Street Photography – Why Don’t They Like Me ?

10th January, 2011 

The very youngest of my trio of spirited step children suffers from a condition known medically as, “Pervasive Development Disorder” (PDD). It’s a condition which falls into the broad autistic spectrum of disorders and most notably brings about developmental delays in both socialization and communication skills. There is very little grey in her black to white scale and as a result, a recurring motif in and around the Nowhere Man shack resonates to the reasoning …
“Sweetheart, you can’t MAKE people play with you”.

And so it was just the other day, when reading through Nick Turpin’s interesting blog post, “Photography, Commerce and Success”, I found the piece eliciting an almost identical PDD response  ... using a sing songy tone and a tired inflection I engaged my computer monitor with … “Street Photography, you can’t MAKE people like you”.

In a detailed and thought provoking essay, the 779 head man laments the general lack of interest shown toward street photography via the ‘art world’. Before proceeding forth to offer a kind of benign Berlin Wall solution of, stuff em, we’re all right mate; cos we’ve got each other … and Flickr.


                      

Sorry, that’s flickr not flipper !


“ The opinion of my peers, dedicated Street Photographers internationally for whom I have enormous respect, mean’t far more than that of the photography director of Tate Modern or Moma ever could because these people are image makers in my field who are making some of the most exciting images of our era, they are the true ‘experts’ and their judgement is totally unsullied by whether or not my image will sell copiously in numbered editions”  - Nick Turpin

& also

“I am delighted if Jen Beckman or Robert Kock like my work but will it be because they like my work or because they think they could shift it in editions”        – Nick Turpin

Nowhere Man wholeheartedly embraces the altruistic, rank and file vibe here, however would point out that ‘I like your stuff man!’ can be tarnished in many more ways than simply the commercial… most notably I would suggest is the sickly pursuance of personal politics. Let me use Nick Turpin as an example – for Nick’s a proactive, and talented chap who has kicked off both In-Public and Publication and is also a fine photographer in his own right – now this is a guy a streetie with ambition could do well to get in tight with… ie. “Love that pic Nick”, or “Couldn’t agree more Nick”.  This phenomena of disingenuousness is most evident on the various street photography discussion threads where the ‘democracy’ of the net bobs vibrantly, awash with varying degrees of cow towing, gushing and sycophancy, often in direct proportion to a posters perceived position in the big picture pecking order. So I guess one needs to sift and nurture (and use less ‘p’ words so close together). Nick waxes lyrical about the private in-public forum, an exclusive sounding board open to a select band … so there you have it, the filtering has been done. However surely the Englishman’s piece is aimed at the whole street photography community and so here we are seeing beautifully polished pink lady apples sitting at odds with the Valencia oranges, deep down in the frosty crisper of tiered experience.

Secondly I would point out that people aren’t their jobs. I mean what if the photography director of the Tate spent his weekends walking the streets with much hope in his heart, nabbing the passing throng with a Leica … and yet the acquisitions policy he oversees from 9 to 5 can genuinely find no place for our genre - this stark differentiation between the professional and the personal is as paradoxically commonplace as is red dirt in the outback. For example, do you remember the happily married, right Reverend Jimmy Swagget – man of the slightly soiled cloth who picked up his pay cheque preaching absolute monogamy, whilst in complete contrast, during his out of office time, was off shagging street corner tail like some randy 22 year old south island sheep crutcher.


Jimmy Swaggert
 So I think it’s fairly pointless and intellectually quite rank to build an ‘us v them’ scenario. You can’t make people like you, and if an art institution doesn’t like a certain set of images – hey, that’s their prerogative. It’s silly to then push out the bottom lip and infer that because they’re not in the game, what would they know about it anyway. Driving a wedge, by way of delivering the emotive counter punch smacks of setting ones estuary crossings alight atop Bath, sans bathwater, recent offspring and a dog eared copy of Jane Austen’s ‘Sense and Sensibility’. For if this argument were followed through … can we assume that men have no hope of knowing anything about child birth, woman nothing about State of Origin rugby league, any of us diddly squat on the subject of dying… opinion is opinion and diversity in such things is immeasurably invaluable (i.e. it’s a good thing).

