This is an awesome photograph.

EIT FOTOGRAFI teke av kunstnaren Nan Goldin, titulert «Klara and Edda Belly-Dancing», vart i fjor beslaglagt av politiet på ei utstilling. Truleg fekk biletet mykje merksemd av di det er Sir Elton John som eig det. Fotografen Amy Stein skreiv om saka på sin blogg. På norsk skriv bloggar Mihoe om saka (her kan du også sjå biletet), og ho nevner i tillegg den ikkje ukjende Sally Mann som eit døme på liknande kontroversielle fotografar. Eit anna døme, også skrive om av Mihoe, er Jock Sturges, som nyleg var i det same søkelyset.

PÅ EIT DISKUSJONSFORUM for gatefotografar (gatelivets dokumentarfotografar) skriv ein kar om korleis bekymra foreldre sjølv etter at dei hadde snakka med fotografen hang opp stigmatiserande plakatar om han i nabolaget. Og her er det jo snakk om fullt påkledde barn og vaksne i offentlege rom. Eg må trekke ein parallell til norske skular og barnehagar, der det også er paranoide tilstandar rundt fotografering -- sjølvsagt påverkar det foreldra sine haldningar når kvart born må ha løyve med seg for å verta fotografert og kan velje korvidt avisa kan nytte biletet på nett og/eller i papirutgåva.

EIN ARTIKKEL eg las for ei tid attende nytta eit amerikansk kunstfotografi frå 1950-talet av ei naken jente (fotografert direkte ovanfrå, liggande på rygg i skogbunnen) som døme på korleis konnotasjonane våre rundt slike motiv har endra seg dei siste åra (tips meg gjerne om artikkel/bilete, for eg har ikkje vore i stand til å finne det att). Medieeksplosjonen er ein forutsetnad for spreiinga av slik frykt -- Internett er det store monsteret. Som ei meir konkret skyteskive for desse frustrasjonane finn vi eit enkelt kunstverk som heng i eit galleri.

KUNSTDEBATTEN ER ALLTID den same: er dette kunst eller barneporno? Ein gjengangar er spørsmålet om kvifor ein i det heile tatt treng å ta eit slikt bilete. Det som er interessant er at dei som seier dette åpenbart meinar at samtidskunst skal vera noko anna, utan at dei heilt veit kva, eller korvidt dei nokon gong har sett det.

DEBATTEN FOREGÅR totalt utanfor verkets opprinnelege samanheng. Dette vil seie at ein diskuterer korvidt eit kunstverk, etter at det er gjengitt i media som kontroversielt, er kunst i sin opprinnelege samanheng. Forslag til definisjon:

«Dersom folk flest bryr seg med å diskutere korvidt noko er kunst eller ikkje -- ja, så er det kunst»

DET DREIER SEG berre om to ulike kunstverk. Verk A¹ heng i galleriet og har eit relativt lite publikum, medan verk A² får eit liv i media med eit større publikum, og her ser ein det gjerne alltid med «barnepornobrillene» på. Det faktum at slike saker får stor merksemd i media kan fort føre med seg ein medieskapt røyndom der slike ting framstår som meir kontroversielle enn dei eigentleg er. Slik går ein fram for å byggje kollektiv paranoia. Dette påverkar folk flest på ein slik måte at amerikanske fotolabbar får kundar som tar bilete av borna sine i badekaret arrestert. Kven er det eigentleg som er dei perverse her?

• Foto.no om Jock Sturges
• Intervju med Sturges

Vi racconto tutto.

A Roma adesso c’è un festival internazionale della fotografia, per questo sono andato a vederne una parte al Palazzo delle Esposizioni. (In questo momento sono a Roma, ma non preoccupatevi: ancora per poco. Sto per partire per Nizza e poi per Parigi…). Più precisamente, ci sono diverse esposizioni al “Palazzo”, non solo quelle del festival.

Per iniziare, ho visitato “Il mito della velocità. Arte, motori e società nell'Italia del '900”. Decisamente nulla di eccezionale. Bellissime macchine e brutte opere d’arte, a mio parere. Poi è stata la volta di una mostra di artisti cinesi contemporanei con belli lavori. Ho apprezzato l’opera di “carta” in bronzo di Wang Du e le fotografie di Yang Yong e Wang Qinsong. C’era anche una specie di scultura che rappresenta un angelo che cade da una "singolarità" nel paradiso. L’ho trovata divertente, forse per simpatia professionale.

