New Bronica Photos!

Bronica

New Call for Entries at RayKo!

There are a few:

• 5th Annual Plastic Contest
• Artist in Residence
• Sell Your prints in their gallery

Check it out: Call for Entry Page!

I want to shelve food down my mouth so fast that I wouldn't even have time to chew.

I want to eat till I stop breathing.

Obesity is not the number one killer in this country, broken heart is.

Shit could be worse.

Back in the apartment, common space smelled like feline excrement with a hint of rotten food for a while now. I probably should be more concern about it but it seemed like I’m the only one in the house that is bothered by the odor. The bathroom too was covered in musty smell while the tub was layered with dirty soap residue. I can’t remember when was the last time the place I live in felt like a home to me. I didn’t know the term “shit hole” could apply to residential space quite literally.
I was hoping I could really utilize my day-off from work to it’s full potential, but the feeling of unaccomplishment sank in deep like a wreckage boat as I finished watching the movie called “The Future”. I knew I am part of the generation of late bloomers, but mid-life crisis somehow hit sooner than I could imagine. I thought I’d be a lot smarter by now, but the railroad track that I called “life” isn’t taking me forward at all. I thought I’d be a successful artist by now, but I’m still wasting my time trying to make ends meet.
I have worked at various places before, from making sandwich on a homeless-filled street to teaching brats photography in college. Never before have I felt worse about my life and my passion. A job as a server in a fancy restaurant has not only managed to exterminate my passion in food, but also brought out the worse of me that I never knew exist. I thought I have always treated others with respect and kindness, but now all I can imagine is to rip off someone’s neck with my bare teeth. And just when I finally found the job that I knew would make me happy, I’m killing myself even more painfully just to wait for a response.
And for better or worse, courage and passion pushed me to sign up a month worth of swing dance class. I have always believed both courage and passion were the two best friends I can always trust my life with, but now I started to suspect those two were scheming a diabolical plot to crush my spirit like peppers in a toss salad. For the first time in my life, dancing has been more difficult than crawling on my hands and knees when I tried to reach my head closer to the toilet seat when I’m drunk out of my mind.
I thought I could wash away all my sadness with some good-ol-fashion live jazz music at my favorite pub. Turned out I couldn’t be more wrong. Watching the talented musicians and the dancers on the floor did initially brought back that smile I’ve almost forgotten, but immediately, tribulation grew as my heart sink deeper and deeper into the sea of abyss like a treasure chest. I started to reflect on all my failures in life one by one, knowing I can never turn back the time to mend any of my mistakes.
Like a lens trying to capture a forever-lasting image, my mind began to focus on the love of my life. I imagined my feeling unknowingly, has written to a invalid address, and now has been send back by the post office of broken heart.
For two hours straight, I’ve tried my hardest to not break out a single drop of tears. Nothing is more pathetic than crying in a pub while intoxicated. I thought I could at least save myself that very last bit of dignity, but as it turned out, dignity was a lot harder to preserve than apricot jam.
I walked out of the bar embarrassingly, began to attempt to find the nearest store to buy a pack of cigarette that I have not done for so long. I think I muttered something that sounded like “Nat Sherman” to the cashier as he suspiciously starring at my teary eyes. He asked me if I was eighteen, and I lied that I just turned eighteen, right before I felt guilty for lying and handed him my ID. In retrospect, I wonder if the cashier thought I was on heavy drugs, because to lie about being 18 would mean that I was born 6 and half years later. Even a minimum-waged mid-night cashier can add up the math to tell that I was really just full of shit.
Afterwards, I stumble from left to right to the river. I lit my cigarette and remembered a New York Time article about every New Yorker will experience public crying at least once in their life time. I thought that moment couldn’t be any more appropriate to do my share to be part of the statistic of public crier. And that was when I really let it all out, I cried so hard and so ugly that people would probably think I’m a well-trained actor rehearsing for my new role in the prime time soap opera. I cried loudly as the rain mixed thoroughly with my tears down my face. I was soaking wet from sitting in the middle of the rain and I could not care if anyone was watching at all. I needed that, more than anything else. I needed to know what it was like to hit rock bottom and I needed to remember what it felt like as I wrote this down this very instance. So perhaps, in the near future, I can be reminded that, shit could really be worse.

I couldn't help but to wish the very last bed my grandfather slept on could be a bit more comfortable. Not that it was that important, after all, a cadaver is a cadaver. They don't whine and complain about their tedious life (or for that matter, their lack of it) like you and I

I imagined, this is what science and religion would looked like together. A group of scholars of faith fiddling through the scattered bones of my grandfather with percussion. It is, as if, any mistakes would tremble the very foundation and meaning of their existence. I thought these monks reminded me of the teenage dreamers that try to find the meaning of life through their favorite science-fiction novels. It may seem random, but when you experienced a death of a family member, your mind can wonders into strange places.

ttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bK4v6NAv4fg

I love skinny bitches!

