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Griffin News

Sheri Lynn Behr | And You Were There, Too

Posted on October 16, 2024

Utilizing a rich visual language of glitches, grids and abstractions, Sheri Lynn Behr‘s project, And You Were There, Too, questions the surveillance state, exposing systems that include facial recognition combined with algorithms making the invisible apparent.

We had the opportunity to ask her a few questions about her work, currently on view in our exhibition, Artificial intelligence: Disinformation in a Post-Truth World, September 6 – October 27, 2024.

A Q&A with the artist follows.

©Sheri Lynn Behr, Boston-Downtown Crossing, May 5, 2018, 4:05PM

Sheri Lynn Behr is a photographer and visual artist with an interest in perception, photography without permission, and the ever-present electronic screens through which we view the world. Her project on surveillance and privacy, BeSeeingYou, was exhibited at the Griffin Museum of Photography and released as a self-published photo book, selected by Elizabeth Avedon as one of the Best Photography Books of 2018. She was invited to participate in A Yellow Rose Project, a photographic collaboration of over a hundred women photographers in response to the 100th anniversary of the 19th Amendment.

Behr’s work was exhibited at the Amon Carter Museum of Art, MIT Museum, Center for Creative Photography, Musée McCord, and the Colorado Photographic Arts Center, among others. Her photographs have appeared in publications world-wide, including Harper’s Magazine, People’s Photography (China), Orta Format (Turkey), Toy Camera (Spain), and The Boston Globe. She received a Fellowship in Photography from the New Jersey State Council of the Arts, a grant from the Puffin Foundation, and, most recently, a New York City Artist Corps Grant in 2021.

And back in the day, she used to shoot rock-and-roll. And Polaroids.

Follow Sheri Lynn Behr on her socials: slbehrphotos.bigcartel.com | @photographywithoutpermission | @slbehr

©Sheri Lynn Behr, Los Angeles-Hayden Tract, Jan. 30, 2019, 7:13PM

What initially drew you to exploring surveillance technology through photography?

I was photographing people through store windows, to get their reaction when they realized a stranger was taking their picture. Then I realized I was also being photographed – by the surveillance cameras that seemed to be everywhere. So I began to pay attention, and that ultimately led to several projects exploring surveillance and privacy.


What is the power of glitch and degradation in these images?

I create the layer of digital glitches to exaggerate the deterioration of the image I often see in surveillance videos on the news. Sometimes I wonder how they expect to find the person they are looking for.


Can you expand on the essence of the grid, aesthetically and symbolically?

Facial recognition software adds a grid to measure facial features – like the distance between the eyes — in order to help find a match. So I made my own grids, playing with that idea, but mine make the faces in my pictures harder to recognize.

©Sheri Lynn Behr, Portland-Blue Sky Gallery, April 21, 2013,-7:00PM

What book or art recommendations would you give to someone interested in exploring this subject more deeply?

First, read the news – just this week, the New York Times ran an article on an F.T.C. study that found “‘Vast Surveillance’ of Social Media Users”. For books, I like Watched! Surveillance, Art and Photography, a European book with photos and essays on the subject. I made a book, BeSeeingYou, in conjunction with my previous exhibition at the Griffin in 2018.


Your biggest concern around this issue?

Surveillance technology is not always accurate. People tell me they don’t care, because they aren’t doing anything wrong. But who decides what’s “wrong?“  Especially in our current political climate. 

©Sheri Lynn Behr, Boston-Downtown Crossing, May 5, 2018, 5PM

Filed Under: Uncategorized

Rashed Haq | Plausible Presidents

Posted on October 15, 2024

We had the honor of asking artist and scientist Rashed Haq a few questions about his project Plausible Presidents, currently on view in our exhibition, Artificial Intelligence: Disinformation in a Post-Truth World.

Haq’s project, presents AI-generated images of the first sixteen US Presidents, most of them before the invention of photography. “The portraits, while visually plausible, are intellectually known as fabrications,” says Haq. The work “challenges viewers to confront their immediate acceptance of photographic information as factual.”

An interview with the artist follows.

Website: www.rashedhaq.com
Instagram: @rashedhaq

Rashed Haq at the Griffin Museum during an exhibtion walkthrough. September 2024. Photo by Yana Nosenko.
What is the most challenging aspect of balancing historical accuracy with artistic interpretation?

For this work, I wanted to make the type of images that I would make if I could have the Presidents in my studio, with my camera and camera lighting as I use them today. In this case, the challenge of historical accuracy was that there are no existing photographs for many of these Presidents, only paintings and sculptures, and sometimes drawings and text descriptions, exist. Part of the challenge was to understand if the available images were contemporaneous and if they were accurate representations of the individuals. 

© Rashed Haq, John Adams (1735-1826)
What is the value of visual literacy in the age of AI?

Today, we are in the age of computational creativity, where we will see the proliferation of AI-generated visual media. Visual literacy—the ability to interpret, negotiate, and make meaning from information presented in the form of an image—will become even more necessary in this age. This will be necessary to contend with both the complexity of interpretation and the thread of misinformation.

Most captivating aspect of artificially generated images for you?

For me, it is probably “combinatorial creativity,” a concept where the algorithm blends diverse artistic elements to create new visual expressions. This approach uses algorithms to blend a variety of artistic elements, styles, techniques, and ideas from different art forms, art movements or historical periods, creating new visual expressions that can be both innovative and unexpected.

© Rashed Haq, Thomas Jefferson (1743-1826)
The one you grapple with the most, be it ethically or creatively?

One of the things that artists and others will have to grapple with is how to think about the work of art in the age of computational creativity, and the impact of this technology on our cultures and philosophies. 

How would you describe the cultural shift brought in by artificially generated images?

It is hard to tell how this will evolve, as we are only seeing the tip of the iceberg on the cultural shift. Media theorists are just getting started on understanding this change. But I suspect it will be a change greater than the camera had on our society over the last 200 years. 

© Rashed Haq, James Monroe (1758-1831)
What’s the most exciting aspect of this shift? The most worrisome?

The most exciting aspect is that this technology is freeing artists from the limitations of traditional camera techniques and the arduousness of photorealistic paintings, allowing artists to photograph their imagination. The worrisome aspects include both the misuse of the technology such is making disinformation more believable, but also potential inadvertent consequences that we have not even begun to think about. 

Filed Under: Uncategorized

Тutta Gnutta (Natalya Getman) | Sisters (2020 – 2024)

Posted on October 15, 2024

We had the opportunity to speak to Natalya Getman about her project, Sisters, recently on view in the 2024 edition Vision(ary): Portraits of Communities, Cultures and Environments. Presented as a part of Winchester Waterfield Summer Arts Festival, the installation featured more than 20 individual installations with distinct photographic styles. Vision(ary) is the Griffin Museum of Photography’s 5th Annual summer public art exhibition dedicated to the art of visual storytelling.

An interview with the artist follows.

Website: www.tuttagnutta.com
Instagram: @tutta_attut

©Тutta Gnutta (Natalia Getman). The sisters look out the window of Valentina’s house, grandchildren peeking through the doorway. All images courtesy the artist.

Тutta Gnutta (Natalia Getman) is a photographer. Born and raised in Kimry (1979), lives and works in Odintsovo, Moscow Region. In her projects, Natalia Getman relies on the connection between man and nature, as an aspect of life that helps to find harmony and balance. She is interested in the topic of relationships between people, how strong connections between loved ones arise, how they develop and are maintained.

©Тutta Gnutta (Natalia Getman).

Where does your interest in photography come from?

In general, you could say that I took pictures all the time. I started taking pictures when I was still at school, first it was a Polaroid, a Zenith, my first SLR. For the most part it was amateur family photography. Then there was a break and for a few years I shot only on my phone. And then I decided to return to this hobby, and plunged headfirst into this huge photographic world.  And I love it here.

©Тutta Gnutta (Natalia Getman). The sisters sit outside the house they grew up in.
©Тutta Gnutta (Natalia Getman). Harvesting onions.

What inspired you to create this project about the friendship between your mother and aunt?

I was in photography school. I had an assignment to photograph a loved one some, one I cared about and hadn’t photographed before. I thought it was my aunt. As I was thinking about the shoot, I suddenly realized that I should shoot the two of them. They are very close, the relationship between them is unusual. The uniqueness of their relationship I didn’t realize it right away. It was ordinary and familiar to me, such an ordinary life, that you just live and don’t notice.

©Тutta Gnutta (Natalia Getman). Sisters in the bathhouse.

 

©Тutta Gnutta (Natalia Getman). Plants sprouted between two frames naturally, at the home of the sisters’ parents.

What role does the village setting and their upbringing play in your portrayal of their relationship?

They grew up in the village, and they keep coming back there, it is their place of strength. And, of course, village life has had a great impact on their outlook and perception of life. Constant labor, limitations and different physical work, it determines a lot of things.  I tried to shoot them in the city, but the narrative thread was already lost, and these photos were not included in the project. That’s why I do the main shooting in the countryside in the summer. When both sisters come there.

©Тutta Gnutta (Natalia Getman)
©Тutta Gnutta (Natalia Getman)

 Can you tell us more about this specific image?

