(COLORADO SPRINGS) — Kids healing kids is the idea behind an upcoming collaboration between a local photographer and a nonprofit that helps raise funds for families with children in need of mental health care.
Lindsey Kangas, President of Bryson’s Chase Foundation, and Becky Sullivan, Owner of Black Forest Photography, are teaming up to create an exhibit for change.
Currently, they are looking for teenage participants willing to be photographed and share their stories about mental health. The hope is that others will feel less alone and know there is hope.
Anyone under the age of 18 will need parental permission. Kangas and Sullivan are looking for around 15 teens to participate.
Those interested can apply here.
The exhibit will be on display in May 2024. The location has not yet been announced.
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I arrived in this country when I was 5 and my brother was 7. The first place we visited was Disneyland. I thought we had hit the jackpot. America was even better than I had expected. Soon after, we settled in Warrensburg, Mo., and a new reality sank in. I was transported from the cityscape of Seoul to the American Midwest. I have clear memories of walking through the vast prairie and the mazes of cornfields as a child.
My mom, Young Ok Na, had a studio photo taken in preparation to come to the United States — for her passport and visa applications. My dad was going to graduate school and we had come to visit. We didn’t know that we were never going back to Korea. He didn’t want us to leave. When I made a picture of that photo, it was drizzling. A tiny fortuitous raindrop fell right under my eye. I didn’t realize until I was editing that this had happened. I ask my child self, “Why are you crying?”
I notice my kids Mila and Teo interacting with nature, playing together and seeing how they create their own worlds and make their own memories. It is when I give in to seeing the world through their eyes that I find it easiest to parent. And then sometimes, their magic seeps into my world, when I let go of trying to be in control. I project my past onto them but I know parts of them remember it too.
In Korea, there is a concept called han, which roughly translates to a collective feeling of sorrow relating to having been colonized and oppressed. It is a sentiment that connects Koreans to each other as well as to our ancestors. For members of the diaspora, han can also relate to the immigrant experience — to feelings of loss and displacement. But we can release some han in making new memories on land that feels more familiar to my children than it did to me at their age. As we walk through the tallgrass prairie, my daughter asks me, “Are we in a dream? Are we?” I wonder if she is starting to remember.
What does this land represent? I think about the house we are staying in — a casita built for Mexican rail workers a century ago, one of the last ones to survive. There are three units in the bunkhouse. From the drawing in the room, it looks like there could have been up to 10 units at one point. I had packed a Mexican dress that was gifted to my daughter, Mila, without knowing the history of the bunkhouse. I feel like it is an homage to those workers. The kids are obsessed with the wild garlic here, possibly brought here by the Mexican laborers. A part of their history continues to grow and nourish.
The more trains I watch pass behind the casitas, the more details I notice. I realize the ones carrying oil move more slowly than the ones carrying coal. My children recognize the logos on the trains moving consumer goods across the U.S. after just a few clicks on someone’s phone or computer.
I think about the Chinese rail workers who built the transcontinental railway — how they were omitted from the 1869 photo commemorating the completion of the railroad. Everyone is celebrating, opening champagne as the final golden spike is hammered into the track. How easily have our experiences, as immigrants, been erased from American history. Corky Lee recreated that photograph in 2014 with the descendants of those Chinese laborers, 145 years after the original photo was made. We can take back some of our histories in commemorating the forgotten, lost and erased. Remembering.
Through this work, I re-examine my connection to this land, reconsidering overlooked histories, as I tap into my own forgotten memories, conjuring the past, creating new memories, all while exploring my connection to the natural landscape, to my children, and to our past and future selves.
