Fly! Be Free!

The view from above

I pulled back on the wheel amid the roar of engine noise and directed us up onto a wave of air -- that is, into a little bit of empty space. That hang moment, when I realized nothing solid connected me to the ground: pure delight. 

In a Talking Heads song, one line always stuck with me: "I can swim, but I should fly." Now I know why.

My friend Christine and I, under the guidance of our instructor Bob Gardner, went up in a Cessna 172 today, on a discovery flight through Navy Annapolis Flight School out of Lee Airport in Edgewater, MD. Bob has been flying for over 30 years, since his brother got him hooked taking him up into the skies when he was a teenager. As he said, "I figured if he could do it, I could too," and so he's been flying for decades.  He teaches through NAFC -- one of his former students was landing as we were taxing toward the runway -- and also runs charter flights. 

To start, Bob and I were in the front at the controls and Christine (and her camera) in the back. After some seat adjustment so I could see over the dashboard, and checklist run-throughs to check the fuel, lights, radio, and so on, we were rolling in short order. 

For those that remember my driving lessons, where each member of my family took me out precisely once, returning back pale, shaky and grayer of hair, my spacial relations in new machinery remains initially, umm, challenged. In the Cessna, I slowly taxied (weaved) down the runway using the foot pedals that steer left to right. Having (eventually) mastered driving a car so thoroughly, having a steering wheel in front of me that I, on the ground, ignored felt a wee bit unnatural.  Having breaks at both feet, so that you can really dig both heels in, had its appeal though.

Always choose the window seat

I loved take off. I really did feel the plane responding to my maneuvers there (although Bob, of course, had the other wheel, ready if I should suddenly flake out on a rather important part of the lesson). The amping of the engine, brake release, and leaping speed culminated in the gentle glide from ground to air. The landscape widened out in front of us as our altitude increased, providing a three-dimensional scope of land and water not possible during landlocked living.  Unlike a commercial jet, the sense of flight and air is much more immediate in a propeller plane, the difference between, say, driving a motorcycle (sans wind) versus riding in a bus. 

We cruised up to about 3,000 feet, flying into a glorious sunny day, mostly calm, the hum of the motor and tower chatter filling our ears. My feet stayed off the pedals in the air (Bob took charge of that), but I got to handle the steering wheel and so kept us lined up with the horizon. As when sailing a boat, planes respond with a small lag time, the feel of which I never quite got synced up with, but I latched onto the general idea. Partly, I was distracted just gawking at the view.

Go ahead, look down...when not flying the plane

We flew over the Bay to Easton Airport, landing there after checking with the tower. I learned that the four landing lights appear different colors based off of our altitude. Bob adjusted the throttle (less thrust, thereby slowing us down; obviously, those pedal brakes only work on the ground when there is something solid for them to grip against), eased us down to the a smooth landing. A quick chat with the tower clarified on what we were doing and where we were doing it (swapping seats off a corner of runway 4). Christine took my spot and I dug out my camera in the backseat.

Christine at the controls

As I did, Christine participated in take off and steering once airborne, and demonstrated more efficient bonding with the dynamics of the machinery. We hit a little turbulence on the way back to Lee, and heard automated warning through our headsets about cross winds as we were landing. 

Back on the ground, we taxied back to our plane parking spot, engine off and officially land-bound again.

Our brief flight, an intro only, left me exuberant, and my stomach mildly unsettled (turbulence lurches? glee? hard to say).  

Definitely, if I win the lottery, you'll see me taking to the friendly skies. And if my power ball number doesn't pop up, I may consider other scenarios to see how I could finance my private pilot's license. 

With the Cessna

As the website points out, in the US, only about 800 airports serve commercial airlines, but 5300 airports are open to general aviation. That's a lot of happy take-offs to scenic views while hopscotching across the country.