This is a photo from their very first shoot together 4 years ago. I took photographs, some ordinary lifestyle shots, and we were in the village with my aunt. And suddenly she says, I forgot to rinse the clothes, they both break away and go to rinse her clothes in the pond behind the house. And this is what they are all about; this characterizes them very much. If there is something to do, get up and do it together.

©Тutta Gnutta (Natalia Getman). The sisters are rinsing laundry in the pond.
©Тutta Gnutta (Natalia Getman). Samovar, tea and honey on the table in the bathhouse

 Are there specific moments or memories that stand out to you as particularly meaningful in their story?

The uniqueness of their relationship is still a mystery to me, they have never quarreled with each other once in their entire lives, although of course they quarrel with other people. They accept everything about each other unconditionally and with understanding, always agreeing. There is a picture in the project where they are cleaning mushrooms. They were preparing a table, knives, utensils, and this was such an interesting moment, the aunt brought a jacket to put on the bench to make it comfortable. Comfortable for both of them, and that’s just that invisible, caring for each other.

©Тutta Gnutta (Natalia Getman). Tatiana prepares a place for cleaning mushrooms, Valentina carefully lays her jacket on the bench.
©Тutta Gnutta (Natalia Getman). The sisters are peeling chanterelle mushrooms.

Finally, have you encountered any challenges in translating their story into art? How did you overcome them?

The difficulties were of course when I realized that I wanted to make it into a project, I needed to show this subtle interaction and friendship through photographs. It wasn’t easy, I had to look for metaphors and deeper meanings. Becoming an observer and noticing the usually unusual things that make up their relationships.

Last year on my mom’s birthday her husband died, and it was a very difficult summer for all of us. At the time, I already realized that this was a project and it had to go on. But, the mood was so sad that the filming didn’t really work out. At some point I got desperate and put the idea on hold. I went to study project photography to learn to understand how to tell a story through photography. For almost six months, I sorted through the archives and chose what could be included in this story to make it holistic, working on consistency.

©Тutta Gnutta (Natalia Getman). Sisters looking at the house their mom grew up in.


Filed Under: Uncategorized

Erica Frisk | Wolves of the East

Posted on October 15, 2024

In today’s Griffin State of Mind we speak to Erica Frisk about her project documenting the wolf sanctuary, Wolf Hollow’s in Ipswich, Masachusetts. The photographs were recently exhibited in the 2024 edition of our public outdoor exhibition, Vision(ary): Portraits of Communities, Cultures and Environments. An interview with the artist follows.

©Erica Frisk. All images courtesy the artist.

While pursuing her undergraduate degrees in photography and art history at Massachusetts College of Art & Design, Erica Frisk traveled to Guatemala to study Mayan art and architecture with researchers and historians in the field. This immersive experience sparked her love of travel and learning about unique cultures and history. After earning her BFA, she continued to travel through Central and South America, creating visual storytelling projects. Her photographs have been exhibited in solo and group art exhibitions throughout the US as well as in online & print publications. Her photographic work was also featured in the PBS Documentary: American Portrait (I Work) with a focus on labor unions. Frisk’s most recent projects explore local storytelling in New England as well as Iceland & Croatia. She has been working with youth in traditional school settings, as well as arts-based community and museum programs in Boston for over 10 years. Erica Frisk is a National Geographic Certified Instructor who aims to teach students about the world in innovative and interdisciplinary ways while cultivating the Explorer Mindset.

Website: www.ericafrisk.com

Instagram: @ericafriskphoto

©Erica Frisk

What initially drew you to Wolf’s Hollow to document the story of wolves in the Northeastern United States?

As both an artist and educator, I’ve always been drawn to opportunities to combine visuals and learning, especially if it involves engaging with something in our own communities. 

I’ve led two National Geographic Photo Workshops in Yellowstone National Park for high school students where we observed and photographed wildlife in their natural habitat. The students and I observed a pack of wolves from a far while learning about their reintroduction into the park.  I was inspired by that experience to begin this project to further explore and share the significance of wolf conservation and the beauty of these remarkable creatures.

My connection with Zee Soffren, the Wolf Hollow’s owner, initially drew me in. Having known Zee for a few years and visited the sanctuary multiple times, I felt compelled to capture Wolf Hollow through my lens. The sanctuary’s unwavering dedication to educating the public and their compassionate care of these amazing creatures is truly inspiring. Wolf Hollow not only provides a safe haven for wolves but also fosters a deeper understanding of our environmental responsibilities.

©Erica Frisk. These skull replicas showcase the different attributes and sizes of the North American Grey Wolf vs. the American Stafford Terrier vs. Coyote. In the background are real skulls of both a Wolf and a Coyote.
©Erica Frisk. The fur of a North American Grey Wolf is unique in that it has layers that change with the seasons. This pelt was collected from a former pack member at Wolf Hollow that passed on. 

Could you describe the sanctuary for us?

Wolf Hollow is a small sanctuary surrounded by fields with a backdrop of forests in the far distance. The sanctuary itself has many fences running along the front as well as in the surrounding areas as these are the wolf enclosures. It is well protected and showcases thoughtful use of the land to give enough space for each of the wolf packs. As you walk through the entrance, you have a meeting spot with education materials where the tours typically begin followed by a board walk to the enclosures. Through the fences, you’re able to see each of the wolves inside their enclosures before sitting in a covered area for the educational discussion often given by Zee Soffron along with a question and answer section of the tour.

©Erica Frisk. The property surrounding Wolf Hollow in Ipswich, Massachusetts. This place was once known as the Agawam territory inhabited by the Pawtucket native peoples. 
©Erica Frisk

What’s the first step you take to immerse yourself in the environment and prepare for a day of photographing these animals?

I usually arrive early and scout different scenes in each location that I am photographing. I didn’t only want to capture just the Wolf sanctuary, but also the landscape around it which gives us a greater sense of place. Ipswich is a coastal town with many wetlands as well as fields and forests. I was trying to imagine what life would be like for these wolves if they lived in this area.

Back at Wolf Hollow, Zee walked me around the sanctuary and gave me the opportunity for the wolves to get used to my presence. Wolves are very sensitive to new individuals and smell. So we wanted the wolves to get used to me moving around near the enclosures. Once that was established, I could begin photographing more up close than a typical visitor. 

©Erica Frisk. Viana works at Wolf Hollow and has built a trusting relationship with many of the wolves. She shares a belly scratch and pets with Akela and Qantaqa. 

What sparked your interest in exploring the significance of wolf sanctuaries, particularly their role in preserving biodiversity?

What sparked my interest with this type of work began with a deep fascination for wildlife and a growing awareness of the environmental challenges they face. Wolves, as apex predators, play a crucial role in maintaining the balance of their ecosystems. By studying and documenting sanctuaries like Wolf Hollow, I aim to highlight their importance not just as safe havens for these animals but as key players in conservation efforts. These sanctuaries help educate the public, foster a greater appreciation for wildlife, and contribute to broader initiatives to protect and restore natural habitats. Understanding the pivotal role of wolves in their ecosystems can inspire collective action to preserve biodiversity and ensure a healthier environment for all species. 

©Erica Frisk. Linnea is the oldest wolf at Wolf Hollow at 12.5 years of age. She was originally born in Wolf Creek Habitat in Indiana and brought to Wolf Hollow in May of 2011 with her siblings, Grendel, Nevaeh, Arrow and Argus.
 ©Erica Frisk. Linnea has her own enclosure due to the loss of her mate and her age. She is weary of visitors to Wolf Hollow and mostly keeps to herself.

What could you tell us about the impact of their absence of wolves in the Northeast and sanctuaries in general?

The absence of wolves in the Northeast has had significant ecological impacts. Their removal from the Northeast  and the rest of the US has led to an overpopulation of deer and other herbivores, which in turn caused extensive damage to vegetation and disrupted the entire food chain. This imbalance affects not just plant life but also other animal species dependent on healthy habitats.

Sanctuaries like Wolf Hollow help address these issues by offering a refuge for wolves that have been injured,  and educating the public about their importance. They serve as living examples of how these animals contribute to ecological stability. By raising awareness and fostering a deeper understanding of wolves, sanctuaries support broader conservation efforts aimed at restoring these predators to their natural habitats. Additionally, sanctuaries play a crucial role in researching and advocating for the reintroduction of wolves into areas where they have been absent, which can ultimately help restore ecological health and resilience.

©Erica Frisk. Zee Soffron is the Facility and Program Director at Wolf Hollow, and son to the Co- Founders Joni and Paul. He carries on the legacy and goals of his parents, making Wolf Hollow what it is today, a thriving education center.

What is something that has deeply moved you about conservation efforts and human-wildlife interactions?

At sanctuary I wanted to capture portraits of each of the wolves as well as the people that engage with them each day. What is unique about Wolf Hollow is that the Zee and his team are physically present in the habitats with the animals and have developed relationships with each of the wolves. 

Because they are able to be with the wolves in their enclosures, they’re able to demonstrate many of the behaviors and physical attributes of the wolves. As visitors, they’re able to learn about the different wolf species as well as how they behave in their environments and with each other. Zee is able to create a immersive experience for the viewers while at the same time educating them on conservation and wolves as a part of a greater ecosystem. 