Poi sono stato alle esposizioni dedicate al Festival della Fotografia. Mi sono piaciute le cose di Paolo Woods sul tema dei lavoratori/manager cinesi trasferitisi in Africa (tutte le foto si possono trovare nel suo sito. Grazie!). Ho apprezzato anche l’esposizione della fotografa ceca Lucia Nimcova che mostra l’evoluzione/transizione della situazione socio-politica nella sua nazione, attingendo sia agli archivi fotografici della sua città che ai propri scatti.

Ma ho lasciato il meglio alla fine.

Conoscevo il lavoro di Leonie Purchas solo attraverso il suo sito e lo consideravo già interessante. Vedendo l’esposizione ho trovato il suo lavoro anche meglio di come me lo aspettassi. Il paragone più spontaneo è stato con Nan Goldin, da molto tempo la mia fotografa preferita. Forse per la natura del suo lavoro, sulla famiglia della stessa Leonie, con tutte le implicazioni emotive che ne derivano. Nel sito del Palazzo delle Esposizioni potete trovare la descrizione di questo lavoro che qui riporto:

In the Shadow of Things" si concentra sulla vita di sua madre, Bron, che dopo la rottura del suo primo matrimonio, ha iniziato dodici anni fa una nuova vita col suo compagno David e loro figlio Jake, trasferendosi in una casa isolata circondata da campi e foreste.
Nonostante gli anni passati, la maggior parte dei pacchi del trasloco erano ancora da aprire. Bron ha combattuto per anni con un disturbo ossessivo compulsivo che con le sue intricate regole e rituali ha dato luogo nella vita di tutti i giorni a pile di oggetti sparsi dappertutto.
Per molti mesi Leonie ha cercato di aiutare la madre a riprendere il controllo della sua casa e della sua vita, cercando di esprimere attraverso la fotografia il confronto con un mondo che pensava di conoscere ma che continua a rivelarsi.

Un lavoro stupendo. Eccezionale il ritratto di Martin (il marito di Leonie) sul punto di piangere. Leonie gli prende una mano e scatta allo stesso tempo.

Congratulazioni!

E come sempre una mia fotografia, scattata mentre camminavo per il centro di Roma diretto alla mostra.

Grazie mille a undulant per la spontanea e bravissima traduzione!

I tell you the story: there is currently in Rome an international festival of photography, and I went to an exhibition at the Palazzo delle Esposizioni. (I am curently @ Rome, but don't panic, just for a short while; I'm going first to Nice and then to Paris again). In fact, there are currently different exhibitions at the Palazzo, not only the ones of the festival. First, I visited one entitled "The Legend of Speed. Art, Motorization and Society in 20th Century Italy". Well, frankly, nothing exceptional. Beautiful cars and ugly art pieces, in my opinion. Then I moved to an exhibition by chinese contemporary artists. There were nice things. I liked the pieces of "paper" in bronze by Wang Du and the photographies of Yang Yong and Wang Qinsong. There was also a kind of sculpture representing an angel falling from a singularity of the paradise, which was amusing. Maybe a professional bias.

Then I visited the exhibition dedicated to the Festival of Photography itself. I liked the exhibition by Paolo Woods about chinese workers/businessmen expatriated to Africa (all the photographies can be found in his site, thanks!). I enjoyed also the exhibition by the Czech photographer Lucia Nimcova, which shows the evolution/transition of the socio-political situation in her country, using the photographic archives of her city as well her own photographies.

And I left the best for last.

I knew the work of Leonie Purchas only through her website, and I already find it very interesting. Visiting the exhibition I found it even better than I expected. The immediate comparison which came in my mind was Nan Goldin, which is currently, by far, my favorite photographer. Maybe because of the nature of the work, about the family of Leonie herself, with all the emotional charge which it implies. In the website of the Palazzo delle Esposizioni you can find a description of this work, which I quote below:

[It] concentrates on the life of her mother, Bron, who after the breakdown of her first marriage, twelve years later started a new life with her partner David and their son Jake, moving to an isolated house surrounded by fields and forests. In spite of the years that had past, most of the boxes used for the move had still remained unopened. Bron had fought for years a compulsive obsessive disorder, that with its intricate rules and rituals had resulted in everyday life in heaps of objects piled up all over the place. For many months Leonie tried to help her mother to regain control over her home and her life, trying to express though her photographs the comparison with a world she thought she knew and that continues to reveal itself.

