Eli

Throughout my photographic career, while working on assignments and personal projects, I have experienced a myriad of situations which have resulted in feelings that have both influenced and inspired me as a photographer but most importantly as a human being. Today provided a great example, but I will get to that in a moment. I would like to start this conversation by sharing what has always been of great interest to me...the story of the photograph in conjunction with the story of the photographer. I consider these two elements to be inseparable and the individual peculiarities determine the outcome. Some find this to be irrelevant and believe the photograph speaks for itself, but it doesn’t, really. When I buy photo books, I am always eager to read the introduction, the essays, the photographer’s narrative and their absence for me is like a Mustang without an engine. I’m left wanting to know more about how the photographer got there, what the place or moment meant to them and how it affected them, if at all.

“Eli”, Work in Progress, Athens, Greece, March 2021.

The moments that affect us are the ones that compel us to reconsider our values, our daily activities, and what matters the most, to discover the substance and core vain of life. As humans, whether we want to admit it or not, we constantly complain. We grumble about work, money, relationships and politics. Andrea and Rania’s parents don’t complain, and even if they did, they have every right in doing so in order to escape their own reality, that of losing a child. I have never met the parents of Andrea and Rania but today when the road took me to the western neighborhoods of Athens, I met Eli, the caretaker of a cemetery. Upon entering and immediately near the entrance, I witnessed a significantly large area the size of a basketball court full of children's graves. I wanted to take photos but I was both shocked and hesitant considering what was before me. I noticed Eli and I thought it would be proper to introduce myself and while I was approaching her she politely asked, “are you holding a camera?” I was and started to explain the reason for being there while presenting my official papers in hopes she would feel more comfortable knowing my intentions and give me permission to photograph. To my surprise, she let me photograph and continued to accompany me, which was most welcomed.

We spent almost an hour talking about the history of the cemetery, and about life. As we both navigated through the corridors of permanent loss, memory, and love, what was astonishing to me was the in-depth knowledge Eli had about the place. She hadn’t worked there long but she was knowledgeable about the “histories'' of each grave, especially those of children. She spoke about each child practically as if she knew them when they were still alive and making this world a better place. Almost methodically, during our walking conversations, she would start telling me other children's names, Giorgos, Evangelos, etc., and their past condition. She did this as if she wanted to bring their attention to the visitor, to become alive again through her, and through our words. “People come here and they want to talk, share, and try to forget'', she said, referring to the parents and loved ones visiting the graves. 

“Rania”, Work in Progress, Athens, Greece, March 2021.

“Andreas”, Work in Progress, Athens, Greece, March 2021.

Throughout my photographic career I have considered many occurrences to be an educational experience and today was no different. There I was, riding the Metro towards western Athens with a bunch of socially disoriented masked Athenians, including myself, an hour before meeting Eli. My mind was occupied with irrelevant and superficial thoughts and concerns, just like most of us do on a daily basis. Even the act of photographing has been questioned throughout the years but it’s moments like these that keep me going. I value, cherish, and need them as one who suffocates needs oxygen in order to survive; it keeps me going and helps me become a better person by attempting to relate to both fellow humans and the land even by association. And that’s what it’s really all about, the amalgamation that unites us all regardless of our different paths; if there are really any different paths at all... 

In Two Words

I have been photographing for about twenty years and I confess that I have only about ten or so photos of myself on my phone and none in printed form. What I do have though are a couple of digital photos from analog prints, mostly given to me from my parents. In case you were wondering, the young boy in the image below is me. Four years ago, I visited my best friend Yiorgo, who I grew up in the neighborhood of Koukaki decades ago. A visit to a best friend’s home is always a journey down memory lane. Memories of childhood, of life experiences, of play, of joy, and of loss. All there in the family album that revealed itself in the dining room after a shared meal. There I was in print form, in fading colors within a personal archive so pristine and organized. A visual history of life, of moments, cherished and so well preserved and effective. They brightened the cement walls of the apartment but also pierced through the walls, walked the streets, played in the playground, walked in front of the Parthenon, and became a new photograph. 

Throughout my editorial career in the United States, I have entered dozens of high school events and other community gatherings, and what has struck me the most is the abundance of imagery, of shared memory, in the form of both the still and moving image. Even when I visited the home of friends I  often had the feeling I was in a photography museum. The plethora of visual memory was astonishing, dating back decades from family trips to athletic events, parties, college graduation, reunion, and so forth. I always thought that this relates more to cultural tendencies and a way of life that is not so popular in other countries. I don’t remember ever being recorded with a video camera, not in the last five years or during my eleventh birthday many years ago. Memories are good, for the most part, as we usually hold on to the ones that we cherish the most, the ones that lift us. When rocky ones surface, don't fret because joyful ones are just around the corner to remind us of the ones that healed us, made us dream amidst realities, even within a short timeframe. 

“Archive”, Motherland, Greece, 2016. ©Niko J. Kallianiotis

The function of the photograph is there to remind, to testify or simply record and it’s demise depends on the process of its creation. You can erase a digital photograph in under a second, regardless if you are emotionally fit to do so or not. But the analog photograph, or the printed one of an analog or digital base, demands a higher level of stamina. It has several stages that begin with the decision, the process and the final act. Meaning, you have to attend to the memory you want to delete, locate its home, (the archive), take it out, and throw it in the trash bin. And after you finish, you are still not done because you have to eventually take out the garbage. I find these stages to be highly psychological and theoretically fascinating because you can pause during any of the stages and rethink the course. But because of the digital format that most likely exists in the palm of your hand, the obliteration is rapid. 

The preservation of memory will forever be with us regardless if it was represented in pictures or not.  At the end of the day, the best photographs are the ones we never took but felt, felt its radiance, it’s joy and cry. They were a conversation, a sound, the air, the sea, thunder, and light. I was unaware, carefree, and silly when my picture was taken back at this moment. Who knew that I was going to be a photographer and one day I would take a picture of myself? Who knew that a particular land has become a sacred temple and that its significance could never be described in photographs, words, and expressions, but with only two letters; The Alpha and the Omega.

“In Two Letters”, Motherland, Greece, 2019. ©Niko J. Kallianiotis

Under Construction

Faith is an elusive, intangible, and simultaneously diverse in its form if you take into account one’s beliefs, cultural tendencies, and backgrounds. All that aside, I find the concept to be of an ecumenical nature with one ultimate goal, internal peace, and perhaps forgiveness or salvation. But what I have always found fascinating is the level of dedication and passion that is involved with the members of any particular dogma. Above all, the process of believing and becoming cathartic is always under construction. But the element that always exists and is universal both in religion but also in our interactions with others, as well as the photographic frame, is the perseverance. I find this to be inherently ingrained within all disciples, to the photographic medium, to faith and love, to the idea of a higher power, whatever that might be. You see the symbolism in front yards, parking lots, and a sandy beach in the Motherland, transformed into an ancient beauty.

“In Faith”, Peckville, Penn., ©Niko J. Kallianiotis

This is not a conversation about any particular religion but more so about the parameters and implicit associations and effects of the energy that exists backstage; it’s metaphorical phantasmagorical links that pertain to the core of its foundation; and to me, that foundation is confession and a testament of beliefs. Beliefs that are expressed in words, emotions, or are a conglomeration of forms, light, and atmosphere. Every time you press the shutter you are expressing beliefs, concerns, and emotions; allegories that could not be spoken in words. It is not possible to achieve this every time you make a photograph, because reality obstructs your dreams and desires, and what is necessary, for you. But what if what you don’t have is actually what you need? What if what you need is testified unconsciously within a frame, speaking to you about internal obligations of expression, or the need thereof? 

Amidst a ferocious contemporary society, I strive to take a step back but those fifty steps forward and the need of a greater dialogue lead the way on their own terms. Sitting on the bench of contemplation, whether in front of a Cross in Peckville, Pennsylvania, or by the calm waters of the sea, we have all sat on that bench, maybe together or alone, thinking and improvising with words or emotions, hoping that eventually someone will listen and decipher on their own terms. Just as in the belief that a photograph can equal a thousand words, it isn’t, it’s one word - a confession. 

Close Enough

Recently, I have been thinking about where we are going, using photography as the mediator to make sense of the unfortunate situation we are currently experiencing. I am thinking about the past while I evaluate the present, and although I am deeply concerned, I am still optimistic about the future. I think about our medium’s social and cultural contributions as well as its importance. I think about my work and the work of others, and during this productive downtime, I have been pondering about the critical segments of what we need, and what we don’t. Mostly, I have been thinking with a high level of concern that I might not be able to make the picture you are seeing below ever again because I might have to keep my distance, social or otherwise noticed, for an extended period of time, or permanently. But I have taken that picture, I have been that close, inches in fact, as an unannounced guest into their life and that moment. To explore, inquire, and learn about them but also about myself;  about the important things in life that matter the most. 

Despite the virus pandemic, I would like to hope that there will be light at the end of the tunnel for us all to disconnect, not from each other but from the devices that superficially connect us. The ones that satisfy our desire to be heard, to argue, to show that we are pissed off, in a digital format of course, followed by a cocktail while engaging “socially” via Zoom. Hopefully, we will not succumb to this superficial social engagement for much longer.  I truly do appreciate the fact that we have the ability to connect and get to know each other. Most importantly to have the time to learn about each other's work, and to relate and find meanings that connect us, regardless of process and quality. The question and concern that I have is why do we seem to bond more during this pandemic via digital conversation than beforehand in person? The technology was always present as a common scene is a group of friends “socializing” while all individually connected elsewhere on their phones. Although we shared the same space whether it be a bar, coffee shop, library or someone’s home, we were not fully connected with each other or our environment, usually looking at a screen similar to the one we are used to looking at now, to escape. Now at least the group is sharing the same digital format, therefore more engaged. One can argue that the pandemic created more time to socialize but trust me, you are not that busy, and neither am I. We had time to socialize then and now, so what changed? Why are we craving human connection now more than before when we were able to more directly? Personally, I believe that we were not really that close before, but pretended to be. There is and always has been time for the things that matter.

“National Guard” Fair Life, For Now, Harford, Penn., 2013. © Niko J. Kallianiotis

The aftermath of this situation is probably irrelevant and disconnected from photography but the medium is here to work as a paradigm and also an aphorism of high importance and an instigator of utter exploration. Sometimes I have explored ferociously and other times with complete boredom, and I have recently regretted the times I complained or was in a grumpy mood. I was naive to not realize in those confusing and self-absorbed moments the self-democratic freedom I was currently experiencing; the freedom to be part of other people’s lives, from a much needed intimate physical and emotional distance, that filled the gaps of an imaginative void. I have been thinking about this image you see here from the Harford Fair in Pennsylvania, in terms of the level of intimacy, unawareness, careless and free attitude, but also of the social connotations that could possibly prevent us from experiencing the self-evident, to get close, inches from each other, and to feel the breath, the sweat, the whispers. A moment that might not be possible in the near future, and maybe never again without the need of the mask that will hide our expressions and our words, much-needed words and moments that we were too busy or afraid to explore extensively; to go out there, to dive into the abyss of feelings with or without a camera.

This current situation has bonded some and separated others, emotionally and physically, but determined by other entities that usually keep us apart from the things we love, from the ones we love. As I write this post a media outlet reports that couples are saying “I do” on video chat, and we are happy about that, it brings us together; we became virtual wedding crashers. I want to free myself from the digital barstool and have a cocktail in close intimate quarters, discussing the walks we had while making photographs, the moments we missed, and words we never spoke in person, the good and the bad.  But for now, I am happy to experience life sharing the same screen.  

Introvert Quarantine

We move from an isolated space into a worldwide quarantine, which we were always a part of, regardless of our ability to roam freely. When the camera is at hand, you are socially and personally trapped while you strive to cope with this idea of isolation and the frame serves as a possible liberation or a confession of an internal turmoil and essence. The photographic medium and the photographer are always in quarantine, both always strive to accommodate one another and together the machine and man try to cross the fragile bridge, the variable constant that fluctuates between freedom and seclusion. Both are relevant but pertinent to the process of having the opportunity to go out into the world and photograph and create a new visual testament, because when everything is set and done, hopefully soon, you will go out into the world, and the moment you will look through your camera, isolation will set you free.

From its initial purpose of recording life in permanence, photography and its visual trajectory have been in flux just as human life, occasionally in psychological turmoil both on a personal and universal level. The desire and fantasy to permanently record a fleeting instant of a static or mobile nature became an obsession. This desire became a reality for a few who afforded to indefinitely record their essence, or of their loved ones, on any possible two-dimensional surface, where processes and angles created a three-dimensional view. The real became a fictional reality in a matter of seconds or minutes and the individuality became ecumenical, stoic but fragile, egotistical but humble, and in quarantine. This quarantine exists for both the one represented and the creator. The latter, always in permanent quarantine.

“Inner World”, Lehighton, Penn., 2016 ©Niko J. Kallianiotis

Without taking this for granted and without any scientific evidence or research, other than therapeutic personal exploration and desire, the photographer, you, and I have subconsciously been in permanent isolation. We are fighting a volatile and ominous entity, different from the one our world is currently experiencing. Metaphorically speaking, personal growth and self-evaluation at its core are a constant; a subconscious quarantine while you look through your viewfinder or when you were observed by another. Whether this other is an auteur out for a personal daily hunt or an authoritarian oddity out for the global hunt, it is highly irrelevant because you have fallen prey into isolation, both photographically and socially. Such isolation is established by the frame but with many perimeters, symbols, and metaphors that connote the self, inspired and influenced by other entities regardless of origin. This absolute and determined force could be foreign and confine us into an uncomfortable yet familiar space and is welcomed as a form of creativity. It's what determines a good photograph from, I dare to say, a bad one. 

Accepting this fact with the isolated instant you created and determining what works and what doesn’t is a cathartic experience and an incident that usually goes unnoticed by many, usually those under the influence of a high dose of subjectivity. From political and social occurrences to artistic ones, you are constantly evaluating, being observed, and judged. You are even doing this at this very moment while reading this short essay. Deciding what works and what doesn’t is what all of us go through during this forced quarantine and some of us, although secluded, will continue to go out and make images. We progress by regressing in the social and visual isolation and we become wiser by finding the differences and connections that ultimately unite us. 

Global Virtual Mall

“Dressed Up”, Olyphant, Penn. 2019. ©Niko J. Kallianiotis

What’s new in life? I asked my father this question a while back during a coffee visit and his response caught me off guard. He told me he repaired his vacuum cleaner. Think about it, when was the last time you repaired a vacuum cleaner, or for that matter, a television when the screen went permanently black? The first thing that came to mind was that he probably took it to one of our handy family friends to fix it, but that was not the case. “I took it to an old man who sells and repairs vacuum cleaners and who has been doing that for thirty-plus years”. I said how much did it cost? Ten dollars, he said. I found the idea of my father trying to find someone to fix his vacuum and the fact that there is a family business that provides these services fascinating. There are many local services and family-owned businesses providing goods and services, still standing and fighting against corporate giants, stoically fighting to provide for their family, to offer employment to the community, and to share their histories. But now, in addition to the corporate superstores which continue to eviscerate small-town American businesses, now face another enemy, a more lethal virus, a transmittable disease which unfortunately has taken thousands of innocent lives. During this forced seclusion, we are left with a lot to think and consider as its effect is global, not only American.