©Erica Frisk. Zee Soffron, son of Paul Soffron, the founder, stands next to Togo, one of the young Arctic Wolves who resides on the property with his adoptive mother, Qantaqa.

Finally, how has Wolf Hollow’s mission of rewilding deepened your understanding of conservation efforts?

Rewilding, as exemplified by the mission of Wolf Hollow, has profoundly deepened my understanding of conservation efforts. I see how it highlights the importance of restoring natural processes and habitats to reestablish ecological balance and biodiversity. I’ve observed how Wolf Hollow’s commitment to this concept underscored the interconnectedness of all species. This approach demonstrates that effective conservation goes beyond protecting individual species – it involves a holistic effort to revive entire ecosystems and foster a greater appreciation and respect for nature. This is deeply impactful to see happening and to be able to communicate and share with a wider audience through my photographs.

As our day at Wolf Hollow concludes, could you share a memorable encounter or discovery that has impacted your perspective on the importance of preserving wolf populations and their ecosystems?

While photographing the wolves at Wolf Hollow, I had a memorable experience with Akela, the alpha male. He approached me and positioned himself between me and the rest of the pack, a gesture Zee explained as his way of asserting dominance and “protecting his pack” from the unfamiliar presence of a visitor. 

©Erica Frisk. Akela stands watch over the group as they meander about during the discussion. He keeps a watchful eye on all visitors with calm composure. Akela’s winter fur has grown in and he is ready for colder days ahead. 

As the photographer, this unexpected encounter offered me a unique opportunity to capture Akela up close. I was able to observe his facial expressions, the subtle movements of his ears, and the texture of his winter coat, which was in the process of shedding—a rare sight that would be difficult to encounter in the wild. Seeing Akela up close was both powerful and moving – not only his presence, but also the depth of his gaze. For me, this encounter underscored the profound power and elegance of wolves as they command both respect and admiration. 

It was truly an amazing experience photographing these wolves, ultimately creating a visual narrative that highlights their essential place in our ecosystem. My hope is that these images can inspire greater support for efforts to protect their natural habitats and ensure their continued survival. The work that Wolf Hollow does underscores the interconnectedness of our ecosystem, reminding us all of the vital role each of us plays in nurturing and protecting our natural world. 

©Erica Frisk. Akela, the alpha in the pack as he walks past behind his mate, Qantaqa, both are North American Grey Wolves. Behind him are Skadi and Vilkas, two Arctic Wolf siblings. 


Filed Under: Uncategorized

Caroline de Mauriac | Beyond the Anthropocene

Posted on October 15, 2024

We had the opportunity to speak to Caroline de Mauriac whose landscape photography work was recently on view in the 2024 edition of our public outdoor exhibition, Vision(ary): Portraits of Communities, Cultures and Environments. An interview with the artist follows.

©Caroline de Mauriac, Roads End Bath — When the new bridge was built over the Kennebec River, the old drawbridge was detached from the  roadway but remains mostly standing. The road ends but its vestiges persist for now, a relic of an earlier  iteration of human industry. A reminder that in time, all roads end.

Caroline de Mauriac, photographer, assemblage artist, and poet, spent her youth in New England and New York’s Hudson Valley. Following decades living in the Midwest and Rockies, she recently returned to her ancestral roots in Maine. She holds degrees in Anthropology and Museum Studies with an emphasis in Material Culture and Comparative Religion. She has a Bachelor of Science from Michigan State University and a Master of Arts from Denver University. Her professional career spanned work in museums and environmental organizations.

Although a mostly self-taught artist, Caroline has taken courses and workshops through Maine Media, Merry Meeting Community Arts Education, and with photographer Olga Merrill. She shows in galleries in Maine, including Meetinghouse Arts, The Maine Gallery, and River Arts. Her work often appears in various art and literary journals. Her images also hang in private collections in Maine, Michigan, Pennsylvania, and Kansas. Samples of her work can be viewed at www.ieye.blog and at instagram.com/caroline.de.mauriac.

The tenuous relationship between the human and the other-than-human world inhabits her photographic practice, her assemblage pieces, and her poetry. She recently published a collection of her work, Everything Breathes: An Exhibition Catalog and Chapbook.

Follow de Mauriac on Instagram: @caroline.de.mauriac

©Caroline de Mauriac, Life Source Harness. Lisbon Falls — Dams across the nation that manage water flow, and its distribution, are a necessity of modern  civilization. What will become of them once we are no longer adding or maintaining such infrastructure?

What initially drew you to document “synthetic” landscapes, as you define them, rather than more  “natural” environs? 

Much of my ‘soul feeding time’ comes when I am out in nature and being fully in its cyclical presence through  the seasons. When shooting in places impacted by humans, I frequently focus on capturing the architectural wonders of human endeavors. Having anthropological training my interests often find me in places of  archeological, historical, and cultural significance.  

Over time, I’ve started drawing a conceptual line between ancient ruins and the modern abandoned structures that have been scattered over the landscape during the last century. A lot of infrastructure has been  abandoned over the years. The remains have become regular features in the landscape with more  accumulating every day. I started experiencing them for their uncomfortable permanence in contrast to the  cyclical nature of decomposing organic debris. Human structural detritus has become a global phenomenon,  surrounding us everywhere and we barely give it a second look. We have no use for the remains, commonly  averting our eyes while they live out their existence as pernicious blights on the earth slowly leeching their  toxins and inorganic residues into the land, air, and water. The prolonged process of their dissolution  manifests across a time frame which far exceeds what will likely be the planetary reign of humans. 

©Caroline de Mauriac, Duck Pond Lockdown. Lewiston — The function of this soundly secured bit of water management infrastructure is not entirely clear. An effort has been made to blend it in with the adjacent marsh grasses surrounding this artificial duck pond installation. 

Was there any sort of transition in how you started documenting human structures versus how you  photograph them now? 

I’ve shot in a range of styles and genres over the years. In the built environment, my eye is drawn to  architectural features, especially doors and windows. All the better if they are historically important or visually  interesting. 

In recent years, my visual interest has shifted to include deteriorating doors and windows because they  possess unique features that manifest in uncontrolled ways. Unpredictable forms emerge as part of the inevitable deterioration process. Doors and windows as symbols in their decomposition became entry points for me to an expanded view of omnipresence and the long-term impact of abandoned human constructions. 

©Caroline de Mauriac, Foot and Fin. Portland — Fishing shacks line the Portland Waterfront Historic District’s Widgery Wharf. This particular shack,  bold with color and amorphous shapes, stark in its accoutrements and immediate environs, presents an  ambiance that suggests an intersection between a current surrealism and future dystopia. 

Take us on a shooting day with you. What gear do you usually work with? And what are the qualities that draw you in the most when choosing a frame? 

I carry my camera (an Olympus O-5 with 12-200 mm lens – that’s it) with me every day, everywhere. Rarely do I go out with preconceived notions or pre-preparations for a “shooting” day. Intuition and spontaneity are the only rules my shooting process.

©Caroline de Mauriac, Under Blue Skies. Portland – Often images in the project captured my attention because of the color pop. The blue metal  structure felt like a sky stand-in at this derelict end of the working wharf strewn with bits of structural detritus, operational infrastructure, and nature’s resilient attempt to reclaim a bit of its rightful footprint. 
©Caroline de Mauriac, It’s a Trap. Portland — Lobster traps stacked on Widgery Wharf are emblematic of an economic main stay of the local  fishery industries, but it’s also a trap that impacts the potential resilience of lobster populations in the long term due climate change and intermittent periods of overfishing. The procurement practices that also affect the survival of the endangered North Atlantic Right Whale.

What thoughts have you grappled with when it comes to picturing the long-lasting marks left by human civilization on the planet through the impermanent and at times immaterial medium of photography? 

All things are impermanent – even things that will outlast humanity. I don’t think much about questions surrounding the impermanent nature of photography. I invest my thoughts in what am looking at vs what I see and how the sense of it is transmitted through the lens of my camera and the filter of my inner vision. 

If Beyond the Anthropocene contributes in any way to a broader human experience as to our place and role in planetary processes that enhances awareness, compassion and/or sustainability in human action and consciousness – well wouldn’t that just be something? But concerning myself with the end product’s longevity or its meaning in the future is akin for me to trying to invent a full-blown cultural myth or predict what I will dream tonight. I just don’t know what will reveal itself next. The outcome is more organic than I am able to foresee. All creative endeavors expand awareness and human consciousness – almost always in ways we cannot predict. My photographic efforts are, by and large, an organic practice with little concern for its long-term resilience in the material world. All things end, but the creative process is an incomplete and imperfect product of one’s artistic vision. There’s always the possibility of another shot that will, with luck, express another intriguing variation on a theme. 

©Caroline de Mauriac, Sun’s Energy. Auburn — These storage tanks gleam ironically in the sun, a source of energy which cannot be depleted. 

Are there any photographers focused on human constructions and landscapes that have inspired you? 

The iconic and groundbreaking images of Stephen Shore’s work, especially in the series’ Surfaces and Uncommon Places, were among the earliest influences for me that loosened my grip and opened the possibilities of what photography can do and mean for me as an artist. 