Death & Art: Rock Creek Church Yard

Allison Nailor, Jr
1836 - 1908
He was tired and lay down to rest

Art and death pair up in a sometimes flowing, sometimes awkward dance. In art, we search for our immortality, that which will live on beyond us; faced with the death of our loved ones, we pretty up the occasion with the art of remembrance, spiritual connection, and expressions of longing.

Two weekends ago, on Saturday and again on Sunday, I walked through Rock Creek Church Yard, a cemetery dating back to 1719, and wandered into the bits of story that its markers highlight. In the unfolding horror of the earthquake, tsunami and nuclear disasters in Japan, a graveyard on a sunny day in early spring ended up being strangely comforting. 

Gravestones

In graveyards, at first sweeping view, the numbers of dead demand attention. Acres and acres of markers go in the distance at Rock Creek, and the numbers have impact. The uniformity of Arlington Cemetery draws on this, with its sea of carefully spaced gravestones in the same way that the Vietnam Memorial, the listing of thousands of names, highlights the scope of  tragedy and sacrifice. Rock Creek Church Yard has rolling hills and deep-rooted trees that change the landscape, has diverse grave markers based off the tastes of family and the historical era of the death, but there is no escaping the message of the graveyard size: everybody dies, and we've been doing it for a long, long time.

Grass, shadows, trees, gravestones.

Once you get beyond the long historical view, however, death is personal.

 

Dad

Baby Paul
Aged 26 days

Those buried were individuals part of a web of people, family and friend, and when that string is broken, the whole framework changes, shifts and trembles as weights are carried differently by those left behind.

Our rituals surrounding death, like any other societal, cultural tradition, reflect out own take on the world. The pretentious in life may very well be gaudy in death.  The simple may opt for plain speak in death. And there is no way of knowing if someone's aunt Martha chose some strange angel because her dead nephew loved angels, hated them, laughed at them, or because she chose something to her own liking or budget without considering the deceased view on how his eternity would be labeled. 

An era of mausoleum design.

Stained glass

Mausoleum

Undoubtedly, some of the dead saw Martha's work and rolled over in their graves so they didn't have to look (not photographed - I only shot that which I found appealing).  And some rejoiced that their loved ones chose something so apt or so lovely or so unusual. Obviously, rolling or not, they're not talking.

Angel with book

That's what a lot of grief is, that you turn to ask someone who is no longer there to answer. The classic comment of the recently bereaved when they say they picked up the phone and dialed a number only to realize no one would be picking up. We forget and re-remember over and over. 

And that homage to grief shows up on graveyards. Some markers have benches, the suggestion being, sit and stay a while, tell the departed what you want to say even if they're no longer there to hear. In a way, sitting with grief helps carry us through to the other side, a point clearly illustrated by the Kaufman Memorial.  Also known as Seven Ages of Memory, the artwork was created by William Ordway Partridge.

Kauffmann Memorial

The life-size sculpture of a woman on the bench is disconcertingly warm, a person to be with you in sadness, with a hand left open enough that, should you be inclined, you could sit and hold hands.This is the sort of thing the grieving do, or try not to do. 

There are not a lot of places where crying in public is acceptable. A graveyard makes that list. In a cemetery, you get quiet sympathetic looks; in Kmart, you get folks shuffling away, with nervous backward looks as they ponder your mental and physical health. 

The Mystery of the Hereafter and The
Peace of God that Passeth Understanding

If you prefer privacy at Rock Creek, I recommend the Adams Memorial designed by Augustus Saint-Gaudens and Stanford White. The bronze sculpture of a hooded figure rests behind high hedges. The grave marker is for Marian Hooper “Clover" Adams and was commissioned by her husband Henry Adams after her suicide. Sometimes referred to as Grief (which apparently irritated Henry Adams no end, as he wrote, "Every magazine writer wants to label it as some American patent medicine for popular consumption—Grief, Despair, Pear's Soap, or Macy's Mens' Suits Made to Measure"), Saint-Gaudens entitled it The Mystery of the Hereafter and The Peace of God that Passeth Understanding.

