the death of photography
evidently david hockney recently picked up photography’s wrist, held it for a few moments, and promptly pronounced photography dead. first let me just say that he ought to know better. proclimations on the health of any specific part of the arts is silly at best, self important at worst.
his argument hinges on authenticity. photography, which was once the ultimate means of capturing raw truth, has been irreversibly diluted by the proliferation of digital manipulation. this is undoubtedly true. digital manipulation has definitely changed the landscape of photography forever, calling any single image’s authenticity into question. authenticity, however, is not gauge of an art form’s pulse, but rather of an artworks value, and in the end that is what his argument boils down to. value. “photograhy is dead” because present technology makes it’s too easy to create a good image, and thus devalues all images. i can sympathize with this point of view, very much so (i try never to mix my digital manipulation with my photographs of great truths, artistic guilt and all) but to declare an art form dead, meaning of course, without value, is never smart. after all his reason for declairing it dead is that as an art form it is more widespread, taken out of the hands of the few as it were. technically precise or poigniant photos can be manufactured now, rather than coaxed with skill and patience from the world, and in my opinion his main problem is not that this is now possible, but that the techniques are so widely taken advantage of. after all, this is the same man who a few years ago put out a book “exposing” the secret techniques the masters used to get such perfect detail and realism, namely camera obscura. isn’t that kind of technological cheating as well using his argument? anyhow, the bottom line is photography is mutating. that is all. it is most certainly not dead, but more alive and varied than ever before. is it still valuable? can a piece on the wall still comand hundreds of thousands in rube art collector money? I’ll wager yes. but then, i’m a young man still, without a career’s worth of images, the value of which i need to defend.
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the early years of hell
yes that’s right, photos of a still young hell. also for your displeasure, in depth information and photos of the earliest pitchfork designs. now get back to work!
charlie brown’s endless despair
article at philosophy now explains why charles shultz’s peanuts was the ultimate existentialist comic. among other things the author compares linus to antoine roquentin, the protagonist of sartre’s nausea. quoting linus: i’m aware of my tongue… it’s an awful feeling! every now and then i become aware that i have a tongue inside my mouth, and then it starts to feel lumped up… i can’t help it… i can’t put it out of my mind. i keep thinking about where my tongue would be if I weren’t thinking about it, and then i can feel it sort of pressing against my teeth…
slow down
bitch get a job, from me you won’t rob, cause I’ll smack you with a hose filled with sand… ( found these super slowed down mini movies of… well, stuff happening and thought you might enjoy them ) scrub that ass and I’ll still pass.
the genius of mr. mingus
the legendary book written by charles mingus, often whispered about in dark clubs but seldom seen, has been located. you can check it out excerpted here. far out cat daddy, yeah.
waterworld
well, the missions to mars are evidently collecting much interesting data, though the NASA folks are being real quiet about it all thus far. read all about it.
wicked-rad scientist kickin’ much ass
ha ha. well, sort of. physics teacher shows the physics behind feats like walking on glass, dipping hands in molten metal, and having a concrete block broken over you while lying on a bed of nails (the last photo is the reason i posted this. so funny i couldn’t help myself). wicked-rad teach!
slang poisoning
here’s the scenario: you hear the words bling-bling for the 16 millionth time and your ears begin to bleed, you hear keepin it real and you double over in pain, you hear metrosexual and you begin projectile vomiting, you hear the words extreme, dawg, punked, and smoking-gun… the pain is excruciating. you cover your ears loudly saying la-la-la-la-la so as not to hear anymore but it’s too late, it’s in your blood.
so what can be done?! well, i advise slang makers and media retards to go back to the future. if your going to beat everyone over the head with the same mind numbing phrases at least try using ones sooooo out of date that they might sound new again. try the hard boiled 30’s and 40’s for instance (notice the definition of rapper? hmmm, sounds decidedly modern) or how about the 20’s (remember, beef has already been recycled so it’s off limits) or hell, why not the the 1800’s? they loved guns and hookers in the old west too. you’d think what was good enough for bogart or al capone would more than suffice for the likes of ludakris or matt lauer. if you absolutely insist on trying to be “original” at least browse the pseudodictionary for some imaginitive substitutes. shape up or suck nevada gas you twittock twists and dumb ginks.
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