Categories
Writing

A critic’s value

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

Sometimes I enjoy writing; other times, I hate being a writer.

For those of you who think it would be just wonderful to publish a book: think again.

There’s few things that can make you more vulnerable than to work your butt off on something and then have it trivialized, panned, and dismissed–usually by some anonymous pundit. Months of writing, months of editing and production work gets reduced in five minutes by a critic with an attitude.

One is tempted to reject all critics but there is value in criticism, even when such is unpalatable or unpleasant. Via 3QuarksDaily’s, I found the Boston Review article, Why Photography Critics Hate Photography to be an intriguing writing; especially the part on the critic’s rejection of the emotionalism of photography, and hence their suspicion of same:

Brecht was right. Photographs don’t explain the way the world works; they don’t offer reasons or causes; they don’t tell us stories with a coherent, or even discernible, beginning, middle, and end. Photographs live on the surface: they can’t burrow within to reveal the inner dynamics of historic events. And though it’s true that photographs document the specific, they tend, also, to blur—dangerously blur—political and historic distinctions: a photograph of a bombed-out apartment building in Berlin, circa 1945, looks much like a photograph of a bombed-out apartment building in Hanoi, circa 1969, which looks awfully similar to a photograph of a bombed-out apartment building in Baghdad from last week. Yet only a vulgar reductionist—or a complete pacifist—would say that these three cities, which is to say these three wars, are fundamentally the same cities or the same wars. Still, the photos look the same: there’s a very real sense in which if you’ve seen one bombed-out building you have indeed seen them all. (“War is a horrible repetition,” Martha Gellhorn wrote, and this is even truer of photographs than of words.) It is this anti-explanatory, anti-analytic quality of the photograph—what Barthes called its stupidity—that critics have seized on with a vengeance and that they cannot, apparently, forgive.

But the problem with photographs is not only that they fail to explain the world. A greater problem, for Brecht and his followers, is what photographs succeed in doing, which is to offer an immediate, emotional connection to the world. People don’t look at photographs to understand the inner contradictions of monopoly capitalism or the reasons for the genocide in Rwanda. They—we—turn to photographs for other things: for a glimpse of what cruelty, or strangeness, or beauty, or suffering, or love, or disease, or natural wonder, or artistic creation, or depraved violence, looks like. And we turn to photographs, also, to find out what our intuitive reactions to such otherness might be. (This curiosity is not, as the postmoderns have charged, an expression of “imperialism,” racism,” or “orientalism”: the peasant in Kenya and the worker in Cairo are as fascinated—if not more so—by a picture of New Yorkers as we are by an image of them.) None of us is a creature solely of feeling, and yet there is no doubt that we approach photographs, first and foremost, on an emotional level.

One of my favorite photographers is Walker Evans, who took what he called a ‘documentary approach’ to his photography–rejecting any hint of emotionalism in his work. About his most famous work, in the book Let Us Now Praise Famous Men, one reviewer wrote:

The images are quintessential of Evans’ “documentary style”; Evans’ dis-interested approach to these families resulted in portraying them with dignity and strength, although they lived in complete poverty. He sought to show the beauty of order and respectability within such an impoverished condition. Thus, many of the photographs are posed portraits, often made with the 8×10 view camera…Evans’ use of objects, as well as interior and exterior(architectural) shots, which were all components of his strategy to build a comprehensive documentary work. Although at times Evans used his Leica(35mm),a small format camera, he did not take “snapshots” of daily activites; he despised that journalistic approach. Evans kept his images, as usual, in sharp, hard-focus, and also varied his focal length–sometimes up close, other times, wide-angle.

Reviews of the book referred to the “naked realism which is the truth as Walker Evans’ camera eye sees it.” The effect is one of confrontation with the reader–not with Evans, but with the tenant-farming families themselves. In this regard Evans became the visual translator of these people to the rest of the alienated American public. In so doing, and in conjunction with his work for the FSA, Evans revolutionized the concept of documentary photography. That is, he artfully removed himself from the equation. His objective style brought the viewer into confrontation with the subject, with no hint of subjective authoritarian influence. These images are the best example of that fact, and accordingly were the hallmark images for which Evans became known.

Categories
Stuff

A binding demonstration

Steve points to this post, which provides an exceptionally well documented demonstration of creating a homemade book using fairly traditional book binding techniques. It’s probably the most photographed and meticulously detailed example of this technique I’ve seen.

A single page version of the demonstration is available at the author’s journal.

Categories
Voting

Viva la vote

The line to vote was quite long but the crowd of primarily retired folk was friendly. As I got to the check-in desk I realized I didn’t have my wallet, so home I went to grab it. When I returned I noticed a great deal of black clothing. Yes, a great deal of black clothing. The Seminary next door had just got out of class and all the Seminary students and their priest professors had arrived to vote.

It was a novel experience: voting for Amendment 2 among dozens of Catholic priests. Perhaps I should have brought my camera after all.