Henry Adams never spoke his wife's name again after her death and omitted her from his book The Eduction of Henry Adams, details that tug at me.

While wandering the graves, I came across a gravestone on which someone had left Mardi Gras beads.

Dalrymple and Mautner grave markers

The story there -- Who left the beads? Had they gone to Mardi Gras together? Had they always talked about it but never gone? Was it some private joke about the inappropriateness of plastic as daywear? -- I have no way of knowing. 

I can tell you, courtesy of google, that Helen W. Dalrymple was a researcher at the Library of Congress for most of her career and co-authored several books.

Buried next to her is Mary-Helen Mautner. After her death, her partner started a nonprofit to support lesbian, bisexual and transgender individuals and their families when dealing with life threatening illness. An activist in life, Mautner's death also promoted a cause.

In personal and public ways, the deaths of Clover Adams, Helen Dalrymple, Mary-Helen Mautner and the many other people buried at Rock Creek Church Yard changed people and changed society. A nonprofit helps other people suffering. A statue at a grave marker adds to our cultural understanding and provides solace in its beauty. I'm sitting here writing about women I never met and the universals and particulars of mourning. And someone went to Mardi Gras.  

Family tree, roots running through graves.

Artomatic Takes Flight

Alas, I missed the opening reception of Artomatic Takes Flight, but I journeyed out to Ronald Reagan National Airport last weekend to check out the exhibit, on display until June 25th in the hallway connecting Terminal A.

Artomatic, a 12-year old DC art nonprofit, is known for the non-juried exhibits they've put on in empty buildings that transform blank spaces into creative wonderlands. More than 1,000 visual artists and 600 performing artists participated in the 2009 ten year anniversary festival. 

Artomatic Takes Flight is a smaller event, with 83 artists displaying their work. Selection was made on a first come, first serve basis. The art will perhaps offer solace to travellers waiting for delayed connections.

A selection of favorites: 

Jeff Chyatte
Helix
High Carbon Steel
https://chyattestudios.com/

David Hagen
Carrot Ride
Acrylic on Canvas
http://hagenillustration.blogspot.com/

Liya Sheer
Irony
Acrylic on Cavas
http://liyasheer.com/

Yelena Rodina
Bottle City
Oil
http://www.art-3000.com/artist/Yelena_Rodina/

Spring

Filtering History: McMillian Sand Filtration Plant

North Capitol and Michigan Ave NW

Inevitably, when driving down North Capitol with out-of-towners (or local DC-ites who seldom venture east of the Capitol) and we pass the odd towers lurching up from the rolling hills near Washington Hospital Center, they turn to ask: what the heck is that?


Sand Bins

While I've long known the structures are connected to the water system, I recently looked up the full scoop on wikipedia, and can now provide a name: McMillan Sand Filtration Plant. From its completion in 1905 until its decommission in 1986, the jokes about the DC water supply came back to roost on those twenty-five acres. During its active use, McMillan eliminated typhoid epidemics in DC, so if I grumbled about brown water from old pipes in my childhood, all I did was grumble, not fall ill. The slow sand filtration system was a milestone in its time.

Barbed-wire topped fences have surrounded McMillan since WWII, as its use as a public green space eliminated when concerns about the safety of the water supply sprang up. Currently, the area is owned by the DC government, who bought it from the federal government in 1987. Plans for redevelopment have, so far, stalled.



Staircase to abandoned

What does this have to do with art, you ask? Aside from an excuse to play with photography, the art in public spaces (as McMillan used to be) contributes to community in urban life - we gather around beauty. The more I look for art in DC, the more impressed I am by its arrival in unexpected places, from graffiti by the Metro to sculptures commissions by fancy institutions. As human beings, our instinct to detail, arrange, express, beautify, to imprint our style as individuals caught in our particular intersection of time, culture, circumstances, that comforts me. Even the decay of that art into a different form, the beauty of ruins and times past, lends meaning to a walk down a city street.