“I suspect they are not even aware of it but street photographers have already created a new model for defining success as a photographer, a model that is completely free from commercial concerns and a model that relies not on ‘experts’ who have never lifted a camera but on the real experts, their peers. The new model is, of course, Peer Review.”     – Nick Turpin.

Let’s face it, attempting to measure success is about as pointless as scratching a mozzie bite. How could anyone seriously consider a gaggle of thumbs up mouse clicks to be any more legitimate a yard stick in determining the success of one’s work than the free market or even the  ruddy verbosity of your friendly bus driver who loves to qualify all his visual arts appraisals with, “I dunno much about art mate; but your stuff’s f**kin good!”  For keeping it all in-house never really works (look at North Korea). A parochial generosity of spirit masks any hint of reality and the only true marker is to be found within.

If I take a photo and I grow to like it … then that is success.     

I truly admire Nick Turpin’s drive. And yet in reading his piece, my mind became fixated on thoughts of disposal store Buddhism …and for some reason – chocolate Bavarian pie.  Nobody loves a street photographer, excepting for another street photographer – so hop aboard the SS Internet and let’s all sail off the edge of the world together. Dr Nowhere Man’s advice would be to just relax, enjoy the journey, take ya 5 decent street pic’s each and every year, show them to everyone and no one alike – for it’ll ultimately lead where it’ll lead … and if you truly enjoy doing it – who the f**k cares where it leads anyway. Remember your destination is dust. It’s the love in the room that matters, not the hum of the adulation meter nor the tinny tone of the cash register ... but then I think I’m about 87% in agreement with Nick on that point, mmmm, probably timefor another tumbler of grape...  

Click here for Nick Turpins, "Photography, Commerce and Success"
  

SP on SP … sexual perversion and street photography.

 6th January, 2011.

Succumbing ever so often to the suggestive city-scape
Photograph - Andrew Stark
“The possession of a camera can inspire something akin to lust”   - Susan Sontag.

I guess you could describe me as having  being a tad hot and bothered the other evening when in an act of abject idleness I flicked through Andrew Stark’s largely unreadable tome … Escaping Into Life: a psycho study of the contemporary street photographer (yeah I know, this is getting ridiculously schizoid). I’d never actually gotten past the opening chapters of the book before this particularly barren, latish hour and had kind of assumed that the guy’s research was both flimsy and benignly dry. I was spot on with the former, however became quite outraged as I read the following scandalous slight on all clean living: happily monogamous, church going, Little House on the Prairie following sidewalk enthusiasts. – And I quote … 

  So maybe, just perhaps street photographers are not as humbly humanitarian as we so regularly make out. Rather, chasing the unsuspecting; partaking in a covert form of grubby pseudo stalking, feverishly driven toward a shutter released, voyeuristic climax. Images taken free of authority: a clearly outrageous violation of foreign physicality. We thrust relentlessly the cold, clinical, calibrated lens: that rock hard metaphorical extension of longing into the personal space of our randomly selected prey. The pursuit is endless. A tenuous conduit to genuine connection: a longing which can never be fully quenched… 
And let’s face it; everything in life ultimately leads back to sex.
So why not street photography?
Our planetary path is littered by the hedonistic refuse of ‘the act’, both real and simulated. Those not having sex are certainly thinking about it … and those not thinking about it are either fibbing through jagged incisors, or are stuck home watching Oprah as she lays it on with a widelux trowel. So given the premise that,

  “Everything in life, ultimately leads back to sex”.          - Andrew Stark (3 sentences ago)

Then yes, street photography may well be a subtle, slightly perverted form of self abuse. Freudian analysis would suggest a submissive sexual role is being assumed. A small, non threatening tool used in a wholly non controlling, almost benign manner. Are we not simply waiting to be beaten by a dominatrixian public? For in much the same way as neighborhood joggers have been shown to huff and puff on the semi orgasmic endorphin high; street photographers are wandering big city streets raising the Leica to the eye whenever they feel the highly charged urge to be caught; to be shamed, and ultimately to be punished. And to further intensify this self flagellatory performance, a small 35mm souvenir is garnered from each encounter, held up as the sole purpose of a lascivious and highly camouflaged craft. “


