Ernesto Bazan: Cuba

I looked at Ernesto Bazan’s photographs in his book Cuba. I was immediately drawn to this project before even seeing the photos, because of my near obsession with Cuba. I have had the fortune to visit Cuba twice. I was living in Key West going to the Community College there, when a chance arose to take a “field trip” with my photography class to Cuba for a week. I jumped at it—what an opportunity! I think that it was the idea of travelling somewhere that, because of the political situation, seemed to have been stuck in a certain point in time. I long for nostalgia and all things vintage. Even though the once beautiful building facades and 1950s cars are now peeling, rusting and crumbling, I still saw so much beauty there. And, I have never met a more friendly people, on the whole. I came away with a love for Cuba. SO I went back. The second time, a year later, I travelled alone. Without the proper permits, I made the journey via Jamaica and asked the Cubans at the airport to please not stamp my passport. This time I explored alone. Everywhere I went I felt safe and welcome. I was frequently invited into peoples’ homes to visit, be given a cool glass of water, or be shown their proudly displayed photos or cable TV’s. I felt at home.

This is one way in which I can relate to Bazan’s work. After a visit to Cuba, Bazan fell in love with the country and moved there. While my two weeklong visits were short compared to his 14 years of life and photography there, the country definitely made an impression on me. Although the link to his entire book is not yet up on his website, there were many examples from the book to look at. I think these were enough to give me a feel for his project.

Bazan’s photographs are black and white, super contrasty, grainy and kind of dark. I really love the way he shoots and prints. I always want everything I do to be B&W, I can’t really get away from it. It gives a different feel to the photos (compared with Harris’ Cuba color photos). Looking through his photos, I notice there doesn’t seem to be a lot of joy in them, even in a few of the ones where there are children playing. There is more a sense of curiosity or solemnity, even. Maybe this is because they are so dark and the expressions fairly consistent.

I think the work that I am doing on my current project parallels Bazan’s in that it is documenting what I might call the ordinary—what is happening in a day to day situation of a certain group of people. My subjects are more specific—the world of Sunnyside High school, while Bazan is documenting the people of an entire country, but we are both just seeing through our cameras what is happening in a normal day. I found this quote by Bazan that pretty much sums that point up, “I look at my work in Cuba as a meditation on the human condition. My images aren’t about larger-than-life heroes, they are about real people, like you and me, waking up everyday and facing life as best they can.” I am starting to learn more about capturing a story in one shot, rather than only a beautiful image, and in my project I want to show intriguing photos that will tell a story or at least make the viewer interested in seeing/learning more. I think Bazan does this very well in his photos. They capture a moment in time and tell a story.
I thought going into my project I would capture a bunch of misbehaving high schoolers and their ugly school back drop being taught by a frustrated woman. Now I am seeing more intimate moments and mostly happy kids—although there are definitely some trouble makers. It’s interesting putting yourself into an environment and seeing how the locals react to you. After 14 years in Cuba, I’m sure Bazan was very close to his adopted Cuban people and they accepted him and his constant photo-taking. For my project, after several weeks of invading this particular classroom, I feel the kids think of me just as part of their room. It always makes me think of Jane Goodall and her chimps (not that I’m comparing the people to animals, just the immersed situation…).

Seeing Bazan’s work has made me want to revisit my Cuba negatives, it may be time to reprint some of those guys! It also makes me want to go back; well my desire to return there has never really gone away. Next visit I would want to be there longer and be more bold about taking pictures of people. I have to get over the fear of being intrusive and just ask! Only in this way will I be able to get the shots that I really want—those personal up close portraits. This pertains not just to Cuba, of course, but in all my projects, the current one included. Even though I know the kids aren’t bothered by my being there, I still am sometimes uncomfortable with just taking photos of people. I know I really need to work on this if I want to be successful.

and more...

