Annotated Images
Imagery produced or enjoyed by one (1) Gregg Evans, photographer, Brooklyn, NY. http://greggevans.net
A Receding Hairline (SF Sunset).  2014.  [To be cut out and printed via adhesive vinyl.]

A Receding Hairline (SF Sunset).  2014.  [To be cut out and printed via adhesive vinyl.]


We had group crits today, and they were exhausting.  I have studio visits for the next three days straight.  I am now going to lay in bed and watch Star Trek on my phone and proceed to feel guilty about it tomorrow.  Goodnight.

We had group crits today, and they were exhausting. I have studio visits for the next three days straight. I am now going to lay in bed and watch Star Trek on my phone and proceed to feel guilty about it tomorrow. Goodnight.


Falling Behind.  2014.

Falling Behind.  2014.


If anyone in the Hudson/Harlem Valley knows of anyone who is queer/lgbtq identified who would be willing to sit for me, I would love to take their picture.  Send them my way.

http://hudsonvalley.craigslist.org/tlg/4424262690.html 

You can say that a lot of Lost Highway is internal. It’s Fred’s story. It’s not a dream: It’s realistic, though according to Fred’s logic. But I don’t want to say too much. The reason is: I love mysteries. To fall into a mystery and its danger… everything becomes so intense in those moments. When most mysteries are solved, I feel tremendously let down. So I want things to feel solved up to a point, but there’s got to be a certain percentage left over to keep the dream going. It’s like at the end of Chinatown: The guy says, ‘Forget it, Jake, it’s Chinatown.’ You understand it, but you don’t understand it, and it keeps that mystery alive. That’s the most beautiful thing. For me, a film exists somewhere before you do it. It’s sitting in some abstract world, complete, and you’re just listening to it talk to you, telling you the way it’s supposed to be. But not until all the sound and music and editing has been done do you truly know what it is. Then it’s finished. It feels right, the way it’s supposed to be, or as right as it can. And when it’s finished, you’re back in a world where you don’t control anything. You just do the best you can, then say farewell.
David Lynch, Lost Highway Interview, Rolling Stone, March 6, 1997 (via wandrlust)

(Source: roadmovies, via wandrlust)

Also, just in case nobody noticed in that install shot, I have a major art boner for Ed Ruscha.  I guess the cat’s out of the bag now.

Also, just in case nobody noticed in that install shot, I have a major art boner for Ed Ruscha.  I guess the cat’s out of the bag now.


Work prints ready for upcoming group crits and studio visits this week. Had to print everything at Wal-Mart (lol) b/c the printer is out of ink here, so they look a little magenta, but whatever.


bmichael:

cross-connect:

Taryn Simon - The Innocents

Text

The Innocents documents the stories of individuals who served time in prison for violent crimes they did not commit. At issue is the question of photography’s function as a credible eyewitness and arbiter of justice.

The primary cause of wrongful conviction is mistaken identification. A victim or eyewitness identifies a suspected perpetrator through law enforcement’s use of photographs and lineups. This procedure relies on the assumption of precise visual memory. But, through exposure to composite sketches, mugshots, Polaroids, and lineups, eyewitness memory can change. In the history of these cases, photography offered the criminal justice system a tool that transformed innocent citizens into criminals. Photographs assisted officers in obtaining eyewitness identifications and aided prosecutors in securing convictions.

Simon photographed these men at sites that had particular significance to their illegitimate conviction: the scene of misidentification, the scene of arrest, the scene of the crime or the scene of the alibi. All of these locations hold contradictory meanings for the subjects. The scene of arrest marks the starting point of a reality based in fiction. The scene of the crime is at once arbitrary and crucial: this place, to which they have never been, changed their lives forever. In these photographs Simon confronts photography’s ability to blur truth and fiction-an ambiguity that can have severe, even lethal consequences.

selected by ivi

I love Taryn Simon’s work! It’s always conceptually interesting (I cherish my copy of An American Index of the Hidden and Unfamiliar) but it’s also gorgeous. These photographs are uncanny and beautiful.

(Source: cross-connect)



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