What camera should I buy?

I finally rented the Mamiya 7 from Gassers and was very disappointed with the quality of the camera. I didn't like how the viewfinder was to the side and you could see the lens when you looked through it. Plus all the knobs seemed fragile and sticky.
So now I am stuck back where I was. I need a higher quality camera than my OM1 and my Holga, but I'm not sure what to get. Maybe a Hasselblad with a Prism viewfinder? Or a Leica?
I would like something I can travel with and can take a photo with fairly quickly so I don't miss a moment. Ideally I could do macro work with it too. I don't think there is a camera which meets all my qualifications. Any ideas?

Canada

Canada by Jordan Rose Jurich & Charley Patton Weston | Make Your Own Book

Took me well over a month, but I finally finished & printed my book for Charley. The printed version is almost perfect, but some images came out with funky colors, since I didn't realize the profile I was working in was not quite compatible with their printers (I guess your supposed to work in RGB or CMYK, and I was in Adobe 1998).
Also kind of odd that my solid grey pages came out with some vertical lines. Overall, blurb is a great site, and I am pretty stoked. What do you guys think? I'm ready to start my next one. 

Website!

I was inspired by Jordan and decided I needed a website as well. My aunt happens to be a photographer as well and created an amazing site for me. Check it out and let me know what you think. www.alliebehm.com

Fear of the south

Back to Basics

I decided that to get back into photography, I should do what I know: nature photography. I tried to mix it up a bit. My roommate complained that the sunset photos were in black and white, but I love how the lack of color simplifies the sunset. I am pretty happy with how these turned out, but I definitely need to shoot more and shoot with a tripod. I have to admit, I haven't really shot anything since I took these. I have been so wrapped up in work and skiing that I really haven't done much else. There's so much snow here, I'd like the photograph some of the buried houses and also the trailer parks in Kings Beach. I don't know how people live there in the winter. 

So much craziness! and new places to submit.

So I have been a bit m.i.a. lately, but that is over!
I found a great contest to enter, (especially for you Allie) the Center for Fine Art Photography's Black & White show, deadline April 5th, as well as their 5th Portfolio Exhibition, deadline May 3rd.
Juried group shows are the way to get a foot in the door, and I think we all need to push ourselves to get that door wide open.

Well, thought I would share that bit for now. Allie, put your photos on here!!!

Last minute

He folded his hands together, preyed for a miracle. But God only listen when there was nothing better to say.

By the time he figured out the right words, it was already too late.

No one can save a crumble world, not God, at least not right this instance.

fatherhood

Man I just woke up to some weird dreams!!

On one end of the train, there was this man, obviously homeless or helpless, crying out for mercy to the citizens of New York. The man’s hair was shaggy and his torn jacket was stained with the proof of his suffering. As soon as the train started to move, he began his lengthy story of his misfortune. No one on the train had a doubt if the man was faking or not. It was unquestionable that there were pain rooted so deep in this man’s voice you couldn’t help but to think if he would last another day in this weather of New York.

On the other end, a six years old boy was clearly frighten. He knew about the homeless, but seeing one in such close proximity was something he never experienced so consciously before. The father sat next to the child, staring at the man without a concern. Yet, I could somehow sense the worry in his eyes. I imagine he was thinking about how he would explain this scene to his beloved son after they got home. As the homeless man started to drag his feet across the train, he tipped over his hat in hope someone would prove him that humanity and compassion still exist among us.

The father took out the change in his wallet and gave everything to this homeless man while his son stared uncomfortably at him. As soon as the homeless man has walked pass and exit out of the train, the father made sure his son put on his scarf and his hat like any loving father would. They exit on the next stop and I could not hear the conversation between the father and the son as I watched them walked out after the closing door.

The father, was the only one who gave the homeless man any money, out of thirty-two of us in the train.

Snow

It finally snowed today and I am stuck inside sick. I sound like Phoebe on Friends when she had the sexy cold voice, except mine sounds more like a smoker than any kind of sexy. 

I love snow. I love how it's shape varies so much depending on the temperature and the wind and where it fell. I love how it morphs as the day goes on and it melts and then freezes again overnight. I love how it crunches under your feet as you walk on it. This photograph was taken a few weeks ago after we had a big storm and then it was sunny for a few days. The piles of snow started to melt downward and it looked like a cut lawn. 

