as seen: touch, sight

felt shop window, left; woody allen concert poster, right © kjm

within reach: unshreddable

just before shredding © kjm

[within reach is a series of photographs examining the environment of home in detail]

sky above: the store

sky above where grandpa Kimura's store was © kjm

as seen: hunt

guest bedroom, holualoa town © kjm

respects

Auntie Leigh's grave © kjm

as seen: lane

Hilo gym before Auntie Lyn's tai chi class © kjm

as seen: shells

guest bathroom, honolulu © kjm

as seen: view

guest bedroom, holualoa © kjm

as seen: pink

guest bathroom © kjm

in the making

© kjm

Marilu and I attended a party a few nights ago, in a lovely old St. Louis home. There was wonderful food, lots of new (to us) interesting people, and a performance of live music. Three musicians, two of whom play with the Chicago Symphony, performed a Mozart piece to a crowd of about 50 - it was quite a treat.

While we listened and watched the musicians, it made me think about artistic creation - the act of making. The music we heard wasn't being recorded, but was joyfully being made for those of us gathered that night. As photographers, what we make will ultimately be consumed/viewed on a piece of paper or as a digital image on a screen. But what about the joy in the process? I make hundreds of pictures each week, but is there a joy in creation each time I push the button? Obviously not, but there are still frequent moments when I know all the elements are coming together, and I'm about to make a really nice picture. My heart beats a little faster.

That feeling used to happen more often - perhaps more often than not, in my earliest days of taking pictures, when I knew less about the craft. Here's to still understanding the end product of what we create, but to not overlook the pleasure of actually pushing the button.

white stuff

Christmas Eve snowball © kjm

I had a vigorous, pre-dawn shoveling session this morning. The snow was the "brownie" type: a slightly crunchy surface, with moist snow below. It was also of the "good packing" variety, which is to say, good for snowball or snowman-making. Many a grown man in Wisconsin will still reflexively bend down to pack a snowball, if the conditions are right.

within reach: sauce

spaghetti bowl © kjm

[within reach is a series of photographs examining the environment of home in detail]

this existed

Dad On Bed, 1985 © Larry Sultan

"Photography does stop time. It's an exterior form of memory: This existed. That's it's greatest truth, to leave a trace of what has been." - the late Larry Sultan, in an interview on Fresh Air.

Shouldn't most of us make, or have made, our own version of this picture?

as seen: a.m.

morning light on Marilu's couch © kjm

within reach: frigid

frost on the bedroom window © kjm

[within reach is a series of photographs examining the environment of home in detail]

fast graphic

© Dustin Amery Hostetler (UPSO)

Graphic artist Dustin Amery Hostetler has created his "holiday wish list" over at Jen Bekman's 20x200, and this is his lovely take on my piece, Jones Boulevard Location, #1. You can find his contribution to the site, Color Study, #4 here. If I were filling my own 20x200 stocking this year, it might include work by Dan Boardman, Mark Menjivar, Colleen Plumb, Shaun Sundholm, or William Lamson.

within reach: protection

after packing the box © kjm

[within reach is a series of photographs examining the environment of home in detail]

taking on water

© Francis Ford

Frank Ford's ship isn't sinking - but if it was, he'd have lots of people to throw him a line. Frank has been making wonderful pictures in Milwaukee for a long time, and has assembled what he calls The Lifeboat Show, a collection of portraits of friends he'd want with him, should he start taking water on. It's a who's who of Milwaukee's theater, photography and art world: like Jim Dine's Name Painting meets Noah's ark. Shouldn't everyone do this?

If you're within the sound of my voice, you have a few days left to see the show. The Cedar Gallery is at 326 N. Water Street in the Third Ward (above Starbucks). Hours: 1-5 pm daily, with a closing party this Saturday.

i love this photo, #35

© Alexi Hobbs

I love this photo by the photographer Alexi Hobbs. Alexi is a full-time graphic designer and part-time photography major who lives in Montreal. Check out his blog, The Contact Sheet, where he often skillfully pairs photographs with music.

"This photo is part of Maritime Currents, a semi-diaristic series I made in Prince Edward Island and New Brunswick, two of Canada's Maritime provinces. It is an attempt to juxtapose the kitschy touristic experience, that we all go through when we visit the typical sites found on any tour-bus vacationist's itinerary, with my own personal explorations and more private moments. This particular photo shows the quintessential seafood platter one can purchase, and then enjoy, in most of the little take-outs that are found in practically all of the little towns."

[See past 'i love this photo' entries here.]

collect.give

I've been thinking about this idea/concept for a while, and now it's a reality. Today, collect.give is launched. collect.give is a place to collect photography online, while donating to good causes at the same time.

I'm so enamored by the online photography community: the vast pool of visual treats, the power of reach, the discovery of new photographers on a daily basis. It's also still so new, and the idea that new projects can add to the community landscape is exciting to me.

And of course, technology makes this possible: a website built in a few days, digital printing techniques, PayPal, blog and Twitter posts spreading the news.

New work will be added to the site (sign up for the email list!), but the photographers featured at the launch are among my favorite photo world friends: John Loomis, Susana Raab, Dalton Rooney, Emily Shur and Allison V. Smith.

