i heart the dmv

© robert bechtle

Note: this post contains no irony.

I was at an office of the Department of Motor Vehicles today, and I left happier than I was when I arrived. First off, technology has been a friend to the system. There are big boards with LED numbers, so you actually can calculate how long your wait will be. Very civilized - read your magazine, keep an eye on the big number, head to counter #4 when called. Second, it was refreshing to see a jovial (and obviously brave) driving test administrator, greeting young drivers-to-be. Third, those same teenagers were seated waiting with their parents, and there was a nice nervous, excited energy in the air.

Mostly, though, I had a great time watching the drivers license photos being taken. Another good-natured DMV employee (I swear) manned the camera, which instantly sent a digital file to her monitor. She was so pleasant and made her subjects feel relaxed, in what most would consider a horrible way to spend 4 seconds. But here's the icing on the vehicular cake - she only called my first name when it was my time to be photographed, and when I arrived at her counter, she asked quietly how I pronounce my last name. When my license was ready, a few (minutes!) later, she called out my full name confidently, pronouncing it perfectly.

Due to the low tech lighting of the camera, and to my lack of recent physical exercise, I'll politely decline to show you my new portrait. Instead, here's a painting, above, by Robert Bechtle. Were all station wagons green back then?

around here

© mark brautigam

I had a nice talk recently with the photographer Mark Brautigam. Mark also lives in Milwaukee, but I first saw his work on Andy Adams' Flak Photo site. The project On Wisconsin has Mark traveling the state with his 8x10 camera, and making what I find to be quiet, honest pictures.

We talked about projects, day jobs, web presence, big prints, photography sales in galleries, and the virtues of the c-print vs. inkjet. Mark has a new project on the horizon, but the two photos above are new images (seen here first!) from Wisconsin. The woman on the right is sitting in the fire museum in Pestigo, and I love how the details cue you in to how many hours she spends in that spot - the flyswatter, paperback, and space heater all within easy reach.

Trust me, I live here - Mark's photographs feel like Wisconsin.

i love this photo, #14

© Amy Toensing

I love this photo by the photographer Amy Toensing. It was made while she was working on a story about Monhegan Island, Maine, and shows Harry and Doug Odom, with their dog, Taxi. The two brothers, who never married, were icons on the small island - having been lobstermen, merchants and benefactors. They are shown preparing for bed in the room they shared - hanging above each brother's bed is a portrait of the other. (You can see more pictures, video clips and text from the story here.)

Amy was an intern at National Geographic in 1999 when she started working on the story. To me, the picture and the story behind it are in the classic tradition of the magazine. Amy spent lots of time on the tiny (700 acres) island, getting to know the community in an honest way. In the case of this particular image, she had made regular visits to the brothers' home, chatting with them as they played cribbage. One day, in order to show her an old photograph, Doug brought Amy into the bedroom. She knew she'd be back to make a picture of the brothers as they prepared for bed.

But it was only after she had spent honest time with her subjects that she was able to make this gem of a photo. It makes me wonder: as photographers, what simple, yet amazing things don't we see? What incredible and important picture is just down the hall?

as seen: after the fall

while walking with marilu on thanksgiving day © kjm

At my last job, I had a clear view of a ginkgo tree from my desk. One Fall day, the tree lost all of it's vibrant leaves in one dramatic session, which lasted through the afternoon. Of course, the beauty of this annual act is lost if you're not in the right place at the right time. But the trees also leave a concise and soft bed of yellow leaves after the fall.

found: thanksgiving

In a rush this morning to see family in Ohio for Thanksgiving, I only had time for this: a five minute Google Image search on "thanksgiving dinner." Hope your's is full of family or friends, dogs on the couch, and a not-so-burned turkey...

old milwaukee, #4

© kjm

Closed-down grocery, Fond du Lac Avenue.

within reach: two days

© kjm

On Wednesday, there were still vibrant, late fall leaves on the trees in my yard. Today, they're falling fast.

emerging and grateful

Shade Pull In Abandoned Apartment, from the series Camp Home
© kjm

I was thrilled to find out recently that I was a recipient of a Mary L. Nohl Fund Fellowship, a grant for individual artists living in the Milwaukee area. It's a generous amount of money, which is intended for new or ongoing projects. Some of the funds will be used to travel back to Tule Lake, likely in February, for more work on the Camp Home series. And I'm also planning to do more research and travel for the Fast Food series.