It’s not only about the goods and services these small businesses provide to the local society and economy. Their importance to the socioeconomic stage on a local scale is non-negotiable, but on a global scale it is the vein and connecting bridge to culture, values and its profile is ecumenical. During this isolation we are currently experiencing, using “social” media to connect with loved ones, who may just be five-minutes away, mirrors the same social isolation when buying a vacuum cleaner from Amazon. It has become an action without thought, not forced, and it’s often done because of laziness to do basic research of nearby services offered, perhaps take a drive on your own main street businesses. Online shopping will continue, but not because of the convenience of scrolling on your smartphone which results in an abundance of goods arriving at your doorstep; the reason why is that your neighborhood store is simply no longer there. 

“Appliance”, Wilkes-Barre, Penn., 2019. ©Niko J. Kallianiotis

This is not the time to discuss who will benefit from this monumental crisis our society is currently going through, but one thing is for certain, someone will. Preserving human life above all is of imperative importance as is the business of the old man that fixed my father’s vacuum. Think of the local hardware store, the shoe repair, and furniture store, the one-hundred-year-old pharmacy in Plymouth, Pennsylvania and the appliance store in Kozani, Greece. These businesses, before our current quarantine, were environments where any personal isolation and alienation you may have experienced faded the moment you entered through their door and directly interacted with an employee about products or the business’s local history.  Such moments are unfortunately rare because many storefronts on main streets have become commercial cemeteries in the name of convenience, cheaper goods, and labor.

If governments have the ability to bail out corporate vampires, they could easily bail out mom and pop stores globally. I want to hear the squeaking door of that old hardware store open again, even if the clerk thinks you look sketchy when you enter, and that’s fine because it’s who we are and what we do as part of the social experience. Without these entities, our world will become a clinical looking commercial in a virtual corporate mall.

"“Candies”, Trafford, Penn, 2018. ©Niko J. Kallianiotis

The Last Order

In 2002 when the Scranton Lace Company permanently dismissed operations with the company’s vice president telling its employees during mid-shift that the next day they will not be having their lunch in the factory, I was four years into my new personal and professional endeavor in the United States and specifically in the Scranton area. As things change and as they remain, the fascination of the visual and factual histories which exist behind closed doors and the barriers of remarkable structures is still keen to me. Their elegance, design and unapologetic demeanor that gracefully exists,  perhaps looks down with anger onto the cacophony of their architectural successors. They stoically stand there, awaiting for their certain demise, to be evolved into a metaphor, a reference or a possible prophecy for decisions that were made without any reckoning. Some view the laid structures as a nuance needing to be demolished for the greater good of the community, whatever that means. Others view them as an honorable wage not far away from home.

What a better time to continue recording these contemporary ruins and although I am not into this kind of photographing business, per se, I have great respect for colleagues who arduously do, but in a way which brings knowledge to all. One being Yoav Friedlander, whom I share many similar thoughts on the subject of visual history and community, but his photographic approach differs from mine, as it should.. As it should be that one shall not enter this land, or any land, with an agenda and preconceived ideas about the people, their values and ideologies; Values that for better or worse, are deeply ingrained within the walls of these industrial phantasms and in the nearby living rooms, lingering in limbo, wanting to be represented, to be heard or possibly to simply exist.

Scranton Lace Company, Scranton, Penn., March 30th, 2019. ©Niko J. Kallianiotis

But what is the purpose of the representational motif of the passerby photographer, who as some assert comes on the fly, records and leaves? In its entirety what purpose does it serve, and does anyone really care anymore? For this reason, I have passed the profusion of this visually riveting subject matter a plentitude of times, and I have seldom photographed because I am constantly  asking what is the purpose, and often I have thought of laying down the camera, permanently. What do I contribute to the conversation other than adding another brick, that sooner or later will collapse just like the Dickover bricks which were locally manufactured. I am particularly interested in the past and future, the historical trajectory, of these structures and therefore I rummage to decipher clues that point to a tunnel of hope. There is definitely a nihilistic and pessimistic-thinking process consuming my mode of operation and I am an ardent supporter of metaphors, so hopefully you will not take things literally, as you shouldn’t.. It is almost like looking yourself in the mirror, static, impotent. I am hopeful the answer to all this must exist within the confined spaces of the photograph. In the relationship between photographer and subject and hopefully between the alchemy and chemical connection, which moves beyond the surface, breaks the veil and transpierces the veins of the viewfinder becoming a pulse, a vibration that sends signals.

Scranton Lace Company, Scranton, Penn., March 30th, 2019. ©Niko J. Kallianiotis

The same can be said and realized about the state of structures similar to the Scranton Lace Company throughout the region, but also the world. In reality, I am using this solemn giant of a structure as a reference that is both literal and a metaphor because if you deconstruct the fundamental schemes, whether those are pillars, notes, memories  or digital pixels, you do have a product, a result that speaks to who you are and what you value, or don’t.

I have always wondered about life in those days, to have hope in both joyful and angst moments that if something goes professionally astray, I would be able to make a descent living with a high school diploma while staying close to home with my friends, my family and my land. Now I wander by these contemporary ruins that eloquently will be transformed into a new entity but luckily some of their skin will be salvaged and will serve as a memory. Because a theater, a bowling alley, gymnasium, infirmary are indeed a memory that will become a fantasy for the new employees who will spend their time in front of a computer screen with a digital window glued to Facebook, waiting for their end-shift to be over as if there is time to visit the bowling alley. But through the walls of these same structures where small cosmos once existed, those who once bowled feet away from the new modern reality sarcastically laugh like immortals and gaze towards the clock tower counting the minutes to their end-shift, a shit that never came because some capitalist villain did not let them complete one last order.  

Scranton Lace Company, Scranton, Penn., March 30th, 2019. ©Niko J. Kallianiotis

Red is Waiting...

Stranded on a couch with a broken ankle, overlooking the sublime mountain vista in the village of Velvendos, Greece, about 450km north of Athens, leaves a lot of room for additional contemplation. You may also think that the proposition of this Christmas Eve’s write-up is concurrently overly discussed and, I hope, socially relevant.

Velvendos is a village with population of about 3,500 people, and a thriving main street filled with family businesses and throughout my travels within the past two years, in both Greece and the U.S., this has been a steady experience. By no means I am asserting that I am writing this from a state of unmitigated utopia; honestly, who would want to live in a perfect world?  It would be pretty boring and stale, not leaving room for personal endurance and artistic growth.

A photograph I made of Red, which is actually his name, in Pennsylvania and my opening statement undeniably deal with two different cultures, traditions and mentalities.  The Atlantic Ocean separates but also unites the places I have come to call home and establish new roots, regards if the east was the place of my birth. To be exact, 37km from where I am writing this post.

Many come up with resolutions this time of the year. Some want to start a healthier lifestyle, learn a new language, cross out sections from the bucket list and so on. I say, go to Plymouth, Penn., visit Red and have a sub. Lets try and change the mentality this holiday season and visit Main Street, or whatever is left and shop locally. It will be worth every penny, and even if the product will not last forever the interaction and temporal friendship will.

“Red”, Plymouth, Penn. November 2018.©Niko J. Kallianiotis

By no means I am suggesting the product you buy will last forever, and who cares, really. If your vacuum cleaner breaks, don’t run to the mall to grab a new one because there is a wonderful old man in Scranton who repairs them for about ten bucks, depending of course on the damage. I hope all of us will change the mentality to storm the megastores, camping in the parking lot with teen temperatures to buy “goods” we don’t need. Most importantly, you will help their children buy a baseball jersey or get karate lessons, possibly to even help the family save for their collage tuition so they will not suffocate in student loans.

At the end, it might not go according to plan but it’s certainly worth a try; you will not regret the experience; I did, because I did not get a sub from Red but it will be the fist thing I do when I get back. He will be there waiting for me, and you…

Under The Bridge

It has been a while since I have put some digitalized words on electronic paper and I confess that although I do not consider myself a writer, deep down, I wish I were. And despite the calamities of being infused with a hybrid linguistic nature, I strive to do my best, simply because I do not believe that a photograph speaks of a thousand words, because undeniable and futilely   more than a thousand words and feelings lay outside the confinement of the creator’s accurate rectangle. “There is no such thing as inaccuracy in a photograph. All photographs are accurate, none of them is the truth” was the response of Richard Avedon on criticism about his project, In The American West.

A thousand words are not enough to express the profusion of feelings, both esoteric and external, as the experience of being under a steel bridge in Brownsville, Penn., American built and proudly connecting families, memories and plights on each side of the Monongahela River in Western Penn. and especially if that entails, at least to me, a diner reminiscent of Edward Hopper’s painting “Nighthawks”. I always had a special affinity with diners and I consider them to be the mecca of personal interaction, a social landscape that till this day overpowers and I feel will continue to triumph the platform you are reading this post. If only we could let go of our supposedly hectic schedules and superfluous “social” activities and meet under the steel bridge in the twilight hours of a November evening and that needed conversation, any conversation, is needless to say, imperative, if not a little tardy.

“Fiddles” Brownsville, Penn, November, 2018. ©Niko J. Kallianiotis

About twenty-years ago, when I started my journey in the editorial world, I felt that it was all about the photographing, the adrenaline to get “the shot”, to deliver for the pleasure of the editor and a possible cover photo. Things changed and it has come to be about something else which at times is difficult to put into words. I truly believe that it is not even about photography anymore, no longer about the nuances that exist in the landscape, no longer about the tattered walls and the misty mornings which subconsciously confine you with their seductive ominous but welcoming gaze. You think you are looking at them, that you are the explorer, the artist, the hunter of the street ready to capture, but in reality they are looking at you. They are capturing your gaze and asking for your attention, hoping that you will not take and leave, as you normally do. It’s in the fleeting moments being incarcerated into someone else’s conviction because he just happen to be there. But maybe he should have been somewhere else, maybe I should have been somewhere else, but he didn’t have a choice, just like me.

I always go back, because I want to be looked at, again, by the tattered walls and the inviting stillness, but mostly the warmth of this diner window that becomes a stage, under the melancholic notes of the fiddle that melts the steel while the drum of the passing train passes by, rattling along the river. But I have never experienced this warmth with coffee and cigarettes, because I am waiting for you, to have that talk, the much-needed one about the land, you and me.

Κοντινή Αμερική...

Ακόμα θυμάμαι την διαδρομή πριν είκοσι χρόνια από το Κουκάκι προς τον παλιό Αερολιμένα Αθηνών. Εκεί, άφησα πίσω φίλους και τα αγαπημένα αρώματα, δρόμους και σοκάκια της Αθήνας, με προορισμό την Πενσυλβάνια, και συγκεκριμένα το Σκράντον, δυο ώρες βόρεια της Φιλαδέλφειας, την πόλη του Rocky Balboa που το άγαλμα του ακόμα και σήμερα ατενίζει ηρωικά μπροστά από το Μουσείο Τέχνης της Φιλαδέλφειας. Από την ίδια πόλη, σκέφτηκα να καταθέσω στην Ελληνική γλώσσα που ομολογούμενος δεν κατέχω όπως θα ήθελα, αποτέλεσμα που συνδυάζεται με την κατάρα, αλλά και ευχή, να γνωρίζει κάποιος δυο πατρίδες, και να βιώνει τον κοινωνικοπολιτικό παλμό, με μιαν εσωτερική αλλά ταυτόχρονα εξωτερική μάτια, αλλά και έλξη. Μια έλξη που από το πανί της μεγάλης οθόνης και τα νοκ-άουτ του Rocky Balboa, με ταξίδεψε μετά από πολλά χρόνια, φωτογραφικά πλέον, στις γειτονιές που κάποτε έβγαζαν ατσάλι και κάρβουνο, αλλά κυρίως εκεί που πάνω απ’ όλα η φαμίλια ήταν και ίσως ακόμα είναι το ύστατο αγαθό. Ίσως πλέον και το μόνο που έχει απομείνει στα σκουριασμένα σίδερα του ατσαλένιου αετού.

Duryea, Penn., 2017 ©Copyright, Niko J. Kallianiotis

America in a Trance, Πενσυλβάνια, τρία χρόνια σταθερά και αμετάκλητα με περίπου εξήντα χιλιάδες χιλιόμετρα στο τιμόνι, περιφερόμενος από πόλη σε πόλη στην απανθρακωμένη βιoμηχανικά αλλά και κοινωνικοπολιτικά μεταφορική εικόνα που ψάχνει να βρει τον εαυτό της, όπως εγώ έψαξα να βρω εμένα, αλλά ίσως και σένα. Είναι εύκολο κανείς να κρίνει εκ του ασφαλούς και εξ αποστάσεως, με κάποιες φυσικά παροδικές φωτογραφικές εξορμήσεις στη χώρα του ατσαλιού και της μαύρης σκόνης, την ιδιοσυγκρασία αυτό του τόπου, στο όνομα της τέχνης η της πολιτικής του ατζέντας.

Scranton, Penn., 2017, ©Copyright, Niko J. Kallianiotis

Είχα την τύχη να ξεκινήσω το συγκεκριμένο έργο πριν το πολιτικό και ειδησεογραφικό καρναβάλι έρθει στην πολιτεία που έπαιξε σημαντικό ρόλο στην εδραίωση του σημερινό πλανητάρχη. Η θεματολογία στην οποία περιφέρεται το φωτογραφικό μου έργο, όπως και η περιοχή, έχουν την δίκη τους ιστορική φωτογραφική ιδιαιτερότητα, σε ένα τοπίο που διαθέτει άφθονο υλικό, από τοπογραφία με στοιχεία Αποκάλυψης μέχρι Κιτς. Μεγάλο δίλλημα το πως να ανταποκριθείς σε μια τέτοια αισθητική πρόκληση που βγάζει το συνήθεις δυνατό συναισθηματικά κοινωνικό πορτραίτο και η ιδανικά φορμαλιστική αναπαράσταση της εγκαταλειμμένης βιομηχανίας, ή πολύ ποιο απλά, το μαγαζάκι που κάποτε έστελνε παιδιά στο πανεπιστήμιο.