Perpetuum Mobile

I just came up with this story after I woke up on my birthday. After finishing reading this flash fiction, listen to the music link to complete the whole story. I hope you two beautiful ladies are having a beautiful day. It's snowing like end of the world here in New York. My co-worker made me drink a quarter bottle of Jameson last night as I smoked my first cigarette in a very long time. Afterward I went out and start laughing hysterically in the middle of the street because I was literally sinking deeper each step I took. Then I spontaneously did a snow angel and it looked like a deer got shot and was struggling and dragged out of the snow. After I continue to head back home, I realized that I lost my left hand glove so I proceed to go back to track my lost. But I ended up helping a stranger helping another stranger to push a car out of the snow for an hour.



There was this one childhood memory of some time ago that managed to linger in my mind like the very last apple on the tree long after harvest season. It has been so many years and this particular memory could very much be rotten from inside to out, but it never seemed to slipped away like most other events in my life. It is like the tangy taste in your mouth after a cup of tea that gets your tongue all worked up without really explaining why.

Earlier in my life, I worked in a celebrated film documentary company, my job was to travel around the world record and edit footage of documentation of other people’s lives. In a nutshell, what I do was repeatedly watch the lives of these people and mold their stories to fit our vision. It is, as if I was given the power, to deciding how these people should be remembered. The whole process sounded demeaning, but after a while, the process gets easier to digest and you eventually sleep better at night. And if you have done this job long enough like me, the phenomenon lives of others would start to blur together too and nothing would ever be significant enough to remember any more.

It has not occurred to me until much later that, I have worked most of my life documenting other people’s live but never really had any chance to be documented. My parents are dead years ago and never left me any photos of me growing up. Mom and dad were great loving parents, they always said we didn’t need any photographs to proof our love and our existences; it was what lied in our mind that count. So when they passed away and buried on top of their favorite hill in Boston, they took all the memories of me along with them down the grave like squirrels horde all the nuts for the winter.

All these did not bother me much until December 11th, 1997. Simon Jeffes, the composer for Penguin Cafe has passed away due to brain tumor. I didn’t know Simon in person, but he resonated in my mind for as long as I could remember.

It was a Sunday, I spent my 14th birthday by myself in Central Park New York. My parents were busy running around town finding a new apartment after weeks of living in hotel rooms. We moved from Boston to New York because father got hired to teach at NYU. I remember I was so against the transition that I locked myself in the bathroom for three days until the hungry strike grew too hungry to continue. It was during school’s winter break so I never had a chance to meet any friends to celebrate my birthday with, and instead of getting excited about spending time with family or friends, I decided to get mopey and went to Central Park so I can have another reason to be angry about my life. When I reached the upper east side, I’ve found myself wondered into a crowd full of people listening to a group of musicians played for the public. It was a group about 10 people, they sat in folding chairs with cheap music stands in front of them. There was a man in glasses sat in the middle of the group. He began to tap his fingers away on the piano as if each note was meant to play without a care in the world. As the notes became faster, string instruments joined in one by one. And at that moment, I closed eyes. I imagined myself running through the street as if I was chasing an invisible friend. I was running so fast I could barely keep count of my surroundings as I had no time to pay any attention to anything other than what was in front of me. There was a smile on face. I felt like I was really 14 and I remembered so clearly that it was the happiest moment I have ever experienced. The rest of the memory did not seemed so important after that. Years later, I’ve found out that the man that played the piano was Simon Jeffes and the band he played with was called the Penguin Cafe Orchestra.

After Simon died, I realized that whenever I hear that song I heard so many years ago, my whole life flashes through my mind. It reminded me of all the things I have lost and the things I wished I should have done. But in the end, the flashing images always lead into that moment; the moment in the park when I imagined myself running as a 14 years old boy chasing what I what I believed was “hope”.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6E3znZoFnN8

I have been writing flash fictions for a little bit now but it always has been writing about other people's pictures or at work.... So my photo goal right now is: to take AT LEAST ONE image a day and write a flash fiction for it.

I will soon get a suitable camera for it... but until then, my broken Iphone shall do the trick! Today's might be a little bit more emo since I just came back watching the movie "Blue Valentine".






As he grabbed her by the arm so tightly as if his life was depended on it, he begged her to tell him what she wanted him to do.

“How can I make it better?! Tell me how what I need to do! Just tell me what I need to do and I’ll do it!. I promise I can change, baby! I promise we will get through this!”.
Tears were running down her face to her neck but she quickly smeared it away with her sleeves. It’s not that she did not love him. It’s because she loved him so much that she hated herself for not able to come up with any solution.

