the dings that chooses us

 

_1070806_CP

 
That title doesn’t sound right… well, hope it conveys… some-thing

We make records of what surround us, of what’s around us, of us (even if it’s only the context of/for a concept) into (with) other things, could not be other way, an endless self-portrait, a collection of moments, people, places and things we relate… that we can relate, that we want to relate/engage, maybe. Belonging, not belongings. It is all about relations, relating and engaging. Where those records are displayed, how are they shared, what (added) value they might have and how are articulated the relations between (a series of) them are yet further steps of creating a language with(in) our complex cultural processes.

Jörg M. Colberg in cphmag.com
The Gestures of Photography
Thanks Arne for the heads up

 
Now’s a good time to let you know of a project I find interesting Too Hard to Keep by Jason Lazarus, a growing archive of photos the public deems ‘too painful to live with any longer.’ This repository is a place for photographs, photo-objects, and digital files to exist without being destroyed. Site-specific installations continue to be curated out of the expanding collection. /// So basically, anonymous send him photos or objects that are unbearable… it is a “public” collection of very personal memories that people prefer not to remember/keep.

 

THTK_example

 

Also have a look at Alec Dawson’s more gloomy stages in Nobody Claps Anymore

 

From many different sources (proto-germanic, middle dutch, icelandic, old norse, frisian) the word “thing” is realted to assembly, to a human process, to gathering. In spanish (also portuguese and french: cosa, coisa, chose) it’ld better relate to its latin root la (fem.) “causa”, like the “judicial process, lawsuit, case;” as it to latin res “affair, thing,”. One has to wonder when and how did such a powerful and noble meaning become just a decadent and oblivious whore; with utmost respect for the mother of all professions (‘nother funny word which has latin’s fateri to admit, to confess, built-in).

In November of 2013 as I went through a long night walk in the city, I recorded a strange poem which started like this:

We do, we do we do we do, redo
We do not choose the things that touch us
We do not choose the things that touch us
They just do

And it happened so with the first photo in this strange blog post.
It has been exactly two weeks since I took my last photo, which was the sweet couple of african girls. These days I take very little photos, the amount of images I bring home has shrinked tremendously but the ratio of the ones that make me smile has skyrocketed 🙂

Anyway, what moved me to open the bag, take out the camera, set parameters (by now this is just automatic process, thanks god) and aim to that specific spot, the plants peeping out the window’s ledge? But I didn’t take the picture… instead I waited, I related (to) and was (in) the moment… contemplating the clouds and the foliage moving each one with their own pace, then the stiff building, its hard edges, the whole altogether… These things really happen quite fast, it feels like one becomes a big and majestic feline in the plain… waiting, waylaying (such nice word), preparing to be prepared and fiuzz plik it’s over. Saw the woman coming out the building, she doesn’t see me, she takes her mobile phone and aims up, for the sky? Then, just before squeezing the trigger I notice the pigeons in front of the CCTV. Kodak!! It’s done, just 1 . Put back the camera in the bag, go away.

 

How did my camera see that? Here:

_1070806_raw

 

But that’s the camera, how do I see it myself, how do I re-see, re-live it (?), how do I relate to the record of the moment?

So now this mysterious process goes on… to live with that/this thing/image. What am I seeing? What is here that was there? What is (here) from me still? Then one starts engaging in knitted relations and be the image. A frame of a frame through a frame. The plants (trying to escape) on the ledge framed by the window, the building framed by trees outside the building (trying to enter?), the woman… so small comparing to what surround her, rises her arms and frames some-thing, above pigeons, CCTV cameras and clouds. Two strong diagonals intersect, the one the building creates and that ever-changing from the clouds and the trees. All that within the frame (simplisticly POV) of what I am, of how I relate – then and here – in this never-ending here and now!

 

I has taken me 3 days, 3 days of… to be able to be in the image. After 12 different approaches (each with its own application thus process), I got it… or to be honest it would be better said it got me.

The debris:

DARK_Collage2

 

One funny byproduct of the massaging

222 copy

 

 

When one gets lost in the process and looses sight of what’s really important/true

5comparisson

 

 

PS

I bet now you will differently see (be with) the first image…

 

gashô

 

About m)◘(x

ni! for now
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