Wilkes-Barre, Penn., 2016, ©Copyright, Niko J. Kallianiotis

Πριν ξεκινήσω, αποφάσισα να αφήσω πίσω μου τέχνη, φωτογραφία και θεωρία και με μόνο μια κάμερα και ένα φακό να πάρω το δρόμο για να προσπαθήσω να καταλάβω από κοντά την μικρή αλλά μεγάλη Αμερική—την κυρία φλέβα που χωρίζει με υπερατλαντική απόσταση την αστική με την βιομηχανική κοινωνία. Με αλλά λόγια αυτός μου μένει στο Μανχάταν και που ποτέ του δεν έχει επισκεφτεί της συγκεκριμένες περιοχές, μιας και κατά την σεβαστή του άποψη ζει στο κέντρο του κόσμου (υπάρχουν προσωπικά παραδείγματα), δεν είναι σε θέση να κατανόηση την κουλτούρα, το τρόπο ζωής και σκέψη της άλλης πλευράς, και αυτό μερικές φορές κοστίζει πολιτικά—εμένα μου κόστισε συναισθηματικά γιατί ξεκίνησα πριν το πολιτικό και ειδησεογραφικό τσίρκο κάνει την περιοχή μια καρικατούρα παρόμοια με κινηματογραφικό πόστερ σε εγκαταλελειμμένη βιτρίνα

New Castle, Penn., 2017 ©Copyright, Niko J. Kallianiotis

Μετά από αυτό το ταξίδι που έφτασε να γίνει το πρώτο μου λεύκωμα, του οποίου η δουλειά συνεχίζεται πέραν του βιβλίου, πιστεύω ότι ωρίμασα ως φωτογράφος αλλά και ως άνθρωπος. Ως φωτογράφος γιατί άφησα την σκέψη του εκπαιδευόμενου πίσω, και αυτό που με ενδιέφερε απλά ήταν και είναι να είμαι εκεί, να ζήσω το χιονισμένο και μελαγχολικό σοκάκι, να κάνω ένα τσιγάρο (που και που) με καφέ από βενζινάδικο, να γίνω ένα με τον τόπο, να ταξιδέψω από το Πίτσμπουργκ στην Ελλάδα, να ζηλέψω που είσαι εκεί, και να κάνω την ψηφιακή μου πραγματικότητα μνήμη, που μέσα στον αγωνιώδη βηματισμό κάποιας απομακρυσμένης φιγούρας που είδα, προσπάθησα να βρω εμένα, αλλά ίσως τελικά να βρήκα και εσένα.

Mahanoy City, Penn., 2016, ©Copyright, Niko J. Kallianiotis

Interview: Fadi Boukaram

- Tell us a little about yourself and how did you get into photography?

I was born and raised in Beirut. The Civil War ended when I was 12, and as much as I try running away from it, it has largely shaped my view of the world. For a while, I buried it pretty well; I was a math and science nerd in school, so numbers were beautiful and reassuring in how impersonal they were. I went on to study Electrical Engineering in college and enlisted in the army after that. I wanted to specialize in bomb disposals but they weren’t taking any officers during that period, so I left after finishing my service. Thankfully.

Three months into my first job out of the service as a programmer, I had enough money to buy a camera, a 2-Megapixels Canon A60. I wanted one mainly to take family photos. We didn’t have a camera at home until I was in my teens, and the few photos that we had as kids had a lot of sentimental value. I was hoping to replicate the feeling I got from looking at these old photos. It worked to a certain point, and I also experimented with landscapes a little. But then one day I decided to shoot underwater, so I wrapped the cam in a plastic bag and went under. But the seal wasn’t tight and the camera was ruined, so that was the end of it.

- From Lebanon to The United States and back to Lebanon to work on your project. Where were you doing photography when you lived here or was this the first time?

I came to the US in the Fall of 2005 without a camera. I went to grad school at San Francisco State University and I worked there as well. There I found out that people had to file their taxes, a novel concept for me. It turned out that I was owed a tax refund, so with the check I got from the government I bought myself my first DSLR, a Canon Rebel XT.

I was still under some form of culture shock; San Francisco had a lot of homeless people and I hadn’t seen a homeless person in my life growing up in Beirut. So that’s what I started taking pictures of, thinking that I’d be ‘raising awareness’ about the problem, as if I were the first person to think about it. Later on I’d realize how exploitative that was, but I was still hooked on taking photos of strangers and their different expressions. I was also still shooting landscapes as I did in Lebanon, but they were all awful. I had a camera and no knowledge in art or photography. The last art class I had taken was in 3rd grade and it showed. The real learning had to come a few years later after I returned to Lebanon and joined the Beirut Street Photographers. I discovered Giacomelli and Bresson and a whole world opened up.

- Tell us about your project and your experience visiting towns that are called Lebanon; why you decided to do that, any influences or past experiences that enhanced that desire?

I found out about America having so many towns called Lebanon when I was in still in San Francisco. It was during that time when I had just discovered the beauty of road trips, and I thought this would be an interesting trip to do after retirement, visiting all these Lebanons out of curiosity.

I returned to Beirut in 2009 and I worked in finance, first in risk management and then in fiscal laws. Throughout that period, photography moved from being just a hobby into something I couldn’t do without. The idea of quitting my job and going on a road trip across America started brewing in my head, but I kept dismissing it. It’s not easy to throw a career down the drain and forgo a steady income. But then in late 2015 I was in Baghdad for work, and before going I had to submit a ‘proof of life’ form, a document with confidential information to confirm whether I was alive or dead in case I got kidnapped. I didn’t think much of it. Until I got to Iraq and I found a Kevlar vest and a helmet next to my bed in the company offices where we were sequestered. The next day I was in an armored car with two guards and their AK-47s, going to a meeting with government officials. There were barricades everywhere leading to the building because a suicide bomber had tried unsuccessfully to blow himself up there a few days before. That was my main trigger. I said screw it, I can’t live with this crap anymore. I resigned soon after, gave away my rented apartment and most of my belongings and I flew to the US on a tourist visa. I had enough savings to last me a year without a job and I figured I’d start worrying about the future after that year was done.

I rented an RV and started driving. My road trip went on for 5 months. 18,000 miles, 37 States, and over 40 towns called Lebanon visited.

- You visited Lebanon, Pennsylvania (my own state) with population of about 25,000 and Lebanon, Nebraska, population about 70. There are obvious significant differences between the two towns, both on a visual but also on a social and cultural level. Tell us a little about that experience and how that affected your photography.

Lebanon, Nebraska is as rural as it gets. It’s a tiny farming village that has seen better days. When I got there, all the streets were empty. The stores were shuttered. I thought it was a ghost town. I stuck around hoping someone would show up because I was investigating a story about a local college student who went to Beirut in 1955 along with other people from American Lebanons, but instead of returning after two weeks like the others, he went to Jerusalem and was murdered there. The story had CIA links and I really needed to talk to people who might’ve remembered the murder. I was regularly posting about my whereabouts on the project’s Facebook page, and a woman messaged me, seeing I got to her hometown, and connected me with her mother. The story of the murdered man aside, the woman, in her late 70s, told me about the history of the town, one I would hear all throughout the Heartland. With farming machinery getting more efficient in the 1950s, fewer farm hands were needed. Kids left to nearby cities for jobs and stayed there. Populations dwindled, businesses closed, and government cutbacks closed down schools, post offices, and other services. In Lebanon, Nebraska, if you want to go to the closest Supermarket or gas station now, you have to drive to McCook, a city 30 to 40 minutes away. It’s as isolated as can be.

From a photography standpoint, I was a street shooter, taking candid photos of people on crowded streets. But there were no crowds there. So I had to adapt, finding myself increasingly shooting empty rural landscapes because that’s all there was. And with the few people I’d meet, I started engaging with them more and more. I learned how to talk to strangers and, more important, how to listen to them. Very few declined that I take their photos.

Lebanon, Pennsylvania was a different experience altogether. During most of my trip, I was sleeping in my RV at the closest Walmart parking lot, always out of town. But Lebanon, Pennsylvania had its own Walmart and was a noticeably larger city than the others. I arrived there the night before Christmas Eve and the next morning I walked around the stores, taking a few pictures of shoppers and their rush. After months of being surrounded by open spaces, I felt claustrophobic among the crowds. It’s as if I hadn’t lived in packed cities all my life. Thankfully, by late afternoon everybody had gotten home and I was alone in the parking lot. On Christmas day it was empty all the same since the store was closed. These were a rough couple of days too because it was the first time I’d spend Christmas alone.

I killed time by driving around, unsuccessfully trying to meet some Amish people – it’s Pennsylvania Dutch country over there – and then eventually just photographing decorated house exteriors. At night I walked the empty streets in the downtown area and the silence was eerie. In rural areas, there aren’t that many houses close together so the quietness is expected. But to walk along city streets lined with buildings and still not hear a peep is unsettling. It was an absence of life where life was expected. The area still hadn’t recovered from the financial crisis of 2008 and it showed.

- Please describe any noteworthy moments from your journeys. Did you visit other towns to photograph or just Lebanon’s?

The Lebanons were a large part of my trip, but I did stop in other cities as well to photograph different events. Folsom Street Fair in San Francisco, Mardi Gras in New Orleans, and the Women’s March and Donald Trump’s inauguration in DC, for example. These stops rounded the out the flavor of the whole trip.

There are far too many noteworthy moments to list, but if I want to sound-bite some: I was invited to an evening of Hassidic Jewish meditation led by Sufi Muslims in a compound built by Christian Shakers in New Lebanon, New York. A Baptist pastor wanted to baptize me in the lake in Lebanon, Oklahoma. I got drunk with Kentuckians in a rundown bar in Lebanon Junction over my own flask of Arak (Lebanese liquor) to prove to them I wasn’t a federal agent. My RV was stolen in Albuquerque, New Mexico by a team of mother-daughter meth-heads. Lastly, I also stopped at the Finlen Hotel in Butte, Montana to recreate Plate #26 from Robert Frank’s The Americans, ‘View from Hotel Window.” (How can a photographer do an American road trip without paying tribute to the master?)

- While you were working on the project the 2016 presidential campaign was in full force. Where you influenced by the frenzy and spectacle in both the social media and new organizations; and from your experience in rural America was your photography influenced and where you surprised by the outcome of the election?

I started my trip from the West Coast, less than a month before the elections. As soon as I moved east past Spokane Valley, Washington, I knew I wasn’t in Clinton territory anymore. Not because of the Trump signs – there were hardly any – but because of the absence of Clinton signs that I had seen everywhere before. The news were filled with one article after the next about the forecasted riots that would ensue if either candidate won, or about the bigotry and danger of the deplorables, as Clinton called Trump supporters, seen through the countless photos of demented people attending Trump rallies. So I was very cautious, believing luck was on my side that I hadn’t met any of the crazies yet. Still, all the polls pointed to a decisive Clinton win, and on the night of the election I didn’t even bother following the results and slept at sundown. But then I woke up after midnight to my phone buzzing; the results had taken an unexpected turn. The minute Trump secured his 270 electoral votes I locked my RV and lowered the shades. I was in the middle of the country (Literally. I was in Lebanon, Kansas) and I got paranoid. I had taken all these media reports at face value and thought someone would soon assault me, either for looking Middle Eastern or for looking Hispanic since even Hispanics in California mistook me for one of them.

The next morning I went to a small diner to have breakfast. I expected the patrons to be celebrating. Nothing of the sort. It was as if they hadn’t just had one of the most contentious elections in history. I tried to pass unnoticed but who was I kidding. I was the only non-white around and had a foreign accent to top. After finishing and as I was leaving the diner, a man sitting at a table with five other men, all in their sixties at least, sees my camera (I was not going to hide the camera) and asks me if I could take a group photo of them. I snapped one quickly because I wanted to get the hell out. Then the man asks me to take a second photo, but this time framing out one of the men because, in his words: “We’re all Republicans and he’s a Democrat.” Then they all burst into laughter, the Democrat included. That was my wake-up moment.

Until then I had believed all these reports about who Trump voters were. But as an American photographer friend later recalled, he went to photograph a few Trump rallies and, even though he was a staunch liberal himself, he was getting annoyed by the fact that journalists and TV anchors were trying to interview only the craziest people they could find. And viewers will only believe – or choose to believe – what they’re being shown, which is a dishonest representation of a substantial part of the population. You either believe they’re all backward racists and xenophobes or you’re one of them. That’s the state of journalism and political discourse in the world today. I wouldn’t even hesitate for a second these days saying that almost everything is fake news. Lying by omission is still lying.

As for photographers, I’ve had this argument with so many of my close friends, who believed that talking to and portraying Trump supporters as human beings was a grave sin. Of the countless photographers I’ve followed covering this topic, there were only two who showed the human side of these supporters: Michelle Groskopf and Stacy Kranitz (Who’s one of my favorite contemporary photographers).

This is where the Lebanese Civil War came at play for me. After it was over, I had to learn, like most people did, how to talk with those whose views are diametrically opposed to mine. To try and find what we have in common instead of dwelling on the differences. It’s surprising how many heavy discussions I’ve had with folks around the U.S. where arguments were defused over a beer (the Budweiser commercial is right; I lived it for 5 straight months.). But a beer isn’t always necessary; it’s important that we check our beliefs and preconceived notions at the door before photographing people. Absent that, empathetic photography is not for you. Maybe caricature at best, or maybe some other profession.

- Your photos blend the descriptive with the emotional, and although you were a passerby, your work has the passion of an insider. The American landscape has been an ongoing theme by many photographers. What is the ingredient that you think separates your work from the rest.

Examining the American landscape and its different subcultures is a job better suited for a foreigner than for a local, especially these days. Having an outsider’s eye means it’s easier to be detached and to see everybody as ‘them’, whereas for many locals there’s always the ‘us’ vs ‘them’, and this translates into a skewed photography, as I mentioned in the previous question.

This being said, yes I don’t mind saying I have the passion of an insider. I’ve been a fan of Americana ever since I started reading my grandfather’s copies of Reader’s Digest as a kid. And I’ve done my homework through years of reading US history and politics, both liberal and conservative, so I have a fair idea about people’s core values. Of course I learned a lot during the trip as well through trial and error. For example, even in the smallest, most rural areas in the country, it’s easier getting access to photograph being a swarthy foreigner than being someone who used to help the IRS catch tax evaders, which was part of my previous job. Afterwards when asked about what I used to do before photography, I would only say engineer, which is still true. And I’d get bonus access points mentioning that both my father and my grandfather were firefighters. Blue-collar people identify better with other blue-collar people.

- Besides sharing images while being an avid user on social media you also shared the story, factual or commentary. Tell us about that decision and how important is the blend of text and images in your work.

When I started the trip, I didn’t think I was going to have deep conversations with the folks I’d meet. I also didn’t think social media was going to turn into this hysteria of political fights, and this isn’t just about Trump or Trump vs. Clinton before it. Even among the Democrats, the Clinton vs. Sanders crowds were getting at each other’s throats.

So when I started meeting all these interesting characters on the road, I knew I had to record it somehow. I tried writing in a journal, but I gave up after two days because I lack the discipline and have little patience for it. I took a lot of voice memos on my phone instead, and I wrote about my encounters on Facebook. I was mostly alone for 5 months and my contact with the world was through that platform. So it both served as a diary and a minuscule counterbalance to all the negativity going around on my feed.

In addition, this made me realize how much I like storytelling in text form. There’s only so much you could say through a photo, and an accompanying text is sometimes needed. At first I thought this makes me less of a photographer, needing to supplement an image with written narratives. But as a reference, I started compiling a list of books that do this very same thing and there was no shortage of them. If Walker Evans and Raymond DePardon and Eugene Richards did it, I think it should be alright for a mortal to do it.