I find Sean Kernan’s work deeply personal and moving. The Missing Pictures is not directly related to this project, but his technique and open approach to the art form speaks to me, specifically what he presents in his publication Looking into the Light. 

David Veldman’s work in abstract minimalism and architecture are some of my favorite images to consider in thinking about some of my own subject matter choices. His collection ‘Abandoned’, places the daily detritus of human habitation in the landscape in a way that is easily accessible and relatable. 

I am captivated and feel a great simpatico with Edward Burtynsky’s work, A Visual Archaeology which is his contribution to the Anthropocene Project, “a multidisciplinary body of work combining fine art photography, film, virtual reality, augmented reality, and scientific research to investigate human influence on the state, dynamic, and future of the Earth.”


©Caroline de Mauriac, Fuel Oil. Auburn – Here fossil fuel is palatably packaged, to enhance the landscape with a joyful presentation ironically suggestive of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. 
©Caroline de Mauriac, Tanks vs Trees. Portland — A landscape that elicits a false sense of compatibility between human land use and the presence of  natural features. 
©Caroline de Mauriac, Human Necessity. Portland — The backside of a wharf side seafood market that touts its wild caught sustainability practices. The  supporting infrastructure may or may not be able to hold to the same claims. 

Filed Under: Uncategorized

Ellen Mitchell | Benches of Seaside

Posted on September 22, 2024

Continuing our series of interviews with the artists from our annual public outdoor exhibition, Vision(ary), today we talk to Ellen Mitchell about her project, Benches of Seaside Heights. MItchell’s candid photographs document the town’s visitors, capture intriguing and humurous vignettes of human behavior, and reflect back to us the deployment of our beliefs, customs and ideologies in public space.

An interview with the artist follows.

© Ellen Mitchell. Courtesy the artist.

Ellen Mitchell is an alien whose life took an unexpected turn when she was dropped from a spaceship into the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. Arriving at the New Jersey Shore on a bed of seaweed, she came face to face with the human race and has tried to hide behind a camera ever since. Her photos take an often-humorous look at the peculiarities of earthly existence, serving as a silent testament to her unique extraterrestrial perspective. Her work has been exhibited in New York, Philadelphia, and Italy, and has been published in The Guardian, Lensculture, and American Illustration – American Photography (AI-AP). She has received awards from Lensculture, the New York Center for Photographic Art, and Los Angeles Center of Photography (LACP). 

Website: www.ellenmitchell.photography

Instagram: @i.ellen.m

Twitter: @i_ellen_m

© Ellen Mitchell

You’ve lived your whole life in Jersey Shore. How has this place influenced your often-humorous approach documenting “the quirks and drama of everyday life”? 

Connection with place has always been important to me. In particular, my connection to the Jersey Shore – my home – has always been very strong. While I’ve photographed during travels, I’ve mostly returned to places with which I have some history, like Seaside Heights. Seaside is both a place and an idea to me, something half-real, half-imagined. A place I can tell a story about, rather than just document, or try to depict aesthetically. 

When I first started to work at Seaside, I didn’t have an idea of the kind of pictures I wanted to make, but I did know what interested me about the place – the diverse crowds, the architecture, the dichotomy between a very economically depressed populace (it’s consistently ranked as one of the poorest towns per capita in the state) and a vibrant beach resort. I think that, as a local, I can pick out a lot of small details that show what is interesting about the town – at the same time, I probably miss a lot because I’m so used to seeing it that I’ve become blind to it, in a way. 

© Ellen Mitchell

What initially sparked your interest in capturing human behavior through photography? And has your practice led to any shifts in your own perspectives on social dynamics? 

I’ve always enjoyed Seaside’s spunkiness, even though some of the rougher behavior is a bit off-putting to me. I wanted to photograph some of the most colorful characters – not only because I thought they’d make compelling subjects, but because to me, they embody Seaside’s happy/scary chaos. My work is actually very much about place – even in this series, in which people are front and center, Seaside is as much a subject as the people themselves. 

Through this project, I’ve become much more aware of right-leaning political thought in my region. My photos serve up a preponderance of stridently pro-Trump t-shirt slogans (I have never seen a pro-Hillary, pro-Biden, or pro-Kamala t-shirt in Seaside). While I’ve known for years that my county is the most conservative county in NJ, I hadn’t appreciated how prevalent both conservatism and anti-left sentiment had become in my own local community in the middle of a blue state. 

© Ellen Mitchell

Take us on a shooting day with you. What does it look like? What should we not forget as your hypothetical assistants? 

On bright summer days, I arrive at the boardwalk around 3:30-4PM. My camera is pre-focused, and set to burst mode. I walk at the same pace as the crowd, and take a few quick photos of every single occupied bench, without pausing to stop, think, or try to pick the right moment. I work for as long as the light allows – 5PM in the beginning of the summer when the days are long (after 5PM, my shadow starts to protrude into the frame), and 7PM in late summer, when the light mellows and my shadow shifts to the left. Sometimes I’ll stay afterward to have a bite to eat, and then work on a different project at night. It’s an easy shoot – it requires very little active concentration – but it can be a long, hot, and tiring day. 

As a hypothetical assistant, I’m afraid you’d be rather bored! Photography is my quiet time. I almost always go alone. I like to roam about (or walk back and forth in this case) and become lost in thought. It would be more helpful to have someone assist me after the shoot, to straighten, crop, and tease details out of those dreaded white t–shirts! But if I had a companion while shooting, I’d advise them to dress well for the weather, stay hydrated, and of course, wear comfortable shoes.

© Ellen Mitchell

You mentioned taking candid photos without pausing to select moments. How does this spontaneous approach shape the narrative of your series? Do you believe in getting “the right shot” or is the project led greatly by chance? 

I find it much more exciting to take photos spontaneously than to meticulously plan each frame. I like to be surprised when I see the images later on. During the first year of this project, I did actively seek out compelling subjects, often circling back again and again to the same bench. But I also took some quick, almost noncommittal photos of benches that didn’t excite me quite as much. At first glance, the subjects hadn’t seemed very interesting – they were just normal people, engaged in normal activities like eating, conversing, and staring out into space. But that very ordinariness made the photos feel more true and universal to me. Now I purposely try to minimize my own role in determining who or what comes into the frame – I look just enough to ensure that I have a clear shot, but not closely enough to tell, for instance, whether a person is applying deodorant or stretching. I photograph everything, without distinction, and choose the strongest photos later on when editing. I think that in this case, having a spontaneous approach helps the project more authentically represent a certain moment in time. It really does feel as if I (or the viewer) were actually on one of my walks and just happened to look over at a bench at some arbitrary instant. 

© Ellen Mitchell

When photographing people in public settings, how do you navigate ethical considerations regarding privacy and consent? 

First, I believe that it’s crucial for candid photos to be taken. If hypothetically I were able to see photos from times before photography existed, of course I’d want to see portraits and documentary work, but I’d also want to see snapshots of everyday life that feel – and are – unscripted and spontaneous, literal snapshots of life as it unfolds. As historical documents, candid ‘street’ photographs have a heightened sense of authenticity and immediacy. So I think it’s very important for those kinds of images to exist. 

I don’t really feel like these photographs constitute an invasion of privacy, since the boardwalk is a very crowded public venue – a time-honored place to people-watch. What’s in my photos is exactly what any passer-by would see. Where I struggle more is deciding which photos to publish. For instance, just because someone looks hilarious when photographed mid-yawn or mid-pizza-chew doesn’t mean that I should post it just for the giggle factor, or even that it’s a

good photo. If there’s no additional level of interest, such photos only point out the vagaries of haphazard timing, which (to me) makes them gratuitous and not very interesting. I do sometimes embrace the silliness that appears in my images, but I’m not trying to make fun of anybody. I’ve also hesitated to post photos of obviously intoxicated people. That feels a bit mean. I don’t necessarily disagree with photographers who’d consider the aforementioned images fair game, and I’ve admired some work in that vein by other artists. I just do what feels right to me at the time. I try to be respectful while also keeping the project truthful, informative, and entertaining. 

I also think that intention matters. I consider ‘Benches’ to be a project about contemporary life and human behavior. My desire is to depict humanity rather than individual people; parenthood rather than parents, childhood rather than children. I don’t wish to single anybody out as much as I want to illustrate truths and trends. 

© Ellen Mitchell

You mentioned intending to continue this series indefinitely. How do you foresee the project evolving over time? Are there specific themes or changes in the community you hope to document? 

I’m not sure how the project will evolve over time, but I look forward to seeing how these photos are perceived when they are decades old. My hope is that ‘Benches’ will be a window in time to be enjoyed by both current and future viewers – a body of work that’s both fun and informative to look at. 

I saw the town change a lot in a short time, particularly after Superstorm Sandy, and then again in 2016 (Seaside’s conservatism became rather strident and bombastic post-2016). I realized things would keep changing much more quickly than I realized. And that these changes told a story I did not yet understand but might understand later, with time and perspective. I wanted to document those changes before I was even aware of their significance. 