I checked with the vote results tonight and McCaskill and Talent and Amendment 2 are close, very close. The vote did not follow religious lines as much as it is following urban/rural lines. I don’t want to wait up, though, to see the finals. I’ll see it in the morning.

I read over at Ralph’s, his reminisce of old voting machines, which was funny because that was one of the things we talked about in line. I was chatting with a younger, pregnant woman about the Diebold machines when an even younger man in front of her asked something about them–I think it was the seeming lack of privacy with the newer machines. The older lady behind me mentioned how she missed the old machines, where you pulled the lever and a curtain closed and it was just you and the switches.

I mentioned that you really felt like you voted with a machine like that: the snapping sound as you pushed the switches for each vote, the effort needed to pull the lever, which counted the votes and opened the curtain. The young man didn’t know what I was talking about, of course: too young. He grew up with punch cards leaving little chads hanging underneath.

Don remembers those old machines, I bet. He wrote tonight about going with his parents when they voted using a big old paper ballot, and marking your choices while you all were seated at a table:

When I was a child, my mother and father voted in the Kendrick Elementary School cafeterium (lunchroom) in South Waco. The ballots were paper, and quite large. There were no booths or isolated places to mark ballots. Voters went to the low lunchroom tables, and sat and voted in full view of their neighbors. I usually went with them when they voted in the afternoon. A woman who moved to Waco from Ohio once told me how uncomfortable it made her feel to vote without a booth on ballots as big as a paper table cloth.

Can’t you just close your eyes and picture the scene? Folks bundled up against the cold, sitting at those old folding lunch room tables, under the harsh fluorescent lights–large paper ballots pushed up next to each other, people either trying very hard to peek, or trying very hard not to peek.

After the vote, I felt too hyper to come home and work. Today was a good day for errands. All four of my tires were pounds too light, so I aired them up, an oddly fitting activity for election day. Went shopping, too, as well as to Starbuck’s where I treated myself to a latte AND one of their cinnamon-sugar homemade cake donuts. I also took movies back to my county library, and picked up three new ones (“Terminal”, “Absolute Power”, and “Constantine”). As I went from the store to the library, I’d pass people, or be standing next to people, and we’d just start chatting. We’d all voted and we felt like we’d been let out of prison, or at a minimum, released for recess. We were giddy. Yes, giddy.

Don also mentions some of this; how difficult this vote was. He’s also right when he talks about with all that was discussed with this election–loudly, emphatically, and above all, angrily–we still haven’t addressed the true core issues we need to be discussing.

I read over at Sheila’s about CNN’s little ‘blog-in’ coverage of the election results. With plenty of food and beverages, natch. I hope they had fun, got a lot to eat and drink, but I beg to differ with CNN: that’s not weblogging. Same as the election today: that’s not democracy. We can’t go in once every two years and ignore what happens in our government the rest of the time. We also can’t continue to be polarized over issues. Every time we are, we lose a little more of a our freedom, a little more of our rights. Corporate fodder. That’s what voters are today, corporate fodder.

I think that we all, most of us, have more in common with each other than the people we elect. I voted for Claire McCaskill, but she, like all politicians, like her competitor Talent, sees the world a different way than people like you and me. I respect her, what she stands for and voted for her, but I liked that priest today wearing the hand knitted vest; gently taking a little old lady’s hand in his and asking her how she was doing, as if her answer was all that mattered. I doubt he and I agreed on many issues today–in fact, chances are if he follows his church’s recommendations, we disagree strongly on most issues–but he seemed like a nice man, and very real. He didn’t look like an Agent of Oppression, Destroyer of Science, or Pusherman for God.

I’m babbling, aren’t I? That’s OK. It’s OK to babble in one’s weblog–well, as long as you don’t babble for pay, or if you do so, you disclose.

Back to Ralph’s and Don’s posts and the election. Though I’m worried about the election results, I feel cheered by their words; their’s and the comments left by others in my earlier posts. Enormously cheered, in fact. That’s good because it looks like the races that meant the most to me are probably going to lose. I guess that means the priest with the sweater is happy. Good. Good for you Father, whoever and wherever you are.

Unless my vote ends up on the winning side, in which case: neener neener.

Categories
Political

Exhibiting grace during victory

McCaskill beat out Talent.

It looks like Amendment 2 wins in an extremely close race.

Barbara Fraser edged out long time Republican Odenwall to give control of the county council to the Democrats.

Democrats have taken back the House. We also have a good shot at the Senate.

And women have redefined the term homemaker.

YaHHHOOOOEEEEE!

Life is a highway,
I want to ride it all night long.

We did it. We did it. We did it!

Mr. Bush, it’s spanking time!

Note to Dems: Now don’t get cocky. We put you in these positions, and don’t you forget it.

Categories
XHTML/HTML

Atom XHTML patch

Created my first formal Drupal patch, providing an XHTML content type to the Atom module. Once I walked through the module, and the procedure to apply a patch, it really wasn’t all that difficult to both create the patch, and submit it for review. And the feed validates, though with a warning because of the object element in the last post.

I was surprised at how easy it was to modify the administration form for the module— a couple of lines of code, and that’s it.