No Pictures Please by Akaky
When I was a young man, a time I like to think of as only yesterday and the calendar likes to tell me wasn’t, I had no suicidal tendencies. Yes, I bumbled my way through the usual raft of silly foibles allotted to the young and hormonally overwhelmed male. There was the time, for example, when, in a fit of dubious self-confidence brought on by a prolonged reading of Mr. Hefner’s philosophy, I hit on our high school’s homecoming queen in the biology lab, not realizing that her boyfriend, a middle linebacker of moderately Brobdingnagian proportions and extremely choleric disposition, stood just around the corner conferring with his fellow jocks on a some matter of great import to them all. He heard my lame attempts to pick up his girlfriend and reacted, as you might imagine, badly. This, in turn, led to the one great athletic accomplishment of my high school years: running from the biology lab on the third floor to the front door and down the street to the bus stop in less than ten seconds despite the best efforts of students and faculty to get in my way. If you were in my path that day, let me take this opportunity to apologize again for knocking you on your ass; the cause was more than sufficient, or at least I thought so. But a foible now and again is one thing; a suicidal tendency is something very different.
I bring the matter up because now, in my near dotage, I have acquired a suicidal tendency. I did not intend to acquire a suicidal tendency; it just arose out of the circumstances, the way that sunrises and syphilis do. The breeding ground for this unwanted and unnatural tendency was photography. I realize that you may find this a bit unbelievable; photography seems such a harmless hobby, like phlebotomy or collecting Bronze Age Hittite harmonicas; but as Hemingway once pointed out, all truly wicked things begin in great innocence. I may be getting that quote wrong, but the one thing of Hemingway’s I can quote accurately, that the rich are different from you and me, they have more money, he didn’t actually say, and since the point of gratuitously tossing in a quote from some great literary figure is to make me look more intelligent and well-read than I really am, I am not going to quote fake Hemingway when I can quote the real one. Be that as it may, Hemingway was right. My grandmother took up quilting afghans late in life and became a fabric fanatic, spending weeks at a time quilting huge afghans with a grim determination that was somewhat unnerving to see. I suspect that she either couldn’t or wouldn’t stop, and so she kept at it, converting tons of wool into brightly colored afghans that no one in the family wanted. I have an attic full of these Afghans now; they are cheaper than fiberglass insulation and they are reasonably polite when they are not plotting jihad all night long. Frankly, I wish they wouldn’t do that; I’d prefer not to come home from work and find my house blasted to splinters by a drone-borne missile, but as they’ve been up there for years, I fear that I am obliged to put up with what I cannot get rid of.
I took up photography in a similar spirit of innocence. It was just a hobby, you see, a simple diversion to help while away what little free time I have. I didn’t expect anything to come of it at all. Yes, I was an innocent then, not knowing the difference between an f-stop and a bus stop, and if I’d given the matter any thought at all I’d probably think that an f-stop was a bus stop in a red light district (it could be—stranger things have happened, you know). In those halcyon days, a Leica was something Chico Marx said to express approval, a Canon was the sum total of the world’s literary masterpieces, and Nikon was the 17th century Russian Orthodox patriarch whose liturgical reforms sparked the religious schism between the Orthodox and the Old Believers. I was very foolish then, very foolish indeed. The camera companies do not tell you that this particular hobby is addictive; if you check carefully, you will note that they do not have to put the potential side effects of their products on the side of the box the way the tobacco companies do. They ought to, just so people will know what they are getting into.
Having acquired a camera, in this case a film point and shoot manufactured by a large Japanese camera company whose name I will not mention here unless they pay me for the endorsement, I immediately began photographing everything in sight, especially my mother’s lilies, a practice I would recommend to any beginner who asks (none has); if you can photograph flowers and pretty girls together then so much the better—the inherent interest of the subject matter will often compensate for any deficiencies in your compositional skills. Most of the photographs I took in this period went beyond the merely amateurish and roared off like a biker with a couple of quarts of Jim Beam under his belt into the realm of the surreally awful, but I kept at it, yes I did, and in time I bought an SLR, so that I could go on creating vast piles of unnecessary landfill at an ever-greater pace. After several years of photographing the local flora and fauna, and becoming bored with them both, I thought that I might change my subject matter, there being, as Fred Astaire tells Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face, no market for pictures of trees. Actually, there is such a market, but if you’re not Ansel Adams, nobody is interested in them. And as Adams had sequoias and I don’t, it occurred to me that I might take pictures of people instead.