A friend asked why I received a fellowship in the "emerging" artist category (there is also an "established" category), since I had been making pictures for quite a long time. In truth, I've only fairly recently become serious about my personal photography - what I consider my artwork, as opposed to my editorial magazine work. So this news is incredibly encouraging, and comes in a year when I feel like I'm really making some creative progress.

as seen: dtw

© kjm

Isn't it interesting how airplanes in flight are such loaded visual images these days? No reason to fear for this one, which was taking off over the Detroit airport on a recent cloudy day. The dot pattern is from the terminal window, covered with some sort of shade-producing dot pattern.

as seen: some time off in gotham

© kjm

This trip to New York was a real, if brief vacation - especially in that I didn't bring the camera backpack or laptop. I'm a bit embarrassed to admit that, but I'm rarely sansCanon, and it was liberating to only sling the new point+shoot around my neck.

Some highlights: hanging out with friends Kitty+Charles, Craig+Kim, Phaedra, Mike, and Josh; chatting up top snappers Andrew, Amy, and Q.; drinks with Josiah, Bruce+Amy, and Christine at the swanky Maritime Hotel; some mighty fine hangover food at Cafeteria; good shoptalk with friends at Redux; a sweet show of Kertész polaroids at Silverstein; a serious slice (or three); and lastly, a delightful surprise finding a show by former bandmate Mark Fox at Larissa Goldston.

We're already plotting our next visit...

out to lunch - back in 5 (days)

Highway 94 Location, 2006, from the series Fast Food © kjm

It'll be quiet here for a bit, as Marilu and I meet up in New York for a few days. We'll be attending the American Photography 23 book launch (the photo above will be included) and have a full dance card of seeing art and meeting up with new and old friends.

Don't stray too far, though - I'll be back with some good news early next week.

within reach: passerine mold

© kjm

The aforementioned trip (plus a few days, I suspect) is the reason for the mold floating in this jam jar/juice glass, seated on a songbird coaster.

up north

© kjm

I just returned from a few days in Northern Wisconsin at my friend Andy's family cottage. I've been going there since we were both in high school, and the place has always been special to me. In the past few years, the look of the cottage has changed a bit - toddler games and toys appear where there previously were none - evidence of Andy's extended family becoming larger. A new generation, including his daughter Eli, is learning to love the place as well.

On Saturday, while Andy scouted out his hunting land, I spent the day with his dog Nali and a copy of The Nature Of Photographs, sipping Alterra coffee and making some pictures (birch tree and pinecone, above) in crisp, refreshing quiet.

as seen: mend

Central Avenue, Phoenix © kjm

tinytinygroupshow, #4

For your tiny viewing pleasure, a new show of work from photographers focusing on themselves as subject - a view, sometimes physically and always introspectively, from Arm's Length.


[ tinytinygroupshow is a mini electroexhibit of photographs based around a basic theme. There are no gallery hours, price lists, commissions, lengthy wall texts or attractive gallery attendants. tinytinygroupshow is a place to have a brief look at some photography, by photographers known and unknown, in a manner that hopefully provokes a little thought. View past tinytinygroupshows here. ]

Note: you might need to click on your screen a second time to enlarge the show

nearly forever

The Fridge Door © kjm

We have a saying in our family: "Dad always thought things should last forever."

And he was mostly correct, I think, in the days when you wouldn't just toss in the garbage any distressed small appliance that didn't have an Extended Guaranteed Extra Special Warranty.

Dad would've been proud to know that the family refrigerator lasted from about 1970 until yesterday afternoon. In the end, it probably deserved a nickname to itself ("Old Frosty?") and was likely sucking enough energy to run a small village.

i love this photo, #13

© Dinu Li

I love this photo by the British Chinese photographer Dinu Li. The image is from a series documenting visits with his mother to places in her native China. Here's a description, from the photographer's website: "Uncompromising in my intensified depictions, my primary concern is to stimulate thoughts of our existence and the passing of time. This I reveal by looking at one's identity, memories and life journeys, be it physical or psychological. My work questions both what is revealed in the frame and what is not. "

In looking at the work, I can't help but think that Dinu Li and I share some of the same creative motivations, driven by memory and family. For this reason, finding the photos was a wonderful surprise - and one that was courtesy of the Asian Photography Blog by Ch'ng Yaohong. It's a wonderful site, always showing fresh and interesting work, and encompassing all that is good in the world of photography blogs.

as seen: lots of bouncy potential

© kjm

Super balls in a quarter machine, Chicago.

a1, below the fold

© James Rajotte for The New York Times

Standing in line for coffee this morning, I was struck by this photograph on the front page of the New York Times. It accompanied a story titled, Old Enough Now to Hear How Dad Died at War.