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In his introduction to Klein’s book, its editor and designer, Mark Holborn writes that “to open this book is to enter criminal territory. Here, the police are busy. Transgression, too, has its allure.” If Klein’s transgression doesn’t seem as thrilling as it once did, you can’t fault the work. It remains tough, subversive, and “difficult” at a time when few magazines—and even fewer advertisers—value anything remotely challenging. Sadly, that makes “Steven Klein” feel like a period piece, a memorial slab to an era when fashion photographers—including Klein, Meisel, Nick Knight, David Sims, Bruce Weber, Collier Schorr, Matthias Vriens, Juergen Teller, and Wolfgang Tillmans—were leading an adventurous, sophisticated, queer-centric avant-garde. They broke old-guard magazines wide open, spearheaded new ones, and changed the way we thought about the medium and the message. Because Klein was one of that group’s most radical members, especially in retrospect, his work looks more outrageous now than it did when it first appeared. How dare he photograph a nude woman with surgical scars on her stomach and breasts as if she were a body dumped on the grass? Or conjure a pregnant male nude, a Los Angeles porn set, a model submerged in a tank like one of Damien Hirst’s sharks, or Tom Ford buffing a man’s bare ass like it was a car hood? Odd to think that this is now history too rude to be repeated.
Holborn’s introduction describes a short film Klein made for Alexander McQueen that reworked the opening scene from Michael Powell’s 1960 movie “Peeping Tom,” with Kate Moss as the doomed focus of an “obsessive predatory stalker” played by Klein himself. A still from that short, of a small camera clutched in Klein’s tattooed hands like a weapon, is one of the book’s most charged and contained images. Klein is hardly a lone stalker. He has a huge support staff—editors, stylists, hair-and-makeup people—to help realize his obsessions. But his most lurid visions rarely make the editorial pages these days. His transformation of the singer-songwriter Ethel Cain into a vampiric Victorian queen, for the cover of the Spring issue of V, is merely alarming. Subversiveness—the transgressive vision—might be old-school, but Klein hasn’t given it up. His monograph suggests that it’s still a force that can thrill and disturb.
“Women in Music,” the new exhibit currently running in the Femme X Columbia gallery on Richland Street through July, is a classic example of how evocative photography can come to define a music scene.
The collection, the work of photographer and concept artist Kati Baldwin, showcases its own artistic vision even as it highlights the work of others, playfully interacting with the natural shadows and darkness while also making liberal use of saturation and other effects to create its own visual language across the various subjects, all of whom are, of course, women.
“I love showcasing other people’s art — it’s a lot easier to do that than for other people than to do it for myself,” Baldwin said. “I like connecting with people and learning about their personality and then creating a visual off of it.”
Baldwin, who first got into photography when she was working as a retail manager at the alternative clothing store Sid & Nancy in Five Points, said she first began documenting the local music scene with a few bands she knew, but quickly started getting encouraged to do more, starting with David Stringer’s SceneSC website in 2017.
“He asked me to shoot two shows in one weekend, and that’s how I shot my first two shows,” she said, one of which was for the acclaimed indie rock band Spoon.
“I’d never heard of Spoon at the time, so that was a really cool experience to see them and hear them listen for the first time while shooting. That’s when I realized I want to do music photography, that it sounded fun.”
As far as developing her style, Baldwin said it’s a combination of technical choices as well as aesthetic ones.
“If I’m not using flash, I really like to bump up the contrast a lot in post edit. I’ll make the blacks really, really black and actually usually toned down the whites a lot,” she explained. “But if I am using flash I can get more creative, like doing really long exposures. That’s how I can do things like my light trails.”
She also quickly developed different presets for particular color themes that she wanted to explore, going so far as to name them after venues (like the rock club New Brookland Tavern) or specific artists that’s she’s worked with.
“I just love being a part of a community and letting people that you know, what they’re doing is being seen,” she said of her continued passion for music photography, particularly local women musicians. “I love boosting egos and just making people feel good about their talents.”
The new exhibit was a big moment for Baldwin in more ways than one — as a struggling artist relatively new to photography, this is only her second exhibition and the first in four years. And she also got to add her passion for event planning into the mix for the opening reception back in May, booking Greenville singer/songwriter Darby Wilcox, Spartanburg’s Slow Funeral and local singer/songwriter Kat Gandy to perform.
“I’ve never really had the means to do (something like this) until recently,” she said, noting more regular freelancing gigs combined with assisting commercial studio photographers such as George Fulton and Sandy Andrews has put her in a position to spend the time and energy to put something like this show together.