Really great work. I remember specially a picture of Martin (Leonie's husband) on the verge of tears, Leonie taking one of his hands and the picture at the same time.

Congratulations...!

And, as usual, a photography of mine, taking while I was walking in the center of Rome going to the exhibition.

[Note: I decided to translate the posts in the language of the country is related to. I will therefore translate this post to Italian as soon as possible!]

Nan Goldin was born in Washington D.C. in September of 1953, but grew up just outside of Boston.  For the first 14 years of her life, she was relatively unhappy with her family life thus she took refuge in her friends.  At this time a sister of Goldin committed suicide.  Shortly after the death of her sister she moved out of her home and in with a series of foster families and began school at an alternative school called Satya Community school where she met 2 very influential friends.  Now in Lincoln Mass. Her memory of her deceased sister began to fade.  It was because of this that Nan began to take photos – in order to remember the present so as to not forget anyone else again.

Along with her close friends, Goldin began to use photography as a way of re-inventing herself.  The trio took turns dressing up for each other in order to practice fashion photography.  In the early 1970’s Goldin was introduced to drag queens and the nightclubs they populated.  As she began documenting transvestites her style shifted to depict her subjects in a straight-forward, as-it-is way.

Later, Goldin began studying at the Boston School of Fine Arts.  Once again her style shifted.  Before formal schooling in the field of photography, Goldin primarily photographed using natural and existing light and only black and white film.  In college, she experimented with color, which later became an integral part of her style.  The use of flash also profoundly affected her work in developing the “Goldin-Look.”  The bright, vivid colors she’s now known for are achieved from her careful use of flash and a printing technique called Cibachrome which also aides in keeping her final images sharp and bright.

http://www.brain-juice.com/cgi-bin/show_bio.cgi?p_id=88

http://www.artnet.com/artist/7135/nan-goldin.html

Una vez alguien me explicó lo que era una efervescencia. Desde aquel momento, la palabra me persigue allá donde voy, todavía más que las prodigiosas suspensiones coloidales. Cuando veo la tele, en la cama, cuando camino al trabajo, cuando cocino. Cuánto preferiría haber ignorado esta fascinación desde el principio. Menos mal que, de momento, los coloides me dejan dormir.

        He encontrado por ahí  unas fotografías de Nan Goldin que han sido publicadas recientemente en The New York Times con Lou Dillon, Charlotte Gainsbourg, Tilda Swinton y demás féminas del panorama músicofolklórico reciente.

        Me gustan las fotografías y me gusta Nan Goldin pero no sé yo si no sigo prefiriendo a la Nan más ochentera, espontánea y directa. Cruda la mayor parte del tiempo pero, a la vez, de una tremenda ternura contenida en sus imágenes.

        Es mi deber dejar patente la relativa objetividad de mi opinión; siempre he sentido especial debilidad por la fotografía documental...

Sen var vi även i Kiasmas shop och kollade. Jag köpte ett jättefint postkort som jag skall sätta på väggen. Måste ta bild på den nångång så att ni alla får se. Mamma köpte en bok åt pappa till hans födelsedag. Det var jag som sa åt henne att hon måste köpa den. Jag hoppas verkligen att han kommer gilla den.

I metron påväg hem började vi planera hans födelsedagskalas. Jag tycker att han verkligen borde fira när han faktiskt fyller 60! Han är sån att han säkert inte tänker själv börja ordna fest. Så mamma och jag och kanske även hans syster, om vi får henne att joina så skulle kunna ordna en fest åt honom. Lite som en överraskning. Jag tror att han skulle bli glad.

En bekant i skolan frågade mig om jag vill fotografera henne i studion nångång. Hon har någon idé hon vill testa och hon tror att jag har sån stil som hon söker. Jag tycker att låter väldigt intressant så jag sa jo åt henne. Dessutom så vill jag faktiskt testa använda studion lite mer än vad jag gjort. Får se vad det blir av det hela. Hon är faktiskt rätt söt och blir bra på bild. Så det är bra.

