considering pictures | sean justice > open journal

© 2011 Doyeon Kim A question we keep coming back to: how do we balance skill-learning and skill-teaching within the multifaceted conversation about ideas, history, and practice that makes up art education? If you're studying photography, design, new media, or art in any of a dozen guises, this question is at the core of what you're doing — whether you explicitly ask it or not (because the folks who run your course have asked and answered it for you). And if you're teaching photography, design, etc., it's even more critical — because your answer affects, de facto , the lives of everyone who studies with you. There are several ways to divide this up, and many different rationales for arguing this side or that side, but the equation basically comes down to two options: either skill is more important than history and theory, or vice versa. And perhaps a third option — oops, almost forgot — skill, history, and theory might be equally important. Abandoned © 2011 Yar...

...so many amazing conversations this week...my head is spinning... These pictures and essays and websites and code poems...all of it. Your work inspires me. I am reading Maxine Greene and thinking about being an artist educator within the framework she illuminates. We may have reached a moment in our history when teaching and learning, if they are to happen meaningfully, must happen on the verge. Confronting a void, confronting nothingness, we may be able to empower the young to create and re-create a common world—and, in cherishing it, in renewing, discover what it signifies to be free. ( Dialectic of Freedom , p. 23) The common space emerges from our conversation and I am transported to the edge of something I don't know how to describe. I'm on the verge. I am the young and your work is the teacher; in class and at the coffee shop I learn again and again that mark making matters (whether with a camera, a crayon, a line of text or a string of code on a computer), an...

Surplus of Achievement a photo by seanjustice on Flickr. Is there something this is for -- rather than what it simply is -- this relentless rush towards more and more, this accumulation, this surplus of achievement? Everyday pictures mark our individual paths. The process reminds us that work comes from work, inspiration from doing, and reward from waking up and doing it again. Breathe in, breathe out. My friend Tony is on a journey to mark the days, each day, with a new picture. Can you chart it? It's a Hotel by AMRosario

Paraphrasing from the TED talk: Art can't change the world. Art has no power to change the world. Art can't do anything like that. Art is a neutral space, a place where nothing matters, a place where new ideas and new questions can be asked, a place where new thoughts and feelings can take root. And maybe they bring new ways of thinking...that change the world. If you've seen JR's work over the years, and perhaps especially if you haven't, you're going to love his TED talk:

Chrisler Building From Pongal Restaurant, by Luis Paris This photo was snapped by my colleague and former student, Luis Paris. Last week after class at ICP we went over to Jerry Vezzuso's opening at the Camera Club of New York , and then got a quick bite at Pongal . Along the way, walking from ICP to the CCNY, and then briskly from there all the way to Lex and 26th (a long chilly stroll!), we talked about photography and how one knows if the pictures are making sense, if they're working, if anyone likes them, and if it even matters -- or, more precisely, how it matters. At dinner Luis summed it up with a few thoughts about what he's looking for from the conversation whenever he's showing his work. From a critique I'm looking for two things: first, whether or not my pictures appear visually similar to other pictures that I might not know about, and, second, if there's an interpretation of my work that I don't want to have anything to do with. Thi...

The evolving work with China keeps me occupied when I'm not in class teaching, or on my way to class, commuting. Here are some pictures from the evolving series. Click through to flickr to take a look. Ceramic 31 (Two Birds), 2011 In 2005 I went to Beijing to investigate Chinese contemporary culture—art, business, and education. After two tumultuous weeks of meetings and random discoveries, I landed a temporary teaching contract that required me to travel back and forth between Beijing and New York five separate times in 2006. Since then I’ve returned numerous more times to curate exhibits and lead workshops in Chinese culture for Western artists. In a sense, strangely, I’ve never fully come back from that first trip. The continuing challenge of working in China—the reason I keep going back—is that I never know what to expect, or what I’ll see. Surface clarity might mask confusion, or it might not. Language difficulties might shroud understanding, or it might be something deep...

branch2011 , originally uploaded by seanjustice . I'm only averaging a moment a month to write and share pictures. That's not a great pace. Space has closed in around me and the grit of the term is under my feet. I know you know how that feels. This piece was almost a year in the making. I knew what I wanted but not how to see it, nor how to get it. There's an early still image posted on flickr at the very beginning, back in April 2010, but the long slog through technology and imagery and idea that finally brought me to this point is lost in the background. It looks best in a separate browser frame , where it'll play on a continuous loop. See it here: http://seanjustice.com/branch . Reactions so far have been mixed. Some people don't see it. Perhaps they're looking too hard. In the periphery you might feel the shift, or you might not. The piece (and the project as a whole) activates a way of paying attention, for me, and that's the underlying quest...