“It’s kind of scary to invest a lot of money when you don’t know if anyone’s gonna buy your work. But I think it’s worth it.”
New Age cultural correspondent Mohammd Asadurjaman Aslam Molla has won Best Award in Photography Category at the ongoing 25th National Art Exhibition in the National Art Gallery of Bangladesh Shilpakala Academy in the capital’s Segunbagicha.
Aslam received the award for his photograph titled ‘Still Life’.
The awardee is currently studying at Patshala South Asian Media Institute. His photographs have been published in many local and foreign newspapers and magazines.
He is also a theatre activist who has directed theatre productions, namely Bhooter Bhoy, Hotyar Shilpakala and others, and designed stage and lighting for plays, namely Mulluk, Let Me Out, Happy Days and others.
The National Art Exhibition that began on May 28 is featuring 301 artworks by 261 artists from across the country.
A total of 20 prizes were handed over at the inaugural ceremony of the biennale art exhibition held at the auditorium of National Art Gallery.
State minister for cultural affairs KM Khalid handed over the award as the chief guest in presence of artist Hashem Khan, artist Abdul Mannan, artist Monirul Islam, cultural affairs secretary Khalil Ahmed and the BSA director general Liaquat Ali Lucky.
Jesmin Akter bagged Bangladesh Shilpakala Academy Award 2023, which is Best Award in all categories.
Besides, seven participants and one troupe received Best Award in eight categories.
Jayatu Chakma won in Painting Category, Nusrat Jahan in Printmaking Category, Syed Tareq Rahman in Sculpture Category, Farhana Ferdausi in Craft Category, Ashim Halder Sagor in Ceramic Work Category, Zihad Rabby in Graphic Design Category, Sajib Kumar Dey in Installation Art Category and Bangladesh Performance Art Group in Performance Art Category.
Abdus Sattar Toufiq, Naima Akhter, Raufun Nahar Ritu, Md Tariqul Islam Herok and Ashraful Hasan received Honourable Mention Award in five categories.
Fareha Zeba, Anukul Chandra Mojumder, Tanvir Parvez, Mohammad Hasanur Rahman and Gobinda Pal received Sponsored Award in five categories.
I spent a good chunk of my life working in book publishing and have occasionally been told “You must enjoy all those launch parties.” Not so long ago I was involved in a book that really deserved one but didn’t get it. So what went wrong, and why?
The book, Covid Street: Photographers United, certainly merited a fancy bash, with champagne flowing and all the contributors taking their moment of limelight. It was never to happen of course, and not just because pandemics aren’t conducive to parties. After all, it didn’t stop the British Prime Minister!
The book, the brainchild of street photographer Tanya Nagar, was to source the images she had already been collecting on Instagram of the spreading lockdowns around the world and assemble them into book form in aid of MSF. It proved a more time-consuming process than we first hoped – it’s a lot easier to persuade people to share something at low res via Instagram than to deliberately send you print-quality files.
The main reason, though, was that parties aren’t really a part of a sensibly-funded publishing model. Like any book, I wanted to make more money for this project than we spent, so we could give proceeds to the charity Médecins Sans Frontières.
It was also true that not every contributor would even be able to afford their own copy of the book or copies for their families so it would seem insulting to fund a venue, snacks, and so forth from the book’s budget even if travel restrictions allowed it.
And that’s the key point. Most illustrated or photographic books don’t really make a lot of money. They sit in an awkward middle; expensive to print, occupying a niche area of interest, and very rarely of interest to the chattering classes or literary snobs. A party, even a modest one, would be a measurable part of the income of the book.
But would it have persuaded more people to buy it? Perhaps. Though you have to arrange the not inconsiderable costs of shipping copies to the event and, quite possibly, away again. Unlike a novel or monograph, signatures aren’t really desirable.
This is why, in the better part of two decades in publishing, I only once went to a launch party, and that was futile self-indulgence on the part of the author. (Or, seen differently, a generous re-distribution of their advance, back in the days when such a thing existed, to the minions.)