A fateful decision, that, for it has led directly to my developing the suicidal tendency (remember those? This piece started with my moaning and groaning about suicidal tendencies. Really, it did; you can go back to the beginning and check) of taking unflattering photographs of women. I don’t mean to take unflattering photographs of women; the pictures just come out that way. I fear that fashion photography will be forever closed to me because of this. Take the photograph above as an example. Despite what you may think based on the evidence I’m presenting here, she is having a very good time, even if this picture makes her look as though I’d just hit her in the eye with a large glob of potato salad. Clearly, no fashionable young woman (and she is a fashionable young woman) wants people to see pictures of them looking as though they are wearing a large eyeful of potato salad as an accessory. It is difficult, at best, to do delicatessen chic properly, and so most women do not try. In short, women tend to object to someone taking really bad photographs of them and they will go to extraordinary lengths to make sure no such photograph ever sees the light of day, and the young woman pictured above will probably object violently if she ever finds out about this. I thought about asking our host here to not publish the photo at all, but in the end I decided to go ahead anyway, even if this means she will have my eyes gouged out with a red-hot fork for my temerity. While I am not looking forward to the inevitable eruption of feminine wrath, I am not prepared to give up photography, although once I am one with Oedipus, I suppose I’ll have to take up some more useful activity, like joining a cult or selling life insurance. I am not looking forward to this, but then, I won’t be looking forward at anything at that point. Such is life, I guess.
Photograph and Text: Akaky
… ok. gotta go to bed… night y’all…
Thank you Mr.Harvey.Thank you for not trying to psyche out the mass audience.
You just put a voice in our mouths… We are out there , everywhere ,reading every day,watching close all the essays , all the comments.Happy Birthday Burn!!!
“Universe”,the whole world is watching!!!
Love u all,
Love your photos!!!
From beautiful Europe.
CIVILIAN MASS AUDIENCE…
Viva Europa!! i am coming now…..
come to meet me in Valencia….Fallas fiesta…red blood, red wine…and FIRE!!!!
cheers, david
Jim,
thats a good question. I guess you were never on the receiving end of a DAH portfolio review. I think, having been in such a position, the best encouragement David can offer is a swift kick in the arse if he really thinks what he is seeing isnt up to scratch. The best thing ever to happen to my own photography was such an awakening it forced me to really get down to the business of distilling what I want to do with my own photography.
MATT:
I guess you (and 95%) of the viewers missed my text at B0nes ;)))))….that IS about BOTH!….i guess i was pre-mature in offering the readership a Text that STANDS BESIDE the pictures…..
have a read of my essay excerpt….the Bones essay is accompanied by at Text i wrote…in fact, i also make text and photos together…for last years’ EPF I wrote and send David a text (which i turned into a small book)…anyway, there for those who wish to read….Ben, a second shot?? ;))))..
and by the way, while i love Akaky’s text (always do) I think it’s perfect because of the strength of this photo too….i swallowed them together…
oh well ;))))
running
b
Jim:
“When I read an essay, I don’t want to be drawn away from the subject of the essay by the essayist’s devices. I want them to remain hidden, pushing the essay forward without raising a neon “this way” sign.”
i am totally in agreement with you here, surprise, surprise. The writing did not draw such “universal praise” by the way. i deliberately steered clear of it in my review of the photograph which i find absolutely nothing to criticize unless i want to nitpick for its own sake and even then..hmm..nah, i just liked it a lot. Then i read the text and realized that it would have distracted me from a genuine and UNIQUE viewing experience. And i said so and i said precisely why. i did not pan the whole essay because Akaky seems to have as much need for written as for visual expression. Which is why i also recommended “The Fat Baby” by Eugene Richards as an example of text and photography that work together seemlessly, imo. However, while self-deprecation is good i think Akaky went a little overboard with his suggestion of potato salad in the eye. He ruined it for me right there. If you sabotage yourself and your work by alluding to what i see as a detracting and distracting visual reference then you deprive me from a genuinely rewarding viewing experience and i go home disappointed.
You continually question this site and it’s aims. And i am gobsmacked how patient DAH is with these repeated challenges. What would you like him to do, post a big banner at the top of the page like “BURN School (or Not) for Emerging or Thinking About Emerging or Those Who Have Recently Emerged but Are Not All the Way Out or Those Who Might Be Professional Photographers Who Might or Might Not Be Photojournalists and Who May or May Not be Artists Who are Also Sometimes but not Always Writers and Who Sometimes Do not Care If They Ever Sell a Photograph but Who Then Again Might Change Their Minds and Those Who Don’t Care About Any of These Distinctions At All and Finally For Those Who Just Like Viewing and Writing About Exciting Photography”? You seem to want this site to be like a strictly ordered meal at the Rainbow Grill when it’s really a highly evolving and dynamic meal down on Mulberry Street in Little Italy. In both places, we’re all fed, we do eat, but i far prefer the thrill of the unexpected that i experience at Mama Tia’s to the the uptight mannerisms at the Rainbow Grill. So, mangia, Jim!
Panos: re: Passionate…er, yeah, maybe just a little bit. :)))
David, hold do I send an essay and photo to you?
Or, rather, how do I?
Ah now Jim’s essay I wanna see.
