"DEAR LEADER"

Here are samples keyphrases internauts have used on popular search engines to find me. I harvested these by accessing my very own web statistics. I’ll have to plug them in myself and see what transpires as some of them seem rather unorthodox. Some keyphrases are mundane and to be expected while a few others appear to be the figment of sleep walking incidents.

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For the past fifteen years, I have had the pleasure of seeing the photography industry transformed into more of the same. One thing by now is certain, it’s that, if anything, necessity is the mother of invention and invention is the bastard chump of imitation. Consequently, and if imitation is the sincerest form of flattery it might just so happen that flattery is to photography what imitation is to its means of production.
Categorizing is by no means one of my strongest points. Generally, any attempts at organizing my thoughts rapidly lead to roam.
So, if you, out of boredom, have decided to read on, you will surely come across my inner curmudgeons. No need to point them out, they are already known. I was born with an extra helping of curmudgeon; making any agreement to provisionally suspend judgement, in exchange for the promise of entertainment; a cantankerous proposition . So here it is, Photography as I see it, it’s all the buzz, and yet, I can barely hear it:

1- Nombrilism (fancy for navel gazing):

Historically speaking, these folks would have done well in the British Navy, given their love of uniforms, square meals and the sea’s deep blue immensity. Practitioners of this dark and thoughtful art are beloved, the world over, by sadists, MTV and non-profits. Naturally, they generally remain unseen when your cabin needs a good sweeping.

2- Fetishism:

Itself a great sin, Fetishism is undergoing a revival of sorts as an offshoot of afore mentioned category. Modern Fetishism is a daftly concocted reduction designed to cleverly shift attention from the navel gazer and his/her reflection to the relationship between them and their material possessions. This is the cult of the “Casual observation”. It is devised to bring attention to the everyday travails of inanimate objects.

Casuallity, as it is also known, is defined as the relationship between one object (the casual) and another object (the casualette); itself the consequence of the first object casually informing, suffice it to say, the narrative* tension of their respective and repetitive daily usage. In other words, if said “Casual” cannot be easily defined by its relationship with its afore mention “Casualette”, an observation may become delightfully and casually complex. Nevertheless, should such an unfortunate object occur, quickly turn lone object North North West and chant: ” I don’t know you that way”.

To be continued….maybe…!
* I’ll get to that later.

Over the pass and into the valley, and to the lake we went. Here is what dem woods made us done do! Es ist, aber wie ein preiswerter scan einer Kontaktseite jedoch I Liebe es noch. Lieben Sie es auch? Will there be more little Holzfällers…?

Let’s pretend you are living on a deserted island and that you’ve already taken care of your most pressing needs. You have lots of clean drinking water while fruit and seafood are plentiful. Unfortunately, the goats and chickens you rescued disappeared and flew the coop. You forage by day, but at night you sleep fitfully, under a moonlit, tropical landscape. You have explored every square inch of your domain; but thanks to some unexpected flotsam, you can still shave every day. It’s been at least a dozen years since your boat took on water and sank without a trace….

Don’t get me wrong. I love money… but I just thought that it be wise to proclaim that my love of riches is an acquired taste . Money does not grow on that tree but you can, with an axe, take his house, and his wife, and bring all his birds and his bees to their tiny collective knees. After-all, even the last noble savage knows that his money can buy the guns he needs, to keep the bank from building a branch in his tree.

Money buys: That sandwich you just ate, that country house in Greenwich, the one by that creek where your children would have loved to play. Without it, you might live in a crate and smell like piss and jack fruit paste. Without it, that prime rib and real estate, might just be out of your two handed, tigh fisted reach.
Money buys: That foreign cheese you’d love to taste but without it, you’ll have to keep smelling those limbs you like to call your feet. Without it, you can’t buy clay pigeons and rat poison, George Clooney or Helium three, liverwurst or Damien Hirst.

Which brings me to the moral of this story, the money shot if you wish. Maren are you listening?

So, Damien Hirst loves cash money almost as much as diamond rings; and diamond rings love cash money almost as much as brides to be. So, he casted a pauper’s skull in platinum and covered it with enough bling to spit, shine and polish every pimpish grill from Monrovia to Peoria. It will cost some guy a hundred million cash, but his gallerist will take his half and bureaucrats a hefty tax. But once these checks have cashed, he’ll commission a replica; phone in some cats for a quick heist and switch the fake for his carats.

But someday, when he’s old and grey; he’ll call the cops, fess up and die. He’ll stun the world with this last farce, quite possibly his best and last. So, in death, as in life, he’ll have as they call it; the last laugh….

How I wish I had the skills to play the field as well as Damien Heist….! I wish mama had taught me how to cheat and lie, and look sincere for all the while….

Last Sunday, Charlie, Mitch and I drove to the Sierras. We found a beautiful meadow.

Sat in a creek and shot 12 sheets because 8×10 ain’t too cheap.

I wrote a dirty little ditty for my friend Steve Reczkowsky. I had originally written this poem for the Art World but soon came to realize that it could be used quite liberally. All I had to do was replace the “it’s” with a “he’s” and there it be. Steve, here it is, and thanks for all those wonderful years tending Robyn’s counter.

” Steve; he’s like…. ”

He’s like snatch; but sweeter
He’s got swatch; but sooner
He’s got stash; but bigger

He’s like smack but stronger
He’s like you; but better
He’s like Yak; but butter

He’s like; nice but later….
He’s got racks; like “Hooters”
He’s got back; like looters

He’s like grass and fiddlers…
He’s like ass, and fingers
He’s like mass but longer….

Fuck, fuck, fuck….today is one of those fucking days…!

Today is a beautiful day. No hurricane fog winds, just sun shinning, which got me to thinking about them “Friendlies”, bible thumpin’, door knocking, ape hatin’, door slamming, sun settin’, watch tickin’, bright lighting, two timin’, book burning, run screamin’….. So I did a little googlin’ for Jehovah imagery but came up with nothin’ like I remember seein’.

I was about to give up when I eventually came upon what looked like prize winning, lip smacking, eye catching, toe tappin’ Jehovah landscape pornography.