© Ellen Mitchell

You mentioned that many details in your photos only become apparent during editing. Can you share some memorable surprises or discoveries that have shaped your perception of the project? What is your editing process like? 

I work quickly, so I don’t see much at the time of capture. I notice the small details later on, when editing. I feel like facial expressions in particular are important to the success of certain images, and it’s impossible for me to predict how they will appear in a photo (if a subject literally blinks, it can change the entire image). Other small details jump out at me during editing because they tell stories. It feels important (to me) that an elderly woman is wearing a ‘World’s Best Grandma’ t-shirt and a beaded name bracelet made by a child; that a wife is giving her husband a mean side eye; that two proselytizers engaging in an animated discussion are wearing t-shirts that say ‘Why is the world so divided?”; that a big tough muscled man has a huge tattoo of an infant’s head on his right bicep. It’s also interesting to see how many people wear gold cross necklaces, or Yankees baseball caps (a lot!!).

I edit for content – if something in a photo strikes a chord with me, I will keep it. It could be a funny facial expression, a touching moment between parent and child (or husband and wife), a slogan on a t-shirt. Anything that interests me now, or that I think might interest a future viewer – as a human (in the case of facial expressions) or historically (in the case of political t-shirt slogans, or fashion trends). 


© Ellen Mitchell

Finally, what advice would you give to emerging photographers who are interested in developing long-term documentary projects? 

If you feel strongly drawn to a subject, trust that feeling. Even if you start to doubt that you’re on the right path, continue to make work. Your project might fall into place, or it might not – but even failed photos keep you out on the street – or wherever – honing your skills, and engaging with subject matter that inspires you to create. That will eventually lead you to the work you want to make.

Filed Under: Uncategorized

Tracy Barbutes: At Home with Fire in the Sierra Nevada

Posted on September 21, 2024

We had the opportunity to talk to documentary photographer, Tracy Barbutes, about her recent participation in our annual public outdoor exhibition, Vision(ary). Her ongoing project, At Home with Fire in the Sierra Nevada, began with the 2013 Rim Fire events near her hom, envolving into a contemplative reflection of artist’s connection to place: “Wildfire changed the trajectory of my career and it altered my nervous system,” remarks Barbutes. “My vision has evolved from the reverence I hold for this natural phenomenon.”

Tracy Barbutes is an independent photographer who has lived in Northern California on Sierra Miwok lands near Yosemite National Park for more than two decades. Her current work often features wildfire, women’s issues, rural life and Yosemite National Park. Tracy’s work has been featured in National Geographic Magazine, The Washington Post, High Country News and The Wall Street Journal, to name a few. Her image, “Transformation” is included in the Women Photograph book, “What We See: Women & Nonbinary Perspective Through the Lens.” She has exhibited throughout Europe, Asia and the U.S.

Follow Tracy Barbutes on Instagram: @tracybarbutes

Website: www.tracybarbutes.com

© Tracy Barbutes

What inspired you to start documenting the wildfire crisis in the Sierra Nevada region, particularly after the Rim Fire in 2013?

The Rim Fire was, more-or-less, the advent of the mega-fire era we find ourselves experiencing. I cannot leave my home without seeing a burn scar from any number of fires that have burned since 2013. This changing landscape exists throughout the Sierra Nevada and Western U.S. (and globally, obviously). As a photojournalist and documentarian, it is my duty to tell the story of the changing climate and its impacts.

© Tracy Barbutes
Can you share more about your journey as a photographer and how you began focusing on themes such as wildfire, women’s issues, and rural life?

As a photojournalist working for daily newspapers, I regularly covered everything from sports, breaking news, gang violence, community events, structure fires, politics, etc. The 2013 Rim Fire ignited not long after I left a staff position to become a full time independent photographer. An international event happened, literally, in my backyard, and that 402-square-mile fire changed the trajectory of my career. I began to document wildfire, which led to documenting forest management/mismanagement, prescribed burning, community education efforts, noticing that women are a minority in firefighting, as well as a host of issues that impact rural communities. The more people I meet, the more questions I ask, the more I find to document.

Your project, At Home with Fire in the Sierra Nevada, spans over 10 years. How has your approach to documenting wildfires evolved during this time?

My imagery initially focused on helping residents understand the dynamics of wildfire, hoping it would help them to make good preparation decisions for themselves and their families. My strictly photojournalistic approach has since evolved to include contemplative, poetic, conceptual work in hopes the imagery will educate a broader audience about how climate change, and specifically, fire,  affects all of us, and especially those who live in the Wildland Urban Interface (WUI). 

© Tracy Barbutes

Could you describe a memorable experience or moment while photographing wildfires that deeply impacted you or your work?

Obviously, the Rim Fire had the most profound effect personally and professionally. It was the first time I covered a large wildfire, it was the first fire I watched from my inside my home, and it was the first time I evacuated. I spent many days in active fire zones with Public Information Officers (PIOs) and firefighters learning how to safely be in and around fire, while learning about fire behavior. It was eight years later, during the 2021 Caldor Fire, that I was ready to see an entirely different aspect of wildfire. The Caldor Fire had already churned through the south side of this section of the river canyon corridor, and it was continuing to burn moderately up and down the hillsides. However, the fire was raging upward on the backside of the canyon, creating a pulsating orange light show that illuminated the entire sky. I pulled safely off the road to experience trees torching on the ridgeline easily 1,000 feet above the road, the fire spotting up and over the ridge, the fire’s glow and smoke pulsed and it roared. It shook me awake to the fact that fire is a living, breathing, powerful entity capable of destruction, cleansing, beauty, rebirth.

© Tracy Barbutes

Is there/are there particular images in the series you’d like to expand on or tell us more about?

Transformation. I spent the day exploring the Sequoia National Forest (Western Mono/Monache and Tübatulabal lands) in areas along the Great Western Divide Highway and in and around the Trail of 100 Giants at the end of September 2021. I felt compelled to find and document Giant Sequoias that had survived multiple lightning-caused wildfires: the KNP Complex Fire burning to the north in Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks and this one, the Windy Fire, burning in Sequoia National Forest. I needed to bear witness to survival after having already documented so much devastation this fire season. I should have carried a chainsaw and was fortunate that I could work my way around burning logs and downed trees choking the roadways. I walked through powdery gray soil while breathing putrid, suffocating smoke and avoiding fire-weakened and damaged trees that crashed around me. I did a double-take at this burning remnant, as ironically, it felt like the most ‘alive’ thing I had experienced thus far on the day’s journey. In an instant, this downed tree, smoldering from the inside, became symbolic of a grieving, weeping planet, a Western landscape ravaged from drought and an inflamed nation fractured from deceptive narratives.  

©Tracy Barbutes
© Tracy Barbutes

In what ways has living in such a wildfire-prone area shaped your personal and artistic outlook?

I rarely sleep through a night during fire season. Year after year of intense fires and more days of intensely unhealthy air quality, I find myself searching for poetic beauty in the changing landscape. I need to find positives to balance with the destruction.

© Tracy Barbutes

Can you tell us more about the juxtaposition in Diptych – Spring Storm, September Suffocation at Tenaya Lake (2015, 2020)?

Tenaya Lake is located along Tioga Pass Road, Yosemite’s mountain pass (the highest elevation highway mountain pass in California). The pass, which is just up the road from my home, closes in the fall as inclement weather encroaches and reopens anytime between May and July, depending on snow and road conditions. Opening day is my favorite day of the year, by far. The lake, the pass, and all that is made possible by having access equals absolute joy and a multitude of options. Spring Storm was taken on the pass’s opening day 2015, which led to a full day of hiking and fishing in pure mountain air, where the AQI was ~10. September Suffocation was taken on my birthday while multiple mega fires raged throughout the state, forcing the closure of most public lands in this region, and the AQI was well over 300, equal to emergency advisories. This meant no hiking, no fishing, no paddling, no exploring new mountain lakes or meadows, and warnings to remain indoors. These images represent the dichotomy of joy, renewal, beauty, exploration and possibility with devastation, loss and grief that comes with living in the heart of wildfire country.

© Tracy Barbutes

Finally, what advice would you give to aspiring photographers who are interested in documenting environmental issues or landscapes undergoing significant change?

Please – listen to people who live in the communities you are documenting. Make time to understand the issues. Please fight the urge to create stereotypical imagery. If you’re covering fire or other weather events, please have all necessary PPE and have some training before you put yourself in the elements.

Filed Under: Uncategorized, Griffin State of Mind

Jaina Cipriano: Empty Mirror

Posted on September 20, 2024

We had the opportuntity to talk to experiential designer and filmmaker, Jaina Cipriano on her recent partipation in our annual public outdoor exhibition, Vision(ary): Portraits of Cultures, Communities and Environments. Her project, Empty Mirror, features a series of dreamy and playful self-portraits exploring tumultuous yet liberating episodes of coming-of-age, healing and identity regeneration.

An interview with the artist follows.

Follow Jaina on Instagram: @jainastudio

© Jaina Cipriano, You Get to Make the Choice

Jaina Cipriano is an experiential designer and filmmaker exploring the emotional toll of religious and romantic entrapment. Her worlds communicate with our neglected inner child and are informed by explosive colors, elements of elevated play, and the push/pull of light and dark.