What was the true motivation of this image ?
Photograph - Andrew Stark

Stalkers yeah!
   He’s dead set calling us a bunch of randy bunny boilers.  
I was cranky. 
I mean as if street photographers aren’t already having a hard enough time in the perception stakes, we certainly don’t need scurrilous claptrap leaking from within our own traditionally meek and mild ranks. 
And with perspiration dripping profusely from a painfully enlarged Indignant Gland, I jumped swiftly onto the electro mail super highway and fired off a terse – Please Explain … using the very latest in Truly Toxic Font Types, the clipped bluey, Pauline Hansen Extra Bold.

Within hours of my spleen venting, a cryptic response was forthcoming, it read –

“Ha ha, Nowhere Man please keep your pants on and stop being so obviously overt. Let me answer your concerns by highlighting the work of the philosopher and writer Nigel Warburton, who on his excellent blog “Art & Allusion” refers to Freuds “The Interpretation of Dreams” At one point in his treatise, the master psychologist (Freud) describes a young agoraphobic woman who dreams of walking in the street wearing a straw hat. This young lass feels that the buffed and tanned local tri-athlete she passes in the street cannot possibly harm her despite the fulsome quiver and aggressive leer radiating his most manly persona. Now this basic, plot based recount is the manifest context of her dream. However Freud  explains that a sub text or latent content flows like hot lava below - a dream within a dream if you will - that screams of sexual temptation; her straw hat a phallicly symbolic accoutrement that protects her magically from herself. Freud concludes their session amusingly by informing the woman that if she had in fact a husband or a casual suitor with such splendid genitals she need fear nothing from heavily perspiring tri-athletes … adding with a wink, "would you perhaps care to discuss the matter further over coffee and cake".

Now Mr Nowhere Man, all I’m suggesting in drawing your attention to this somewhat convoluted analogy  is that by swapping a straw hat for a rangefinder, factoring in the Cartesian difficulty with differentiating dreams from reality and walla-whoooska … triathletes, genitals, reciprocity failure – it’s all there buddy”    


OK, I'm not even touching this one.
Photograph - Andrew Stark
 Lounging back into the wonky Jason Recliner I found my anger had dissipated somewhat, oozing down to a cool, sandy point somewhere off and beyond Terrigal Beach. It was 2AM and all the sane people were asleep. My girlfriend’s cerise coloured slipperettes warmed my oft cramped arches as I sipped on herbal and nibbled the neediest corner of an Iced Vovovian treat. Staring wistfully up at mosaically fashioned walls within my cramped and secret subterranean shelter, their endless patchwork of glossy 6x4s revealing darkly – the ongoing and clandestine series, “Schoolgirls Who Sit in the Park - Shot Surreptitiously from the Hip”.

A straightened elbow and a cocked wrist are all that
seperate shooting from the hip and all out 'upskirting'.
Photograph - Andrew Stark
I contemplated earnestly.
For as unsavoury as the tone had become,
I reasoned ...
perhaps the guy had a point.

“The words of the prophets are written on the subway  walls, and tenement halls, and whispered in the sound of silence
                                         - Paul Simon      

Recent Offerings #3

 3rd January 2011

I guess I should really set the record straight on these “recent offerings” claims.

The Nowhere Man wanders aimlessly atop the crumbling bitumen streets. He takes just the occasional, often curious photograph – and for what reason he forces down when he does, that little silver button, is a mystery resigned totally to the fulsome inbox of www.Theo.com – the Greek e-God of all stuff unexplainable
(...and also a great place to buy affordable on-line fruit & veg).

The process is a slow and cumbersome morass of repetitive catchupism (word invented – patent pending).
Please let me expand…
Once home from my day’s sidewalk shuffle I toss any resultant exposed film into the specially tailored lead lined draw I picked up for a song back in the mid nineties at one of Pete Garrett’s garage sale’s over on Wedding Cake Island (I’d really hate to lose work to nuclear fallout or something…). Anyway, inside the sheltered draw are a queue of grey canisters awaiting succor like a short n cylindrical gaggle of expectant pensioners, hunched, mouths agape, awaiting the lime flavoured wobble of jelly and ice cream at the Gwen Plumb Memorial Nursing Home’s traditional Sunday lunchtime buffet.  Eager little soldiers of tightly coiled TRI-X for whom one by one, an introduction to twenty degree dev’ awaits.