Renovation of Engine Company 12 Firing Up

Old fire house on North
Capitol St. NW

Work has begun in earnest on the renovation Engine Company 12, the old fire house at the corner of North Capitol and Quincy Place NW. Slated to be an restaurant with outdoor seating, roof deck and valet parking, opening is tentatively scheduled for Independence Day, according the information on the Bates Area Civic Association blog, http://batesareacivicassociation.org/2011/03/02/engine-company-12-firehouse-update/. DCist has followed the project saga for some time, as deals were struck and then turned to ash: http://dcist.com/2009/02/bloomingdale_firehouse_restaurant_d.php

Building detail

On my daily commute by the building, I've seen workmen cleaning the brick, painting the facade details gold, moving scaffolding in and out. This weekend, I had time to stop and take a few photos. A gorgeous building, built over a hundred years ago, I'm thrilled to see it restored and repurposed to beauty and usefulness -- and hope the recent activity is a sign that it will really all come to pass. 

No, I didn't break in. There is a camera-sized hole in the door.  Large signs proclaim that the area is under
video surveillance, so my photo nosiness is probably documented somewhere.

Building detail

Engine Company 12

Customizing

Circle 1, Circle 2
David Smith

Recently, I've been more deliberately customizing my life to my quirky needs.  You'd think I'd have thought of that before, but no, I tried to customize myself to fit into some mythical ideal that, being neither mythical nor ideal, made me feel crummy when I didn't match up. Feeling contorted and uncomfortable seldom moved me forward.

Now I'm working within my own odd little framework, and happy with my hops and skips into changes and fun.

A few examples of how to skirt around some roadblocks:

• Bring a friend. As the interviews and collaborative poems on this blog suggest, I do more when I have someone nudging me forward, if I feel accountable to someone else. How did I finally get over the threshold anxiety of actually taking a class at the yoga studio? Asked a friend to come along. And it was a great class complete with a teacher with a fabulous New Zealand accent, and now that the seal is broken, I'll go back easily. How did I decide to finally commit to the expense of trying a discovery test flight flying lesson in a small plane? Asked around and found another budding pilot enthusiast (test flight still pending as we had to reschedule because of high wind).
• Go with your gut. Rather than slog forward with the first hospital I talked to about volunteering (where, for a laundry list of reasons, rational and not, I got a bad vibe), I said, you know what, there are options. I talked to another hospital volunteer coordinator yesterday at a place that is a much better fit on levels both practical and personal, and now I'm looking forward to diving into the experience.
• Details matter; change approach. After roundly ignoring my oil paints all winter, I finally admitted oil painting fails the smell test of fun activity, particularly if you live in as small a place as I do. So I sold some of the paints, and invested the proceeds into buying more acrylic paints, a more straightforward medium for me. They don't smell, they're easy to clean up, and woohoo! I'm painting again, in the brief fits and starts that acrylics allow way more easily than oils.
• Ask the experts. Obviously, in the interviews I've been posting, I've been asking about expertise in arts, and learning from others' art talents. In the future, in more of a healing arts bent, I'll be working with a friend who does nutritional coaching professionally (more on that later). Notably, however, her first point of advise was, work within who you are. I'm just not an eight-course meal vegan raw food chef with nine food processors and unlimited funds. That doesn't mean finding ways to eat a few more veggies wouldn't make me feel better.  



Love that Calder

• Just go! Last weekend, it poured rain all day on Sunday, and by 4:30, I'd run out of steam for any creative project at home. Claustrophobia was setting in. Sunday has traditionally been museum day for me, and so a quick check on hours led me to the East Wing of the National Gallery of Art. I could have decided it wasn't worth driving downtown in the rain for 45 minutes in the museum. But the thing is, having hustled out the door and gone, it totally was. Having default places that are quick, easy, free and inspiring -- that's a fantastic resource. If it's your local coffee shop or a garden or a museum, making the effort to push out into the inspiring space means meeting inspiration half way, meaning a happier Muse. As it turns out, the Gauguin exhibit had opened, and had I not zipped out, I might have missed all those self-portraits of a very unusual man. 