fifteen more

ccp response

I chose the photograph “La Ascension” by Graciela Iturbide. This is a black and white photo of (I assume) two girls standing on part of a tree. I would assume it is taken in the day with natural lighting outside. What drew me right away to this photograph are the textures—the rich, rough texture of the bark contrasted by the smoothness of the legs and velvet of the skirt. There is even texture to be seen in the folds of the lighter skirt—the way it is folded and scrunched. There are also different types of textures just in the tree—gnarly, twisting, bulging parts in the branches, and a smoother looking area on the trunk with straight even lines. The texture gives so much visual interest in an otherwise simple photo—there are no faces or expressions or actions to look at, just this mighty tree and its two inhabitants. Next I noticed the contrast. The bark has all matter of shades of grey starting at white and running to black, as do the girls and their skirts. The folds in the dark skirt don’t get lost in darkness; one can still see and feel the texture there. The girls are positioned in the upper left corner of the frame. My eye is drawn to this spot because the people are there, but also because of the diagonal line that has been created by the branch they are standing on. Everything is pointing upward. The girl who is higher up has her foot lifted as if ready to continue her steps upward, while the girl behind her waits. I think this all goes along with the title of the piece—the ascension. I could think of it as just an ascension—to ascend, as in these girls are going up the tree, but I could also think of this in a mystical or religious way “ the belief in some religions that there are certain rare individuals that have ascended into Heaven directly without dying first” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ascension). To me, the title of Iturbide’s piece denotes that there is a spiritual quality of the work, without that word, the viewer might not think of it in exactly that way—it is more open to interpretation. Just looking at the photo without the title I thought it was kind of mysterious—what are these girls doing? Have they just climbed a tree to play? To escape something? They look like they are taking a rest in a tree. It’s also hard to know what is going on without seeing their faces. But knowing Iturbide’s general practice of taking shots that capture the religion, culture and everyday life of her subjects, I might make the jump and think of it as being religious. I think that Iturbide intends the photo to be seen that way. I’m not sure if she took it and after printing decided to give it that connotative name, or if she saw it as that when she captured the image. Every element supports the idea of the title, whether it is merely to go up the tree on earth, or ascend to heaven. I like how the viewer cannot see the faces of the girls—that could change the entire meaning of the piece. If they are smiling, laughing, staring, crying, etc., any of these emotions could change any connotations that are implied by the artist. I think this is a good example of how text can really influence the way a message is seen in a photograph. When looking at this piece, as well as the others at the CCP viewing, I learned that I need to make better quality prints (I also can’t wait to try a large format camera someday…). They are all so crisp and beautiful, whatever the subject matter may be. Between these photos and the framing assignment, I feel I need to remember to be more aware of framing of the subjects.

assignment 3: a picture worth a thousand words

war photographer

This documentary film, about the career of photographer James Nachtwey, was, in a word, intense! Wow. Through the entire film I kept saying to myself, “How does he do this??” The things he has seen are unreal. I can barely look at many of these images on this tiny computer screen—I had to avert my eyes a few times, and cried several times, but he sees them up close and personal, it’s hard for me to imagine that. And he doesn’t seem to use a telephoto lens or anything that lets you keep a safe distance from the action—he gets right up into it. He believes, as many do, that one needs to be close in order to get the good photo. I think he also feels a need to let his subjects know that he realizes that they are people and not just objects to be observed.

At the start of the film when he is in Kosovo photographing the crying woman, I wondered if he didn’t feel invasive being right up literally in her face with his camera. It seemed that he would have to feel impersonal or like an outsider. Did he even ask if he could intrude in these peoples’ lives? I was initially kind of offended and taken aback by his techniques. He was capturing these most painful and personal moments of families or friends—their time of tragedy or hurt or death. How could he do it? Was he that detached from it all? Maybe he was using his camera as a sort of barrier between the reality of the situation and himself. I remember him being at a funeral, not ten feet away from the wailing mourners, and no one seemed to pay him any attention. This also seemed so intrusive to me—to be witness to someone else’s personal moment. But then I thought, maybe they don’t even notice him there; they definitely have other things to distract them in that instant.

Then Jim explained that in war things are different. Normally he wouldn’t just go into someone’s home when they are grieving, it just wouldn’t be right. The people he takes photographs of have accepted and welcomed him into their lives and trust him. His acceptance is necessary otherwise it would be impossible to show what he does. They tend to realize that they are victims and that their stories need to be told, and by letting their photos be taken they are getting a voice. Listening to him talk about the respect he has for his subjects made me feel much better and accepting of him and the work that he does. He is not an exploiter and realizes that if his personal ambition ever takes over his compassion, he has failed.

Throughout the film I kept thinking—how does what he’s doing help? What is the need for these images to be captured and shown to the rest of the world? Jim answered that photography evokes a sense of humanity, and that humanity is kind of the opposite of war. If everyone could be in these settings, just once, to experience the heart of war, then they would understand that it needs to stop—there is nothing in this world that is worth this. But everyone can’t, that is why photographers have to go and do it for them—to show them, to help them feel what war and famine and poverty are like. Jim does this with his photographs. They are detailed, eye-opening, personal, and evoke an emotional response, and although mostly dealing with disturbing or depressing content, also quite beautiful.

All the images were powerful and almost severe. The images of the famine victims in Africa were heartbreakingly hard to look at. How could they even be alive? At least he explained that they were in a camp and were being helped…And the family in Jakarta that lived between the railroad tracks—it was scary just seeing the video footage. They sleep, eat and live inches away from maiming or death (as was found out by the father), it’s crazy! The photos that have stuck with me are where the man was being chased and ultimately beaten to death by a mob. These aren’t photos of aftermath, but something horrifying that was happening at the moment—a man was being killed. Those were hard to look at and take in as real. And the fact that Jim had pled with the men to not kill him and stayed right in the center of the action is amazing/crazy/heroic/dangerous. As other photographers kept their distance and documented, Jim was trying to help. Makes me wonder how many documentary photographers actually do this, or do the majority see themselves as only that—documentary photographers.

Nachtwey is almost Pollyanna-like in his optimism—that what he is doing can make a difference. Maybe he can’t stop war—a continuing theme through all of human existence, but maybe he can make the masses more aware, and in this way, bring some kind of gradual change or hope for those that suffer needlessly.

final project first fifteen

assignment 2: framing

Here is a series of portraits of my squirmy son Finn.