… many many months later I scan the neg’s – a back log approaching 12 months flashes gaily upon the Nowhere Man scoreboard at my most recent glance.

So when I open boldly with the heading “recent offerings” – please factor in the lag.
These pictures are new – however the subjects of the photo’s have well and truly moved on …(no, I don’t mean they’re dead – I just mean they’re not standing where they were when the photo that features them was actually taken – which of course is bleeding obvious but is used here as a gross exaggeration for some sort of effect – something I’m told I do quite often).
 
So here’s a further 8 “recent offerings”, from which I’m trying to work out whether any are OK …  and that’ll take another 6- 12 months to determine !    

Photo- Andrew Stark


Photo - Andrew Stark

Photo - Andrew Stark

Photo - Andrew Stark

Photo - Andrew Stark

Photo - Andrew Stark


Photo - Andrew Stark


Photo - Andrew Stark
                                                           

Urn-believable!

30th December, 2010

Ashes to ashes,
dust to dust -
our slightly dodgy cricket team's been well and truly sussed.

19 year old Ricky Ponting - back when life was a bit more fun.
Photograph by Andrew Stark

With apologies to anyone outside Australia, England, South Africa, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, India, New Zealand, Zimbabwe, Bangladesh, or the Caribbean (have I forgotten anyone ???) ... rest assured normal transmission will resume shortly.

By the way, in this photo taken at Bankstown Oval during 1993 Ricky was standing in front of the pavilion, and behind the pavilion is a road - ie street photography, yeah ?

Just Who is Top of the SP Heap?

28th December, 2010

The Director of the London Street Photography Festival, Brett Jefferson Stott has brought to my attention the powerful British bloc’s unfurling of an inaugural International Street Photography Award (which I’ve nicknamed ‘The Frank’) – an extravagant endeavour to find “the world’s best street photographer”.

It's also the surname of a guy who headed west from Switzerland many years ago. 

A glitzy ceremony is planned, somewhere down in the hazy shadows of Big Ben, right round the corner from a tube station or perhaps a red double decker bus route (you know, in London) … A gala occasion where penguin suits and bling shall intermingle much chilled chardy and that natural street wise swagger.


Now before I progress, please be aware that ‘The Franks’ do contain a light tinge of exclusivity about them as they are only open to street photographers with 30 quid to spare (works out at about the equivalent cost of a hundred foot or 600 frames of TRI-X) however by way of a softener, a 28.95 pound Blurb book voucher is promised by the organizers to all entrants. A thousand big ones to the winner and no doubting there’ll also be a shiny little trophy to set off even the drabbest of suburban mantles.

'The Franks' promise to be even bigger than the Logies
Interestingly my local Woy Woy SP bookie, Bruce ‘the garfish’ Feggans has tabled a surprisingly informed market, twiddling the knobs of his odds board to within a sprocket hole of common sense. Matt Stuart has been installed as his early favourite at 5-2 which is probably bad news for the sharp eyed Englishman given that ‘the garfish’ has lost a motza recently laying both the Poms in the Ashes and the third Fockers flick at the box office … Trent Parke appears to be great value at 7-1 however a recent conversation with the insightful Adelaide streetie Phill Hunt (who likes to bend the elbow alongside Trent at their local, City of Churches watering hole) shed an eerie safelight glow upon the betting confusion that surrounds Trent whose work tends to hopscotch these days in and out of the parameters of absolute street photography … whether or not the judges see it this way is really anybodies guess, and at this succulent price he could well be worth a little flutter. 
The odds of all who featured in Street Photography Now are shorter than a grommet’s left shoe lace whilst the entire iN-PUBLiC site is shorter again at elevenses or tighter, excepting for Nick Turpin who has assumed a judging role

I’m certainly not the Simon Cowell of  iN-PUBLiC”
                                                                          – Nick Turpin … HCSP November 2010.