So today's summary: find ways to take small steps in the direction of your dreams. And if you need to reconsider the details of that path, that's just fine too. Small steps allow for course corrections and clarifications. 
 
No photos allowed at the Gauguin exhibit, but I got to visit one of my favorites, Kandinsky.

Improvisation 31 (Sea Battle)
Wassily Kandinsky

Photography: Jim O'Connell, Surly Bastard

Jim O'Connell, a photographer now based in his hometown of Williamsport, PA, spent the previous decade living in Tokyo, Japan. His photographs have appeared in The New York Times, The International Herald Tribune and other publications.


Surly Bastard
self-portrait, Jim O'Connell

That's the official story. In 1988,when I met Jim, aka Surly Bastard, (currently his favorite moniker, as well as the name of his website), he was about to quit an office job to work as a bike messenger, and appeared to exist exclusively on Camel cigarettes and vast quantities of a fairly awful mash of potatoes and onions. Over the decades that I've known him, he's experimented with line drawing, piano and guitar compositions, jewelry making, extensive blogging when the world wide web when was young and nubile (think 1995 when blogs were just web pages), fiction, memoir, on-stage story telling, and mastering culinary treats well beyond that potato mash.  Weaving through and bleeding into his artistic leanings lives his love of technology and gadgetry, from rewiring found stereos to computer programming (which led to working at Six Apart when it was start-up).  He speaks Linux and mac. Recently, he picked up a paintbrush, curious as always.

When he threw himself in photography in Tokyo, he did so with his characteristic blown-open throttle, so I can't say I was surprised to find his photos in the The New York Times not all that long later. His intense focus sponges up information and puts his own unique spin on it, crunching on the bones, spitting out splinters, blood and beauty. His work often zeros in on innocence seen in unlikely places and simple moments made central to a larger stories, stark at times, almost painfully idealistic at others. His sensibility is romantic, deeply intuitive and, despite his surliness, deeply kind. In other words, his work reflects his character.

Given all that, I was immensely pleased he agreed to answer my questions on photography and allow me to display some of his work on Artful Mistakes.

And now, Jim talking about photography. For those that are paying close attention, you may notice similarities to the questions I asked Christine Tomaszewski, Satirenoir, which provides a layered discussion of the way photography and personality intermingle, a conversation I hope to continue. 

Sweeten the deal, seal the deal
Jim O'Connell

Cyn: Why photography? What was your initial draw and what continues to pull you in?

Jim O'Connell: In junior high school, I was offered a choice in advanced-placement workshops: Calculus (or some other useless math thing, forget…) or photography. I chose the latter. The problem was, I didn't have a camera, so one of the advisors to the program offered to loan me his. I imagined that I'd be getting some sort of "cool" professional camera that was black with a motor drive and a lens as long as my arm. To my dismay, it was this little silver thing (uncool) in a brown leather case (more uncool) with a stubby little lens (unthinkably uncool). Despite these obvious flaws, it did seem to take pretty good pictures. It was a Leica. Years later, I spent a small fortune on almost the same camera.

Hitomi
Jim O'Connell

C: Who are some of your favorite photographers? What captures you in their work?

J: I respond much more to individual photographs than certain photographers, but I really get jazzed when I catch a glimpse of a photo I haven't seen, but know instantly who took it—that level of mastery is rare and refreshing. The subject is almost irrelevant. What I look for is some kind of unspoken communication between me and the photographer; if I feel that I know what he or she was thinking, what they were trying to communicate, *and* that that thing they are trying to say is worth hearing, I'm going to love the photograph. Too often though, people only shoot a few of these in their career.

Old Bike, Beijing Hutongs
Jim O'Connell

C: What are the commonalities in photographs you love (yours or others)?

