This is the exact 'book review' I didn't want to write. I'm vastly disappointed with John Alinder Portraits 1910-23. I pretty much expected the book reproductions to be (semi) matte, what I truly feared however, was exactly what was delivered, an even further limited tonal range- in this case, about Three Shades of Grey (OK, I exaggerate- four). It "serves" to inhibit, drain, and suck all the life out of Alinder's subjects, and the portraits themselves. I'm going to assume the original prints walk that fine, subtle line where the total values are just expansive enough to allow the subjects enough breathing room to hint at their inner lives (which his portraits most definitely celebrate).
That said, I suppose there are those where the flat matte just ain't gonna matter none- wish I were one...
At this point, I'm actually starting to think that membership in the Flat Earth Society would be a step up for many an American! That's not a joke, exactly- can it possibly get any crazier than... 4:35!
And that's the kinda of abject ignorance and stupidity that allows this (or is it the other way around)...
I knew this would be quite informative, but I held off watching it for months, because I knew it would also be incredibly depressing, and hard to watch. It is. And if you eat fish, use plastic, or just plain don't give a shit... you-are-culpable! Point being, dead oceans = dead planet. Translation for Trump supporters- it means you're dead as well: no matter how much you deny, scream "Fake News," try to ridicule, or shoot on full automatic...
Walk
and chew gum at the same time? I mean, we got Covid, climate change, a
'stolen' election... And if it's sordid and/or surreal
entertainment ya want- yeah, we got that too! Ya think the missing, vacationing Instagram couple is bizarre? Y'all aint seen nothing yet...
Shadows can be pretty funny critters with all their particular peculiarities, and yet we see and experience them each and every day. Advancements in computer software has certainly helped suss things out these days. And while it's hard enough to make sense of the things we actually can see, that won't stop certain people from pontificating on what they can't- oh, things like... viruses.
Power, Greed, Money, Politics, International Intrigue, Sex... No sex. Huh!? Nope, No Sex- actually, not even a little. Weird, right? But you can easily double down on all the rest. All involving this one little painting originally bought for a few grand and ultimately sold for... $400,000,000! Ladies and Gentlemen: Leo's Salvator Mundi; yeah, that Leo- da VInci. So, who bought it, and... did Leo really paint it? Yup- fun and educational!
Always been kinda ticked off that we didn't get to see this when down that neck of the woods... But, "it is what is," as the famous philosopher says. At least I got to witness and immortalize the the joint above right here in SF, that somehow managed to give off a similar vibe (least to me) and specializes in these very timely services- which I could properly benefit from! I'm guessing I'm somewhere in the $3000 range...
Wasn't sure at first, thought the baseless parking meter and No Parking signs imposing their way into the shot would serve only to detract; instead, I think they add a bit of nuanced dynamism that serves to emphasize a pretty somber composition! And not that anyone cares (or should for that matter), but after studying the compositional possibilities from across the street, I had about 2.3 seconds to dash into said street, compose, snap and hastily retreat before being run over by a serious phalanx of no nonsense, oncoming traffic on one of San Francisco's busier streets (and pedestrian empty sidewalks).
With all the fixins! Yup, you heard right! What's the catch!?! Nuthin! Just pay the $700 Shipping Fee. Too steep? Remember folks, this here's the updated, modern day Q2, a $5,500 camera Brand Spankin' New! And this one's in Primo Cond- straight from a Seller with Absolute (0) eBay sales in the heart of the Russian Federation. Win-Win, Baby! Get 'em while they're... hot, or before I snatch up each and every one of 'em- three of 'em as of writing, all with similar price points, and they disappear from view (not Sold- disappeared) faster than you can zone focus...
Think of the greatest, bestest portraitists in the history of photography, and I don't think the name John Alinder readily comes to mind. And yet, I don't see how anyone could realistically exclude him!
Perhaps it's the sheer excitement of the novelty speaking, but I may like this guy more than perennial fave, Mr. Sander. The latter's portraits have a more reserved, view at a distance feel (as personality intense as they are); Alinder invites you into his seemingly self made, backyard worlds- a personal meet and greet with the subjects at hand, as if walking into intimate, hand created dioramas. And what a lively cast of local characters from a century ago in the middle of...
The curators* of the exhibit state that there was a certain crudeness to his compositions- hell, I wish I was as confident and competent as Mr. Alinder was in transforming backyard scenarios into such complementary studio backdrops that so endearingly presented his subjects!