She is a self-taught artist with a deep love for creative problem-solving. Jaina writes and directs award-winning short films that wrestle with the complicated path of healing. In 2020, she released You Don’t Have to Take Orders from the Moon, a surrealist horror film wrestling with the gravity of deep codependency. Her second short, Trauma Bond, is a dreamy coming-of-age thriller that explores what happens when we attempt to heal deep wounds with quick fixes.

In 2024, Jaina became the executive director of the Arlington International Film Festival. Her passion for changing lives through storytelling has found a home in the legacy the founders have created. Jaina is excited to foster community and creativity in New England in the coming years.

Jaina’s photographic work forgoes digital manipulation; everything is created for the camera. She takes an immersive approach to working with models, approaching a shoot like a documentary photographer as her subjects are let loose in a strangely designed space. Working with Jaina is often described as cathartic and playful. Her photographic work has been shown internationally.

She is the founder of Finding Bright Studios, a design company in Lowell specializing in set design for music videos and immersive spaces. She has collaborated with GRRL HAUS, Boston Art Review, and was a Boston Fellow for the Mass Art Creative Business Incubator and a finalist in EforAll Merrimack Valley.

© Jaina Cipriano, 30th Birthday

Jaina, congratulations on being part of Vision(ary). Given the central theme of the exhibition, how do you think self-portraiture can address issues beyond the self in a way that it involves community and environments?

Absolutely. I forget my images are me.

I believe that our internal narratives shape the future we believe we deserve and that those narratives come, in part, from the media and art we consume.
Empathy is at the core of my practice and I think that by telling new stories that focus on marginalized voices we afford everyone the freedom and power that comes with seeing their own truth reflected back. 

We change our narratives so we can change the world.

© Jaina Cipriano, You Tried to Bury Me
We are curious to know, where does the title of the project come from?

It’s about Becoming Yourself. Coming of age in the confines of the structures I did left little room for movement. I was always thirsty to know who I was. Growing up has been a journey of finding myself and filling the empty mirror in front of me. My reflection was built up over time. These works are an exploration of my childhood narratives through my grown-up lens. From sayings my father had (“I’m going to put you in a box so you won’t grow up.”) to bible stories that kept me up at night to fairy tales of salvation. How have they shaped my view of myself, the world and what I believe to be possible for my future?

© Jaina Cipriano
How long do you usually work on an image? What is the longest it has taken you to make a photograph?

Usually only a few days. That is intentional, I don’t want to overthink or talk myself out of any creative decisions. I try to work by listening to my gut. Sometimes a set takes weeks to build. In that time I am not thinking about the photograph. The photograph can’t emerge until I can inhabit the space. The photograph itself never takes more than a few hours. 

© Jaina Cipriano, Checking In
You share in your project statement how your experience coming from a background in a fundamentalist Christian cult made you feel separated from the world. How does photography help you navigate or reconcile this separation?

My childhood was mostly consuming media (books and movies) and daydreaming in the backyard. They were my best windows into the world. 

As I got older, the camera gave me a reason to be somewhere. With a camera in my hand I made new friends and was invited to document their days. I discovered myself and the world through the viewfinder.

Those two things came together to create my practice. Now I build my own stories and make sense of them through my lens.

Creating these worlds through photography allows me to change my internal narrative. When life feels painful or strange, I can use photography as a form of psychomagic, creating safe spaces where I can open up, be present, and trust the process. It’s a way for me to connect with who I am without the heavy influence of my past. I am illuminating new areas of myself to eliminate the darkness of my fear. 

© Jaina Cipriano, The Devil Was Here
Your childhood experience of playing pretend contrasts with your current practice of constructing and photographing your own spaces. How has this empowerment shaped the themes you explore in Empty Mirror?

It allows me to play, which helps me reconcile my past hurts and move through them into my wonderful present. Sometimes I connect to my childhood self and she just wants to make messes and dress up — and we do just that. There is empowerment in being able to say “yes” to my inner child.

Your interactive, participatory installations bring a different idea of the concept of community and environment. What motivated you to begin working in this fashion?

In 2017 I started Immersion — decadent, themed parties in my small Cambridge apartment. Some of the nights had rooms chest deep with balloons, dozens of cakes to step on or  strange, blacklight reactive spaces. I invited women who were interested in exploring behind or in front of the camera and we we’re all set loose in this 360 set I built and lit. Something happened in those spaces – discovery, connection, it felt like magic. It felt more real, to me, than real life.

As we get older we lose our opportunities to play. I always want to make space for myself (and others) to play. Play can help us heal our emotional wounds.

© Jaina Cipriano, Blurred Lines
© Jaina Cipriano
Finally, what thrills you the most about the theatricality of fabricated spaces?

The possibility. It is truly endless.

I am also able to communicate thoughts and feelings that I cannot in the “real” world.

In a way, all photographs are memories. But playing in fabricated spaces gives me the ability to re-create my own memories in a way that feels authentic to me. Even if they don’t look the way they used to, they hold more emotional truths than my childhood snapshots do.

They reveal emotional landscapes that are deeply personal yet universally relatable. By creating these worlds, I can connect with my own emotions and experiences on a profound level, while also providing a mirror for others to see themselves and feel less alone in their intensity.

© Jaina Cipriano, Childhood Is Over, Pack It Up

Filed Under: Griffin State of Mind, Public Art, Vision(ary)

Lidia Rusell | Desert Landscapes

Posted on September 15, 2024

We had the opportunity to accompany Lidia Rusell on a virtual journey on series, Desert Landscapes (2019 – 2022), currently on view in our annual public outdoor exhibition Vision(ary). Her project presents expansive vistas of iconic American scenery — from the Mojave Desert to the Grand Canyon. An interview with the artist follows.

© Lidia Rusell. All images courtesy the artist.

Lidia Rusell specializes in fine art, landscape, contemplative, and storytelling photography. Lidia combines her background as a journalist and publicity professional with her photography to tell stories about landscapes, places, moments, and reality behind forms. Her art explores the relationships between landscape, nature, human life, and spirit. Her photographs were featured in educational and art magazines, and were shown in group exhibits. Born in Poland, she currently lives in the US.

Follow Lidia on Instagram: @lidiarussellphotography

Desert Landscapes (2019 – 2022)

This project emerged from days of travelling through remote western desert landscapes of Arizona and California, so unfamiliar to my European eye. The visual language of American deserts is unexpectedly rich. I felt enchanted and humbled by the colors, textures, forms, layers of time, silence, sense of space, sense of unearthliness, the elements. Indigenous Peoples call these lands sacred and encourage their inhabitants to understand themselves through understanding the place they find themselves in, and in consequence, to become good guardians or stewards of the lands they belong to by virtue of birth or residence. If we understand ourselves in this way, we will grasp something essential about our relation to our communities, land we live on, and the planet. I am hoping these images reflect a sense of the awe experienced while driving and hiking through America’s deserts. These journeys took place shortly before the beginning (The Grand Canyon) and the end of the pandemic (The Mojave Desert), and they both prepared me for, helped to go through, mirrored, and enabled to better understand the meaning of that unprecedented time.

© Lidia Rusell
Lidia, congratulations on being part of Vision(ary). If we were on a photo trip to the desert together, where would you take us?

It may be too hot for Death Valley at this time, but I’d still take us to the Mojave Desert – some areas are not well known or widely photographed. For the most part it’s very much deserted – you can drive for miles and see just a train at the horizon or single vehicle. So it’s a super comfortable place for outsiders and empaths. Mojave’s vast open vistas, rocky hills, and remote roads have a pull that’s hard to resist. 

    The Mojave Desert sounds great. What are your photo essentials and what music, if any, should we play?

    When it comes to travelling and photography, our presence and attention count the most. We need eyes wide open, sunglasses, a good pair of lightweight hiking boots, an offline or printed map, plenty of water, and plenty of stamina – we may drive forever on bad roads, face strong winds and blistering sun. Wind is music that the desert itself is playing.

      Many Europeans also associate the Mojave with a quirky German cult movie from the 80s called the Bagdad Café and its’ hit song (lyrics start… “A desert road from Vegas to nowhere”) which captures something from the spirit… we accidentally found this small café in the middle of nowhere… buried in a desert dust it looked a bit too quirky for me, so I didn’t care to go inside. 

      I won’t play the very atmospheric Hania Rani’s music – though it would be great to introduce this talented young Polish piano player, vocalist, and composer (she’s a good photographer as well). Her nostalgic progressive mix of minimal tracks and neo-classical sounds would probably go well with desert sands and night skies. When we travel (it’s my heart that takes us places but it’s he who drives, just one aspect of his overall awesomeness), we sometimes listen to R.E.M. as we have this one old CD in the vehicle, but more often, we simply allow the sound of the place to reach us, so perhaps that’s what we could do now? 

      © Lidia Rusell
      Thank you for the recommendations! What is the first thing we do when we get to our destination?

      We take a deep breath and acknowledge our inner state. We take the environment fully in and make sure we understand where we stand – what we should pay attention to on this land, who lived there, and where these inhabitants or their descendants are today. We thank them (and the desert gods!) for allowing us to come that far. And we notice the weather… 

        What initially drew you to landscape photography and desert landscapes in particular?