Now, sure, the one percent seem gleefully able to dance from one charity ball to the next, and perhaps that was our mistake. Instead of thinking of the book as, well, a book with a proportion ring-fenced for the charity, we should have spent more time tapping up potential donors. Who knows?
I don’t know how much time you spend looking back through your photo library. I can’t say I do it very much, unless I need to go back in time to track down a very specific photo. But I’ve currently got Google Photos installed on my iPhone, and Google Photos is very aggressive when it comes to notifications, particularly when it comes to photos taken long ago.
It was one such notification that caught my eye — Google Photos calling out a photo I had taken 18 years ago. I’m used to having old photos surface on my iPhone — i’ve even set up a widget on my home screen that shows images of my daughter from my Photos library. But those images are usually a year or two old. Here was Google Photos, serving up an image that was old enough to vote.
That was when it hit me — I’ve been taking digital photos for two decades now. And going back through my photo library reveled not just memories of old trips and family get-togethers. It showed me how far cameras have come in the last 20 years and why today’s best camera phones truly impress.
The oldest shots in my Google Photos library date back to 2002. They came from a Canon PowerShot S200, the first digital camera I ever bought. Yes, kids, back in those days, if you wanted a camera close at hand, you had to buy one separately. The Canon PowerShot S200 delivered a 2MP camera packed into a not exactly svelte 3.4 s 2.2 x 1.1-inch body that I remember not fitting into my pocket particularly comfortably. But it did the job.
Or at least, it did the job as well as a point-and-shoot camera could in 2002. The above picture of my and my wife in Kauai is decent enough, but you can really see the limits of 2002-era photography. The scene is horribly backlit — you can’t make out much of the background at all. And you’d have a hard time picking us out of the shadows as well.
I can’t help but wonder what advances in computational photography over the ensuing two decades might have done for that photo. I could have used something like Apple’s Smart HDR, which combines different exposures to call out more detail in a shot, particularly in photos where there’s a lot of contrast between light and dark areas. With more advanced photo processing, my wife and I may not looked so murky and maybe some of the background wouldn’t have been so over-exposed.
On that same trip, I took a photo of the Na Pali coast from the vantage point of a heiicoptor cockpit. It’s a decent-enough photo in that I capture a view you can only see from the air or sea, but the challenge of shooting through a window on a not especially clear day proved too much for a 2002-era camera. Better photo-processing aided by AI would have probably cleaned up that photo considerably.
Any older shot in my Photos library that I took at night had me immediately longing for a night mode that managed to call out more detail in low-light photos. Once again with my trusty PowerShot by my side, I captured the final score of a rare University of California win over a hated film school from down south as darkness fell on the Berkeley hills. Thank goodness for the lights on the scoreboard, because that’s the only thing that allowed me to capture the moment.
The 2003-era advertisements lining the scoreboard are all but impossible to see. (A shame since that ad for the company Cingular makes me feel like there’s a bright future ahead for that outfit.) A night mode might have helped out — or at least a dedicated telephoto lens with an optical zoom.
Just so that we don’t pick on 20-year-old Canon point-and-shoots, let’s turn our attention to some early smartphones to look at how their photographic output held up. The answer? Not very well.
This 13-year-old shot of my nephew clutching his favorite pet chicken was taken by an iPhone 3G. Yes, neither 6-year-olds nor chickens are known for their ability to hold still while uncles fumble with their smartphones, but this picture is remarkably blurry. I’m guessing whatever merits the iPhone 3G’s 2MP camera brought to the table, image stabilization wasn’t one of them.
The irony, of course, is that if I were viewing this photo on a Pixel 7 and not an iPhone 12, I might be able to clean it up with the help of the Tensor G2-powered Photo Unblur feature. Just for grins, let’s see what happens when we try the Photo Unblur feature using a Pixel 7a.
You know what? That’s a lot cleaner. And it certainly helps underscore the point that there have been a lot of advances in mobile photography over the past 20 years when even a midrange phone from 2023 can take a 2010 photo and make it look a lot better.
