Ira Glass at Syracuse University

In a moment of educational bliss, Ira Glass, host of This American Life, graced Syracuse University's own Hendrick's Chapel to give a powerful and educational talk on storytelling, radio, and the future of journalism.

Already a fan, I came hoping to be surprised and inspired. While he maintained his usual candor and demeanor, I left this talk with a bit more than from his usual weekly broadcasts. If you're interested in hearing what he has to say about storytelling and the methods he uses, you can search for him on YouTube and watch the videos- he basically repeated the same rhetoric he does on videos there. His methods, tried and true, are brilliant, simple, and beautiful. He truly is unique in his simplicity of mind and straightforward way of storytelling. He expressed well-thought ideas about how to approach the next wave of journalism - with a sense of humor, with a sensitivity to people, and with, perhaps most importantly, a central theme on the humanity of stories and how imporant stories are to people. Using Arabian Nights as an allegory to the importance of stories (they may save your life!), Glass briefly brought us into the world where words shout themselves, and the beauty of straightforward storytelling transcends into spirits that last longer than the sounds that carry them to our ears and rock us to our cores. The stories of heartbreak, awkwardness, hope, betrayal, and new beginnings are central to humanity, for within the stories of other people, we learn more about ourselves as we, if only for a few moments, are the storyteller too.

What touched me most about the entire talk, was that during the question and answer portion, a nine year old boy used his question to ask for a handshake. It made me a bit emotional, thinking that this nine year old was touched as equally by his talk and the weekly experience that is This American Life as it touches me every week. Whether you're nine or ninety, the stories on the show ring true to the human element that exists within us all, and I felt inspired to know that somehow, 1.8 million people per week (and 500,000 more on podcasts) tune in to share the silences and moments of sensitivity that break through to fits of laughter that Mr. Glass brings to the radio.

Dan McPharlin

Just look at this shit. It's amazing.

© Dan McPharlin

And now, check this out:
The Damned - Life Goes On (1982)
The Killing Joke - Eighties (1984)
Nirvana - Come As You Are (1992)

Erin Mulvehill

© Erin Mulvehill

He visto antes; en mis sueños.

Mi compañera Erin es un buen fotografo.

I am in Spanish class. I have been drinking.

Jason Eskenazi

Whilst browsing what I consider to be the best blog for photojournalism, Lens @ the New York Times, I came across Jason Eskenazi. And, as can be expected, he blew me away.

The above shot is from his project Vanishing Points, a series of reaction shots from New Yorkers around New York City on September 11, 2001. This amazing series of images can be viewed here. Armed with what appears to be a single wide-angle lens, a Leica, and rolls of film, Eskenazi went out and made a series of images that showed veteran calmness and virgin emotion. All of the images express a sense of disbelief, wonder, and confusion. The faces of the people on the streets capture unbridled responses, reactions to the most horrific scene New Yorkers of this generation had been privy to. In each of the frame, I see a piece of New York's infinite and underlying spirit; it floods the memories of the days shortly thereafter of the similar feelings we all had. I, no more than a boy, remember moments of utter confusion and amazement coupled with too much information and not enough answers. Too young perhaps to fully comprehend the event at the time (I was 13, after all), these images allow me to re-investigate a situation that through flashes and winces, I remember vividly as a ball of confusion and a blur of disaster and fear.

Furthermore, he put together a pretty interesting mulitmedia piece with some interesting interviews for Time Magazine, which can be viewed here.

Lastly, this is the image that brought me unto his work. There is so much to say about this image, that I'll opt to say nothing. Just look at it. It's pretty damn good.

What make me happiest to come across Eskenazi's work is that this is all he's done. He's 49, and though I'm not positive, seems to have happened into photojournalism as he grew older. Last night, I was talking with my mom about how I don't want to finish college, though I will. I explained that there isn't a major for what I want to do, which is to be basically a vagabond for a few years and put together books. I plan to move to South America, bum around and just live my life, writing and shooting photographs as I see fit. Working from job to job shouldn't bother anyone, especially if they're not in the fields one plans to pursue actual recognition in. For me, it's so much that the journey is the destination, and I don't have any problem with being 50 before anyone starts to give a shit about my work, if ever. I feel you should be out there doing work for yourself, and no one else. Working here at Magnum, I see so much work of people that just kept shooting, shooting, shooting and then one day reviewed all of their work and was like, "Oh yeah, hey, I could probably make a book out of this stuff." Sebastiao Selgado, Danny Lyon, Chris Steele Perkins, Bob Adelman, Erich Hartmann; they all seem to have done this, and I admire them each equally. The point is to be out there shooting, and maybe one day, after years of doing something else, you'll turn out a book that people kind of like.

And, the Kings of Convenience - Mrs Cold, for you.

Dash Snow

Today, or probably last night, the world of modern art loses another to the Forever 27 Club, Mr. Dash Snow. A well-connected, well-to-do delinquent, probably with daddy issues and a fear of popularity, Snow was a bit of a downtown NYC legend of art. That is to say that people admired his tragedy, like Kurt Cobain.

© Dash Snow

All the things that always aggravated me about Terry Richardson, apply to Snow. Lack of talent or expertise was passed off as intent and the world of art suffered as another bullshit artist peddled their bullshit wares. I maintain that without a wealthy art-collector aunt, Snow would have remained out of the art circuit and thus off of this page. Akin to how Richardson really worked his father's connections and kept doing his own thing until it was attributed to be his "style" or how Andy Warhol was really a talentless hack thrust into limelight out of sheer adoration of his awkwardness; Snow was your atypical hipster hero, and the injustice of it all continued to inspire his rebellion.