Wonder Horse, March 2010 Yikes. I've been away. Not in body but in spirit, and no time to post for far too long. Hasn't the year just galloped past? Not for me. This hobby horse appeared on my front stoop early in the year, randomly, and then one day disappeared. I remember wondering why and where it had come from. I also remember that seeing it each morning reminded me of whimsy, curiosity, and imagination. I'm remembering all this again, suddenly, because I've just rediscovered the picture. And more: in thinking about this past year, the thought occurs that Wonder Horse is a fairly accurate illustration of right now — a lot of motion but not much movement. That's the way 2010 feels to me here at the end. Picture-mining is the year-end ritual of sorting moments from the past twelve months. When we used film we'd do this by pulling out the proof sheets (not the edited prints) from the year and passing them around. Or the boxes of never-discarded sli...

As you know, I'm an advocate of using the camera to connect to life. By the looks of it, though (no posting here for far too long, and very little new pix on flickr), it would seem that I've not been following my own advice. And that, perhaps, I've become disconnected. Both are probably correct at this point. But, actually, I make pictures almost every day: at odd moments in-between breaths, on the ferry, before starting to shave in the morning. Really, though, all I'm doing is clicking the shutter. That is, I'm not sure it's truly picture-making because that's as far as the process goes. There's no time for sorting and editing; two thousand latent frames sit unseen in my Lightroom catalog. Do you remember that word? Latent. Once we mystified that state of existence. Between the click of the shutter and the emergence from the D76, we had time to romanticize the unknown, the half-known, and the almost but not quite ready to be known. Today we ...

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.

Toronto 2010, from our recent vacation. I've been thinking a lot about perception lately, as I always do at the start of the new term. The puzzle comes back when I begin to map a course: how is it possible to picture a round world in a flat rectangle? The projection of one onto one feels miraculous and ordinary. That paradox is thrilling, intoxicating! I want to share it with you. But for you to see it, to do it, first I've got to make the process visible. And yet I'm filled with doubt. How can I do that? That is, what will you (in class) perceive as I waltz through my material, the rant of my lecture, the pictures on screen, the assignments, and my reactions to your assignments? And, how will I perceive that you're seeing anything? Even seeing that you're paying attention is difficult. (Although it's easy to see when you're falling asleep in class...sometimes.) At the start of each new term it comes back to me that, really, the project of learning...

If you remember this, you're with me. Ah, the smell of fixer in the morning. Unexpectedly I find myself managing a darkroom at Columbia University Teachers College. As you might know, I began a doctorate in college art education last year, focusing on digital art education. This year, in addition to everything else, I'll be mixing chemistry and reminding people to agitate. There's a lot I've forgotten, am surprised to remember... odors, textures, procedures. This week I'm scrubbing trays and rebuilding shelves. Next week I'll realign enlargers. The lab is on the roof. From the front door I watch the sky and the texture of the slate as it changes with the light. In a different life — more than twenty years ago — I taught photography in Tucson, Arizona, at Salpointe High School and Pima Community College. Stranded negatives were common. Here's a thing I've forgotten — the ephemeral materiality of the Tri-X negative strip; curled, translucent,...

We're done for summer. Time for a break. I'm headed to Toronto tomorrow with the family. Got to clear the storm in front of the maelstrom coming. So here's the thing -- can a photograph touch? Can you make a photograph that touches? What do you feel when you see wet paint? I've got to scrape my fingers across the surface to check it out. I know it's cliché. But...this simple sign makes me touch. Can a photograph feel that way? This is what we talked about this summer in the China workshop and in the two introductory photo workshops back here at ICP. And, seriously, this is what I'm talking about in class this fall...so, if you're working with me, get ready for that conversation. I don't know if it's possible, really, but I want pictures that make me fly. Ah. Naive. Yes.