Without wishing to appear in anyway misogynistic (I struggle to spell it, let alone live it): Narelle, Melanie, Nitsa & Shazza from Toongabbie have been mentioned earnestly in recent dispatches on the Hard Core Punters Forum (Shazza has been mentioned in a wholly discordant context).

Dougie Wallace shapes as a good roughie at 25-1, whilst Aussie Trent’s Magnum stablemate, Bruce Gilden is firming by the day after drawing the extreme inside barrier …

So go to it people. Raid your piggy banks an either thrown your lens cap into the ring, or bet London to a brick on one or two of your thoroughfare trundling faves …

And to anyone who is seriously in the frame to win this, the first ever ‘Frank Award’ – here’s a brilliant example of just how informative and philosophically enriching a well constructed acceptance speech can be -     
                                

                                 and the winner is …

                                 For more information on the Award - check here

The Wynyard Grizzle…..Merry Christmas to All

23rd December,2010.

Tis the season to be jolly and jovial and …

Well anyway, I was out photographing in the city yesterday, just up from the Wynyard ramp when the following exchange took place between –

Me
    the fun loving,
    ever smiling Nowhere Man (NM)
                     
                               &
He
    the podgy thirtysomething
    with the fulsome monobrow (PM).



Picture if you will - a modern day cave man standing near a curved wall, in front of which a steady stream of seemingly placid Sydneysiders flow back and forth like the frothy and usually quite wet, Bondi tide.




PM … (using a joltingly aggressive tone)
             Why ya takin pitchers of me ???

NM… (squinting toward the annoyance before using a condescending tone)
             I’m not mate. I’m taking photo’s of the city…
             Now being in the city as you are, who knows you may
             well feature in the odd picture or  two …

PM … Stop takin me pitcher!

NM… You’re not listening pal – I’m not. I don’t even know you.

PM… (momentarily glancing behind)
            What’s so f**kin interestin bout that wall anyhow???

NM…Mate. Who the hell are you? I ain’t discussing my
           wall fetish with you – why should I?

PM…Stop takin pitchers of me, freak… or I’ll f**kin bash ya!

NM…Why so paranoid pal? You some sort of fugitive or something?
            Hey, maybe I should be takin your pitcher
            (pitcher pronounced as if by a freckle faced eight year old with dodgy front teeth)

PM… (striding forth he brushes past the photographer, delivering a half hearted shoulder check, mumbling)
            F**kwit!
            (before continuing on down George St, toward Wynyard)

An earlier shot in front of the Wynyard wall.
Photograph by Andrew Stark
        
Tis the season to be jolly and jovial: the season of earnest reflection; good will to all men, women, children and of course - furry marsupials.
May I take this opportunity to wish all my fellow street photographers and those who stumble upon this blog - a very Merry Christmas…and let me share a pertinent little ditty by the brilliant Aussie singer songwriter Tim Minchin by way of magically crystallizing the occasion


Mr Anon Shoots Good Ole Sydney

 21st December, 2010
A bloke with a snazzy hat, two wooden posts and a well pouched mate 


With distant parallels to Vivian Maier and John Maloof all the way over in Chicago, comes the story of a car boot sale and its unexpected windfall from Narrabeen High School on Sydney’s northern beaches. 
Just another Saturday arvo in the burbs 

Local photo journalist John Grainger was out doing a wee bit of bric-a-brac shopping when he stumbled upon a tatty box housing 14 rustic rolls of processed negatives – over 200 images revealing Australian life from the 1940s & 50s taken by an anonymous snapper … the only clue to his identity, a single, slightly off focus self portrait taken into a distant mirror.  

Mr Anon
Being a photographer himself and with an old school ability to hold negs up to the light, Grainger immediately grasped the nostalgic worth of the booty.

The famous Sydney amphibious tram - seen here in two minds
And equally, being a photographer himself, Grainger haggled like a hard working foot soldier on a basic wage. The boot salesman crumbled, settling for a fiver and the chuffed pressy rushed home to scan Mr Anon’s entire historically pertinent portfolio – acknowledging later that, “it would be good to find the family who owns them” 
Bronzed Aussies in antique sluggers.

A News Limited led search has been unfurled in the week before Christmas …