Photo Essay 010 : Atmospheres
Luca Orsi’s “Atmospheres” collects dewy reflections of concrete landscapes forgotten amongst slumber. Color and structure coalesce to beautifully capture minimalist urban scenes at night.
Gorgeous photo essay on urban spaces up on The Photographic Journal, this week. Sumptuous, every single photo. Go give it a bit of your time.
Muhammad Ali. Gloves down
Y’all gotta watch the whole fight. Ali does this over a dozen times during the hour-long match. This right here is round 9, after Ali’s punches have already done considerable damage to his opponent (Ernie Terrell. The man went 13 rounds with Ali, give him some credit) swelling one eye shut, punching a cut over the other. The entire fight, Ali’s taunting Terrell constantly, such as when he yells at him near the end of round 8, “WHAT’S MY NAME? WHAT’S MY NAME?” Matter of fact, he was talking at him while these punches were being thrown.
This GIF is dope, but it’s merely the smell of a fine meal, not the meal itself. With Muhammed Ali, you gotta feast, it’s not enough to simply breathe in deep.
P.S. as a photographer, I also wanna give it up to the guy with the glasses in the bottom right corner. He spends the whole fight looking at the boxers through his camera, constantly winding, framing, shooting, winding, framing, shooting, switching cameras, framing, shooting, winding, reloading…back then those guys worked Hard for their photography money, I tell you what.
5.27.14 - Carré Callaway
I was already bored with the idea I’d had for the day’s shoot, found this li’l vantage point and decided this was a fitting place to wrap it up, get us some damn fine mexican food. Left the car running (I like to let the a/c run on hot days like this one, as it’s not as bad shooting in the heat when you know you’ve got a frosty car interior waiting for you), snapped off a few…then a few more…then just got caught up. Shot there for a good twenty minutes before we finally split.
At first it looked nice, but after snapping off a few, realized I loved the city in the back, the layers of green in the shot, the way Carré pops out against it all with her pinks and reds.
The shots from this one spot are pretty much the only ones I like from the shoot…and that’s more than enough. I’m finding, of late, I don’t need as many “good” shots from a shoot to be happy. I’m looking for 3-5 photos I’m happy with, that’s all. Always have a good time During the shoot, so no big deal with the results.
645am. Traffic comes to a dead stop on the 10west. We don’t move for 10 minutes. I get out of my car and take this photo, gleefully astonished. When traffic finally starts moving again, the cause is nowhere to be seen. This mystery will haunt me the rest of my life.
Moby : Interview 018
Goddamn was I excited to interview Moby. Read up on other interviews he’d done about his photography, listened to a few podcasts he visited, checked out his new album, read the New York Times article that talked about his house…I went deep. Which was fitting, as Moby himself goes deep when it comes to photography. He gives it the kind of thought I am both deeply respect and am more than a little in awe of.
Because c’mon, we expect artists to have a single specialty. We expect their dalliances in other art forms to clearly mark them as dilettantes. And yet here’s Moby, giving as much energy and consideration to photography as he does to music, producing a stunning body of work that instantly dispels any thoughts that he’s merely slumming it as a photographer. The following interview only hammers home that idea.
Read Moby’s interview
Hey, y’all, I interviewed Moby for The Photographic Journal. I kind of figured it’d be short and light, but he really engaged, gave me some great answers, gave 100%. Go check it out!
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
Ezra Caldwell passed away this weekend, and seeing him go brings me great sadness. Dynamic, audacious, and fucking funny - he faced life with a gut-wrenching honesty that I could hardly believe was real. His zest for life inspired me, and watching a man I admired slowly lose his battle with cancer ultimately broke my heart. Seeing those bushy eyebrows through all their states - laughing, crying, full of hope, and finally acquiescing was soul wrenching and sobering, a testament to an undying spirit with a passion for life that always held its own.