- What does not make a good photograph for you and what does? Are you interested in making photos that stand individually or are part of project?

A good photo is one that raises more questions than it answers through the visual information it presents. Jason Eskenazi puts it in a simpler way: “Don’t be obvious.”

The standalone photo is still the main currency of photojournalism and, to a lesser degree, Street Photography. Everything you’re trying to convey has to be confined within the one photo, and it better be good. But once you work on a project where you’re hoping to imply a narrative through the sequencing – and that’s what I’m interested in continuing to do – a photo has to work within the context of what precedes it and what follows it. So it’s perfectly fine (and sometimes advisable) to include photos that don’t work well individually, but act as a necessary link within the larger project. Even an ‘ordinary’ photo can be needed in a project, if only to release tension from a striking one before it, a détente of some sort to slow down the tempo.

- What are some major differences between photographing in Lebanon and the U.S.?

After visiting large parts of any country, it becomes more difficult to summarize the photography experience in it. Whether it’s in Lebanon or the US or any of the other countries I’ve visited so far, taking pictures in the big cities is relatively uneventful. There will always be some people who don’t want their picture taken, and I respect that. But there is a difference is how people behave on the street. In New York or San Francisco, for example, people in public places behave without much worry about who’s looking at them. You can easily find someone running with an umbrella with a plant under their arm, or someone feeding their dog their own ice cream. In Beirut, there’s an unwritten rule that you need to behave ‘properly’. So you could sense that people aren’t as carefree outside, and this reflects on their facial expression and body language.

When it comes to villages and rural areas, both Lebanon and the US are the same. People are suspicious of an outsider with a camera. Asking for permission and gaining a minimum of trust are needed before you can go on shooting.

- What have you learned from your journey; both as a photographer and a person?

Photographically, this trip has been a crash course in documentary photography. For 5 years I had only been shooting Street, meaning observational candid photography of people in public spaces. Once I hit the rural areas, the streets got empty, as I mentioned earlier. Since I wanted to know who the people who lived there were, I had to get over my anti-social habits and learn how to talk to strangers and listen to them. This was incredibly rewarding because the stories I’ve heard were a treasure trove of life lessons. I’m a sucker for oral history. Listening for example to a hundred-year-old woman in Kansas telling me about her experiences during the Dust Bowl in the 1930s was a gift I’d never have discovered had I not approached her and asked how it was like when she was growing up in town.

What I learned as a person parallels the photography lessons. My interest in Street Photography grew out not wanting to talk to people unless forced to. I was a regular misanthrope. But believing that humankind is garbage and believing people are decent aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive. I still think we humans are selfish and destructive, but I also find that there is kindness and decency if you look for it.

I’m not trying to be Mother Theresa or Ghandi here, but why not focus on the good instead of pointlessly festering in all that is bad?

- What are you planning to do with the project and do you have any plans to come back and continue the project?

Right now I’m in the process of going through the photos to edit them down, and compiling the stories of my encounters with all these different people on the road. There’s going to be a book published, but I still haven’t decided about whether to combine photos and texts into one book, or to publish a photo book with an accompanying travelogue diary. I’m aiming for mid-2018 to publish.

Regarding coming back, yes I’m definitely planning to. This whole lifestyle of living on the road is addictive and few experiences could top it for me. The next trip would have a different focus, though. I want to explore the history of Lebanese immigration to the US from the 19th century to the mid-20th century, i.e. before the war. I’d like to see how the original families integrated, how they view their identity, and what they retained from the old country traditions. So it’s time learn about grants and government funding to make this happen.

http://www.fadiboukaram.com/

http://www.lebanonusa.com/

Interview: Patrick Joust

- "Self-taught photographer ... with a little help from my friends". Tell us how you got into photography and how has been the journey so far?

For most of my life I didn’t take pictures beyond the standard snapshots everyone takes. Once I did get into photography, shortly after college, it was a completely solo undertaking. One of the things that appealed to me about it was that I could do it alone. That’s still a big part of it, but friends have played an important role in how things have developed. Both people I know in person and the many I’ve interacted with online have helped me get better and figure out what I want to create. I know that’s the case for a lot of photographers, if not all, but I think it’s important not to take for granted.

- You have a diverse but coherent body of work that circulates around a particular theme. Tell us a little about the concept behind your work.

Thanks! In most cases the work has driven the concept rather than the concept the work. I didn’t start out with an idea for a photography project. Everything started pretty humbly and it’s stayed that way. More recently, I might go out to take some pictures that will fit in with others to make a “whole” but I’m still mostly driven by a less well defined desire to build on what I’ve done, to give myself more material. I get the feeling that a lot of serious photographers might frown on this idea, but I often think of the work I’m making as something closer to a visual diary. Any projects that might be created are drawn from that larger collection of images, rather than started as a project.

I haven’t sought to create an overarching concept for whatever it is I’m building. I’m happy for it to be a bit ambiguous. That might be a copout but I don’t want to risk over-explaining, especially if I have trouble explaining it to myself. However, my work does reflect a lot of how I feel and think and speculating on some of that is interesting, at least for me. Alienation, beauty, decay, the state of humanity, racism, classism, environmental issues, political issues in general, the meaning of life :) ...all are some of the things I think about. There’s also a fantasy element that’s a strong part of it.

I rewatched Andrei Tarkovsky’s Stalker recently. I like the feel of that kind of science fiction. It doesn’t need to embellish too much to create a new world. It’s a beautiful film made in one of the most traditionally unbeautiful places, an industrial wasteland. It works largely from found elements and clever improvisation, making the most of the material in front of the lens. Jean Luc Godard’s Alphaville, a different kind of movie overall, also works in that way. These are approaches to seeing that I greatly admire. I don’t want to conflate cinema with photography, but closely focusing in on key elements and sequencing them together to make something new is a lot of what photography is about for me.

There’s a lot said about the subjective nature of photography. That’s certainly something I would agree with but I like to go further by not just acknowledging my own subjectivity but completely embracing it. I’m comfortable with the idea of trusting in the narrowness of my own experience. I don’t advocate rejecting or ignoring outside influences, which would be both undesirable and impossible, but it’s also important not to let yourself be overwhelmed or to be overly reverent of what others have done. It’s important to leave room for your own ideas, recognizing that they were not formed in a vacuum.

Right now those ideas include a number of loose projects. One is kind of an overall view of America, something that takes inspiration from work like Joel Sternfeld’s American Prospects, pulling together various places I’ve been (Baltimore, Pennsylvania, Florida, California, etc.) into one tighter body of work that says something about how I feel about the here and now. Another project relates to walls and divisions in American society that I’m calling “Division and Gold.” I’m also thinking about a “Baltimore” book of mostly portraits. The last one has actually evolved into a working rough draft.

- You work predominately in Baltimore and Pennsylvania, among other places. What is the relationship to those places and what is the nature of the projects?

Proximity plays as big a part in it as anything. I live right in the middle of Baltimore. I can walk outside and find interesting things or people to photograph without trying too hard. Maryland’s a small state and Pennsylvania isn’t far away. I’m from California originally but moved to rural south central Pennsylvania when I was a teenager. I never really felt at home, but that’s where I spent high school and college. Now I love going back to Pennsylvania, both to photograph but also because I enjoy so many things about the state. It’s a dense environment for someone with my interests. I never feel like I’m coming home, but rather returning with greater appreciation and a sharper eye.

My work in Baltimore is by far the most comprehensive though and my experience here has helped to shape my worldview. I keep wanting to make links between the work I produce here and other places I visit. I mentioned how I can just walk out my door to go to take pictures. Part of what makes that so engaging are the contrasts. If I look left, and on my own block, I can see a relatively well cared for and beautiful old neighborhood, where I can walk to restaurants, libraries, concert venues, etc. To my right are empty lots and decrepit row homes, the result of redlining policy, other forms of racism, the war on the poor, etc. These lines between “good” and “bad” neighborhoods are certainly striking and Baltimore has famously been shown as a city with the worse kinds of “urban” problems, but while I find myself reminded of this daily, I don’t see things differently once I leave town and go to other cities or rural areas in the country. In many cases the divisions are all the more obvious.

Even though I’m interested in lines and divisions, I find myself photographing a lot more in economically challenged areas. That’s not at all uncommon for a lot of photographers. I often question my motivations. I’m not always satisfied with my answers but I think a lot of it has to do with seeking out what is special in those areas. This process really got started for me when I first moved to Baltimore as an Americorps volunteer. Since my work, mostly tutoring children, brought me to the less touristed parts of the city, I was able to actually experience these areas and learn to appreciate them. I had no reason to visit them before, but since that time I’ve always wanted to go back. As a society, we’re used to condemning whole neighborhoods, towns and cities, but when you go to these places, not just read about them but go there, you can find a lot of originality and beauty that isn’t present in the homogenized outlands of suburban America.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the work of Simon Norfolk and his approach to war photography. Long before I made pictures I had a love for classical European painting. I spent a lot of time going to art museums, even skipping school to see the Vermeer exhibit when it came to the National Gallery in the 90’s. There are a lot of different artists I’ve been interested in, but painters like JMW Turner, Claude Lorraine, Hubert Robert, Caspar David Friedrich and Giovanni Panini, with their depictions of real and fanciful ruins, drew me in from a young age. I’m still attracted to those images. Simon Norfolk harkens back to that kind of imagery with his depictions of the toll of war on much of Afghanistan. His photos are beautiful and yet these images, recorded in the best light and reflecting the natural attributes of the land, are records of epic tragedy. Even though the word “war” is too often thrown around in our vocabulary for things that it's not, the waste that has been laid to so many cities and towns, in the United States, is similar, though the process is clearly more subtle. Part of my attraction to the places I photograph in east and west Baltimore, Schuylkill County, or areas around Pittsburgh is the simultaneous beauty that these places possess, in their semi-ruined state, but also how that state represents the tragedy of racism, classism and uncontrolled capitalism. I feel contradictory emotions. The attraction is a kind of trap. I appreciate the beauty and how places in a state of decay can convey a sense of timelessness, but I’m also forced to think of the history that led to these conditions and my own part in that process. These aren’t Roman or Anasazi ruins, they’re part of a present reality, history that’s still in the process of being made.

In contrast to ancient ruins, most of these places aren’t empty. They’re not ghost towns. People live there. There is a deeper beauty reflective in people’s determination to make a home for themselves wherever they are. While it’s harder for me to do, especially when I leave Baltimore, it’s important for the work to also capture the people I see and to collaborate with them in some way, however brief. What I like about portraits is that it’s not just me framing the shot, but a joint endeavor between subject and photographer. Even though I’m editing the photos later, the collaboration allows for an honest outside influence on the work.

- Do you believe there is a significant difference in the impact and result of the work when one is ingrained and familiar with the place he photographs, in relation to a photographer visiting a particular place to make photographs?

It certainly can make a difference. However, living directly in the place you want to make images can sometimes prevent you from seeing things “fresh.” Though I think I’m pretty good at fighting that inclination, I can still sometimes feel a little worn out if I don’t get a chance to find myself somewhere new. I don’t travel all that much, compared to many people I know, but I do it enough that it helps me appreciate Baltimore more when I come back. Also, even though I love Baltimore and have lived here longer than anywhere else, I still feel a sense of distance from it. East coast cities can often take a long time to absorb outsiders. That being said, I don’t know if I want to be “absorbed.” There’s a part of me that needs to have something between me and reality. I take some comfort in how the camera can make me feel close but also feel apart.

A lot depends as well on what you are trying to achieve with your images. Someone like Robert Frank didn’t get to know, in any intimate way, most of the places he traveled in order to create The Americans. That didn’t matter because he was able to convey something more broadly profound. Since making photographs is a visual process, the excitement of seeing something for the first time and responding to it is very powerful. It’s what drives a lot of photographers and certainly me. You can also be someone like Milton Rogovin or Vivian Maier, both of whom travelled, but also did most of their work in their respective cities of Buffalo and Chicago. If you’re embedded in a place you can’t help but tell a very different story than someone who is just passing through.

I value both approaches. I like the idea of being pulled out of my home to literally stretch my horizons, but I also appreciate the opportunity to delve deeper into areas I think I already know.

- A lot of your images are at night and of a particular and mysterious mood, oscillating between the surreal, cinematic and psychological. Is the approach more of an inner exploration of self or a particular and alternative interpretation of a place?

I really appreciate this question because it nicely encapsulates what I’m trying to do, much of the time. My approach is as much about inner exploration as it is about creating an alternative view of a place. I’ve had a lot of interest in magical realism in literature and, without being too forced, I’ve tried something similar with a lot of my photography. As I've already mentioned, I embrace the subjective role of photography and how the images you take, select, and sequence can be arranged to convey a sense or an idea.

I often find myself thinking of certain scenes that I find and how they might fit it in with others. Geography can be a natural way to classify images, but it’s been less important to me in recent years. Much of the time I’m trying to create a new geography out of these various places. I like having the sense of the real and surreal in the same image, but even more importantly, in the thread of images I might put together.

In literature, magical realism doesn’t divorce itself from reality, in many ways it’s all the more entrenched in it. The whole point, or at least what I take from it, is to be able to use the magic to reawaken our sense of the real, to knock us out of the lull we are in when we encounter everyday life and situations. That’s something of what I’d like to do with much of my photography.

- How long have you been working on the Baltimore project and the others that concentrate in your area and are these ongoing? Also, talk about some of the challenges that you encountered and overcome while making the projects.

I’ve been photographing in Baltimore since 2002 and I hope to continue doing so indefinitely. Both my wife and I are pretty entrenched in this city. It feels weird sometimes to think that we might live here for the rest of our lives, but that’s not a negative for me. I love this city. It’s beautiful. It feels like an amazing opportunity to photograph here, or make art of some kind, for decades to come. I think I will have really achieved something if I can do that. It’s easy to get distracted, but my goal is to stay engaged and keep producing work. If I’m flexible enough I think it’s an achievable goal.

- Which photographers, artist, authors and the like, have been your influences and where do you derive inspiration to constantly produce new work?

I mentioned several already. Rather than attempting to be comprehensive I’ll mention ones I’ve been thinking about the most lately. Greg Girard is someone I’ve mentioned to a lot of people. He has a new book coming out soon. I already mentioned Milton Rogovin, but I’ll mention him again because I don’t think enough people know about his amazing life’s work. Maude Schuyler Clay’s portrait work is often on my mind. I’ve also been really into the work of Justine Kurland, and her approach to doing work and having a sense of balance in her life. She has a new book too.

I’ve been inspired a lot by the movies. Early Spielberg movies, Jean Luc Goddard, Terrence Malick, Luis Bunuel, were all big influences long before I started taking pictures. Movies like The Conversation, Parallax View, A Man for All Seasons, Don’t Look Now, Henvy V, Killer of Sheep, are all ones that have really stuck with me.

Music is a big influence as well. My mom introduced me to classical music when I was a kid and that’s still a big part of my life. I like a lot of different music and have many friends with varying tastes and that’s something I appreciate. I don’t know if any of the music influences the work, but it certainly inspires.

