Category: Final Projects

I am able to carry my camera, point and shoot, but in many ways I am still approaching this community from the periphery.

I’m going to change my tactics. I think I am going to follow the path of Nancy Kilpatrick, author of The Goth Bible published by St. Martin’s Press. Says Nancy in her foreword:

“I sent questions out into the void. In this case the void is virtual and has a name: the Internet.  I announced my intentions to every goth newgroup and chatroom I could find, sent word to upcoming conventions and Web sites, requesting that anybody who wanted to talk to me about being goth, well, I’d listen.”

There’s enough of a scene in New York City to generate some responses. I’ll take to the internet to see what happens.

It was early November, a day I can’t remember. I was on my way home when I noticed small groups of goths heading in the same direction. Instead of following me, I followed them.

The goths were all heading to a dance hall on the corner of 149th and Grand Concourse. I stopped outside and watched the procession, hoping to get more information. Asking no questions, I got none. I decided to run home and come back with my camera.

When I returned I stayed outside hoping to see a friendly face that I could invite to pose for a photo. I saw none. Even though I was hanging around staring at everyone, I was largely ignored.

I didn’t have the nerve to snap an unsolicited photo on the street but I wrestled with the idea. Finally I snapped one of a patron who seemed to have had too much to drink as she went to get in a car. I hid while I snapped – taking 3 pictures, only one which was worth anything. If this was how it was going to be I was going to have a long night. I gathered my courage and decided to go into the dance hall.

Inside, no one paid me much mind.  Though not dressed for the ball, there was a culture of acceptance. There was an open bar but I decided against it. I wanted to be lucid and quick in taking my photos. I waited around twenty minutes before I took my first shot inside.

At first I took sneaky photos. After a while I just took candid shots. And after that I got a few people to pose for me. The goths didn’t mind, no matter how bizarre they looked. This was a younger crowd on average than the Home Sweet Home crowd. There was more variation in dress too. They were a bit more expressive. And differences in sexual expression were not an issue.

What could I say about the music? If there was an anthem leading to hell, this was it. Organ notes punctuated by crashing sounds and moderated by a steady synthesized drum beat. Two Goth gals moved to an open spot on the dance floor and started dancing in a way familiar only to themselves. Meanwhile, the drum beat increased its speed. In response the girls danced faster. The music pace got faster. When it reached the speed of dance house music and I found myself bouncing to it. But the music kept accelerating, going past my ability to move, eventually reaching the pace of electromagnetic energy. The dancers somehow kept pace, moving about in their own circle like atoms.

The once aimless musician morphed into a singer. Dark lyrics rang out. I couldn’t understand him at first. It sounded like a foreign language. My mind was not yet trained to operate on that level. But I did catch this –

“There’s nowhere to go…..”

“There’s nowhere to go….”

“We’re all gonna dieeee….!!!”

“There’s nowhere to go…”

This guy was obviously the devil of this procession, with a voice rhythm and fluctuations reminiscent of a Nazi’s.

Okay, now I was spooked. I cast my eyes around looking for comfort. My eyes met those of the girl standing next to me. She looked straight at me, dark eyeliner stained under her eyes. Her eyes were emotionless. I was spooked further.

The band played a few songs. When they were finished, there were the typical blood-curdling screams and howls of delight from the crowd, then the Goths started filing out, looking refreshed. I stayed long enough to get a picture of the woman who had taken my picture earlier, (the mistress of the night) then I fled.

I was relieved to find Mike behind the bar when I went back to McSorley’s to try and produce brighter pictures. He recognized me from my last visit and immediately introduced me to the rest of the staff on board.

I found that taking pictures in McSorley’s more challenging than in other bars.   Little had changed in McSorley’s during the past 150 years. A sound system was never installed and it seems like a wet cloth was not introduced to the premises in over a century. So while in other bars I enjoyed the loud music as some kind of a shield, in Mcsorley’s there was nothing to hide behind except for the smell of sour beer and the sound of cracking sawdust and peanut shells on the floor.

I spent about two (very awkward) hours taking pictures, and then stayed for few drinks with the boys. It only occurred to me when I left that it probably should have been the other way around.

The notion of bartending or table waiting as a career intriguers me. A job that is viewed as temporary by most is turned into a profession by others. I am curious to learn whether these Irish men are truly content with this lifestyle or were they just following where the New York circumstances lead them to.    