Kram på er alla! ♥

ps. Titeln är ett citat från Fight Club. ds.

A must see for me. My previous posts about Nan Goldin.

p.s.

Multimedia presentation 'Capturing Couture' | The New York Times

The New York Times | Photo's (slideshow) from the Devils playground

Dit lijkt me ook interessant werk : "Vijf portretten is een presentatie van audiovisueel werk uit de collectie van het museum. Van vijf kunstenaars wordt werk getoond dat de grenzen tussen portret en documentaire verkent; Joost Conijn, Tracey Emin, Arnoud Holleman, Pablo Pijnappel en Julika Rudelius. De tentoonstelling brengt een aantal verschillende artistieke posities bij elkaar die thema’s als de menselijke habitat en sociale en culturele identiteit behandelen".

Eden

Dans l'éther infini, plein de profonds mirages,
Dans l'azur insondable et vierge de nuages,
Le grand soleil montait lentement, gravement :
Et l'Eden, ébloui du long rayonnement,
S'éveille. La nature amoureuse et ravie
Entonna le concert éclatant de la vie.
Tout remuait : Adam, le seul et le dernier,
Dormait les poings fermés, à l'ombre d'un pommier.
De larges ronflements bourdonnaient sur sa lèvre :
l avait eu, la nuit, des douleurs et la fièvre ;
Il avait fait un rêve, il avait mal aux reins :
Il avait cru voir Dieu, du haut des cieux sereins,

Descendre à petits pas, et la dextre divine
Avait pendant longtemps fouillé dans sa poitrine
Pour y ravir un os qu'elle avait emporté...
Adam dormait toujours. Debout, à son côté,
Eve le regardait, soucieuse, étonnée.

Le jour venait de naître où la femme était née.
L'homme ronflait. Une heure entière s'écoula ;
Eve, agacée enfin de le voir toujours là,
ve, maligne et femme, Eve prit une pomme
Et la laissa tomber sur l'oeil du premier homme.

Adam se redressa d'un seul bond : "Mille dieux !"
Mais il aperçu Eve en se frottant les yeux.
Homme sans le savoir et galant de naissance,
Il fit une profonde et grave révérence :
"Dieu fait bien ce qu'il fait ; Eblis seul fait le mal."

Il s'assit : "Quel est donc ce nouvel animal ?
Et d'où vient qu'on ne peut rien trouver à lui dire ?"
Il se tut un instant, puis avec un sourire :
- Il fait bien chaud !...
- Oh oui.
- Le soleil est très fort !
- Oh oui.
- C'est étonnant avec ce vent du Nord...
Car c'est le vent du Nord qui vient de la montagne.
- Ah!
- Oui... Connaissez-vous un peu notre campagne ?
- Moi ? non. Je viens de naître.
- Ah! de naître...Aujourd'hui?
- Oui.
- Je vous félicite... Eden vous plaît-il ?
- Oui.
- Pensez-vous y rester quelques temps ?
- C'est probable.
- Ah ! tant mieux. Vous verrez : c'est un séjour aimable.
Je vous promènerai dans notre paradis.
Aimez-vous à causer ?
- Que dites-vous ?
- Je dis :
Aimez-vous à causer ?
- Je ne sais pas encore ;
Je ne peux pas savoir ; je suis née à l'aurore."

Il se fit un silence : Adam, pâle et songeur,
Promenait brusquement ses deux mains sur son coeur.

Eve :
- Vous cherchez quelque chose ?

Adam :
- Il me manque une côte !
- Dieu m'a créée avec : ce n'est pas de ma faute.
- Tiens... La drôle d'idée ! Et quel est votre nom ?
- Eve.
- Oh ! le joli nom.
- Vous me flattez...
- Mais non.
Moi, je m'appelle Adam.
- Adam...
Nouveau silence.

Tout deux s'étonnaient de tant de différence
Dans les formes du corps et les tons de la peau.
Adam la trouvait belle ; Eve le trouvait beau.
Ils se taisaient, mais ils raisonnaient en revanche.