- Considering a very dense and competitive marketplace, how do you manage to promote your work and maintain an aesthetic that makes you work distinct?

I don’t think of myself as being in a marketplace, which probably helps. I want people to view my work and it’s been very gratifying that it’s gotten such positive attention over the years. The attention I have gotten has been a motivating factor to keep producing the work though I try not to let it dictate everything I do. The best thing I’ve done to promote my work is to continue doing it and to set personal goals for what I want to achieve. Those goals often don’t have anything to do with traditional ideas of success. I’m honestly just pretty thrilled that I’m able to make work that I can look back on months or years later and be proud of and that other people are excited about too. I know that certain pictures will be very popular and others less so, but It’s important that I create what I want to, regardless of popularity. I like the examples of Morris Engel and Ruth Orkin, photographers and movie makers who did what they had to in order to create their own vision. Whether that vision caught on or was recognized was secondary to the need to create. If what you’re doing comes before all the rest, that’s bound to help or at least it’s nice to think so.

Because of the saturation of images right now, luck has something to do with getting recognition as well. That’s always been a factor, but it’s even more so now. I see a lot of good work that doesn’t get the attention it should. We’re in an unprecedented time when so much great art is being created. The Internet is at the heart of that, of course, and there is certainly plenty of repetition that goes along with this explosion, but I think that there is truly an amazing amount of worthwhile activity to get engaged in. It’s just not possible to keep up with it all, even in the most superficial way. A lot of things follow the standard restrictions of the “art market” which can make things more exclusive than ever. It’s important for artists and art lovers to follow their own instincts as much as possible, to see what’s going on around them, not just what gets featured or anointed.

- What do you consider to be a successful image and what is the importance, if any, of working on a theme rather than making single images that do not relate?

I have long thought more in terms of how a group of images work together rather than in terms of single images. When I’m hanging work or sharing on social media, I like to arrange images together in some way, playing with themes loosely.

I use social media as a way of gauging whether images I make come across the way I want them to. This isn’t always easy but in the absence of formal critiques, I use what I have. It especially helps when I know I’ve engaged, in some way, artists whose work I like and admire. I certainly do plenty of self-editing, but I think the opportunity that social media provides, as part of the editing process, is valuable. It’s not just about showing off. You can use those resources to improve your work.

- What advice would you give to students or someone that is interested in picking up photography?

One of the best responses I’ve seen from artists in terms of advice is the importance of continuing to do work and making sure you accommodate that need even if it sometimes threatens to inconvenience you or others. For me, there really doesn’t seem to be a choice. I must keep making work so what I try to do is arrange my life in such a way as to make that possible. As I’ve achieved a small level of success, it’s also meant that I’ve had to weigh some opportunities with others and make choices about what I pursue. For instance I was asked recently to curate a photography show. I was flattered to be asked but when I gave it more thought I realized I didn’t have the desire or time for that. That being said, sometimes doing something different, something that you weren’t planning on, can have a stimulating effect and steer the work in an interesting direction. It’s not always easy to decide which is the best call to make but again, making sure that you leave time for your work (and to decompress), is important.

- What is your opinion about the current state of American photography in all its manifestations?

I read recently about how there weren’t enough artists documenting Trump’s America. It was an article focusing on the work of Danny Lyon and while it was interesting and I love Danny Lyon’s work, I thought the author’s premise, that there essentially weren’t artists around willing to do work like Lyon, was incorrect. I’m not bringing this up to talk about Trump but just to say that there are a lot of images being taken recording many aspects of our society but you might have to do a little work to find it. It’s not going to just wash over us in a facebook feed or mainstream press. I’m amazed at just how much great work is being done in Baltimore alone. The work is out there. I think that’s probably obvious for any of us who are really interested not just in our own photographic work, but that of others, but I think it’s important to realize that we’re also in our own bubble. We can’t take it for granted that much of this is reaching the mainstream.

The issue has less to do with what’s being created but with what’s being consumed. We live in a time of extraordinary access, because of the Internet, to so many things, but one of the biggest issues is the tendency of so many of us to only consume news, entertainment and conspiracy theories that are tailored to our own specific interests. We have access to all the great books but we’re not reading them, we’re playing games and swiping through things quickly on our devices. It can be hard to find a larger view or contradictory views of all that is going on. Consumer culture has a stronger grip on us than ever and it’s a constant distraction. There are plenty of photographers of all stripes creating compelling images, but they’re not reaching audiences the way that some photographers like Danny Lyon, Gordon Parks or Mary Ellen Mark did. Amazing photo essays are being created all the time, but they’re seen by hundreds or thousands, not millions. I’m not sure what individual photographers can do about that issue since it’s just a small part of a larger problem. The good news though is that whether audiences are interested or ready for it, the work is there and it’s beautiful. I find myself constantly inspired by what I see others creating. I feel very lucky to be alive in such a culturally rich environment where so much in the arts is easily accessible.

http://patrickjoust.com/

Interview with Harris Mizrahi

- Thank you for taking the time in discussing your work. Tell us about your project and what the work is about.

"Inside Out" is made up of photographs I’ve taken over many long and short road trips through the United States. I meet my subjects at small bars, motels, on the street, and often by just knocking on their front door.

- You grew up in New York City where you currently live and work. How have your journeys away from the metropolis have influenced your work and personality?

At some point shortly after I finished high school I started getting into classic country music and listened to Marty Robbins almost obsessively. The songs are short stories about the west and the imagery so successfully stuck with me and fascinated me. It became its own grand mythology. While I was in photo school I was also assisting some photographers on days that I didn't have class. One photographer I was working with liked my photography and my interest in country music and offered to have me come with him on a personal shooting trip through west Texas. I was there as a fellow photographer not an assistant. Only after I started doing trips of my own did I realize how generous this was of him, to let me into his process like that.

That trip was revolutionary for my work. We would shoot all day and much of the time through most of the night. It was the most amazing feeling, to spend all day hunting for images and turning over stones. There were possibilities everywhere! We only stopped photographing when we couldn’t keep our eyes open any longer. I don't think I had ever gotten a high like that from photography or anything else before. Even after a full day of shooting I couldn't sleep at night because every time I closed my eyes I would imagine photos we took that day. Structurally, I learned to step back and see the whole of a scene, which is something I still work on today. Before this I was doing mostly street photography. I was always trying to get as physically and uncomfortably close to my subjects as possible and I think that can lend itself to street photography but here the environment was so obviously a character in the story I wanted to tell. I didn't know what exactly that story was but I knew it had a feeling and the spaces around the people were just as important to that feeling. I also found that often in taking a step back the picture may not deliver the same immediate blow that a close up may but it tends to linger a bit longer by allowing more narrative to creep into frame. I learned to be more subtle in my picture making.

- Your portraits are both graphic and poetic possessing an intimacy which denotes your connection with the subjects as well as their environment, having the "insider’s" perspective. What is your approach and process in connecting with these people?

The lack of structure and planning in my process is part of what leaves me open to receive the unexpected. I typically won’t plan route or have a destination. I follow my instincts, which over time have become more sharpened and refined. I was recently listening to an interview with Gregory Halpern. He talks about what attracts him to want to photograph certain people. He said that he looks for people who are contradictions. That resonated with me and the way I work. People are so complex and I’m always looking for that trait in a person that can defy cliché and expose fragility; it shows that they are human. People are not one sided and they can usually sense when a photographer is treating them as such. I just try to be as genuine as possible. It’s easy to make a photograph that makes fun of someone and people can feel when you are trying to make that kind of picture. I really do love the people in front of my lens and for those moments it’s deeply personal for me. I’m always giving part of myself in return. It is the only way to make these pictures. As a photographer you have to show that you are willing to be vulnerable as well.

- You are exploring both public and privates spaces reflective both on the landscape and the characters. How you were received in the particular communities and did you find it difficult to connect and get access? You are miles away from NYC so you must have some interesting stories.

When I first started doing this type of work it was more difficult to glide into situations where people could fully drop their guard around me. Developing the courage to approach strangers was ninety percent of the battle. When you, as a photographer are nervous, the strangers you’re approaching will figure that they too should have cause to be nervous about you. The other ten percent was again, being totally genuine in my intent to make a photograph of someone with love and not malice. However, every so often I am still received with suspicion and hostility and that can be hard to shake off and I do fight to work through that. Often times the access I get comes from putting in time. I have revisited a lot of the people and places in my photographs many times before coming away with the image that ends up in my edit, although that is not always the case.

- Overall the work is consistent but what I find intriguing is the fact that although each photo complements one another, individually they extend the narrative; there is so much to decipher by looking at the photographs. What are the elements and stories that lead to the moment of creation?

I am constantly struggling with how much context to provide with these images. For me, one of the most exciting parts of reading photographs is the experience of making up my own stories and bringing my own experiences into someone else's work. I love that the meaning of an image can evolve and change every time I revisit it, particularly in the context of a book. I want people to be able to have that sort of experience with my work and I think the more stories I provide there is less of a chance for the meaning of the images to remain fluid and transcend the actuality of the occurrence. My intent is not for these pictures to tell the truth about a person or an encounter but for them to have the ability to convey truths about the complex and often fragile human condition.

The cohesive aspect of the work has a lot to do with the way I make a portrait and the respect given to the frame and subject and I also bring my own unique experiences and emotions into the picture, as is the case with any photographer. Another and equally important aspect is the editing process. Out of the thousands of pictures I take, only a small handful of them make the cut. Often I’ll have pictures that I love but don't quite yet fit in to the story, so I keep them in the back of my mind and the next time I come back with film Ill try to bridge that gap in the narrative and add a new element and narrative to the story. It’s always very exciting whenever that happens successfully.

- Looking at the images I am getting the feeling that although the photographs are about the people and the place the work is also about you and your life experiences and possible concerns. Is this the case and if so elaborate a little further?

I began working on "Inside Out" as an excuse to escape. Battling Bipolar Disorder, with its deep depression, and seductive mania I would drive as far as I could from home before tiring, much of the time with no intent of returning. Sometimes I would stay on the road for a couple of days sometimes a few weeks and other times I could travel hundreds of miles only to return right back home that same day. Emotional exhaustion still proves to be an essential ingredient in the making of many of these photographs. The trips are a form of therapy where my own state of vulnerability and want to be accepted allow me to sympathize with and photograph the people I meet, with honesty and an intimacy not typically awarded to strangers. Inherently, when photographing strangers there is a suspicion of the other present on both sides of the camera. As a photographer I am soliciting my subjects vulnerability and in return must openly cede my own. As I result I am allowed into people's homes, to share their dinner and rest a night on a spare bed. In that way the pictures are very much about me.

- Considering the narrative qualities of your work, what are the photographers, authors, or films that have influenced and inspire you?

Andrea Modica was an instructor of mine at Drexel University. She is one of those photographers that each time I open up one of her books I am blown away by how much is newly revealed to me that I didn't see the previous time. Her photos also have a still breathlessness about them yet at the same time the frame seems to be vibrating with energy ready to explode. I’m a fan of American realist authors like Phillip Roth and John Cheever. I like their ability to extract extraordinary stories from mundane subject matter. I try to go see movies at the theatre as much as I can. I love the experience of being in a dark theatre with the big screen A good film will take over you for those two or so hours. Recently I saw “Embrace of the Serpent” and “The Fits.” They are two very different but incredibly fresh films that tell stories and reveal meaning with subtlety and seductive visual storytelling.

- What advice would you give to students and emerging photographers in order to create a successful body of work?

I would tell them to just keep creating, to do it because you feel it in your bones that you have to. Its important not to get too hung up on the details of what the project will look like when its complete. You lose the chance to surprise yourself and that is one of the most rewarding aspect of art and photography; it’s the rare occasion when your own creation surprises you. You must also be a strict editor of your work.

- Is this project completed or you have future plans and additions? Although not on your site I find the work from Mexico you post on your Instagram feed, interesting and of a different style and tone. Talk a little about the concept behind that project.

I am still making work for this project and do have some plans in the very near future to get back on the road and make pictures. The work from Mexico is much more journalistic in nature. The pictures are made with a 35mm camera and are composed more quickly than my other work. I was visiting Mexico City and spent all day walking the expanse of the city taking pictures. I didn't know what I would emerge with but I knew I didn't want to have pictures that looked they were taken by a tourist. However, I hardly speak any Spanish so I can’t make the same type of portrait that I can when I'm driving through the US. Although in many cases I am still talking with my subjects it’s more difficult to establish a connection and trust so you have to figure out a different way to work. Sometimes that was pretty frustrating but in a way it was also very freeing.

http://harrismizrahi.com

Instagram: harrismiz

Interview: Yoav Friedlander

- I am always fascinated by a photographer’s hybrid background and how that inspires and influences their work. Tell us a little about your journey from the Holy Land to Queens (I think you are in Queens?) and how this transition influenced your work.

This is an essential question to ask because the transition from Israel, the Holy Land, to Queens not only influenced my work, it redefined it. There are two parts to my background, one that I had control over and the one which I was born into. I was born in Jerusalem in 1985 after my Grandfather lost his family in Auschwitz, survived the Holocaust, fought with the British Brigades and then joined the Israeli army when the country was established. I was born after 3 big wars - Independence 48’, Six Day War 67’ and Yom Kippur 73’- all of which posed a threat to the existence of my birth country and the latter, my father, had fought himself during his army service. But then I was born, after. Every piece of land in sight is multilayered with history, conflicts and ethos. Supposedly I am the continuation of thousands of years of Jewish history and traditions and then I decided to leave everything that everyone was fighting so hard for and move to the U.S. - now that’s a burden. The transition in my perception worked in both directions - how I started seeing Israel, and how I stopped seeing America. Because Israel was right in front of me for 26 years of my life I couldn’t see beyond the given layers of context. For each place there is a picture that name’s it and relate it to the history of the place - it is an unquestioned given fact that shaped my perception. Across the ocean was America but through the television set it seemed so close. In Israel we try being like the Americans that we see on television - we copy, imitate and embed an American like culture into our own culture based on movies, television and pictures. We ended up being Americanized through the surface layer - which is the one that can be mediated. Only when I moved to the United States I started comparing 26 years of America through pictures to the own the pictures are based on. Understanding that we are often being exposed to a place through a contextualizing image of it first, and before physically being in that place, changed my perception. These revelations made me doubt my perception of my homeland. I know wanted to use photography and make photographs that investigate the process in which a mediated place becomes iconic and familiar under a certain context. My work then shifted its focus towards the influence of photography on our perception of our reality and history. It was then when I first explored photography through miniatures and scale models - which are a great tool to explore the idea of similarity through the indexicality and the concept of the copy, and what that copy can still contain from its origin. The transition completely made me the photographer I am today, and I am not sure that if I had chosen any other path I would have discovered what I have discovered today.

- You have served in the Israeli army and looking at A Form of View project I see entities, which relate to your experiences in the army. Tell us a about your concept behind this body of work.