I'm slowly mining through the several thousand photographs I collected during the Beijing project last month. This one surfaces unexpectedly. I remember the thick still air, and the steep, sweaty climb behind the Forbidden City. I remember the dusk and the dragonflies. I remember feeling annoyed that my dSLR battery had died earlier that afternoon because I'd forgotten to charge it the previous night. I also remember the moment I looked up and saw the concentric circles of this structure from beneath the trees. I don't remember why I forgot about this picture until I found it again just now. The camera doesn't make the picture; the brain does. And the world and the imagination meet in a slow dance of negotiation, each making due with the limitations and neuroses that the other brings. This might be my favorite picture from the month. To the Photo Two group from ICP last week -- thanks for the great work. Keep looking up and keep making pictures.

On the weekend at the Summer Palace, morning, wandering. On Longevity Hill the quiet was deep and still, cicadas in the trees, dense and present. Near the lake the crowds pushed in, and tour guides with megaphones blaring. Amidst it all, water writing. He turned and saw me photographing him, and handed me the brush. I'd always wanted to play that language. In the crowds I heard the cicadas again and felt a private silence working through my shoulders and torso as I swept backwards trailing water, momentarily fluent in my private writing. Day ten approaches; our workshop is ending tomorrow. I've learned so much more about Beijing, China, teaching, and cultural exploration. I'm so grateful for the excellent company of the group who joined me. See more pix on flickr ...added daily (almost), and please check in with the project blog .

Zha Zhiang Mien on a warm afternoon. Summer Palace majesty in the morning, still hot on my feet, and the silence of the mountain still humming in my heart. A short ride past the noisy gates and we arrive. This must be what heaven feels like. I'm posting pictures as fast as possible on flickr (click on these pictures to connect to the collection). More to come. Sorry about the minimal captions. Lunch is long and dinner is longer. This isn't the time for sitting at the computer. Please follow our workshop blog !

4:30 am. Time to get up and start shaking off the jet-lag. Breakfast downstairs starts at 6:00. I'm using the quiet fuzzy hours to enable the proxy server so I can keep posting. In a bit, or so, I'll get together with Songzi, my friend, a script writer who works with foreign movie productions here in Beijing, to go over the plans for the coming weeks. She's helping me arrange transportation and other logistics for the workshop. Then, off to Three Shadows to compare notes with Isabelle and say hi to Rong Rong and inri. Can't wait to get my feet on the ground. The workshop blog is Beijing2010 , as I noted in a earlier post . Please check it out and follow along. Outside my smudged hotel window, the early morning sky looks promising. Bright sunrise reflects off the buildings in the distance and wispy clouds show the blue above. Time now to get some breakfast and that first cup of Chinese coffee.

China Air to Beijing today. Follow the workshop at Beijing2010 . The goal is to unfold something authentic about the experience — to get below the surface of the cliché that we think we know. It can be simple, like learning how to drink free leaf green tea, or more complex, like learning how to navigate a world without an alphabet. I want to learn how to picture a process that is subtle and multi-varied. Can a camera show us something we don't know how to see?

June 28, 2010 Wow — perhaps? — I can't believe there's a sprout already. But here it is. I'm skeptical, however. It might not be a gingko. What is it supposed to look like? Picture from the Ginkgo Bilboa Pages I've been searching. This looks about right! And yes, now I think I've confirmed it. Here's a shot from another participant in the Tree Project: Ya-wen Chang. Ya-wen's photo of the gingko sprout. From the Tree Project. The Gingko Pages has lots of info on how to grow gingko trees from seeds. I'm sorry to say that I didn't follow any of these recommended germination methods. Yikes. I just put the seeds in the ground. But it's been so hot here lately that maybe nature is just doing what it has to do. I'm holding my breath! Hiroshi ~~ I hope it's going to work this time! I love the Tree Project ! Julie Walton Shaver kept a blog about her try at gingko too, complete with great photos and step by step instructions. Her...

Beijing Airport, China plate display The Beijing photography workshop with the International Center of Photography and the Three Shadows Photography Center is about to start. I'll be in Beijing next week to get the final details put together. There's still time to join us ! We're going to explore the process of learning about culture with our pictures. Learn more about the workshop at the ICP website , or ask me directly. It's going to be a blast, an adventure, and a fantastic learning experience. Come dance with us!