J: I try not to be influenced by other people's work and don't look at it much for inspiration. The exception is a site called Them Thangs which is an aggregation of really great images picked from all over the web without the constraints of little things like getting the rights holder's permission. It's a brilliant collection of images, one after another, usually with no attribution, something I would normally be opposed to, except this works on a transcendent level.

Koreatown, 3:00 AM
Jim O'Connell

img894
Jim O'Connell

C: What do you look for when assessing photography quality?

J: Does the photo grab you and not let go? Can you remember it a day later? A year later? Does it haunt your dreams and shape your view of the world?

C: Have to ask it: digital v. film. Advantages, disadvantages, snob factor?

J: I was a huge film snob for a long time. I shot most of my work on black and white film that I rolled myself and processed myself. I used old cameras, Nikon F, Mamiya Press, Bronica, cameras that were state of the art around the year I was born.

Shooting to meet deadlines changed that for me. There were times I would get an assignment in Tokyo in the morning, shoot it that day and be expected to have it edited, captioned and filed in New York before the editor finished her morning coffee. Pretty impractical if you're shooting film. There's one or two people who shoot for the NYT using Leicas and B&W film, but certainly not grunts like me.

The thing is, I didn't resist the switch to digital. When the cameras got good enough, there really ceased to be much difference. If the subject dictated that the final image be shot on a grainy black and white film, I can produce those qualities in digital. The bulk of my work lately is like this. The difference with shooting digital in uncompressed RAW format is that you have the option to change your mind later. I've had occasions where I set out to shoot black and white with my digital, make all of the settings on the camera and computer so I never see the image in color, but while I'm editing, find an image that I'm glad to be able to have in color. If that was film, I would have limited myself unnecessarily.

In the end, though, a strong image is a strong image and will look good even if you run it through a Xerox machine.

C: Does equipment matter? Why or why not? Any favorite cameras, films, software, printing papers, lenses, filters?

J: Lenses matter far more than camera bodies. My standard camera these days is a Canon 5D Mk II with a 50mm f:1.2 lens. Good stuff for sure, but given any camera, I feel confident I could make competent images.

C: What is your relationship with the editing process (Photoshop, cropping, printing)? Do you view it as corrective, exploratory, both or otherwise?

J: It's probably eighty percent of good photography.

Whistle a little tune, say Beethoven's Ninth Symphony or Mozart's "Eine kleine Nachtmusik". In that little whistle, you can get the gist of the piece, but if you're the composer, there's a million different ways you can take that tune and turn it into a memorable piece.

In photo editing, each photo in a body of work should work with the other photos to express an overall idea. They don't all have to follow some rule, but there should be a certain intention to how they are presented.

As for individual pictures, editing will make or break a photo. Henri Cartier Bresson used to delight in showing the whole frame of the photo, even filing down the negative carriers he held the film with in his enlarger, so you could see that he used the whole frame. Personally, I have no problem with cropping, repositioning, whatever I need to do to have only the elements that matter appear in my photos.

As for color, people react to it so subjectively and strongly, even without realizing it, that you can't not work with your colors to bring out what you feel. Black and white is perhaps the most extreme example, but it just works. In other cases, you might bump up a color almost imperceptibly or draw down a range of hues to make the photo look like the image you had in your head. You can do this by choosing a type of film or processing or do it on the computer.

Either method is equally valid in my book.



Clouds
Jim O'Connell

Ginza
Jim O'Connell

My Avocado Plants
Jim O'Connell

Dance
Jim O'Connell

C: What are some obsessions in your work? I've noticed portraits, obviously, and the strippers, black and white, atmospheric vaguely 50s or timeless blur. Do you look for particular content, scenes, shapes, colors, or wander into what captures your imagination?