The part in A Form of View you are asking about derives from memories that are on a spectrum between personal memories to collective memories that are also highly influenced by common signifiers - too much of a big word for visual ingredients that many remember vividly, and also derives from places that have restricted access and sparsely photographed and are indeed related to the armed conflict - and also related to fears.

Some of the images, for example Camera Lucida which is of the gas mask on the bed attempts to recall memories that exist both as a personal memory that is based on one's own experience and which at the same time is part of a collective memory - when they share a similar memory with a great part of the people in Israel from the same period. Not every visual memory that falls into these criteria is as interesting to explore through its recreation first as miniature and then as a picture. I am searching for memories that were also influenced by photographs and beyond the photograph the restriction on what we can’t see. Camera Lucida is a recreation of my childhood room during the first Gulf War - Operation Desert Storm. We were fearing Biological or Chemical warfare from Saddam Hussein and we were supplied with gas masks and instructed to close the shutters and “seal” the windows using packing tape - specifically brown packing tape - everyone remember the brown packing tape.

I was a kid sitting in a room with my gas mask on and shutters down hearing the siren go on and off as the news anchor used the code word to get into the sealed rooms and put our gas masks on. Isolated in a room with a television being the only window to the outside world reality became a floating place. The war was as far as it was near. Through the television set the war was outside of the room, but since we were never hit it was as if it never happened.

We all share few things in common from Israel and of the First Gulf War - closed shutters, brown packing tape, fears that were never realized and a television set with Public Broadcasting station that mediated the same pictures to all of us at once. These memories are both personal and collective and represent a war that happened for many only through the television set while experiencing it as if it was right outside the Camera Lucida. Many years later and during my mandatory service in the army reality has flipped. Then in Camera Obscura - my recreation of a drone control room from the second Lebanon war- we were bombing somewhere else, and it all happened on LCD screens.

A hit on the screen represents a destroyed target in reality - somewhere far - not really a proxy war but very close to be one. Camera Lucida and Camera Obscura represent a deep exploration both of the personal and hopefully collective influence of the mediation of conflict and its great part in our perception of our reality. Things we see affect us perhaps more than things we touch. We are afraid most from the things that are least likely to happen to us.

The other point of interest that I mentioned above is places with restricted access and that often only fragmented pieces of televised documents or occasional photographs are the public access to them. Places of restricted access fascinate us and being exposed to partial visual evidences of their existence we use our imagination to glue together these places that are inaccessible to us. For me there are places from my service in the army that I had a chance to visit or utilize but are no longer accessible to me. My memories of these places are inseparable from my army service and experience, and I am drawn into revisiting these locations, rethink their function in the construction of my perception and understanding of the reality of the conflict. It may sound overly complicated, but I am trying to cheat and recreate a restricted space and place in a scale model based on a collection of photographs or visual evidences of these places to gain access and revisit these places, while at the same time rethink their layered meaning.

One of these places is a miniature of the Israeli Army’s urban warfare training facility named ‘Chicago’ in the Negev Desert in southern Israel. Just to clarify the name probably derives from the common Hebrew phrase ‘Chicago’ that refers to a situation where shots are fired everywhere, and historically points at the actual city of Chicago, Illinois as it was mediated through television probably in the 1970’s and 1980’s. There are several aspects of Chicago that I was interested in exploring. The photograph exposes a space that functions as a simulation of urban, house-to-house, warfare and the space in the photograph represents a potential Palestinian home into which the soldiers will enter expecting close range encounters with the enemy. For the majority of Israeli soldiers this type of a training facility will be their first so-called visit to a Palestinian home - or at least its simulation. When making this model and photograph I realized that the training facility contextualizes the Palestinian home as a battleground.

To expand on that, growing up in a settlement near Jerusalem, Maale Adummim, the Palestinian village was a hill apart from us and only a split in the road far - turn left and you enter Maale Adummim, turn right and you are in Azariya. For 26 years I saw these buildings on the hill next to my hometown from afar, and not once in my entire life did I visit inside any of them. Palestinian families typically build a building for the entire broad family, over the span of several years. They populate the house while it is still bare concrete and sometimes with no glass windows installed. One of the things that for many years distinguished the Palestinian and Arab architecture in Israel was the arched window while the Israelis use rectangular ones.

If you look carefully at my photograph of Chicago you will start seeing the visual signifiers that trigger the understanding for the Israeli soldier that he is inside a Palestinian home. First it is the arched concrete window frame and after the bare concrete interior. The accumulation of these aspects invokes the realization that Chicago is similar in its function to photographs and photography - it is an indexical representation of a place and its scale under a specific context.

I made a miniature of Chicago to investigate its functionality and effect on soldiers perception and the Israeli army created Chicago to train soldier to familiarize themselves with combat inside real Palestinian houses. The Israeli Army’s practical use of bare concrete for economical reasons also accidentally recreated the building style of the Palestinian home that due to low funds remains bare for years until there is enough money to finish the exterior. My immediate goal is to gain access through the scale model, build it based on the surface layer visual instructions given in photographs, and make a photograph of it that will mimic the immersive sense of space that we are accustomed to from seeing our world through photographs.

- Cliché, but who cares so, why a view camera? Why film? I ask because your work is deliberately created, highly personal and symbolic. Why go through the process when you can appropriate all these images from other sources and still portray your message?

You say cliché, and maybe I am romantic about it, but for me the view camera is the right tool for the job. Maybe I can do everything that you mention by appropriating other images but the truth is that my work is the result of a thought process that certain aspects inspire. Appropriating existing images is using the same cycle of materials; I have an urge to add material to this pool of images. I am unashamed of being romantic about the view camera and film. I can’t shoot 150 versions of a photograph because I cannot afford it. With a view camera I need to make one or two that count. It makes them feel precious and important and inspires me to look more at what I photograph and less at the camera. I like working slow, and it seems that the tools we use inspire our approach towards our actions using them.

Now to the technical part; the optic distortions of color and geometrical types in smaller cameras are very visible to me. The sharpness of landscapes just doesn’t really exist on these smaller cameras in my experience. The ability to do shift, tilt rise and be unlimited in how close I can focus since I can stretch the bellows indefinitely - all of these just don’t meet any parallel in the digital world. I am not willing to compromise on the quality and flexibility that I have with the view camera. We are seeing photography that follows the concept of one size fits all while photography used to be a medium that could be customized.

I might move to the digital realm when it will offer something in return - if I will give in now, no one will remember that there was other types of photography. We must not forget that photography was scaled down to the 35mm camera for certain purposes of mobility speed, and not necessarily for the quality it offered. That said, some of the most important photographs of all times where shot on 35mm cameras.

- What are some of the similarities and differences you witness when photographing in the United States and Israel and where do you derive inspiration from when photographing in each place?

The biggest difference between here in the U.S. and back in Israel for me is that here I am not driven by fear. Yes we in Israel are considered to be the oppressors, the conquerors, but the truth of the matter is that I didn’t feel free to go through areas populated with Palestinian or Arab Israeli populations. In the settlement that I grew up in there was a mall. Palestinians from the nearby village and even Jordanians that drove for a shopping day were visiting that mall frequently. Never in my lifetime, not even once, was there any hostility towards them. They were coming into town and except for the security check in the entrance there wasn’t anything going on that could cause any friction. I on the other hand would think twice before entering the nearby village. I would think ahead when going on a walk in the hills next to my hometown calculating escape routes and possible surprise attacks. I know it sounds very dramatic on my behalf, but it is the way things are.

This situation led me to photograph the land in Israel from the perspective of the road margins reflecting on my childhood understanding of the areas I grew up in, fantasizing on climbing hills that for my entire life remained out of reach. I am not complaining here just trying to explain how the perception of a land might be shaped by the lack of accessibility and its view from a distance. This is where the greatest similarity, in my view, between Israel and the U.S enters to the equation.

Although I am not driven by fears here, again and again I encounter an invisible fence that limits the landscape’s accessibility; they are the ‘POSTED PRIVATE PROPERTY’ signs. It is the privatization of the land that led me back to the shoulders of the road, observing a landscape that I seen for so many years through pictures and now again I am close but also far. I am not interested in the emotional effect it has on me but rather in the role it plays in the shape of one’s perception.

- You are the also the editor of Float Magazine. Tell us about this endeavor, what the magazine is about and any future plans you might have.

Float was established as a magazine with no funds - we didn’t want money to dictate content and we didn’t want ads. Also we wanted a magazine that mitigates the work of known masters with that of emerging photographers. We don’t have a deadline; we don’t try to play and pretend as if we are some big magazine. Our attempt is to be a critical, serious and alternative to other platforms. We are still trying to figure out who we are and what we offer. I think that our bigger goal - and this is where my bigger partner in crime, Dana Stirling, comes in–is to make a gallery space that is also a library for photography books. We support and welcome people for whom photography is not just a tool but a medium that inspires them.

- Through your work I get the sense of an alternative and subjective documentation of issues past and present. There is a lot of push in creating something new; the after documentary and photojournalism, a push on innovation and the ordinary and cliché, “This has been done before”. I have been pondering for a while the idea that we do have a lot of trends; I fear that we might lack substance. What are your thoughts on this issue?

Trends fetishize the success of certain images and try to replicate the impact of these prototype images. The problem as you mentioned is the lack of substance. Trend is a nice word for other more problematic things - lack of originality, lack of ingenuity, lack of imagination. To be clear I am not talking about the trends that turned into traditions in the old culture where a work of some kind inspired other similar works exploring the same subject matter and shared visual similarities. I am referring to trends that are viral, that are at the surface layer imitated by appearances with no meaning attached. There is nothing underneath the surface of these trends, and it equals the use of the word “like” as a substance for many words and many feelings.

In the creative world there is always a tension between the new and the old - the success of the old burdens, those who produce currently, and if they choose in making something new the burden is the fear of failing in a new path. But there is no such thing as new, because nothing we create is separated from the world we experience prior to our own work. It seems that for some, making something that doesn’t look like anything - amorphic, chaotic, alien, abstract - they reach the realms of the promised new, as if they uncover the unseen.

It is funny to refer to physics, but ‘nothing’ always exists in comparison with ‘something’. The unfamiliar is dependent on the familiar. Something only appears to be new because we compare it to what already exists, or simply because we forgot it already existed. It is arrogant to think that we can transcend the world that we are part of. I see a great problem in the viral trend because usually things that are easy to adopt and adapt are temporary and superficial - too easy - they don’t attempt to explore beneath the immediate surface.

If everybody creates no one listens. If everyone makes the same thing, we become one dimensional. We are limited and cannot be aware of everything that is simultaneously being made to make an impression on our perception. The viral trend throws critical thinking out of the window. It turns us into an army of zombies doing mob justice to the visual form. We can be a complex society with many virtues or we can be a herd that craves for attention. The turn of the camera towards the self, and the rise of the selfie clarifies that people are in denial of the existence of the fabric of society - the whole that is greater than the sum of its parts. When we put ourselves in the center society crumbles, culture crumbles, because our uniqueness should contribute to the greater good, the selfie is empty of content.

Now to tackle the “this has been done before”, the great wall. To solve this equation simply - what we think we are recreating that has been done before is revisioned when made in the present. Because time marches forward we constantly forget the past and misunderstand the context in which things happened and created. There is a great deal of importance to explore, which questions the conclusions of the past. We make something again just to realize its importance in leading us to a present moment and to understand that we can never really make the same thing as before.

- What photographers have inspired and what motivates you to produce work on a regular basis?

Different photographers inspired me for many different and wonderful reasons - Josef Kudelka for his complete control over transforming the world using a camera; David Levinthal that turned the camera to be a projection of a child’s imaginative brain, and later using the same vision for darker subjects; Andrew L Moore that I have the privilege working with that taught me how architecture of interiors and exteriors can unfold into immersive photographs, and how to capture all the details of a grand structure paying respect to the time that left its marks; Lynn Cohen with her “deceptively quiet” images of interiors that make you think - how the hell did she manage to find and document these places; and lastly Robert Capa with his falling soldier photograph that so many years later we are still debating its realness.

My motivation usually is collision of thoughts. I am usually unprepared for an idea for a photograph, at least when it comes to down to my miniatures. I need things to happen, to see places, to hear voices. I need to be upset by something - usually anger is the thing that triggers my greatest inspiration for making Art. I also like working on certain things that do not fit in any body of work and are not part of a series. I strongly resist the requirements that photographs should be part of a series to make a statement. If something inspires me to make a comment unrelated to anything else I am working on I will be very motivated to pursue it.

- What advice would you give to students and emerging photographers in order to create a successful body of work?

Look at the works that inspire you the most, think of how much you appreciate the different great aspects of great works of art - the quality, the context, the reasoning, the historical importance, the commitment in which they were made. Ask yourself if what you make can stand up to these standards. You cannot afford making mediocre work. Be self-critical, be prepared to change direction and don’t write your thesis down before making the work itself. You don’t have to make something like other people do just because it is trend - be true to your own experience of life - the work should be a projection of how you interpret the world that we cannot do the same.

- Do you find purpose in social media and sharing your work for exposure together with a pastiche of unrelated imagery, and how do you go about promoting your work, considering a very dense marketplace especially in NYC?

There is no right answer to that. The marketplace in NYC is not only dense it is charged with so many different interests - it is a jungle of obstacles. I had some close calls on being represented by a Chelsea gallery, and it all fell apart for the fact my work is considered “too dark” - there is nothing I can change to fix this problem. I define my goals based on the reasons I make my work. I don’t care about the money, I don’t see the photographs as a currency, and I wouldn’t care if I sell any more work to the end of my life. The only thing I want is to show a printed photograph of mine to as many people as I can, and make an impression on their perception. I want to be there for every person who sees my work and have a dialogue - they might argue against it, and if that happens they will probably teach me something new, but if I can give back to the culture I live in I will consider my work as a success. For now I am putting my work on social media, knowing that they immediately disappear in an ocean of selfies, brunches, and other body parts, but for the future I might leave social media simply because it doesn’t seem that anyone truly communicates anything. I am uninspired to share my part in making photography into nonsense.

- What is your opinion on the current state of American Photography both in historical and contemporary terms, and do you believe there is adequate criticism in our field? Yes there were no blogs when John Szarkowski was around, and now for better or for worse everyone writes and analyzes, but... Thoughts?

Now everybody ‘like’s” photography. It seems that museums and galleries are confused by popularity, and popularity defines a work’s worth. I personally believe that there are gifted people that can deeply analyze and critique work, and others that can deeply understand the contextual and historical importance of certain photographers and their works, and those make wonderful curators. Instead of bashing many and use examples of the worse I will mention two of those who I greatly appreciate - Maurice Berger that curated an amazing exhibition about CBS at the Jewish Museum, and which is a sharp critique of the involvement of money in promotion of art in museums and art galleries, and Joel Smith who curated last year’s show of Emmet Gowin’s work at the Morgan Library. These two definitely have the credentials to critique and analyze deeply.