Next time I will stop by McSorley’s I will leave the camera at home. I find conversation much easier without the camera’s threatening presence.  

This weekend I went back to 5 Pointz to see if I can get lucky again and find some thing interesting to shoot. Given the bad weather, I didn’t expect to get many good shots out. I was wrong. After shooting some candid photos, I ran into 3 guys that had just gotten permission from Meres to paint. Their names were Paulo aka Polo, Matthew aka Nemo, and Wes. Polo and Nemo are both from France. Wes lives in NY, but doesn’t tag. The two frenchmen are only here for two weeks and have done some work in 5 Pointz before.

I figured this would be the perfect time to take Professor Bernstein’s advice and “capture not just their art but them in the process of making art.” The whole process took about two and a half hours, but it turned out well in my opinion. While they were painting, we were talking and joking around too. Wes was making fun of Polo’s accent after he pronounced the word “engine”, “engyne”. Wes told him, “You sound like you’re saying, ‘Keep the vagina running!!'” Polo laughed and started to explain the difference between Americans and the French, but no one could understand him, not even Nemo.

It was really dark by the time they were done and it was only half past five. While Nemo and Wes went to throw away the used up supplies, I talked with Polo some more. He and Nemo have been friends in France since high school and Nemo started painting before him. Aside from spray-painting, he and Nemo also paint on canvas and do music. Polo also went on to tell me that he loves to paint so much that he finds it hard to put a price on is work, but will have to eventually to make ends meet. Before he left, he encouraged me to go back to tagging. I told him I might but I’m not good enough to be on 5 Pointz. He said “Just try and see what happens.” My one regret that day was that I was too busy talking and laughing with them that I didn’t get a lot of front shots of them. Maybe next time.

Community changed to debate team because the suggestions made for the internet community are impossible to do.

Amit- 1 word to describe debate: critical. Loves the competition. From London, England. Attends WVU. Major is Finance and Economics.

Jessy- From West Point. Is interested in debate because it is challanging and fosters greater intellectual thought.

The debate community is one unlike any other. Its connections are built on the common love for rivalry and competition. To capture this community is to capture the very essence of what makes us human. Debating and language transcends all cultures. These are only some images and I only posted one interview. I plan to write the final paper as story based on one debate member.

I didn’t have much to do this weekend. I was bored, so I decided to go to 5 Pointz again to try to get some work done for this project.  It was cold and windy and I was not expecting to get any good shots that were any different from the ones I have already taken. There was no one in site, the place was empty. Then, I went to the parking lot.  There were these two guys just standing there looking at the walls covered with graffiti. When they saw me, they asked me if I was the photographer. Photographer for what? They were waiting for a photographer to come for there photo shoot with a bunch of girls to promote their business, Dimez4All.

Sunday, November 23 , 2008

These past couple of weekends have not been going my way.  It has been freezing to say the least and raining cats and dogs.  All in all, I still had to get out there and find my nontraditional community.  This past Sunday, I went to a site where skateboarders, skaters, bmx and scooter riders come together to show off what they made of.  It was about 29 degrees outside and some of them were just in hoodies, while others were just in their short sleeves.  I on the other hand was layered up, I had on two pairs of pants, three shirts, a hoodie, my scarf, my coat, and a hat, and I was still cold.  Usually, when I am shooting I do not wear gloves because they tend to get in the way, but on this occasion that had to change; I couldn’t feel my fingers.  A few minutes later, with gloves and all, I was back in the same situation.  I gave up and decided to just let my hands go numb; the things we must do for art.  Even, though my hands were in so much pain, I really did not feel it until I was done shooting.  These guys kept me entertained.  Not only with there tricks on their wheels but also with their personalities.  I cannot wait until I go back again, which would be this upcoming weekend.  Let’s see what else they have in store for me.

On Wednesday, Oct 1^st, at the Lower East Side bar Home Sweet Home, I went to check out the Goth club event Weird. After sliding past the bar and reaching the dance floor the first thing I noticed were what looked like dead people dancing. Should I assume they were alive when their eyes seemed so lifeless and their bodies beat back and forth to the music as if they hang from a rope with some devil-tasker were beating them methodically with a stick?

The dancer’s arms dangled at their sides. Their heads were hung over, and seemed to lift only slightly before methodically falling down again. All of their facial expressions were muted. Each of their eyes were cast downward, eyelids barely open, focused steadily on something that lay in their thoughts and not in this room. I was a little unnerved. I needed a timeout. I retreated to the bar for a drink. After surveying what others were drinking, I settled on a Jamaican Red Stripe.