We've become accustomed to seeing a standard picture of grieving subjects - where the person is shown holding a framed photo of their departed loved one. I'm not saying that's not a valid photograph to make (I've done it myself), but there's a forced drama to that type of image. In a journalistic sense, I suppose that type of shot contains all the important elements - the photograph tells a story without much need for a caption.

But this image is so much more subtle than that - with a sense of mystery and underlying emotion. And though it's technically a portrait, I think there's a wonderful moment captured here, most notably in the look on the mother's face.

Kudos to The Times for hiring James Rojette - who I hadn't heard of before - for the assignment. From his website, it looks like he's fresh out of graduate school.

as seen: from home

Bathroom Window at 6:08 Tonight © kjm

Happily back home after a near month of travel - processing pictures like crazy and catching up on issues of business, mold, mail, and life.

elusive fleas

© kjm

I was hoping to find a good Sunday flea market while in Lisbon, but it turns out the best one, referred to as "The Thieves' Market" (watch for bargains + watch your wallet) is held on Tuesdays and Saturdays. I'm not sure why it's not held on Sundays, as that seems to be the universal day of choice.

I just wrapped up a long and fun week of shooting here, and after changing hotels yesterday, wandered around the neighborhood in search of a late day coffee. Luckily, I stumbled onto a tiny park with a small, stealth flea market under a shady row of trees.

a picture and some words, #3

Left: Window of a closed-down hair salon, Lisbon, Portugal. © kjm
Right: Lyric from I Ran, by A Flock Of Seagulls

between

Water, Cascais, Portugal © kjm

I was thinking recently about distance. Particularly about how much distance, physically, lies between us and others at any given time. This came to mind while standing in the woods in Oregon, not hearing any cars, not hearing any people, not hearing any planes. My friend Steve was up ahead somewhere on the trail, but I felt wonderfully isolated with the big trees and the wind.

Wouldn't it be interesting to determine the exact time in your life when you were physically the farthest away from another human being? For example, Neil Armstrong's taking a step on the moon wouldn't count, since Buzz Aldrin was just inside Apollo 11. A bit extreme, but you get what I mean... I've been to some fairly remote places, but always in the company of others. How often are we really, truly isolated?

One day, when Google gains complete World Dominance, maybe we'll be able to do a search on our own life's history...

new landscapes

© kjm

Marilu has a phrase she uses when discussing a possible travel destination: "I've never been there..." It can be applied to locales great and small, and here in print, important intonation is lost: think of an excited adventurer unrolling a set of antique maps, or perhaps a dog with the look, "Are you gonna eat that?" It's curious and hopeful and embodies the qualities of a great travel mantra. It also reminds me of how my Dad used to proudly say, "You were there," emphasizing destinations of our early family trips.

Above, October 7, morning in Lisbon, Portugal. I've never been here before...

subjects and subject matter

BB Guns In the Bunkhouse (top); Jar in Abandoned Hunting Lodge (bottom) © kjm

Two more pictures from this past week, and I promise I'll stop for a while. A reader posted a comment on the photo below, mentioning the bullets on the windowsill. So thought I should talk about my motivation in the picture making. Originally, I had the idea to photograph exteriors of the buildings - the iconic shape of the barracks is recognizable, and the changes and modifications over the years were fascinating. Then, just a week before I was to be at Tule Lake, I found out that another photographer, Andrew Freeman, had produced a book of similar work. The pictures were from the Manaznar Internment Camp, not Tule Lake, and there are some differences in how I was going to approach the pictures. Nonetheless, I was deflated.

But I realized after arriving, that I want the pictures to show human engagement with the buildings - evidence of lives lived and a space reused, after it's initial, unfortunate purpose. My choice of subject matter isn't intended to have an edge or commentary, but to try to show that human element. Cameras weren't allowed in the internment camps, so there's a void in the Japanese American family album. And though none of these things - baseball caps, jars on shelves - were things that belonged to my family, they still represent the lives once lived there.

mind if i come in?