        I always thrived in nature, and grew up with a landscape that was New England-like: forests, lakes, and close to the sea. As a teenager I discovered the mountains, and used to hike with my high school girlfriends. We would hitchhike the entire country, from the far northwest of Poland, to the lower south, and oftentimes we’d cross the border to the less crowded Tatra High Mountains in Slovakia, which are part of the Carpathian mountain chain. Both Slovak and Polish sides are protected as national parks. Later I would hike there on my own with a 35mm analog camera. The Tatra Mountains would make me feel strong, brave, and unusually alert – it was almost as if I sensed a higher consciousness there, and I loved those silent conversations with rough landscapes (at 8000 feet, my fear of heights would take me back from the trail before I reached the summit).

        Mountains possess a spirit, and so America’s deserts. When we immerse ourselves in this terrain and allow ourselves to be receptive, we tap into that well of desert wisdom. This connection is reminiscent of vision quests that have played important role in the spiritual practices of many cultures, including Christianity, Judaism, and Indigenous traditions. From a spiritual perspective, the desert is for growth and transformation. It calls for courage, strips away the layers of cultural falsehoods and illusions we cling to, leaving us with a raw, unfiltered view of reality. It provides us with great clarity and respect for the elements and forces that are bigger than us. Yet my journey into landscape photography began amidst the mountains, where a landscape felt grand and alive, and I wanted to freeze our encounter in time. My focus extended beyond physicality, I wished to depict the underlying mystery, the essence. At times, it felt akin to photographing a ghost – the unseen energies that pulse through our world. 

        © Lidia Rusell
        You took these photographs shortly before the beginning and the end of the pandemic. How have desert landscapes throughout this period shaped your understanding of solitude and the human connection to nature?

        Contrary to popular belief, silence in the desert is rarely an absolute void. Instead, it’s often punctuated by a variety of sounds: the whisper of the wind, the rustling of leaves brushing against one another, the songs of birds, thunderclaps, the patter of rain, and the reverberations of sound bouncing off the rocks. Yet, amidst this auditory richness, there is an overarching silence, akin to being nestled in a spacious vacuum bubble. It allows us to connect with both our surroundings and our internal responses so that we can better see and understand. The mental chatter diminishes, uncovering a spaciousness within us that daily distractions often hide. The desert, while captivating, offers little for the mind to focus on, creating a uniquely meditative atmosphere. When we become quieter, more empty, more desert-like, we can both loose ourselves and find the self that underlines our experiences. 

        The desert reveals that we are each solitary beings, unique universes in ourselves. We shape our own realities through the stories we tell. In this exploration, we can also see that everything else is a unique world, and together, we can create shared realities based on our collective experiences and the narratives we build together. We must learn to change how we view our relationship with the Earth. The pandemic helped many recognize our dependence on nature. We saw how the natural world thrived without us and offered us comfort during tough times. It’s essential that we take action to help the planet heal while there’s still time. 

        The desert journeys allowed me to recognize the power of the land. In these vast, seemingly barren places, I saw the endless possibilities of the human heart. As we move past the isolation of the pandemic, it’s important to nurture our visions for a new reality – one we started to glimpse during quiet, introspective times. Together and inspired, we can bring this new reality to life. 

        © Lidia Rusell
        You’ve written in your blog you “lean towards more wild and rugged places” yet have been excited about visiting both “remote locations and the more iconic tourist destinations.” How does your photographic approach change depending on its isolation and location?

        When navigating crowded locations, photographers often find themselves faced with two choices. The first is to photograph the moment and make a documentary statement (depicting scenes like tourists taking selfies at the precipice of cliffs or climbing nature monuments that hold sacred significance for Indigenous peoples, much like cathedrals do for Europeans). These images convey a juxtaposition of nature and human intrusion. Some photographers opt for a more selective approach and create idealized images devoid of human presence, carefully cleaning up the frame to remove any trace of tourists or fellow photographers. My preference leans toward arriving at these iconic sites when the hustle and bustle has waned, and fatigue has driven most away. We often choose “bad weather” day or venture to places that appear overlooked, nestled in the shadows of more popular attractions. I find value in spaces that afford a simpler interaction with the environment. In an isolated place, I allow intuition to be the guide (while having some idea about terrain based on former research). Sometimes there’s a need to decide about gear, length of hike, light, but usually all is spontaneous, and often feel that landscape recognizes the respect we give and offers to guide us… 

          Okay, feels as if I bored our photo group, and we could all benefit from a good cup of coffee. That’s what tourist destinations are for – they house delightful cafés and stores that offer an opportunity to appreciate the craftsmanship of local artisans. As a former ceramic artist, I often bring back from a trip a unique piece of pottery, and love to learn more about it. 

          When we venture into more ‘civilized’ areas, the visual narratives that unfold differ from those from untouched landscapes, but the cultures that thrive in the desert are picturesque and distinctive, even with a global coat of paint and disastrous impact on environment. 

          © Lidia Rusell
          © Lidia Rusell
          Some of your photographs feature Joshua trees, making us think about the environmental challenges threatening them. How can photography raise awareness about the interconnectedness of ecosystems and human happiness?

          David Ulrich, a photographer who weaves the threads between art, nature, and consciousness, shared insights gained from research on the impact of climate change photography. If I recall correctly, the findings revealed that images that portray the disasters and evoke feelings of despair are often less effective in raising awareness than those that depict the beauty and fragility of our threatened environments. This revelation is profound. When we engage authentically with the landscapes around us, their beauty fosters a sense of gratitude and reverence. This emotional connection allows us to acknowledge the “invisible thread” that binds us all to the Earth.

          Standing before a Joshua tree, or any element of nature that resonates deeply within us, we find ourselves in a contemplative space where we can perceive the sacredness of the land – like the Navajo people, who view the land as a powerful form of consciousness. The idea that, with every step we take upon the Earth, we are engaging with something far greater than ourselves is not just a romantic notion; it is a truth found across cultures and present in the literary traditions of the West. True happiness and fulfillment cannot exist in isolation, particularly when we are surrounded by landscapes that are suffering and exploited. The sight of dying Joshua trees – a species whose decline signifies the loss of countless other forms of life – serves as a reminder of our shared destiny. We are woven into this tapestry, feeling the land’s pain not just through despair but through the beauty it offers. 

          It is striking that while photographers are among the minority that articulates the state of our natural world, the majority of society remains unaware or indifferent. The beauty depicted in photographs is not just a visual treat; it is an act of reciprocity, an exchange between the planet and inhabitants. It invites us to pause, reflect, and perhaps take action in safeguarding our environments. Through this lens, we begin to understand that our happiness is intertwined with the health of our planet, and each image becomes a reminder of what we may lose.

          © Lidia Rusell
          What other photographers inspire you?

          I like that the word “inspiration” is derived from the Latin “inspirare,” meaning “to breathe into.” There’s something timeless about the pure, fresh air of Ansel Adams’ and Minor White’s photographs. I have great respect for the dedication and work of Sebastião Salgado, Ragnar Axelsson, and Robert Misrach. I find myself drawn to images that evoke particular inner states in the viewer, much like the landscapes from David Ulrich. I get lost in the beauty of landscapes photographed by William Neil, Jimmy Chin, Roman Loranc, and Xuan-Hui Ng. The frames of André Kertész and Édouard Boubat never cease to inspire me; their curious, tender perspectives and thoughtful compositions remind me that there is always something captivating to see. I am fascinated by Abelardo Morell‘s pinhole projects, especially “Tent Camera,” for their unique processes and artistic vision. Additionally, I admire the intricate work of Wendy Bagnall, Sandra Bartocha, and Ingrid Weyland, which highlights their sensitivity and craftsmanship.

          Gab Mejia is an exceptional young storyteller, photographer, environmentalist, and his response to my question during the National Geographic webinar about his favorite spot in the United States motivated me to explore the Mojave Desert. My list of inspirations is already quite extensive, but I’m also fortunate to have friends and acquaintance photographers who inspire me every day. Last but not least, my husband is a photographer – though his work is mostly confined to family albums and his phone – and he has the ability to inspire and even physically guide me a foot or two when I’m trying to frame.

          © Lidia Rusell
          We are getting ready to go back as we reminisce about your favorite places to photograph. What are they?

          If you glimpse through my portfolio, I hope you’ll detect a pursuit of presence and a hint of mystery. I’m drawn to remote locations that were once considered “off the beaten path”: frigid islands, rugged hills and mountains, volcanic regions, deserts, badlands, and glaciers. If I could frequently visit such landscapes (and survive there!), it would truly be a dream come true. At the same time, I share a connection with the Atlantic Ocean, which feels like a more expansive version of my childhood companion, the Baltic Sea. Lately, you might find me among the East Coast’s sand dunes, absorbing their tales of the past, the shifting sands, and the uncertain future, while gaining insight into the resilience we will all need as we navigate through our collective transformation.

          What is the last thing we do when we leave?

