None of the News That's Fit to Print
In which I write about the importance of research, Dead Neanderthals (the band, not the people), noir fiction, and misogyny at a photo fair
I don’t know whether you’ve seen this article:
“The American Magnum photographer Alec Soth has been accused by Tonika Lewis Johnson, a Chicago-based documentary photographer, of copying her trademarked photography series for a New York Times commission.”
When I first came across the issue, I was baffled. There are so many obvious questions. Chicago is filled with photographers — why would you feel the need to hire someone else? And how would you not come across Johnson’s work when doing your research? Assuming, of course, that you do your research, which neither the New York Time nor Soth appear to have done.
Research is so important for many photographers, regardless of whether they’re hired for a commissioned piece or merely working on their own: you want to know what other artists your work references, what dialogues are (potentially) to be had. At the very least all of that can help inform your own work. It has the potential to make you see things you otherwise wouldn’t have realized.
But now the topic above appears to be finished — at least for the New York Times and Soth. The newspaper added an infuriatingly arrogant Editor’s Note to their piece, and the photographer apologized on Instagram. So nothing has changed, has it? Just another scandal, easy to dismiss because it all happened on social media.
I’m just hoping that something good will come out of this for Johnson, who has spent so much time on her own project, only to have it seen snatched away by the most influential US newspaper.
The other day, “[h]undreds of fans of the late avant-garde composer John Cage gathered in Halberstadt, Germany, over the weekend”, I read, “to witness a chord change in Cage’s 639-year-long performance piece.” As much as I admire the spirit of the work, this seems a bit extreme. Then again, if I wanted to see the piece, I could mosey over at whatever slow pace I could muster and still not miss it. So there’s that.
Anyway, I thought I’d engage with something a little faster. Having read a review of recent metal albums, I still had a browser tab open with the new album by Dead Neanderthals, entitled Blood Rite. It’s actually just one track, which is 27 minutes long. It was described as “death doom metal.”
What’s it like to listen to 27 minutes of “death doom metal”? Actually, it’s a lot more interesting than you might imagine. To begin with, at first I thought that the beginning and end almost seemed arbitrary, allowing you to loop the whole thing and create your own death-doom-metal-Cage.
Every once in a while a chord changes, as does the percussion pattern, and someone with what sounds like a severe case of laryngitis produces some sounds (which might or might not consist of words). I have to admit I found the whole experience enjoyable in a strange way. The same cannot be said for Tobey Maguire, the cat, who came in and looked slightly distressed when he heard the noise.
Having played the piece on my computer (not the greatest sound set up, I know), I then listened to it on an old iPhone with headphones (Sennheiser HD 202 — I love those). That really brought out its beauty. I realized that there was a progression to the piece, making it feel rather different at the end.
Honestly, I would have never had that experience if I hadn’t decided a few years ago to consciously listen to new music instead of relying on descriptions or just reviews. I would have dismissed the idea of “death doom metal” as stupid — how could something labeled in such an inane fashion be beautiful?
But it’s really the words being inadequate for the experience — something that we all know from the world of photography, don’t we?
I started it, so I might as well continue: making my way through the pile of books still to read. I’m a big fan of noir and crime fiction. This one, Butcher’s Moon by Richard Stark, had been at the bottom of the pile for a long time. I bought it under circumstances I didn’t want to be reminded of (an old job), and that association simply tainted the book. But after The Miner (see my previous email) I craved something a little different, something not necessarily as rough as Valam Shalamov’s Kolyma Stories (I’ll get to that one later). So a Parker novel it was.
The other day, I read how Olga Tokarczuk talked about how the time of linear novels was over (not sure where I read this, maybe on Instagram). Whatever you want to make of it, a Parker novel is basically the most linear novel you could read. It’s hugely delightful and very addictive.
In all of those novels, the main character, a man named Parker, goes about some crime. There’s very little that is being said about him other than a few details here and there: “Parker's voice, as usual, had the tonal variety of a lead pencil.” Or: “Humor was wasted on Parker.” The books are written in such a way that you inevitably end up rooting for Parker: he might be a crook, but he’s an honest crook, and his business is never personal (unless other people make it so).
“You want to write a sentence as clean as a bone.” James Baldwin said. “That is the goal.” For sure Parker novels are filled with such sentences. For me, they’re not guilty pleasures. I have never felt any guilt after having read one. Time was never wasted, time could have never been spent on something more worthwhile. They’re just pleasures.
I came across this description of an installation at Breda Photo today. Ignoring the platitudes in the first paragraph, it was the second paragraph that really hit me, especially when it talked about how “mankind” was being transformed into “monsters.” I don’t believe in that kind of language. That’s a very wrong way to talk about human beings.
Then there’s the final paragraph:
“Skatepark Pier15 will be completely dedicated to the installation ‘Destroy my Face’ during Breda Photo. The images of plastic surgery faces in the installation will be slowly destroyed by the skateboarders that ride on them.”
As far as I can tell from pictures online, all of the photographs that will be “destroyed” are of women. How then is this whole thing not a huge exercise in misogyny? What am I missing?
Honestly, these days I find it somewhat difficult to be a member of photoland.
Well, now summer is over (on the Northern hemisphere). I can’t say I’m going to be missing the sweltering heat and humidity where I live. I prefer autumn, especially when it stays warm during the day, but it cools down at night. With winter looming, every sunny day feels like something special, something to be cherished — before it gets cold again.
As always, I hope you’re safe and well, and thank you for reading!
— Jörg
I’m a freelance writer, photographer, and educator currently living and working in the US.
This Mailing List is my attempt to bring back some of the aspects that made early blogging so great -- community engagement and a more relaxed and maybe less polished approach to writing and thinking about photography. You can find the bulk of my main writing on CPhMag.com.
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the whole track can be enjoyed here - https://rateyourmusic.com/release/album/dead-neanderthals/blood-rite/
oh and THANKS for taking the time ponder and to express yourself ...