Adam reprit enfin : "Comme vous êtes blanche !
Pourquoi Dieu vous a-t-il mis des cheveux si longs ?
Les miens sont courts et noirs et les vôtres tout blonds
C'est vraiment très joli, ces lourdes tresses blondes...
- Vous trouvez ?
- Très joli... Mais ces machines rondes,
Là, sur votre poitrine, à quoi cela sert-il ?
- Je n'en sais rien. Mais vous, au-dessous du nombril,
Qu'est-ce que vous portez dans cette touffe noire,
Sur ce double coussin ?
- Je m'en sers... après boire.
- Seulement ? Cela doit vous gêner pour marcher ?
- Pas trop... On s'habitue.
- Je suis si curieuse.
Alors, vous permettez ?...

Eve, blanche et rieuse,
Avança doucement ses petits doigts rosés,
Puis, s'arrêtant soudain :
- Je n'ose pas !
- Osez !
Est-ce qu'il vous fait peur ?
- Peur ? Oh ! non : je suis brave.
Tiens ! C'est tout rouge au bout. On dirait une rave.
C'est pour le protéger, sans doute, cette peau ?
Ce n'est pas laid du tout.
- Oh... Ce n'est pas très beau.
- Mais si : c'est très gentil.

Et les mignons doigts roses
Allaient, couraient, venaient, faisaient de courtes poses,
Comme des papillons voltigeant sur des fleurs.

"Oh mais, regardez donc. Il a pris des couleurs.
Comme c'est drôle ! Il est plus grand que tout à l'heure.
Il se dresse, il frémit. Ciel ! une larme : il pleure !"

Eve essuya la larme à ses cheveux dorés.

- Il pleure, il pleure encore ! Est-ce que vous souffrez ?
- Au contraire.
- Oh, monsieur Adam ! il est énorme,
Maintenant ! Il n'a plus du tout la même forme.
C'est très raide et très dur... A quoi peut-il servir ?"

Adam lui répondit, dans un profond soupir :
- Est-ce que vous croyez qu'il sert à quelque chose ?
- Je n'en suis pas très sûre : au moins, je le suppose.
Vous m'avez dit tantôt : "Dieu fait bien ce qu'il fait."
Toute chose a son but si ce monde est parfait.
- Oui, si Dieu m'avait dit ce qu'il veut que je fasse
De ce... Mais vous, comment ?...
- Moi, je n'ai que la place.
C'est peut-être un oubli : voyez.

Adam (cherchant trop haut) :
- Je ne vois rien.
- Non, pas là, maladroit ! Ici... Regardez bien.
- C'est juste ! On vous a même arraché la racine !
La fosse est encore fraîche... Est-ce que la voisine
Communique ?... Pour voir, si j'y mettais le doigt ?
- Mettez ce qu'il faudra.
- Diable ! C'est bien étroit !"

Il glissa sous la femme une main caressante...
Eve bondit, l'oeil clos, la croupe frémissante,
Les seins tendus, les poings crispés dans ses cheveux.
Tout son être frémit d'un long frisson nerveux,
Et le soupir mourut entre ses dents serrées.

"Encore !" Elle entr'ouvrit des deux cuisses cambrées,
Et le premier puceau vint tomber dans ses bras !

"Encore ! Cherche encore ! Oui. Tant que tu voudras."

Comme il croisait ses mains sous deux épaules blanches
Adam sentit deux pieds se croiser sur ses hanches.
Leurs membres innocents s'enlaçaient, s'emmêlaient.
S'ils avaient pu savoir, au moins, ce qu'ils voulaient !

Ô pucelage ! Alors, presque sans le comprendre,
Tous deux en même temps, d'une voix faible et tendre,
Murmurèrent : "Je t'aime". Et le premier baiser
Vint, en papillonnant, en riant, se poser
Et chanter doucement sur leurs lèvres unies.

Dieu, pour les ignorants, créa deux bons génies :
L'Instinct et le Hasard. Or, au bout d'un instant,
Eve avait deviné ce qui l'intriguait tant.

Avez-vous jamais vu le serpent que l'on chasse ?
De droite à gauche, errant, affolé, tête basse,
En avant, en arrière, il va sans savoir où.
Il s'élance ; il recule ; il cherche ; il veut un trou,
Un asile où cacher sa fureur écumante.
Il cherche : il ne voit rien, et son angoisse augmente.
Mais, lorsqu'il aperçoit l'abri qu'il a rêvé,
Il entre et ne sort plus - Adam avait trouvé !
Un cri, puis des soupirs : l'homme a compris la femme.