J: I've never set out to be a nostalgist, but some would put that label on me, because I used old cameras and films. When I was using the old cameras, I was using them because they were better than the digital gear I had. When I started the nighttime project in the red light district, film was far more forgiving of bad exposure, so I used that. Flashbulbs (the single use kind from the 1950's) are still brighter than any portable electronic flashes so I used those. That lent a certain quality to the images that people either liked or felt was contrived. If I was to start that project again today, the gear is different and I would use digital and the subtle effects would be different. Still, the things that I cared about then wouldn't change.

As for obsessions, I simply adore the female form. I was given a unique opportunity to work with the dancers and strippers on Tokyo, granted almost impossible access to them to the point where I was welcome both in their dressing rooms and even on stage with them while they performed. A chance like that can't be squandered.

Caduceus Loft 0794
Jim O'Connell

Img23043
Jim O'Connell

Dancer
Jim O'Connell

Untitled
Jim O'Connell

In portraiture, I like to get close and invade someone's personal space to help them drop their personal preconceptions about how they should appear and even what they look like. When you can do that well, you get a peek behind their mask, some kind of rare honesty that gets me really jazzed.

Makoto-chan-4
Jim O'Connell

Makoto-chan-3
Jim O'Connell

Kabukicho, the red light district, was a bit of a long departure for me. When I first happened upon the place, it felt to me the same as when I used to go to New York in the early eighties—it was dark and grimy and infused with a feeling of sexuality and danger. I realized that first night that I could never shoot Times Square or 42nd Street like that again, so here was a second chance. One day, Kabukicho will be cleaned up too, but I'll have a good document of what it felt like to me at the time.

Img807
Jim O'Connell

Img802
Jim O'Connell

When I'm completely burnt out, I force myself to shoot an arbitrary subject when I see it. To get through the last really bad slump, I vowed to shoot certain subjects every time I encountered them: puppies and transvestites.

Ginza
Jim O'Connell

Skirtguy
Jim O'Connell

C: How does motion play into photography? I mean this both in a technical sense - how do you catch the moment just the way you like - and more metaphorical, - how do you feel about the static aspects of photography versus, say, the fluidity of movies?

J: I rarely shoot actual motion, though I'm certainly capable of shooting it. I like implied motion, perhaps the sense that the subject has just arrived or is about to depart.

I feel like a lot of my stuff is straight-on and flat.

Girl on a Bike
Jim O'Connell

We are all, at times, translucent
Jim O'Connell

C: Shooting people - what are the challenges and rewards?

J: Like I said, I like to get close and find some understanding of that person. Taking a good photo of someone is sharing an intimate moment, like making love.

Laura
Jim O'Connell

A Praktika Girl
Jim O'Connell

C: Best shooting story, success or failure?

J: One of my favorite photos was shot on an old twenty dollar Nikkormat (like a Nikon for students in the late 1960's) with a decent lens and the wrong film for the situation, grainy film that I used at night, primarily, but this day I happened to be at the beach in the daytime. The camera's viewfinder ring had fallen off that day, leaving the rough threads of the eyepiece exposed, which was scratching my rather thick glasses, so I took them off, leaving me rather blind. Still, I happened to notice a scene and shoot it mostly by instinct. I shot four frames of a grandfather and granddaughter jumping off a wall and they all were perfect. The one of the actual jump is perhaps the best thing I've ever shot.

Till glädje
Jim O'Connell

C: How do you feel photography fits into the larger world of visual arts?

J: There are visual arts beyond photography?? Do tell…

Actually I just did my first painting, which I quite liked, so tried another, which is an abomination. I can't draw and my (motion) film attempts have been overwrought and tiresome.

I really don't know much at all about the other visual arts.

C: What's the oddest thing about your approach to photography?

J: I never wear pants when I shoot.

Typical Shibuya Morning
Jim O'Connell

Truthfully, when I'm shooting, I become a total hippie, philosophically—I get superstitious and believe in things like the Muse and relying on the blessings of the deities in order to have my work matter.

In life, I'm much more pragmatic.

