considering pictures | sean justice > open journal

Sunday Morning, Staten Island , originally uploaded by seanjustice . Starting a day of printing, but going slowly. Earlier this week it snowed again. More coming Tuesday, they say. The world is quiet and slow. The morning sun slips over the Eastern ridge and makes hard shadows of the trees and street signs. I'll stay inside today to print a new portfolio of the Breathing Pictures . Ironic, that is, because I've caught a cold and can only sniffle and sneeze my way through it. Distracted. This can be photography too. I like to start masking with the fun and funny Photoshop merge. It can be taken seriously but I prefer to feel the humor in it. This 'frame' feels loose and dreamy to me -- a lazy brush eases the transitions just a little bit, but without getting too uptight about it. I especially like the way the lens warp/distortion becomes so evident. The proof that indeed we are not living in a flat world. In other words: Surface matters.

We want pictures. We are saturated with this desire. The ad moguls want us to direct that passion towards their clients' commodities. Once in a while, though, we find evidence of another kind of wanting. Delivering some more of the endless paperwork that the educatioal beurocracy demands, I cross paths with a kindred soul, and stumble on a sign of the power of pictures. This way has recently been marked. I am not alone. Out here, in here, through here, picture-makers travel together. This is the gut of what I hope we're doing together this term: photography is a way to pay attention to our lives, our desires. We also want eggs, deviled eggs. At least, I do. Especially at a picnic on a warm day with friends and blankets and folding camp chairs, comfortable in the sun. With sangria, too. And cold white wine. But, summer is over. It's rainy in New York. Time to get to work! See you in class.

On the computer all day. Had to take a break late this afternoon. What does the rain look like? These are regular woods up the hill from my house. I'm crouching in the wet mud and pointing my camera slightly up. In a month the leaves will be thick against the sky.

The new term has begun and we're deep into the third week of classes at both NYU and the International Center for Photography. As usual I'm dwelling on questions of learning and teaching. How do I help you become more of the photographer you already are? This is the question that keeps me up at night, that's for sure. One of the unspoken assumptions of photography is that the world is photographable. We start from here and move forward, as if making pictures in this way was not only desirable—our goal—but also doable. I'm not so sure anymore. It might be that we have to investigate this underlying assumption. What do we do when we make pictures with photography? What do we say about ourselves? About our world? About what we know, or want to know? What does the act of pointing a camera say about what we love, and what we want to forget? A student wrote to me in crisis: the computer, the arbitrary materiality of the apparatus, was confounding her, making her doubt her abi...

I'm very busy now that business has collapsed. 2009 looks to be a banner year. I'm learning to use Flickr. I'm writing again. Might as well start something personal. Do you do projects? A lot of us focus on themed investigations, particular angles, purposeful journeys. We search for a subject, wrestle with it, and then network our access, our permissions, our intentions. And then we point the camera. We're expected to work this way -- curators, critics, editors, my two year old downstairs neighbor -- everyone wants to know: what are you working on these days? I want to focus on not-focusing. I'm tired of projects. I want a moment. This is crazy. I've got too much work to do. Lie down. Can you picture it? I like the afternoon sun in this corner. These are passing flowers.