 2016) and TATE Art Terms (TATE 2020). Interestingly, TATE Art Terms does not have an entry for collaboration. This suggests that the focus now seems to be more on process and outcomes, in terms the TATE does acknowledge such as Community Art, Social Turn, Socially Engaged Practice, Participatory Art, Activist Art and Relational Aesethetics. These ideas can overlap, too, especially in really large-scale projects which involve the coming together of many different people and organisations such as Deller’s Battle of Orgreave (Mellor 2011). The result is a much wider and more accommodating view of what we think Art is.
LIND, Maria. 2007. ‘The Collaborative Turn’. In Johanna BILLING, Maria LIND, and Lars NILSSON (eds.). Taking the Matter into Common Hands: On Contemporary Art and Collaborative Practices. London: Black Dog, 15–31.
LUVERA, Anthony. 2020. ‘Anthony Luvera – Artist, Writer, Educator’. [online]. Available at: http://www.luvera.com/ [accessed 18 Jun 2020].
Figure 1: Rory CARNEGIE. 2019. World Cup with Gavin, Doug, Wayne, Emma, Nick, Ryszard, Demelza, Anthony, George and Mark | after ‘England Victory, Wembley’, 1966. From: Arts at the Old Fire Station. 2019. ‘ICON: Arts at the Old Fire Station’. Exhibition [online]. Available at: https://oldfirestation.org.uk/project/icon/ [accessed 17 Jun 2020]. Figure 2. OXFORD PHOTOGRAPHERS. 2020. Exhibition Poster. Collection of the author.
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