Les deux corps enlacés semblaient n'avoir qu'une âme.
Ils se serraient, ils se tordaient, ils bondissaient.
Les chairs en feu frottaient les chairs, s'électrisaient.
Les veines se gonflaient. Les langues acérées
Cherchaient une morsure entre les dents serrées,
Des nerfs tendus et fous, des muscles contractés,
Des élans furieux, des bonds de voluptés...
Plus fort ! Plus vite ! Enfin, c'est la suprême étreinte,
Le frisson convulsif...

Eve, alanguie, éteinte,
Se pâme en un soupir et fléchit sur ses reins ;
Ses yeux cherchent le ciel ; son coeur bat sous ses seins.
Son beau corps souple, frêle, et blanc comme la neige,
S'arrondit, s'abandonne au bras qui la protège.
Adam, heureux et las, se couche à son côté.
Puis, tous deux, lourds, le sein doucement agité
Comme s'ils écoutaient de tendres harmonies,
Rêvent, dans la langueur des voluptés finies.

Mais Eve : "Dieu, vois-tu, ne fait rien sans raison,
Dieu fait bien ce qu'il fait... Viens là ! Recommençons..."

Photo de Nancy (dite "Nan") Goldin, dont le tristement célèbre autoportrait après avoir été battue par son petit ami est une chose supplémentaire à voir au Tate...

Comic extrait de l'excellent The Perry Bible Fellowship, par Nicholas Gurewitch

fotografia: nan goldin

My faithful subject displays a particularly 'un-phased' expression at our Panera breakfast. I also took many pictures of the styrofoam cup and the receipt, but no one really needs to know how much I paid for my chai latte.

I don't know much about developing photos the old school way with chemicals and dark rooms, that's why I always hesitate to say I'm anything but average with photography. It's something I love to do, something if I had loads of money and free time I'd invest in some better equipment and the introductory knowledge. I am my father's daughter when it comes to photography; we both love the line structure and geometry of photographs, can appreciate color in image just as much black and white (I scoffed at a former roommate who insisted that black and white developing makes everything so much more dramatic.) To be honest, I think that it takes a lot more talent to make a color-image dramatic.

The first j-term class I took at Hollins was mostly a mistake on my part; while I got to sit in a stuffy room for two hours and listen to students wax poetic about what they thought about the history of photography, my then best friend got to go take pictures in her class with an old Holga camera. The one thing I did get out of my class though was an appreciation for the photographer Nan Goldin.

She was famous for her candid photography, taking photos of friends and family doing mundane things. I think the beauty in her photography lies in its lack of show; the fact that it isn't a set up of elaborate lighting and ridiculous posed characters. Not to say that there isn't merit in posed photography, I'm just not a huge fan. There is so much to the moment of a candid photograph.

When I promised myself not to die, I built mental defenses that kept a part of my mind constantly on guard.  Even long after I needed it, part of my mind still stood watch.  Constant vigilance was an ongoing, exhausting drain of my energy.  And it was only after looking into the darker parts of myself that I recognized what I was doing.  With that self-knowledge, I was able to find a way turning off that internal guard and relax.  I might never have come to that realization if I hadn’t gone to see Nan Goldin’s photo exhibit. 

I have a great support system that helps me through the hard times and I turned to the people I love for their help.  Now, I can turn off that internal guard and relax.  It hasn't become a habit yet but everyday it gets easier. 

It isn’t bad for me to think about death but it was crippling to carry that fear around inside myself.  When I didn't deal with uncomfortable or ugly memories, those things came back to bite me in the ass.  Nan Goldin’s brave, uncompromising look at her own life helped me face up to my own past.

I think all of us have these hidden landmines in our past.  It is only when we deal with the difficult times that we are able to grow past it.  So dear reader, what hard, stony memories do you have?  What have you not faced yet?

Goldin’s work is on the periphery of the publicly acceptable.  Her work, “Stories Retold” on exhibit at the Houston Museum of Fine Arts,  is a personal chronicle of a life lived the outside what most of us experience.  Goldin chronicles the suicide of her older sister, her life as a fourteen year old runaway, and her experiences with sexual dependency, drug addiction, and detox.  Her photos can be ugly with despair or beautiful with the strength of survival. 

