Philosophy: Pay Attention
An unauthorized photograph
I was wandering through the furthest end of the public skyway system downtown when a voice came on from an unseen speaker questioning me, and later chastising me for taking pictures. This was after being chased away from an enclosed mall for taking pictures of shop fronts. You can’t take pictures here!
I’m very interested in the issues surrounding photography in public places, and this latest instance of photographic prohibition is not a civic/governmental intrusion, but rather a power-play by a small time security company. I have no compelling need to photograph in the skyway system, but it bothers me that this avenue of examining things might be closed off. Unlike the subject of the linked article, I was chased down by three guards and interrogated— for taking pictures nowhere near the new stadium. To his credit, the senior guard sent the other two away and seemed to sense the ridiculousness of the prohibition. He told me precisely where to go to obtain a "permit" to photograph.
I think that one of the most powerful things that photography can do is allow us to examine things that flow past all too quickly as we go about our daily lives. I wasn’t going to say anything about this relatively inconsequential prohibition, but I was reminded of it when watching a series of videos from Aperture featuring Richard Ross:
Handmade Nation
From the trip to Milwaukee last Thursday/Friday
The weekend before last, I was reading about a benefit for a film called Handmade Nation. As a person with an interest in most things DIY, I made a mental note about it. It was a project conceived by an owner of a shop in Milwaukee called Paper Boat. Though the project is in progress, it dovetails with my current research obsessions in a profound way. The connections wouldn’t really be apparent to most people not inside my head.
My interest in Henry Hamilton Bennett and the Wisconsin Dells doesn’t have anything to do with the hype surrounding him as a “pioneer photographer.” It has to do with his copious records of the circumstances surrounding his photographic gallery. He was a small town artist, struggling to make a buck as technological and social circumstances changed at the turn of the century. He was only one of thousands. It’s hard to estimate how many artists struggled to profit from newly opened local markets during the settlement of the American West. We have often been, to a large extent, a handmade nation.
Farmer's Market
Coffee Nazis
At a coffee shop in Silverlake, CA, waiting for my iced cappuccino
"No modifications to the Classic Cappuccino. No questions will be answered about the $5 Hot Chocolate (during the months we offer it). No espresso in a to-go cup. No espresso over ice. These are our policies. We have our reasons, and we're happy to share them."
At his cafe yesterday, Cho explained the policy: "The way we do espresso is different than what people are used to. It's a very exacting technique. . . . When you pour it over ice, it creates a certain acidic reaction that makes the drink sour."
He also said some customers have the audacity to order an espresso over ice, then fill the glass with milk at the dairy bar -- creating their own iced latte, at a significant saving.
In his letter on Murky's site, Cho wrote: "To others reading this I will say that if you don't like the policies, I respectfully recommend that you find some other place that will give you what you want, or select something that we can offer you."
Washington Post
I despise coffee nazis. I was frustrated in Seattle by the lack of places serving iced coffee drinks (Starbucks being a notable exception—but I would have liked to try some of the smaller places). I have an espresso machine at home. I make iced cappuccinos (including frothed milk) all the time. But you can’t get that drink anywhere, because, as one particularly snotty barista at a Starbucks once told me—it does not exist. Apart from powdered mixes at the supermarket, I suppose.
But at a little shop in Silverlake, the guy behind the counter went ahead and made me one, in disrespect of all the rules of snob coffee. I felt like taking out an ad—the world didn’t come to an end, the sky didn’t split open just because someone combined steamed and frothed milk with espresso and poured it over ice. Sheesh!
Quick Art
I spent some time a few days ago wandering around in Fridley, MN. It's been hard this year to find things that I enjoy to take the pressure off. The long summer trip went well, but it will always have a sort of bittersweet tinge to it. It's the wandering in man-made spaces that seems to always precipitate relaxing in a way that I can't anywhere else, at least when I'm making or thinking about images. The more absurd the space, the more I enjoy it. Fridley is awesome in that aspect.
Coming Attractions
Stanley Fish’s article in the NYT struck a chord, given the way that I so often “miss” the glory of Shakespeare:
Shakespeare does many voices but identifies with none of them. (His, as Keats said, is a negative capability.) He’s hard to find, as his would-be biographers well know. Milton has many characters, but they all speak with one voice — his. You don’t have look for him; you can’t get away from him. Despite the variety of scenes and genres there’s always just one guy talking to you; the conversation goes on and on and it is a conversation in which, as Barrow first said, everything is at stake. This is a poetry that reads you.
One of my great flaws as a reader is my inability to track massive casts of characters during a story—I’ve always been drawn to lyric, to one voice that sings its own song. Conversation, in my experience, is always more rewarding in small groups rather than massive crowds. Fish continues:
Car Wash
Strange and Wonderful
Krista found this card while we were in California, I think, and gave it to me in celebration of a comment in Art’s seminar on ethics (years ago) from Zoe regarding the particulars of my thought processes (paraphrased): “Your mind is a strange and wonderful place, but for the rest of us can you unpack that a bit?”
It’s difficult to do that, because I most often operate on feelings that tend to make leaps that are impossible to explain or retrace. My friend Kenny gave Krista a copy of his dissertation a couple of days ago, but was really hesitant to let me read it—but it was a huge gift to me. In the first chapter, there was a distillation of his thoughts that brought years of office conversations we had into sharp focus.
We’re both “visual rhetoric” guys that are not interested in interpreting visual artifacts. What we find interesting is the process that allows us to use vision as an epistemic tool for socialization. I have struggled for a long time to come up with a defensible rationale for that path, and Kenny has made a lot of progress not only in exploring it, but also in being able to discuss it. I’m really going to miss him, and will have to get over to visit him at his new home at Case Western.
Aurelio's Pizza
Looking back now, it seems like my impression of the place isn’t much different from Aaron Landry’s. His review is what started me thinking about restaurant reviews in general, because his seemed more straightforward than most: decent background statement, simple choice of standardized menu items, and commentary that was not overly effusive. Nice.
What interested me most about the review was the fact that this was a place less than a mile from my apartment that I had never even heard of. Decent food in Roseville? What a concept! Then we went to the place. We ordered the same sort of thing we usually do—some sort of combination reasonably identifiable as the house pizza. It just plain sucked. The ingredients were less than fresh, the pizza was greasy, and huge chunks of bell peppers (which I detest on pizza) dominated the thing. How could two experiences be so far apart? I didn’t write anything then (months ago).
We vowed to go back, as Krista explained that most real food reviewers eat someplace at least three times before passing judgment. I can’t say that we’ve eaten there three times—just two—but the experiences (caused by our choice of item ordered) are radically different. Landry always orders a simple pepperoni or cheese pizza it seems; the second time, we just ordered a small pepperoni and mushroom.
Average White Band US Tour
"Taste of Minnesota" is pretty bland this year, with not much to talk about. There are pictures, though. I also got around to uploading the short video of November that I shot in Tulsa. The quality is not stellar, but it is fun to save little bits and pieces of things as they go by.
Automatic
We made it back to the Twin Cities around eleven last night after a 14 or so hour drive. It puzzles me that the first thing I wanted to do today was to get back in the car to get the stuff we needed around the house. For some reason, it just seems more natural to be moving instead of sitting still.
But the automatic nature of living here is slowly returning. I found myself taking only a third as much money out of the ATM. Living here is cheaper than being on the road, and there are no ATM fees. If I can just reprogram myself to being still though, it will be easier. The robot videos are apropos of nothing; I’ve just been collecting them for some reason.