Spend some time looking at older images in your photo library, and you really come to appreciate what phone makers have done in the era of the smartphone. Certainly, increasing the megapixels has helped — I’m trying to imagine the reception Tim Cook would get if he unveiled an iPhone with the iPhone 3G’s 2MP sensor. But wider apertures that let in more light, bigger sensors that capture more detail and optical image stabilization that steadies even the shakiest hand play a big role, too.
I don’t look at those old photos in my library and despair at their quality — memories are memories and the photos I have represent the best technology I had available at the time. But I do see some of those old photos and appreciate what I have at my disposal now. It’s pretty amazing what today’s phone makers can squeeze into a camera phone.
A remarkable drone photo shared online has revealed a harbor that looks exactly like — a dolphin.
Photographer Rhys Jones said he was amazed to see the likeness in an aerial picture he took over Pwllheli in Wales, as the British news agency SWNS reported.
This isn’t ancient history. We only have to go back to around 2015, say, the year when the Nikon D7200 was launched and perhaps the high water mark of beginner and enthusiast photography. The Nikon APS-C lens range was extensive and mostly inexpensive and the Canon APS-C DSLR scene was equally vigorous.
The best cameras for beginners were APS-C models back then, as were most of the best cameras for enthusiasts.
Sure, professionals would be looking at the best full frame cameras instead, but they were much more expensive and APS-C cameras were, for hobbyists, just as versatile and backed up by just as many lenses. You could build a serious system around an APS-C camera.
And then mirrorless happened.
Did mirrorless cameras kill APS-C?
Not directly, but they did change the way the two biggest makers approached the market. Sure, they embraced mirrorless technology and launched APS-C mirrorless cameras to take over from their old-tech DSLR models.
But did they launch proper ‘systems’ to go with them? Canon’s EOS M range looks largely dead in the water today and has barely a dozen native EF-M lenses – compare that with the dozens available for its EF-S DSLR cameras. Replacing the EOS M series, Canon’s RF-S cameras (including the new $600 EOS R100) have even fewer lenses made specifically for this smaller format, and it doesn’t look as if there will ever be anything like the optical diversity for these APS-C cameras that we once took for granted.
Things are no better at Nikon. Like Canon, it’s launched its own APS-C (DX) format mirrorless cameras, but barely a handful of native Nikkor Z DX lenses to go with them.
Yes, both sets of cameras can use full-frame lenses from the larger full-frame cameras in their respective ranges, but that doesn’t help with standard and wide-angle lens choice. It’s also an expensive workaround.
But let’s just go back to 2015, when you could get a decent APS-C beginner DSLR for around $500 and know that there were dozens of lenses out there to go with it and at sensible prices. What wouldn’t we give to have those days back?
These two companies were once the biggest names in beginner/enthusiast APS-C camera market, but in a few short years their APS-C systems have effectively been left to wither away. And what have they been replaced with? Cameras, yes, systems, no. When there are as many cameras in an interchangeable lens system as there are lenses, something’s clearly wrong.
Of course, cameras like the Canon EOS R50 and R10, the Nikon Z50 and Z fc, do give new users a first step into the Canon RF and Nikon Z camera systems, and if they later upgrade to a full frame model, then all these lens problems go away.
And if that’s actually the plan, it’s a pretty cynical one.
Hurrah for Fujifilm and Sony (and Pentax)
At least Fujifilm and Sony still take APS-C seriously (and a shout out to Pentax, too). Fujifilm is clearly committed to its APS-C lens system, and the same goes for Sony. It’s true that Sony’s full frame cameras and lenses get the lion’s share of development these days, but Sony still plugs away with its APS-C system with occasional camera and lens launches that continue to make this a convincing and complete camera system for those who don’t want to go full frame.
But let’s just go back to 2015, when you could get a decent APS-C beginner DSLR for around $500/£400 and know that there were dozens of lenses out there to go with it and at sensible prices. What wouldn’t we give to have those days back?
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