Nobody Loves Gutter Bear
Jim O'Connell

Hang in there, Baby
Jim O'Connell

C: How do prints compare to your experience reviewing photos on screen?

J: I hate prints.

I hate doing them and never know what to do with the ones I have. Even when I was shooting all film, I scanned the negatives and looked at them on screen.

If I make a print, maybe a hundred people will ever see it. If I put it online, thousands of people will see it.

That said, I used to get a real kick out of seeing my photos in the Times—it was like a game of abstraction where I'd go shoot 500 photos, edit them down to 25 and the editors would pick five or ten or one to use and stick on a page in the paper. Seeing it laid out like that with all of the text around it was always a fun experience, kind of like seeing a childhood friend who's become a cop or joined the army—here's your old friend, all done up in uniform…

Tokaien Hotel - 7
Jim O'Connell

Joy of Color Film
Jim O'Connell

C: The rule of thirds - do you follow it religiously? Do you have photos you love that break the this or other rules of photography?

J: There are lots of "rules" and you should study them all and be able to break them with brilliant intention.





The "Rule of Thirds", however, is a handy thing for any photographer to keep in mind, as reliable as a good tripod for improving your photography quickly.

Man Reading Magazine, Tokyo Convenience Store
Jim O'Connell

C: On that note, how conscious are you of composition when shooting? When cropping and editing?

J: I once asked a large group of photographers which was their dominant eye and what "handedness" they were in an effort to understand composition. The answers were all over the place, but I came to realize that my subordinate eye was better at seeing composition, but looking through the camera with that eye just about requires an eye patch over the dominant eye. Cameras where both eyes can see the subject are just about ideal for me, be it a waist-level finder like a Hasselblad, or something like an iPhone. My right eye does all the arty stuff like composition and my left does all the dull stuff like checking the focus points and exposure.

In editing, I find I usually crop to 4x5 proportions. I don't know why, it's just more pleasing to my eye.

Ben behind the bar, just before 5:00 AM
Jim O'Connell

Yasukuni
Jim O'Connell

C: When you are in photo-mode, how does your view on the world change? For instance, when I'm out taking snapshots, I find I pay a great more attention to my surrroundings, but that I also tend to chop it up more, considering what fits in a viewfinder, so I experience the world more as detailed parts, rather than holistically.

J: When I'm really "on" I am in a different state of mind completely, but it's a precarious and difficult state to maintain. The best I can explain it is like when you are trying to view one of those "Magic Eye" photos at a mall gift shop, the kind that are a blur of static until you concentrate and suddenly you see a dolphin appear. If you get distracted, it all falls apart. Shooting can be like that where you keep that focus for shot after shot and when you're done, you're exhausted and fulfilled.

C: How does art and photography impact other aspects of your life?

J: My studio is in an artist's collective in an old factory in Central Pennsylvania [The Pajama Factory], so I'm blessed—I get to be around some really creative people at any hour of the day or night. This keeps my mind thinking about art for long periods of time.

Pajama Factory Studio Space - 3
Jim O'Connell

C: Where do you see your work going next? Do you have experiments or projects in process? Do you have particular elements of craft you're looking to nail down?

J: Oh, I wish I knew. I wish I could get an assignment far away from everything I've ever seen so far and fill my camera with new and different things. Still, for now, I need to be here and I'm happy with it. I've even come to terms with putting the camera down for long periods without guilt.

C: [Create your own question and tell me what you want to say about photography]

J: The biggest lesson I've learned is this:

Look through your camera or at the screen or whatever.

If it looks good, push the button.

If it doesn't, don't push the button.

It may sound like I'm taking the piss, but that's really the most important thing to do to take good pictures.

Currently, Jim is working on a personal photo project focused on portraits. Check out http://www.surlybastard.org , http://www.mmdc.net and http://www.flickr.com/photos/jimoconnell to see more of his work. 

Nikon F
Jim O'Connell