He grew more anxious as the silence filled the whole car like toxic smoke when he realized he couldn’t catch his breath to utter another word out of his mouth. And soon, he began to sob too as he felt his heart sank so deep down, like a battle ship sank along with it’s pride in the sea.

Despite the heat ventilated in the car,his and her breath still fogged up the windows. It is in all these blurriness surrounded them,they realized that love, in the end, was not enough to keep the two together.

The only thought that Danny could muster to think about was how he wished the light outside of the car was dimmer so that Aileen could not see how desperate and vulnerable he was.

24 hr failure

I dutifully carried around my Nikon SLR for 24 hrs and the best I came up with are cute pictures of the toddler I am teaching how to ski. I have a hard time taking "artsy" photos with my digital camera. I need to learn more about all the functions it has. How did your assignment go?

Mid-Month Goals

Submitting for the plastic camera contest at RayKo was a great accomplishment!
But I think the best way not to be disappointed if we don't win is to keep trudging forward.

Goals for Mid-January through Mid-February:

• Find a new contest to submit to. 

                      or

• put together a small series in an online gallery to put out there to others (10-20 images)

Goal for week of 1/17/11:

• Spend an entire 24 hrs w/ you camera loaded, ready, and at hand. Make that a camera you haven't used in a while, and one with more than 2 controls (no Holga! or Panoramic in my case)
• Post at least 4 pictures from this by next week

I submitted a few images to a contest through this site a few years ago, and I didn't win. I think they would be a great place to keep our eyes on. Their current contest is open to anything that "moves photography forward" (could it be more vague). Might be a good place to submit to. Call For Entry

Any thoughts?

Creepy self portrait # 5,00,489,756

P.S. Can you take this photo seriously? I don't know that I can. 

My Submissions:

Self Portrait New Years Day                                                                16x20"

Water & Lace                                                                                           14x20"

Dive                                                                                                     14x20"

Took way too long to decide... Fingers crossed! We find out in 5 days.

the contenders:

having a really hard time deciding what to submit. especially since I found out the Panny is disqualified for having a glass lens (it must be plastic!!!!). So here are some contenders. I went and dug out old stuffs. I also have the NYE stuff I might submit. Any thoughts?

Actual Size 

Allie's Rayco photo contest

CONTEST RULES! Rayko plastic camera photo contest..

4th Annual International Juried Plastic Camera Show

This competition is open to artists working with plastic cameras with plastic lenses. The more obsolete, flawed, and lo-tech, the better. Images should be taken with cameras with limited controls, such as Diana, Holga, Lubitel, Lomo, Banner, and Ansco cameras. Beautiful prints from less-than-gorgeous cameras – that’s what we’re looking for! This is RayKo’s largest exhibition of the year with artists from all over the globe submitting work, and hundreds of attendees at the reception.

JUROR
Ann Jastrab, MFA, is a fine art photographer, master printer, and teacher. She is currently the Gallery Director at RayKo Photo Center. The RayKo Gallery offers over 1600 square feet of exhibition space and presents eight to ten shows annually featuring nationally recognized artists. Ann regularly participates as a juror and reviewer for a multitude of organizations: the SF Arts Commission, Academy of Art in SF, Artspan, SF Art Institute, Fotofest, Photolucida, Review Santa Fe, Review LA, PhotoAlliance, SPE, Fotovision, Click646, and Critical Mass. She has also taught at the Maine Media Workshops since 1994.

ENTRY GUIDELINES
• Limit 10 images per person
• 8” longest side at 72ppi | Adobe 1998 or srgb color space | jpeg only
• Save files as: lastname_firstname_title.jpg (Example: Smith_Jane_Pigeons01.jpg)
• $25 entry fee for first 3 images | $5 for each additional image, up to 10 total
• Any work deemed misrepresented by its jpeg will be declined
• Late submissions will not be considered

ONLINE SUBMISSIONS
• Scroll down to pay entry fee
• Within 48-hours you will receive an email with a link to the online submission form
• Fill out form, upload your images, and you’re done!

SNAIL MAIL SUBMISSIONS
• Click here to download submission form & guidelines
• Snail mail in cd or dvd of images, completed form, and registration fee via check

NOTIFICATION
Acceptance results will be emailed on January 20, 2011

SUBMISSION & ACCEPTANCE INFO
Artists who are accepted into the show, will receive a comprehensive follow up email in regards to delivery instruction & dates, frame requirements, etc.

January 13 Deadline for submissions
January 20 Notification of acceptances sent via email
March 4 Opening reception

go to site to submit