What I see online is a pursue for popularity. Maybe in the past the club of John Szarkowski was too exclusive, but it seems that the majority of write-ups on photography are superficial. Photographers and critics claim that photographs do literally what their caption and description claim they are out to do - for me it is too simplistic. I won’t get anymore specific than that because actual criticism and freedom of thought is not that welcomed in our field.

http://www.yoavfriedlander.com

Interview: Amanda Tinker

- Your work blends the historical component with a contemporary approach, which feels intuitive in execution as well as constructive and planned. How important are the historical and contemporary practices to your work?.

Because I teach the history of photography, from the early conception to contemporary practice, the places I draw inspiration from run the gamut and may explain why the work seems to reference both the historical and the contemporary at once. I do more than just acknowledge historical practices and ideas. I revel in them. I am captivated by the darkly romantic Victorian era in particular. But beyond that, these old processes and references can become a foil for dealing with a whole range of contemporary concerns in a subversive way.

- You work with alternative processes and at times the images feel layered. Can you talk about this decision and what you have learned from this intricate way of working? Additionally, is there any digital application to finalize the image?

I think the layering or handwork involved in the making of many of these images is an approach I developed pretty early on. I couldn't help but to be physically involved in the process of making an image from altering negatives, to building little sets, to hand coating chemistry on paper etc. The more intricate images, such as the silhouettes in Small Animal, evolved over time to incorporate human figures, animals, insects, foliage and flowers that are both real and paper replicas. They are meant to feel like self-contained worlds or dioramas suggesting little dramas of the natural world.

I have begun to incorporate digital negatives that can be combined with non-silver printing techniques into my work. However, I feel it’s important that the technique should be married to the subject matter and, for now, I haven’t found a meaningful role yet for the digital component.

- Looking at your work, there is a very personal and poetic motif and although each project is different, they feel organically connected and psychologically enforced. What is your process and concept in shaping these works?

Many of these projects have begun with a single image, formed in my head, that I sit with for a while until it becomes like an irritant. Then I have to make the image and then more images like it. For example, the small salt prints in To a Stranger evolved from the idea to photograph a figure with a head that was like a loaf of bread. It was so strange that I just had to make it. I did, and then others followed. Once a few images are made I try to figure out what a project might be about and how to describe it. The common threads in many of these projects are home and the natural world; two bookends that I use to investigate what, in large measure, shapes me as an individual.

- When you are thinking about a new project, are you interested in working within a familiar space that derives from life experiences and events, or from external influences? How important this is in delivering a seminal body of work?

My approach has certainly changed as I have grown. I have three young children and spend a great deal of time with them, so naturally I am impacted by my circumstances. I have made work at home for the last 10 years. I find the limitation, for lack of a better word, comforting because it's a given. I am creative in that I can always make work that references another time or even place. I always try to deal with new questions that may be disquieting or unfamiliar even in this predictable environment.

- Besides working on personal projects you are also an educator; how do you find balance between the two?

Its fascinating to be teaching photography right now, even though the field is changing; maybe because the field is changing so rapidly. I teach historical practices, history and theory and even in those areas I am constantly updating my approach and what I teach. I find the balance between teaching and art making to be grueling at times, maybe because I have kids, but it’s also invigorating. My students really inspire me to be at my best and to be constantly looking at the world with the aim of discovering something new.

- Who is the photographer/s that have influenced you the most from the history of photography, and why?

One constant source of inspiration for me has been 19th century American portraiture and the studio as site of performance. Studio portraiture evolved with a growing middle class in the U.S. and consumers of these portraits found inventive ways to define their values photographically. What one wore, how one did their hair, what objects were brought to a sitting all were matters to be deliberated. Details that feel somewhat mysterious or symbolic to us as we view these in a contemporary context make these images bewitching.

- Amidst a noisy and dense visual community, how do you promote your work, and do you think it’s productive for an artist to participate in the constant and frantic upload of imagery on social media?

I try to promote my work currently through local connections with curators and colleagues and through juried exhibitions. I have not found a good use yet for promoting my work via social media and don't really feel the pressure to constantly update my work on those forums.

- There is suspension and departure from the sole representation of subject matter in your work. Your images are highly aesthetic, but at the same time extend the conversation beyond the confines of the frame, making them more universal. Overall, how essential are these qualities for a photograph to be successful? Despite the genre one works in, there is a tendency of photographs becoming the mere collector of things.

For me it’s important that the work add up to something in the end. I try to make images that are beautiful and that, if I’ve done my job, people will want to look at, but there is always a larger motivation that I hope is accessible to those same viewers. In the work that deals with family there are questions about love, loss and legacy and what we pass down to our children. In the work that deals with nature I am always interested in what I see as a kind of contemporary ambivalence towards nature. The silhouettes are meant to talk about a relationship between humans and nature that is both symbiotic and embattled.

- What advice would you give to students and emerging photographers in order to create a successful body of work?

Hard work is a given, but beyond that I try to encourage students to look at a lot of work, to know what's been done already and to hone the craft. When I get stuck on a project, I keep working through it – I work even harder and try to look at that project from an oblique angle in my mind’s eye – what am I missing and how might my subject be approached differently?

- What is your opinion on the current state of American Photography?

The thing that I find exciting is how fluid and accessible images are in the digital realm. The sheer wealth of images can be overwhelming, but if your investigation is purposeful, the access to other great images is incredible. The thing that I find disconcerting is that the condition of photographs as physical objects out in the world is becoming more fragile with each passing year. I am still trying to make the thing that can’t be duplicated and that only lives as an object with physical presence in the world.

http://amandatinker.com/home.html

Interview: Dimitri Mellos

- A Greek in New York City is by itself the ingredient to start this conversation. Can you talk a little on the cultural divide between Greece and New York and how that had shaped and influenced your visual sensibilities and personality.

It’s an interesting question. As a street photographer, one of the cultural differences that stand out is the fact that New Yorkers tend to be much more nonchalant about being photographed on the street than Greeks are. Greeks tend to be quite suspicious of photographers, and very vocal in their protestations if they don’t like what you’re doing, and this makes the work of the street photographer especially challenging there. However, to answer this question on a more substantive level: my own position as an immigrant and foreigner, and therefore a de facto outsider of sorts, ties very well with my identity and practice as a street photographer. The street photographer is a “participant outsider” par excellence, and this is paralleled in my own hybrid cultural identity, my position of suspended animation between two cultures, partially at home in both but not completely at home in either. In that way, I believe that my status as a transplant in New York has fostered my photographic work, also, not least, because photography has been a way for me to appropriate my adopted home and truly make it my own. It’s ironic that I probably know the streets of New York better than most native New Yorkers, thanks to my photographic peregrinations.

- I feel in your "I speak of the city" and "imagined communities" projects a connecting thread representing a personal struggle on the former and the desire to assimilate on the later. Can you comment briefly about these two projects?

Well, I am not sure about the personal struggle aspect… but perhaps my previous comment speaks to this. New York made me a street photographer – not only because part of my agenda, when coming to this city, had been to try and walk in the footsteps (literally and metaphorically) of the great New York street photographers that I admired; but also because, by transplanting myself to a new place, all of a sudden I was seeing the world with new eyes – I was hungry to look and see. So definitely my more “pure” street photography, as exemplified in the “I speak of the city” project, also entails an element of coming to feel at home in a new place, appropriating the city and making a home in it through photography. The “imagined communities” project has to do with the parades, street fairs, etc. of New York’s multiplicity of ethnicities and communities. I think what intrigues me about these celebrations of cultural identity is the fact that all these communities are very invested in, and proud of, their cultural uniqueness, but at the same time they all share the identity of being New Yorkers and Americans – it’s a fine balance, rather than a straightforward desire to fully assimilate. Likewise, on a personal level, these public displays of culture speak to me because they express this desire to find a new, composite identity, rather than blindly assimilate.

- We both share the unique experience of photographing both in Greece and the States. Is there an emotional component significant to your visual language, and your approach when working in New York or Greece? Aesthetically, I see a significant difference. Please talk a little about that.

On a practical level, as mentioned earlier, it is somewhat easier to do street photography in New York (not that street photography is ever easy, but at least in New York it’s possible – in Greece, it often seems altogether impossible, because people tend to get quite suspicious and edgy when they see a stranger with a camera). This is one reason that I have not done much urban street photography in Greece. Another reason is that I really became a photographer after moving to New York – I have not spent enough time in Greece as a photographer, apart from short trips, to have been able to pursue street photography more intensively there. So, part of the reason my themes have been different in New York and Greece has to do with these more superficial parameters. During vacations in Greece I have tended to travel more in the countryside, and consequently I have photographed more in rural areas. Part of this was a by-product of the fact that I go back to Greece on vacation, but part of it was a conscious choice, a desire to re-connect with the country I grew up in, to discover and rediscover it through photography. As for the visual language, I think the differences arise organically, in response to the subject matter and my own emotions. In a way, form follows content. Thus, my landscape photos from Greece tend to evoke something more static but also more serene, and also a sense of melancholy and nostalgia. These elements, mirrored in the form of the photos as much as in their content, are certainly there in the landscape itself, but perhaps also partly projected onto it by me.

- New York City has been photographed in depth by so many photographers. Do you think there is something missing from the immense archive? Also, what are some of the difficulties you have encountered while photographing in the Big Apple, and how do you overcome the cliche in order to produce a body of work that is distinct both in style and personal vision?

Well, that is precisely the challenge in photographing New York. It’s an immensely interesting place for a street photographer, but the flip side of this is precisely that it has been photographed so much already, so it is very challenging to add something interesting and original to that archive and visual language. I am not sure whether something is missing from it, but I guess my photographing is a way of trying to find out. In a sense, there is nothing new under the sun, as the saying goes – but, at the same time, everything is always new, the world renews itself every moment, so there is always an incentive to keep looking. As for how I overcome clichés, I am not sure I could answer this question in words – if I occasionally do, my photographs themselves provide a better answer. I am not evading the question – I genuinely don’t know how it’s done. Every good photograph is a miracle, as Koudelka so aptly put it. Obviously, with time and hard work I have started developing a personal style, but this is something that has emerged organically and unconsciously, not something that I chose programmatically – so it would be hard to put it into words, as it is not the result of following a clearly-defined set of rules; it is not painting-by-numbers.

- Where do you find inspiration for your work and is your background in psychology an important component to your work, and why?

There is no better inspiration that just keeping one’s eyes open (not just literally, but metaphorically – being interested in, and fascinated by, the world). Inspiration comes from outside, at least in my case. As far as my background in psychology is concerned, it definitely does not inform my photography in any intentional or conscious way. However, I would say that my involvement in both psychology and photography share some common sources; they both spring from certain characteristics of my personality that inform and motivate both endeavors – primarily an interest in the outside world and the lives of others, a respectful and limitless curiosity, and a desire to connect with what lies outside myself.

- What is your intent in communicating the work with the public?

To become really rich and famous, of course – what else?! Joking aside, naturally there is an element of pride and personal satisfaction when one’s work resonates with other people – it’s also nice to receive some outside confirmation that the work is good, so you know you’re not delusional when you think so yourself! But the main reason is that, for me, the whole point about photography is affirming and celebrating the real world as it is; street photography in particular is about noticing what is around us in our everyday reality, and distilling the magic and the poetry out of the mundane. Many people, for whatever reason, seem to be pretty oblivious to their surroundings, especially so now, when everyone seems to be glued to their smartphone screens all the time. So my intent in showing my work is to inspire people to keep their eyes open, to pay attention to the world around them. I like a quote from Sherlock Holmes: “I see no more than you do, but I’ve trained myself to notice what I see.” I want to inspire people to train themselves likewise.

- Your photographs stand on their own but also work as part of a broader narrative. Are you interested in the nuances of the single image or a more linear narrative?

Well, primarily I am interested in strong single images. After all, every photo narrative, no matter how extensive, starts with one individual image. Of course, it also depends on my agenda and intent at any given time. So, if I am working on a specific documentary project, the emphasis will be on a story, a more linear kind of narrative. Having said that, even in terms of my personal work (for example the street work), I am definitely interested in building up sets of pictures that stand together as a whole, and that may be more than the sum of the individual photos. But my working method is to allow my work to dictate these thematic sets or projects; I prefer my projects to emerge organically and almost accidentally out of strong individual photos. By this I mean that I don’t usually set out with a plan to start photographing a particular theme; but once I notice in my work that there are thematic or stylistic elements that could bring certain photos together so as to form a coherent set, I may then start being a little more on the lookout for new photos that would fit well with that theme. Ultimately, however, in my work happenstance and serendipity rule – what kind of photos I come up with, and whether they cohere to form a narrative, are matters that are, at the end of the day, always dictated by the outside world.

- What are your thoughts on the mindset of creating something "new" in the field of photography - specifically street photography and documentary?

This is a very important and difficult question, and the answer will have to be somewhat complicated. I’m not really interested in creating anything “new” as such. What I mean by that is that I am not interested in novelty for novelty’s sake. It seems nowadays as if novelty is sometimes considered the highest artistic value, trumping all others. That is certainly the case with a lot of contemporary visual art and conceptual art. And often, novelty is also equated with shock value. I find that sort of novelty kind of cheap and too easy, and in fact condescending to the audience. So in terms of my own work, I am not interested in making a name for myself by creating a radically new style. I am a traditionalist. I consider my work to be part of a long photographic tradition, and that means that I aspire to incrementally build on what came before, and hopefully add my own small contribution to the canon of street photography. But I believe this could only happen in the context of a dialogue with my predecessors (and contemporaries), and dialogue implies a give-and-take, not a radical displacement of the past. In other words, I sincerely hope that my work may be seen as adding something to the tradition of street photography, but whatever that may be will have to emerge gradually and discreetly. On another level, though, every photograph is something radically new – a never-to-be-repeated moment of life. This is especially so in the case of street photography, since the street photographer has absolutely no control over the flow of life he observes and photographs - the moment is always gone so quickly. As Koudelka said, every good photo is a miracle.

- Do you believe the criticism in contemporary photography today is adequate and how important do you think this is for the development of the medium and its historical trajectory?

I don’t really feel qualified to answer this question, as I feel I don’t have enough time to keep up with enough of contemporary photography and, even more so, contemporary criticism. Especially with the limitless availability of stuff online, I think it’s easy to fall into a rabbit hole of looking at photos or reading about photography instead of spending enough time photographing, so I have to prioritize. Having said that, based on my limited exposure to what’s being written and discussed, I feel that occasionally (especially nowadays, due to the echo-chamber effect of the web and social media) critical taste becomes a matter of fashion rather than independent, discerning thinking. Especially in the domain of street photography, I feel that a lot of what is touted as successful contemporary street photography actually does a disservice to the genre and its history. I say this in full knowledge that, in doing so, I readily expose myself to the danger of being diagnosed with a case of sour grapes. So be it – I am confident enough of my own work and critical thinking to be willing to take that risk.

- What advise would you give to students and emerging photographers especially those interested in street photography?

My advice would be very simple – keep your eyes open, walk around, and work, work, work. Be interested in the world, not in yourself.

- What is your opinion on the current state of American Photography?