          We express our gratitude. And make sure we are well-informed about how to return safely (details on the route, weather conditions, and time)… we don’t want to drive through mountain passes in fog or get stranded in the desert after dark, though such an adventure might offer great photographic opportunities. We appreciate the land for welcoming us and revealing its mysteries. One of those mysteries could be the realization that we are never truly alone in the desert?

          © Lidia Rusell

          Filed Under: Griffin State of Mind, Vision(ary)

          Nicolas Marticorena: Aridness

          Posted on September 14, 2024

          We had the opportunity to talk to Nicolás Marticorena about his series, Aridez (Aridity), currently on view in our annual public outdoor exhibition Vision(ary). The work explores the concept of ecological and ’emotional’ aridness through the photographer’s solo journeys across his homecountry Chile, Mexico and Marruecos. An interview with the artist follows.

          © Nicolás Marticorena, Oaxaca, Mexico, 2022. All images courtesy the artist.

          Nicolás Marticorena (Santiago de Chile, 1983). He studied journalism and photography at Andres Bello University and has a PhD in Sociology from the University of Barcelona, Spain. As a journalist and sociologist, his approach to analog photography began during college with an initial interest in documentary photography. Over the years, he has been exploring other styles and developing a personal photographic look, which he conducts as a process of internal search and expression that allows him to connect with the contemplation of the environment, people, and the intimate. Since 2021, he has deepened his photography knowledge and capabilities through workshops with renowned photographers Luis Poirot and Fernanda Larraín, with whom he has been learning laboratory techniques for more than two years. In 2023, he was part of Pasajero, a group exhibition of analog photography at Centro Cultural Las Condes. 

          Follow Nicolás Marticorena on Instagram: @nicolas_marticorena

          ©Nicolás Marticorena, Tifnit 2, Marruecos, 2023.
          Nicolás, let’s imagine we are on a photo trip around Chile, Marruecos, and Mexico — the places where your series Aridity takes place. Where would you take us first and why?

          Without a doubt, Chile. It is the place I know best, it is my environment, and it is where my interest in connecting with aridity originates. I believe that as photographers, our perspective is always more enriching when we capture what we inhabit the most—be it a specific space, a theme, an emotion, or a particular interest. From there, we can create and understand the paths and evolution of our photographic projects. And Chile, especially the province of Petorca, is the space that has allowed me not only to develop a more personal perspective on a very sensitive socio-environmental issue but also to embark on a journey of self-discovery, where I have sought to connect the photographic process with my emotions through the images I have taken over the years of landscapes, people, and communities.

          I would take you on the route I usually follow through the province’s roads, with no other goal than to travel at a leisurely pace until I have the chance to find those places and situations that spark an intimate interest in photographing and getting to know those who live in these towns struggling to obtain water, learning about their lives, their memories, their surroundings, and their relationship with the mountains and nature.

          ©Nicolás Marticorena, Cabildo, Provincia de Petorca, 2022.
          In all the places we are going to, why is water — or better said, the lack of thereof — so important to you and to the narrative thread of your project?

          Through the images, I delve into the thread of aridity as an environment that allows me to connect with resilience. It relates to the ways in which nature, the landscape, and those who live with that environment adapt, as well as to those who travel or have traveled through an emotionally difficult path. In my view, aridity somehow drives us to seek the extension of life and transforms into a context that makes us reflect on what we were, what we are, and what we want to be. This deeply intrigued me, especially considering that the climate emergency we are experiencing is expanding the presence of aridity in our world in every sense.

          When I started this project in Petorca, an area suffering from the effects of climate change through an unprecedented megadrought, I began making recurrent trips to the area as an observer. I gradually familiarized myself with the context, the environment, and spent long days traveling alone, exploring mining routes, and conversing with people I met along the way. This dynamic allowed me to perceive the resilience of the environment, but also to feel my own resilience in relation to the situation and my personal experience. I realized the ambivalent effect of aridity on me and also began to notice that other trips I was making or wanted to make to other places—such as Mexico and Morocco—had commonalities with Petorca.

          ©Nicolás Marticorena, Tifnit 1, Marruecos, 2023.
          Travel to photograph or photograph to travel? What are the implications of each?

          Perhaps it’s a mix of both; I think there is a reciprocal relationship. Traveling is one of the most exciting activities we can engage in, and personally, it is one of the most cherished times for me to immerse myself in a subject and dedicate myself exclusively to photography, without distractions. It’s my chance to be amazed. Conversely, I believe that photography often leads us to discover, delve into, and develop an interest in new destinations. Since I was young, I’ve been fortunate to travel, but when I started integrating photography into that exploration, I benefited from a combination that expanded my experiences and travel horizons far beyond, whether near or thousands of kilometers away. Today, photography defines my travels and profoundly influences the destinations I choose; those that support my creative process and self-discovery.

          ©Nicolás Marticorena, Alicahue, Provincia de Petorca, 2020.

          What is on your mind when you hold your camera when you are photographing a person versus a landscape?

          It’s difficult for me to describe or generalize. There are times when I find myself encountering a person as part of a particular situation, inhabiting an eye-catching space, or reflecting an expression that draws my attention. At those moments, I feel the impulse to photograph, encountering a certain surprise that motivates me to capture the instant and offer my own interpretation of reality. Or there are times when circumstances lead me to a meeting through conversation and interaction, allowing me to get to know a person a bit better and discover them. That’s when the opportunity to create a portrait arises.

          When I photograph a landscape, I also feel an unconscious impulse; something compels me to pick up the camera and record. I’m drawn to composition, light, and textures, but underlying it all is something irrational. The photographer Graciela Iturbide says that when we photograph, we interpret a very subjective reality that somehow conveys our previous experiences and emotions. I feel a strong connection with what she mentions. I believe that when I’m alone, with my camera in hand, and I come across a landscape, situation, or person to photograph, I’m unconsciously capturing a moment that reflects a part of who I am and who I have been.

          ©Nicolás Marticorena, RutaE411, Provincia de Petorca, 2019.
          What are your photo essentials you take when you go on such photo trips?

            I try to travel as light as possible. I carry a medium-sized backpack in which I keep a light meter, a remote shutter release, some rolls of film, a 35mm camera, and of course, my Rolleiflex, which has been very useful on these trips. It’s a camera that, in a way, seems to generate trust and curiosity in people when I photograph them. It has opened some doors for me.

            ©Nicolás Marticorena, Chalaco, Provincia de Petorca, 2023.
            If you could add one more country to your project, where would you travel next?

              I would love to have the opportunity to explore Iran in depth. It’s a country that seems enigmatic to me, culturally rich, and with landscapes that are deeply moving. I’ve gotten to know it a bit more through its artists, its cinema, and significant photography books like Gilles Peress’s Telex Iran: In the Name of Revolution. It’s a country experiencing aridity and, unfortunately, is also severely affected by water scarcity. I hope that when the military and political tensions ease, I’ll have the fortune to explore it.

              I also want to explore the northern part of Chile more deeply, with its desert and highlands. This September, I will travel to the town of Putre to start a journey by land to Calama, where I hope to continue expanding my Aridity project.

              ©Nicolás Marticorena, Mirleft 2, Marruecos, 2023.

              Filed Under: Vision(ary), Uncategorized, Griffin State of Mind Tagged With: vision(ary), travel, griffin state of mind

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                Amy Rindskopf's Terra Novus

                At the market, I pick each one up, pulled in by the shapes as they sit together, waiting. I feel its heft in my hand, enjoy the textures of the skin or peel, and begin to look closer and closer. The patterns on each individual surface marks them as distinct. I push further still, discovering territory unseen by the casual observer, a new land. I am like a satellite orbiting a distant planet, taking the first-ever images of this newly envisioned place.

                This project started as an homage to Edward Weston’s Pepper No. 30 (I am, ironically, allergic to peppers). As I looked for my subject matter at the market, I found that I wasn’t drawn to just one single fruit or vegetable. There were so many choices, appealing to both hand and eye. I decided to print in black and white to help make the images visually more about the shapes, and not about guessing which fruit is smoothest, which vegetable is greenest.

                Artistic Purpose/Intent

                Artistic Purpose/Intent

                Tricia Gahagan

                 

                Photography has been paramount in my personal path of healing from disease and

                connecting with consciousness. The intention of my work is to overcome the limits of the

                mind and engage the spirit. Like a Zen koan, my images are paradoxes hidden in plain

                sight. They are intended to be sat with meditatively, eventually revealing greater truths

                about the world and about one’s self.

                 

                John Chervinsky’s photography is a testament to pensive work without simple answers;

                it connects by encouraging discovery and altering perspectives. I see this scholarship

                as a potential to continue his legacy and evolve the boundaries of how photography can

                explore the human condition.

                 

                Growing my artistic skill and voice as an emerging photographer is critical, I see this as

                a rare opportunity to strengthen my foundation and transition towards an established

                and influential future. I am thirsty to engage viewers and provide a transformative

                experience through my work. I have been honing my current project and building a plan

                for its complete execution. The incredible Griffin community of mentors and the

                generous funds would be instrumental for its development. I deeply recognize the

                hallmark moment this could be for the introduction of the work. Thank you for providing

                this incredible opportunity for budding visions and artists that know they have something

                greater to share with the world.

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