When I entered, the bar was already half-packed. People kept filing in. “The more, the better,” I thought to myself. I wanted to see the Goth archetype in all of its expressions. As soon as my fascination waned after surveying the latest new entry, another person or group would file in and my attention would ratchet itself up again. I got through two Red Stripe beers this way. The bar, the dance floor and the deejay booth between them served as hubs of activity. I let my eyes roam across all of it. Meanwhile, a haze of mist hung in the air lightly, wafting, drifting. It had a scent to it. It smelled sort of like…crushed flowers. Interesting.

Then something in the atmosphere changed. I noticed a crowd forming on the dance floor, and organizing into a semi-circle. I looked and didn’t see anyone or anything in the middle. What were they gathering around? If was eerie. It was as if something beckoned them into a coven. Something was calling them and they were responding. Then I realized what it was –the music we were listening to had changed. This new music had an edge. I felt it. It had a pull to it. It was dark yet inviting. I responded to it. I left the bar and joined the coven.

This was the first time I carrried my camera to church. I went there feeling nervous about the whole idea of taking pictures. I did not know how they would turn out or if any of them would be visible. I sat in my usual seat in the back. The  think the back is usually for late comers, I wasn’t late. I preferred the last row. I tried to photograph as much as I could I somehow found enough courage to just ignore  people staring at me. For a person who likes to just blend in the woodwork the attention was not good. I tried not to distract the congregation from the service and overall I don’t think I did. I did not talk to much people, only one lady. I asked to take her picture she agreed but wanted me to wait until we were out of the santuary. Church was basically over, a woman was just reading the notices. Then she changed her mind and I photograph her in the church. She sat beside me in the back.

As I believe I’ve previously mentioned, Buenos Aires Tour was a project that invited three artists to provide content for a book on Buenos Aires’ neighborhoods, on its life. The final product looked like a tourist guide, but it was not.  Negroni, who i think was quite overwhelmed after witnessing the performance piece that CAGE UNDER COVER had been turned into, told me that Jorge Macchi, a photographer, had proposed the idea.

Macchi invited a musician and Negroni to join him following the cracks of a piece of glass over a map of Buenos Aires. The lines were treated like a fictional subway line, and forty-six “stations” where invented.  They took photos, collected found objects, and recorded sounds, including the political protests of recent street demonstrations, and linked them.

According to Negroni, however, Macchi didn’t want the three of them going out together. Each one of them was supposed to go to the selected places by themselves, whenever they wanted, and write, compose or photograph whatever they wanted. The subsequent museum installation offered the visitors eight itineraries. Text that wasn’t specifically related to the pictures–except for the fact that it was inspired  by the same neighborhood–complemented them. People could activate the accompanying sounds only if they chose to, but, as everything else, those sounds didn’t attempt to represent the same information offered by images or words.

Why not related? I asked, but Negroni didn’t think about it twice. It was all about chance, she said. Things happen anew all the time. Besides, I understood, neither the photos nor the captions wanted to become a documentary, the kind that when including some things also exhiles other. The project didn’t aspire to cut a definitive pattern to define the city.  

So, Negroni went to the previoulsy agreed-upon sites and walked them, not exhaustively. She later worked on prose poems that were linked to various street corners of the city (not necesarilly all the ones she visited).

For me, it was surprising to find out that, after all, it was not a free-for-all. Because common themes emerged. They found similar images repeating themselves across the diferent points they visited. That was the emphasis of their finished piece. The common points served as entry places that gave the audience the chance to create their own itinerary, to go further than the eight already proposed ones.

           My friend tells me stories of actually jumping into the river as kids, and hopping from the rickity posts jutting out of the water. But even this pier, the secret of the Red Hook children, has had dramatic improvements. There are no missing woods slats, as I am told there had been throughout my friend’s childhood. Like much of Red Hook, it has been given a major facelift, making way for a new generation of offspring.  A giant Ikea store now straddles the water’s edge like a Colossus. A free water taxi and Ikea shuttle provide an express service, shooting the newcomers from pier to pier, or from train to pier, with no stops in between.

These are some photographs that I have taken in at 5 Pointz. I’m not sure if black & white will work with graffiti so I plan to use a digital camera. I also plan to photograph many of the artists that created the murals.