I had the great fortune to interview Ezra for The Photographic Journal. Hearing the tinny of his voice and watching his eyes melt back into memories for a few hours from my home office left me dizzy. Interviews like his, with their ability to manifest emotions and demonstrate passion, are the reason I started The Photographic Journal. To this day, I hold my conversation with Ezra as what our journal aspires to capture.
And while I am tempted to mourn, I am inspired instead to celebrate. Celebrate the life Ezra lived so well, and hope that I can live my life with even half the fervor with which he lived his.
- Agustin Sanchez, Co Founder of The Photographic Journal
X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014)
Oh I dunno…it was fine? Lots of weird plot stuff, and by “weird” I mean “lazy”, and several times you wonder why the super-powerful person doesn’t just do something powerful and save everybody. The special effects aren’t all that impressive.
My buddy sitting right next to me at the movie says to me after it’s done, “if I’d have suggested a movie based on Days of Future Past ten years ago, you would’ve slapped me in the face,” and he’s right. We are living in a great time to be a person who’s been a nerd since the mid-80s. All the things I wanted to see on the big screen? I get to see them on the big screen!
THERE HAVE BEEN FIVE SPIDER-MAN MOVIES.
THERE HAVE BEEN SEVEN X-MEN MOVIES.
I watched Thanos on the big screen, man. This is staggering.
BUT. But as we’re well into this golden age, it’s probably about time the comic book movies got better.
This movie is not an example of Better. Things happen, people yell at each other, lots of people use their hands to signal they’re using their powers even though their powers are mind-based. There’s never any momentum to the story, never a point at which you’re a) unsure what’s going to happen and/or b) are really invested in anyone or thing. The movie is just a bunch of things that happen.
I’ll say this: The acting is pretty damn good. Michael Fassbender is perfect as Magneto, and James McAvoy plays “angsty Professor X” to the hilt. I was really into all the emoting those guys did.
Oh, and for those keeping count: there’s only one female lead and mostly she just looks pained.
There are two black people in the film, and they both Blackrifice within seconds of each other.
And, like all comic book movies now, there’s a post-credits scene. It is bland as white bread. Used to be, a post-credits scene was a punch in the gut (the good kind). These filmmakers didn’t get that.
5.22.14 - Keva
Richard Brody on Adam Sandler’s new romantic comedy “Blended”: http://nyr.kr/1naRKcc
“The romance is sweet and even effervescent, the comedy is homespun and sentimental, but it’s packaged with such a repellent batch of stereotypes and prejudices that it’s unpalatable even to contemplate.”
Photograph: Warner Bros. Pictures
I enjoy criticism of all kinds, but there’s a special place in my heart for negative movie reviews. You’ve got a host of folks who say that it’s just sour grapes, that every critic is a failed writer, and that’s entirely possible.
But there is value to someone who has a passionate reaction to a film and is then compelled to be equally as passionate in their describing that film.
The fact that someone feels so strongly about a film, that’s telling ya something, brother. They may not be right, but it’s coming from the heart.
"such a repellent batch of stereotypes and prejudices that it’s unpalatable even to contemplate," that there is a doozy. A sentence like that, THAT’S PASSION. I’ll read the writing of a passionate person any day over the rote, perfunctory "this latest x-men movie hits all the right notes" + [obligatory mutant pun] any day of the week.
Insist on engagement. Wrestle with what is difficult. Pretty is boring. Seek intensity. —
W.M. Hunt (via photographsonthebrain)
I keep forgetting this, so have to continually reblog it from Milo, the ol’ memory booster shot.
new set on my website, starring Whitney Moore, shot during the “OH GOD IT’S SO FUCKING HOT I’M NEVER GOING OUTSIDE AGAIN MATTER OF FACT I’M NEVER LOOKING OUT MY WINDOW NO NO WAIT I’M NEVER SAYING THE WORD ‘OUTSIDE’ AGAIN NOPE CAN’T MAKE ME” heatwave we had in LA last week: Beach Streets