Again, I don’t feel qualified enough to answer this question. Obviously, there is a lot of interesting work being created, but I hardly manage to keep up. I think the advent of digital has been a mixed blessing, as it has become incredibly easy to produce huge amounts of photos, and this cornucopia of images sometimes dulls people’s sensitivity. Also, I get the impression that what’s in vogue these days is mostly conceptual work, or work emphasizing the photographer’s inner world or the microcosm of their friends and family, at the expense of the outer world, our common reality. I am not very interested in that – I prize photography as a means of expanding one’s horizons, rather than engaging in artistic navel-gazing. I feel quite lonely in this artistic context, as my work is decidedly (and not accidentally) old-fashioned – but to each his own.

http://www.dimitrimellos.com/

Interview: Jennifer McClure

- Overall your work encompasses a coherent theme and a particular tone. Can you talk a little about the nuances of you work?

I only recently realized that there is a consistent theme in my work. I don’t set out to make similar types of stories. I start a project because I have something that nags at my brain and my heart, a question that keeps me up at night. Apparently, I think a lot about how we connect as human beings--about what it means to be alone and what it takes to be with someone else.

- Primarily your work concentrates on self-portraits. I find very interesting the fact that although you are photographing yourself, it feels that you are documenting the life of another person. Elements of fiction and reality are present but also an emotional extensive narrative. Can you talk a little about story, and execution of those portraits? What is the level of difficultly when going beyond the standard self-representation?

When I’m doing self-portraits, I always have to imagine a narrative. If I try to shoot without one, the portraits seem boring to me. The character is always based on my self and my experiences, but there is definitely a separation that has to occur when one is both the subject and the artist. I find myself thinking about “her” and where “she” needs to be in the frame. I set up the beginning of the story but I never know where it will go. I have to shoot through all the expected and clichéd plot progressions and then the real ideas start to come. And that’s the exciting part, to see where we all end up. Sometimes that never happens. I have many, many shoots that weren’t able to go beyond the standard.

- Is there a connection, or progression between “Laws of Silence” and “You Who Never Arrived” and the “Singles” series? I think there is definitely a consistent aesthetic approach in all of these projects. How important are the aesthetics of your work in delivering your message and why?

“You Who Never Arrived” is an exploration of my failed relationships. I thought I would find out what was wrong with all the men I dated, and of course I realized that I was the reason I had never been in a long-term relationship. “Laws of Silence” looks at why I have so much fear about making such a connection and whether the pressure to be in a relationship came from an actual desire or an internalized expectation. The Singles Series (so far) seems to be about acceptance as well as really examining all of the excuses we use to avoid putting ourselves out there. I don’t intentionally use aesthetics to convey the message. I only know that I like dramatic, cinematic lighting and not too much clutter in the frame, which does give all the projects some consistency.

- Is ‘Singles” inspired or connected from any of your previous projects? I ask this because in one of your previous projects you are investigating your own past relationships and single status at that time, and in “Singles” you are delving into the relationship status of stranger.

The Singles are definitely inspired by the others. I might never get married and I wanted to look at all sides of that situation. I want to see people who are happily single and people who never give up. All of the stories are fascinating. And sometimes I can only realize that something I say to myself is a little off base when I hear someone else say the same thing out loud. I’m learning how to be much nicer to myself.

- How difficult it was to find singles to photograph and are the subjects strangers or people you know? Please talk about the process and the interaction between you and then in delivering such an emotional body of work?

It’s very hard to find singles. I do both strangers and friends. I get a lot of rejections, which doesn’t bother me. There are dark times where I tell myself that the reason I’m single is because I’m inherently unlovable, and I don’t think I’m alone in that. I’m not sure I could meet with someone and be honest about my insecurities and then make a portrait. I’m always blown away when someone agrees to this. I definitely have an easier time when people are solid and positive about being single. But then again, I think all of our feelings change about the situation on any given day. It’s a spectrum of emotions, and probably the same spectrum that people in relationships are feeling. I have to be careful not to impose a point of view on someone. I really try to make each shot a collaboration. We talk ahead of time about how people feel about their situation and come up with a concept together. And we actually spend most of the time talking, not so much shooting. I think it helps for people to have the subject on their minds, and then the emotions show in their body language and their expressions. I don’t give a ton of direction, but I do try to find the right setting and light to fit the mood.

- There is a contemporary trend in thematic work that concentrates on the meaning behind the work deprived of any aesthetic considerations. Your work is ingrained both with aesthetic qualities and meaning that I believe makes it utterly successful. What is your opinion on the current trend?

Meaning is very important, especially when we are so inundated with images these days. Digital photography makes taking a technically perfect and beautiful photograph much easier for everyone. And if a photo is not perfect right away, we can filter and manipulate it until it is. Some aesthetically gorgeous photographs leave me cold, though I appreciate the effort behind them. Other photos become better to me when I know the story behind them. I like to know that a photographer is thinking on a level that goes beyond visually pleasing. I love smart conceptual photographs, ones that I think about long after I’ve stopped looking at them.

- Your images, like life, are very poetic, dreamy and feel as they are inspired by literature. Is reading an important constituent in your collective work?

Absolutely. I love poetry and short stories. I love the craft involved in conveying powerful emotions in shorter forms. It’s not easy. Sometimes one sentence or phrase can give form to something that’s been circling in my brain for months. I don’t consciously try to make that happen in my photographs, but every now and then it does.

- Where do you find inspiration for your work and who is your favorite photographer and why?

I watch a lot of movies. I also watch a lot of series these days, because the lighting in shows like “Mad Men” and “Boardwalk Empire” is phenomenal. The emotional inspiration usually comes from something that’s happening in my own life, but I take visual cues from great directors. I wouldn’t be able to pick one favorite at all. The photographers who first inspired me to take pictures were Nan Goldin, Cindy Sherman, Carrie Mae Weems and Diane Arbus. They were all able to imply a story that was happening just outside the frame.

- What advise would you give to students and emerging photographers in order to create a successful body of work?

I would tell them to follow their hearts when making a body of work. We’re all curious about something, and we all have passions and obsessions. Make a project about those. And be prepared to learn something, to find something new. I was a TA for Amy Arbus for a while, and she would tell her students that if the project turned out exactly the way they thought it would, then they had failed. Something unexpected has to happen. I wholeheartedly agree. It’s so important to be open throughout the course of a project, to give up some control.

- What is your opinion on the current state of American Photography and the work that is promoted by photography dedicated platforms and social media?

I think we’re at a very interesting time in photography. Conceptual photography is really taking off. Many people are making photographs that are mostly about physical and digital constructions, and the actual print is just an artifact. At the same time, many people are using old techniques in new ways that are still very much about process and creating unique physical objects. And then there are documentary photographers and photojournalists who are required to really flex their artistic muscles in order to stand out from a crowd of cell phone observers. In the end, I think the best photography is still about telling a good story. There are so many photography platforms available for promoting all of these different kinds of work. People have to do research and be persistent about getting their work on the right platforms. We make the work we have to make and worry later about where it goes. Everything has a place.

http://www.jennifermcclure.com

Interview: Mike Froio

- You have been working on the Railroad project for approximately ten years. Can you please discuss the nature of the project from its inception to its current state.

When I started the project From the Mainline, I was looking for something that connected a number of different personal interests, something big that I could dive into in phases and that would provide a sort of long-term return creatively. The railroad is what initially led me to pick up a camera, I wanted to get back to the subject but not in the sense of the trains themselves, I instead wanted to focus on the surviving infrastructure and landscape. I chose the Pennsylvania Railroad (PRR) because of its historical significance and the amount of surviving elements that would provide visual clues to juxtapose its past and current importance. My initial approach was pretty simple, go out and follow the railroad between Harrisburg and Pittsburgh exploring the railroad right of way and the places the railroad served.

Between trips I took a lot of time to look at the work and figure out what was missing, what the project needed to convey the scale and significance of the PRR. I turned to the historical work of William H. Rau, a commercial photographer who was commissioned in the 1890s by the PRR to illustrate the railroad for marketing purposes. The work really struck me on both a technical and conceptual level. Here you had a photographer who was looking at the pinnacle of transportation and engineering utilizing a medium that was also coming into its own. Photographing a railroad that spanned the wilds of western PA, a corridor of modernity that was the lifeline for industry and people alike, an engineered landscape very different from its surroundings. It was Rau’s work and others like him that enlightened me to just how significant the railroad was, not just in the sense of the their engineering accomplishments but also how towns and industry flourished because of the railroad’s presence. In addition to Rau the writing of Harvard Landscape Studies professor John Stilgoe helped to better understand the physical, cultural and social impact the railroads had, and how to sort of recognize these attributes in my own work. From this research my approach became more informed, thus did the work. I was beginning to realize my photographs along with writing and historical resources could do a more effective job in telling the story of the railroad and the towns it served. It was the story of America’s rise in the industrial revolution, developing the east and concurring the west. My role is to illustrate and disseminate the layers of history along this engineered landscape. Utilizing both the exhibition format and a more in depth blog format allows the work to be both creative and historically informative, something that really appeals to my creative approach. Like the photographers before me who were hired to document the American scene, I continue a tradition in celebrating one of the most important transportation networks in the United States and how it remains a different but vital part of the American landscape.

- There is a consistency in the aesthetic decisions and a timeless quality in the work. Can you talk briefly about your concept behind those aesthetic decisions?

Photography is great medium in that for me it is still part science, part creativity and make no mistake about it, the two are closely related. I typically work with a view camera, which lends itself to a slow methodical way of making pictures. The process, from lens selection, composition, exposure, development, scans and print is all very intuitive, very intentional. Recently I have introduced digital capture into the mix and even that is treated the same way. I have preferences in what light I like to work in, though sometimes beggars can’t be choosers, when you are 100 miles from home and railroad officials have committed to you for the day you have to make due with what you’re given. Being a good photographer means knowing the limits of your materials and how to manipulate what you have to get it to fit your visual aesthetic. I prefer black and white, I tend to print a little dark and a little flat, I like my work to be void of people, not because I don’t like them, but really because its about the timeless quality of these landscapes. The hand of industry and the railroads is implied, it doesn’t always need to be seen.

- I find in the mood and testimony of the photographs a link to the current industrial situation in small town America. Is there a connection towards that territory or is the project strictly based on the documentation of the PRR?

Like many other photographers in this genre I am not trying to make a political statement I am simply conveying the information to the viewer (though that sounds a bit oversimplified). Yes the work is about the railroad, but if you don’t connect it to the landscape it travels and the industry it serves or once served you are missing the point. The landscape and the railroad developed for two reasons, need and opportunity, there is a very important relationship between the two, and when industry or the railroad left small towns, it brought despair, hardship and wave of social and economical issues.

I was in Mingo Junction, Ohio on a trip once, home to a massive Wheeling-Pitt steel plant and part of the PRR mainline to St Louis. I stopped to ask a gas station attendant if I could use the property to make a photograph of the mill, his reply was, “take all the pictures you want, the mill just closed yesterday, over 500 people are without jobs now”. I haven’t been back since, but I bet its different, I bet its pretty sad, but you know what, I’ve been to the towns where the mill still works, its not much different these days, the culture has changed. The owners of these mills are often international corporations, they aren’t building communities to attract employees anymore, and they are barely treading water to stay alive in cutthroat markets. In the ten years I have been doing this I have seen whole neighborhoods disappear, mills close, even rail lines abandoned, its part of the life cycle and unfortunately some parts of the country suffer from it more while others are insulated from just how bad it gets when the jobs leave town. The railroad is literally the string that threads together modern economies and those of the past, its an essential part to understanding the importance and heritage of these places and one of biggest reasons I embarked on this project.

- From where do you derive inspiration for your work and what are some of the difficulties working on a project of such a large scale?

My inspiration comes from a number of sources. Photographically I can ramble off a dozen or more photographers: Walker Evans, Frank Gohlke, David Plowden, William Clift, William Rau, Carleton Watkins… the list goes on. But I also draw inspiration from the virtually nameless photographers, illustrators and graphic artists who worked for the railroads at various capacities. Graphic artists that captivated the fascination of potential travelers in brilliant full color adds, illustrators that sold albums of lithographs highlighting scenic vistas along the mainline. Company photographers who were the day-to-day people chronicling the less than glamorous life of small towns and railroad construction and maintenance, anonymous photos of natural disasters and even the occasional train wreck. They captured the energy, excitement and details of life along the line; for this project it is often the historical imagery that feeds the creative imagination.

As far as working on a large-scale project, I don’t see any issues to it; it’s like a long-term investment. In this day and age people have such a short attention span I often wonder if I am shooting myself in the foot, but our quest in life is to do something you enjoy and be excited about right? Well, guess what… I still am after 10 years. When I am not excited anymore, I’ll stop and move on, but honestly with the depth of history of the PRR and the landscape it travels I don’t see myself loosing interest anytime soon. For me its not just about making art, it’s about preservation and that is not always something that happens overnight.

- What are your intentions in communicating the work with the public and how do you promote and distinguish your work among a dense photographic community?

While I target the photographic community, most of my aim is toward a larger audience. I accomplish this through the usual mix of social media, email campaigns, and networking. Last year I had the opportunity to put together an exhibition for the Monmouth Museum in Lincroft, NJ, a sort of a visual history of the last 100 years of railroading. It was great to put my work in the context of some the photographers in my top ten list of all time favorites, it was also fun to put together a show that had a level of visual sophistication that transcended a show of just a bunch of “train pictures” as some people would dismiss it as.

I try to distinguish my work as being creative but also historically minded. I haven’t seen too many people with the level of commitment to a subject like this who have the balance between a good photographic and historical aesthetic, but as you said this is very saturated market. I am certainly not the only one reinventing the wheel.

- How is the work received among the preservation community, considering the historical component?

In the historical field abroad the work has been received with open arms, and I am forever grateful for that. These are people that have worked so hard to preserve so many facets of the late Pennsylvania Railroad and many others, some even worked from the railroads at one point or another. I was born 8 years after the company’s demise; I am just going on imagination and my visual ability to present historical facts and images along side my own perception of the railroad. To me the recognition from the historical community is more important and far more gratifying than making it big in the art world, it’s a diverse group of people who never cease to amaze me with their generosity, intellect and conversation.

- What is your advice to students and emerging photographers?

Don’t let a rejection set you back, present yourself as a professional and work as such. Even if it’s an assignment that doesn’t peak your personal interest dive into it head on, you might learn something. If you want to work in the field or be successful stick to your passion and always look to different mediums to expand your outlook on a given subject.

- What is your opinion on the current state of American Photography, and the work that is promoted by photography dedicated platforms and social media nowadays?

I think it’s the same as it was 100 years ago. There are a lot of talented photographers out there, some rise to the top, some stay in the middle and others go unknown. The difference today is technology has leveled the playing field to a certain degree, but in reality, if you want to be successful you need to be visually literate and able to convey an idea in your own creative and unique way. That goes for creative or commercial work. Social media floods us with visual resources day in and day out, most of its crap, a few get lucky, but you can always pick out the professionals in their imagery, composition and professionalism.

http://michaelfroio.com