Please take a look, and purchase a print if you feel so inclined!
collectdotgive.org

thankful

the kitchen table © kjm

This Thanksgiving, the Miyazaki-Lund-Hoff-Knode family will go modern: we're having a small plate dinner today. Mostly, it's to accommodate the late arrival of family members, but I kind of like the idea of skipping the big sit-down. Of course, small plates can be filled often... Here's what will be on the table above, today:

Turkey (small, store bought)
Shrimp Tempura
Salmon (cooked in parchment)
Inari Sushi (Hawaiian style)
White Rice (Japanese)
Wisconsin Cheese Plate
Green Bean Salad

Flaky Feta Tart
Marilu Salad

Brussels Spouts With Figs
Mrs. Mukai's Manju
Cranberry Pie
Pumpkin Pie

within reach: illumination

after replacing the bulb © kjm

[within reach is a series of photographs examining the environment of home in detail]

close focus

Just Before Zenya © kjm

I heard an interesting interview with the photographer Judith Fox today on Fresh Air. In her book, I Still Do: Loving and Living with Alzheimer's, Fox has made beautiful, intimate photographs of her husband as he suffers through the disease. It made me realize that I haven't made many meaningful pictures of those closest to me. I've never found it easy, but that isn't really an excuse, is it? This picture, of my brother Kurt and his wife Ruth, may be an exception.

i love this photo, #34

© Jon Horvath

I love this photo by the Milwaukee-based photographer Jon Horvath.

The image, Jon explains, "is from a series titled, Subterranean, which became a meditation on the nature of the Basement. I've always been fascinated with how these spaces can simultaneously enshrine the objects of our pasts, as well as conceal them from our everyday existence. It is a place suggesting a passage of time, halted and compressed, into one solitary event."

[See past 'i love this photo' entries here.]

salt + pepper

halloween costume mustache © kjm

chicago show + tell

Dave Jordano, left, Colleen Plumb, center, Brian Ulrich, right © kjm

I love it when artists whose work I admire turn out to be the nice, thoughtful people I hope they are. Thus was the case on two recent trips to Chicago - the first, with my class from MIAD, when we visited Dave Jordano and Colleen Plumb. Then, a week later with the Photography Council of the Milwaukee Art Museum, where we paid a visit to Brian Ulrich.

Thank you all for sharing your work and time!

within reach: rouen

postcard on the bedroom wall © kjm

[within reach is a series of photographs examining the environment of home in detail]

within walls

the bathroom and hall closet doors © kjm

A year ago, I was asked to write an essay to accompany a photography book. The sponsor (it was a benefit for a charity) had seen my Early Places series and asked me to reflect on the importance of home. My essay never made the cut, but I was pleased to be asked, and thankful for the opportunity to reflect on the subject. I thought I'd post it here, and upon reading it again, it probably should be the artist statement for Early Places.

Within Walls

At the entrance to my sister’s bedroom in my childhood home, the wooden floor panels creak. They did when I was a child, and they still do, decades later - I know this because my mother still lives in the house. And so I also know that there’s always been a dowel missing from the second floor banister, that the first step into the attic is oddly higher than the others, and that the door to the spice cabinet sticks slightly when pulled.

Within our lifetime, we may call many different places home, and the memory of these spaces can be powerful. When recalled, what we remember is not an overall view, but rather details - the texture of the place. The sound of a screen door slamming, a pattern of wallpaper, the smell of a basement laundry room.

Similarly, what occurs within the space we call home is an accumulation of small moments, the intimate texture of our lives. Within walls and throughout rooms, this is where our daily lives unfold. At the kitchen table, for example, we share nourishment and read the news of the day; it’s where we pay bills and where we discuss what we’ve learned in school. It’s where we blow out candles on birthday cakes.

In the living room we tune in to both history and hooey, we read quietly under the warmth of a blanket, we wrestle siblings on the carpeted floor. In the basement we create and repair; and in the bathroom we cleanse, beginning and ending our days. In the bedroom, we dream.

In the most basic terms, a home is structure – a roof and four walls, providing shelter and protection for its inhabitants. But in intimate terms, the elements of home provide human structure – which anchors both our lives and our memory - through the power of place.

techni-

© Erik Lunsford

This has been the best year for Fall color that I can remember in a long time. A week ago, I drove through the curves of State Route 394 in Eastern Ohio, with my hands on the wheel and my jaw in my lap. Back in Milwaukee, I've been staring - up at trees, out my office window at sun shining through leaves, at yellow maples illuminated by streetlights, and at wet, slick color smeared on the road. And I've made no pictures to capture what I'm experiencing.

Slightly frustrated, I found these two winners by the St. Louis photographer Erik Lunsford, whose work and blog I find refreshing. When I worked at a newspaper, I never took time to make pictures like this.

i love this photo, #33

© S. Billie Mandle

I love this photo by the photographer S. Billie Mandle. I met Billie at Review Santa Fe this summer, and we had a fun (and for me, enlightening!) conversation about teaching. Billie teaches at the Massachusetts College of Art, and was gracious in her advice about all things relating to students, performance and expectations. Here's Billie's artist statement about the series from which the photograph comes:

These photographs were made in confessionals, the small rooms found in Catholic churches where people confess their sins. Most major religions have theologies of repentance -- what makes the confessional unusual is that it acts as a physical manifestation of an abstract idea. It gives form and structure to the interiority of penance. The walls and kneelers embody the thoughts and prayers of the penitents, and the penitents in turn leave their mark on the confessional. I am interested in how the photographs, as physical objects, might speak to what is intangible and ineffable about these spaces.