Anyway, definitely more to say once I get said book into hand- this is the kind that inspires and resonates for a good lifetime of views...
PS- I almost (almost) bypassed this book on Photo-Eye, Photo Book Daily because of... the cover! Isn't there a saying about that? Either make it more dynamic or more minimalist, I don't particularly care which- but that clinical, perfunctory and overused presentation is a complete betrayal and injustice to the life contained within.
*who also observantly remarked in the video that smaller pictures make one stop, inspect and reflect- as opposed to larger wall size editions that one can simply scan and pass at a distance!
I've always admired photos with written text on the margins, or even on the pictures themselves. There's an incredible book* on Holocaust survivors (whose name sadly escapes me), and of course, there's Jim Golberg'siconicRich and Poor- amongst others... Again, in the midst of a lull in picture taking in the time of plague, the light bulb finally went off concerning one photo that has always nagged me- a photo of the AT&T building here in SF. While composed as best as I can get it- it's still not a photo that can stand on it's own- there's no real there, there; too much bland, empty space that doesn't accomplish anything. So... text to the rescue!
Now, I ain't claiming it's all that, but... it's better than it was- one can now 'see' behind that uniform, fortress like, metallic exterior without having to ensure the caption somehow, some way accompanies the image itself! Certainly not novel by today's standards (technically or aesthetically), but I'm relatively pleased with my rather primitive** result- and who knows, it may lead to some further project somewhere down the road, particularly one involving unseen history...
BTW, ya shoulda seen my first rendition where I hand wrote (scrawled) said caption- not a pretty sight! But it did remind me that if I had any balls- I would have tagged said building (just 3 blocks from where I now live) with said caption in real life for all to see... * since donated to Bronx Documentary Center **would be interesting to see how the text would look running along the lines and receding perspective of the building panels- but don't have the tech chops for that (even though shouldn't be all that difficult)...
Every day their shadows loom large around me, people with minds and lives lost or undone- and I keep reminding myself that so many of those very same faces will be light years ahead in the waiting line of the life thereafter. And if so lucky, St. Peter, as calm and resolute in this world as the next, won't begrudge or deny me that final step forward...
I used to be a BIG fight fan- ravenous! Lightweight, Welterweight, Middleweight, Heavyweight- didn't matter! All of life's trials and tribulations contained within and unleashed by and upon the two individuals within that squared circle. One wild, testosterone fueled joy ride of semi civilized savagery. And, the ultimate drama, those rare occasions when highly skilled opponents would counter each other's strengths not through raw physicality, but through sheer smarts and mind set. The epitome of sports, or so I used to think, where one man literally tries to prevent the other from winning by inflicting direct physical punishment... Until you see how it can completely unravel when my age.
Mike Tyson was one of the very best, so good that you knew the only person that could beat Mike Tyson was...Mike Tyson. He was blessed (cursed?) with the rare combination of incredible strength and speed, a burning, searing rage from a life of early neglect and abuse, and... a PhD's intense knowledge of ring theory and tactics. He existed to destroy whatever set before him, and did it so well, he became the youngest heavyweight champion of all time! He was... in effect, The Destroyer.
Of course, all did not go well for young Mike. The two people closest to him, those that nurtured and guided him (Cus D'Amato and Jimmy Jacobs) died in quick succession. Rudderless, he quickly and predictably succumbed to his inner demons, as his career, life and very sanity quickly spiraled out of control and into a jail cell.
That downward spiral is a well worn path in "the sweet science," but the thing that struck me most about Tyson, that was written all over him- was just how deeply damaged, and yes, vulnerable, he was behind that raging ferocity. It was the same look I saw in many of my "at risk" students, a hurt worn on the sleeve- a look that also hinted that it also just... possibly, disguised an intense curiosity, a thirst for knowledge that betrayed a keen intelligence and humanity. But chances were, as so often is the case when one originates from said void, that that very vestige of humanity would only implode, self immolate and die before ever set free.
Years went by, I disassociated from the tangled mess that boxing had become (and no doubt always was), and so it came as a welcomed relief (and joy, really) to stumble upon videos of an older, calmer, more reflective Mike Tyson who seemed to have exorcised, or at least committed to confronting and working through his life long demons. He was sober, apologetic to those he had harmed, eager to reclaim his life anew- and yet, insightful enough to realize he is a work in progress. You can see the blinding rage has cleared, substituted with that thirst for knowledge and a yearning to reconnect on the most basic of human levels. Yeah, this is the fight Teddy Atlas was really talking about...