Rafal, my words and pictures have been published in newspapers thousands of times over the years. So often that I rarely even byline stuff anymore. But I do want to participate in the forum and appreciate the opportunity.
AKAKY
I quite enjoy this photo, lots of playfulness and I love the tones. Sort of evokes Weegee a la Grant for me if you can imagine that melange..well done, and wonderful to see your work here.
Jim P
probably through http://www.burnmagazine.org/submissions/?
I don’t find a form that will accept a photo and essay. If I’m missing it, someone let me know.
I think you could put it up on your site and then link to it, written essay and all, but I’m just presupposing.
Anton, Anton, Anton
Help him, help Jim Powers.
JIM…
if you just have one picture to submit along with a written piece, just enter it under “submissions” in the “singles” category along with your text….if you have several pictures (photo essay) then do the same under “essays”…OR send the text to me: david@burnmagazine.org and put the single up as suggested…sorry, i was flying , hence the delay in responding…i look forward to see what you put up…
cheers, david
Thanks, David. Single photo with essay. I’ll put the photo up through the singles category and email the essay to you.
I find I don’t read as often as I should anymore but for some reason I will always take the time to read you. Nough said.
AKAKY: Hey, I’ve got great news…
AKAKY IRL: Really?
AKAKY: Yes, really. One of my pictures…why are you eating cold pizza for breakfast?
AKAKY IRL: I like cold pizza.
AKAKY: It’s seven o’clock in the morning!
AKAKY IRL: Six o’clock. Daylight savings time is an abomination I refuse to acknowledge.
AKAKY: And fresh garlic, too? You have to go to work soon.
AKAKY IRL: So?
AKAKY: You have to work with the public all day long. What are they going to think with you stinking of garlic?
AKAKY IRL: The public can go suck eggs.
AKAKY: That’s hardly a constructive attitude for a public servant.
AKAKY IRL: Look, guy, have you actually seen the public up close and personal? I spend all day looking at them. Remember, these are the same people who care what Paris Hilton thinks is hot and would watch American Idol all day long if they could. You look at them for eight hours a day and it makes you wonder how the Republic has lasted as long as it has.
AKAKY: But…
AKAKY IRL: I’m sorry, but didn’t you have great news?
AKAKY: What?
AKAKY IRL: Great news. You had some. Or so you said. So spit it out and let me finish my breakfast.
AKAKY: Oh, yeah, Burn published the picture and the essay.
AKAKY IRL: They did? Well, that was nice of them. Did you thank them?
AKAKY: What?
AKAKY IRL: Did you thank them, as in saying: Thank you for publishing my picture and essay. Did you say, thank you?
AKAKY: Not yet.
AKAKY IRL: Then you best get on with it, bubba, before they start thinking you’re some kind of rude and ungrateful bastard. Not saying thank you almost always leaves a bad impression.
AKAKY: This is true. I’ll do it today.
AKAKY IRL: How did your thing go over?
AKAKY: Very well, I thought. Some people like the picture and the essay, some people liked the picture and not the essay, some people liked the essay but not the picture, some people didn’t like either. They were nice about it, though. And a lot of what they said was stuff I’d thought myself before I submitted the essay.
AKAKY IRL: Ah well, that’s life, guy; you can’t please everybody. You can’t even please yourself half the time.
AKAKY: I guess not.
AKAKY IRL: It makes no difference in the long run, you know; she’s still gonna want you dead.
AKAKY: Yeah, I know. I said in the essay that she was going to gouge my eyes out with a red-hot fork for showing that pic to the world.
AKAKY IRL: Who are you kidding? She’s gonna want take your eyes out with a dull spoon. That way it’ll take longer and she can enjoy it more.
AKAKY: You know, I can always count on you for a happy thought.
AKAKY IRL: That’s what I’m here for, guy.
AKAKY: Is there anymore of that pizza left?
AKAKY IRL: Yeah, there two or three more slices in the fridge.
AKAKY: You mind?
AKAKY IRL: Nah, go knock yourself out.
AKAKY: Thanks.
I’d like to say thank you for all the positive (and even the negative) comments about the photo and the essay. I’d especially like to thank Mr Harvey for thinking it was worth publishing, Anton for putting up with my grammar obsession, and to Lisa H. for spotting this picture in the first place. I doubt I would have submitted it at all if she hadnt said how much she liked it on Facebook. (Lisa, AKAKY IRL apologizes again for selling you off to the Antipodes, but he says you wouldnt have liked Ohio anyway.) Again, thank you all very much.
akaky–
i finally have a minute to come and rest here, to see this photo again and smile.
i want to tell you how much i love it and how much it makes me miss my crazy french mother
who looked just like her and was that vivacious and animated.
thank you for the memories.
really gorgeous photo.
Akaky!
great job, with both the photo and the essay. I’m glad you submitted it, as you know I’ve liked it all along…
good light,
A.
thanx, AB