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.
