My son's grandpa, Turk Street, San Francisco 1997
Conrad generally doesn't say too much. He is not a man of many words. Papa says Conrad could lay a floor straighter and closer to level faster and with more precision than anyone he ever saw. But Con didn't want to be a foreman so he got into plumbing. In the old house, Con would pop over every now and again to eat some dinner and look at the Patagonia catalog. Back in the 70's he and his friends used to fool around with shaping surfboards. When I visit, I still ride the "old paisley" single fin he shaped.
2 comments:
This picture is, for reasons I can't quit pin down, quite amazing. I especially like the contrast of the faded, yellowish-tint of the image contrasted against the nicked and slightly scratched white border of the Polaroid: the nicks and scratches emphasize and highlight the materiality of the image, and play against the illusion of a view into the past created by the picture: what we have is a view of the past as preserved in the present, fading and yellowing away: we don't have the past, we have just chemicals exposed to light in the past, temporarily arranged into an order, but slowly blurring and fading back into the noise of forever.
I am not sure what a photograph really is.
I am very ambivalent about photography even as I pursue it as a craft or art or what have you.
See? There it is again. Ambivalence.
One of the reasons this blog is currently so satisfactory is that I get to make a something something out of a nothing something by commenting and putting things into some sort of continuum, giving perspective and placing images in the world of collective memory.
I take many photographs both highbrow and lowbrow and the whole thing disturbs me. I may be able to get around it some day.
I am working towrards an understanding.
Then perhaps my photos will find their place.
Post a Comment