Jess' Kitchen Sink © kjm

This new project has me treading on some new creative ground. My personal work has always been a very solitary affair, mostly me by myself, making pictures. Lately, the Early Places work is intentionally created while I'm alone, and the Fast Food pictures are usually made when I happen onto closed restaurant. In my magazine work, it's quite the opposite - people are expecting my visit, and they know that the photos I make will end up in a magazine.

Contrast that with the act of driving unfamiliar back roads, knocking on doors, and asking people if you can photograph their house...

So I was a bit nervous going in, but everyone I met was friendly and willing to help. And I came to realize that the uncertainty, the interaction, the sharing of stories about the land and about family - this is a crucial part of the project. This is, after all, about family history, and about a specific place. I talked for hours about farming and the land - things I knew little of. People responded to my questions and curiosity with a surprising openness.

The best example might be the Prosser siblings (John, Judy, and Frank) who, in the midst of harvesting potatoes, allowed me photograph in their late father's house, which was once an internment camp barracks. I had a bit of difficulty explaining why photographs of his kitchen sink meant something to me and my work, but they were gracious and open.

working title: camp home series

© kjm

I've been in California the past few days, beginning a new project. In May, I came to the site of the Tule Lake internment camp, where my dad's family lived for part of WWII. On that visit, I assumed I'd find a memorial, and hoped to at least visit where the camp once stood. But I learned that many buildings from the camp still stand - some, former military quarters, form a small subdivision on the camp grounds. And the barracks, used to house families like mine, were dispersed to returning veterans, as part of a homesteading program in the newly irrigated surrounding land.

I was only passing through that day, but decided to return to photograph the buildings in their current state. There were a few creative roadblocks in the past weeks (more on that soon), but I've been on the ground and making pictures for the past three days. I'm not completely sure of how to talk about the work in a concise manner, but it feels completely right to be here - driving small county roads, meeting nice people, and sharing stories about the past.

The buildings dot the landscape here - some have been remodeled and lived in as houses since the 40's, while others were used for storage or outbuildings. And while there are hundreds in the area, I can't escape the idea that one of them might have been my dad's home, if only for a short time.

seeing with your eyes

© kjm

I just finished a backpacking trip in the Northern Cascades of Oregon with my friend Steve. It was fun to catch up with Steve on our somewhat annual trip, and the location and weather were spectacular. On trips like this, I usually don't bring my camera with me - it's a nice little vacation from taking pictures. There's lots of picturesque things, as you can imagine, but sometimes it's frustrating not having ALL your gear, in order to make a picture correctly. Without the whole kit, I'd just assume do without.

My brother-in-law Mark has a phrase for my nephew Kale when he's in china shop-type situations: "Look with your eyes." (A particularly good phrase for Kale, as Marilu and I think he's a bit of a Mini Zen Master.) So, channeling Kale, here's what I saw, and will hopefully remember: A pin-dropping quiet forest of enormous Hemlocks; an insane variety of mushrooms - from enormous, Grateful Dead hat size, to sponge-like, to creepy and slimy; tiny red salamanders swimming in a shallow lake; a plate of Trader Joe's Indian food and garlic naan; a snow-capped Mt. Hood; strange, unopened pinecones that were gnawed on by some little creature, leaving a pile that looked exactly like pencil shavings; a glassy mountain lake at sunset.

In full disclosure, I did take a few pictures of Steve, with his point & shoot, that I'd like to submit to the NY Times' Why We Travel column. Vacations have to be paid for somehow...

room at the inns

© kjm

Marilu and I took a break from the Phoenix heat (still!) to spend last night in Flagstaff, AZ. It's a great place - with laid back and friendly folk, a mountain town fashion aesthetic, no Starbucks in the town proper, and regular trains that can clear your sinuses with the volume of their whistles. It's thanks to the history of those trains that Flagstaff has a bundle of historic hotels - and the fact that the town sits right on Route 66 probably didn't hurt. We chose the charming room no. 42 in the Weatherford Hotel, above left (tip: avoid no. 59, which sits practically in the hotel bar).

i love this photo, #12

The Empty Plate, New York, 1947 © Irving Penn

I came across this wonderful Irving Penn picture recently, and I don't remember having seen it before. Which is a bit odd, because his book, Passage, is one of my all time favorites. This photo, to me, falls somewhere between his carefully crafted still life work and the richness of his portrait work. It also pleasantly reminds me of the work of Laura Letinsky and of this photo by Kelly Shimoda.