However, while I don't necessarily maintain he was "an artist," he was however a creative, and equally tragic, individual. His work has shown in Vice magazine (which isn't really saying anything other than that the guy could party, given his published work), and he had a budding following, including reviews from Juxtapoz to the New York Times, and his death has garnered support for his work. A collection of his polaroids create a portrait of the man's life, and he appears to have stoked his fire and burned his fuel out long before we could really be presented his true body of work. And, like Arizona State to Obama, I am going to withhold any praise due to his current body of work.

I must admit, though, that he captured interesting moments in an interesting life at an interesting threshold of events. His journalistic intentions of capturing his life appear both pretentious and self-glorifying, and of the type that I generally despise due to the sheer onslaught and overabundance of said type of art, but I admire the situations he put himself in though I would prefer to have stumbled upon a shoebox full of these images ten years from now in someone's forgotten closet than on the Art Beat on the New York Times' website. When I first became aware of his artwork, it was via Vice Magazine's Photo Book. Amongst that context, his work fits in, but does not stand out, except perhaps for the humor. The above image is one of my favorites, for reasons I do not believe were intended (such as the cutoffs because the Polaroid camera he was probably using was most definitely not equipped with a viewfinder, so the composition was definitely just a happy accident). This worship of false idols angers, excites, and forces me to create and to justify not only my opinion, but my own body of work and set of skills. In this, I consider Dash Snow to be a powerful inspiration.

Dina Goldstein

This shit is awesome. Check out her portfolio.

Her series of images titled Fallen Princesses is so good. It is the exact type of humor and thinking I enjoy. I find all of the images to be pleasing, but this one of Jasmine is my favorite because it is really fucking funny.

And, to boot, she has one of the easiest-to-navigate and visually pleasing websites of any photographer out there. Do yourself a favor and spend a little bit of time on her site.

Paco Peregrin and Burial/Four Tet

© Paco Peregrin

I don't know who this guy is, I don't know where he came from, but I am glad I came across his stuff. Take the time and browse his website. From his bio he appears to be a Spanish photographer, who, as it seems, has an eye for style, grace and composition. He studied as a painter and it makes sense, looking at his work, which, for all intensive purposes, is pretty fucking good.

When I was over at Impact Digital with my class a few months back, the head of the retouching department said that a lot of the guys working there had painting backgrounds, and, now, in my own pursuits, I find myself gravitating towards heading back into painting. Not that I don't paint now, which I do, but I do bullshit abstract stuff with colors that I pass off as painting. I really need to get my hands on some oils, a good teacher, and start to explore the other world of capturing expression.

And this song, called Moth by Burial and Four Tet, is FUCKING AWESOME.

A long Hiatus

After a long hiatus from the blogosphere, I've decided to resume the postings on this blog. I haven't shot much recently, partially to my dismay and partially to my enjoyment, but today I bring to you a bit of inspiration and a bit of me. In the coming weeks I plan to start shooting a story on my friend who is now becoming a boxer and to prepare to eventually ship out to Burning Man where I'll work on a profile of the people, the place, and the event itself, granted I don't have anything to do that week.


© Jonas Bendiksen

Jonas Bendiksen is not an unknown name. Currently taking prizes and releasing photos like a madman, the guy is shooting constantly, consistently, and diligently. As a member of Magnum, he's pursued his own stories on the areas of his own interest (that I share) in the former Soviet Union, which he chronicles in his book Satellites. He beautifully explains that to him, much of these forgotten and ignored areas are the aftermath of areas that used to "orbit" around Moscow, this beacon that acted for so many years as the center of a universe that we, in the West, don't even consider part of our galaxy.

I know that from my own travels through eastern Europe, I found myself continually on the opposite side of an invisible fence, as if the mere connection through similar experiences was almost impossible to make because I felt that my childhood and adolescence could not even be considered in the same category as those I saw in Moldova, Transdnistria, and beyond. It was a strange feeling and in the promo for his book, Bendiksen explains a similar feeling.

I recently interviewed to intern at Magnum and the interviewer, Matt Murphy, explained that Bendiksen was an intern at Magnum and following it, he decided that he would go out and put together a portfolio, and here we are, years later, viewing his work as the budding talent of the photographic world. It's strange how humble these beginnings often are.

No word on what I'll be doing this summer, because I'm pretty much left in the dark, broke, with nothing to do but sit and wonder about what I've done wrong or right; and for that matter if I really want to do any of it. I'm at a turning point in my life, when I'm about to graduate college and hopefully, if luck prevails, drop off the face of the planet and delve deep into my own interests - writing a book, photographing for it, and getting the hell out of Dodge and into whatever comes next. I contemplatively smoke cigarettes and often think about what to do when all the dreams I have dissolve into nothingness like tears in rain (Bladerunner anyone?) and I'm left to my own devices to survive and I just ask myself, "Do you really want to do that?" My potential appears limitless but all I want to do right now is grossly underachieve, for in my eyes, that is an achievement in itself.

Bruno Dayan

Bruno Dayan; I've only recently come across his work, but I'm quite impressed. I suggest taking a look at this portfolio.

© Bruno Dayan Photography

His images have such an appeal to me: they are beautiful, they are sensual, they are provocative, they are moody. Each photo encompasses great skill and his portfolio is wholly impressive. I find his work to be moving and complex, as the man uses and sculpts many lights. He has a skill set I admire greatly and interesting painterly compositions with new edge to them.

He uses multiple exposures beautifully and seamlessly. He has excellent models and uses their abilities well, creating an expanse of images worth display. Looking at his work, I admirably note how vital good makeup is and how it can really create much needed tension. My own weaknesses as a photographer manifest in my attempts to comprehend the processes of these photographs, but they compel me to think and to create, for this is an inspiration.