Her images hit me like a brick.  I couldn’t sleep for days after seeing the exhibit the first time.   Although I knew her work was powerful stuff, I couldn’t understand why the exhibit affected me quit so deeply.  Yes, the images are strong medicine but there didn’t seem to be any reason why the photos would impact me so personally.  I decided to go back and see “Stories Retold” a second time.  Goldin’s photos had the same affect on me the second time.  Again, I was sleepless for days afterward.  I started dreaming a mix of Goldin's photographs and memories from when I was in my late teens – a time when I felt the  same despair that I saw in the eyes of Goldin’s subjects.  My subconscious was making a connection between what happened to me (which had been safely repressed for years) and Goldin’s art.  When I was 18, I attempted suicide by taking an overdose of prescription painkillers and alcohol.  At the time, I was isolated from friends and family.  I was using drugs and drinking heavily.  I despaired that I could ever feel happy again.  What I didn’t understand then was that all of us experience despair at certain times of our lives.  What I did learn from the experience was that I wanted to be a survivor even if life was hard.  I made a bargain with myself:  I would not try suicide again and would be vigilant against despair.  Even though I didn’t understand that despair is self-limiting, I did realize that there were some things that were always good even when my despair was deepest:  dogs, the beauty of nature, the “high” from walking and running, a wonderful book, making love, chocolate.  There is always some part of life that is worth hanging on to.

The despairing eyes in the photos tapped into the hopelessness I felt then and brought those memories very close to the surface.  I needed to look at those critical times again because I still think about suicide from time to time.  I needed to be reminded of what is good in life and Nan Goldin did that.

 Check out more about Nan Goldin at:

http://www.mfah.org/exhibition.asp?par1=1&par2=1&par3=517&par4=1&par5=1&par6=1&par7=&lgc=4&eid=&currentPage=

http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/ent/arts/art/5395534.html

http://entertainment.houstonpress.com/2008-01-10/culture/nan-goldin-stories-retold/

nan goldin is a documentary photographer. her works have grown on me firmly over time. i can confidently assume that without understanding her life and its context it'd be difficult to appreciate her work as a piece of art or anything more.

after weeks of searching i finally found a book on nan goldin; the devil's playground. except it was the only copy the book specialist had and because nobody has ever wanted it it was in a storage room full of reduced books. the employee there said it would be impractical to go through all the books to find that particular book. i understood their stance. he said they'll have a sale of reduced books later this month and that he'll let me know as soon as the date is set. and when i do get notified, i will run there and geit it before some arty-farty-extravaganza geek put their hand on it.

Nan Goldin, "Autorretrato. Nan un mes después de ser golpeada"

"¿Dices que nada se pierde?
Si esta copa de cristal
se me rompe, nunca en ella
beberé, nunca jamás."

Antonio Machado

Suzanne on the train, Wuppertal, West Germany, 1984

Autora: Nan Goldin

Eu fiquei intrigado. Como é que pode uma fotógrafa famosa fazer fotos de crianças peladas? Isso não fazia muito sentido.

Nesse mesmo dia eu fui ao shopping Vila Lobos e acabei fuçando as prateleiras da Livraria Cultura, procurando o trabalho de Nan Goldin, a tal fotógrafa das fotos.

Descobri que Goldin é uma fotógrafa americana que especializou-se em fotografar "a vida urbana como ela é". Seus trabalhos incluem diversas facetas do sexo hetero e homossexual, cenas de bêbados e viciados, além da cena pós punk de Nova Iorque. Ou seja: Nan é uma fotógrafa especializada em sexo, drogas e rock n roll.

O conceito soa bem, se não fosse o abuso, se não fosse a total falta de limites. Mas eu refleti sobre isso e concluí que não há como estabelecer limites para uma mente perturbada. Não há como definir o certo e o errado para uma artista que vive da transgressão, como Nan Goldin.

Ela viveu os excessos na pele e desenvolveu um olhar feroz para a realidade, captando em suas fotos a luxúria, o glamour e os devaneios de uma vida desregrada e completamente viciada, para depois confrontar violentamente com toda a depressão e a desgraça de pessoas que se tornam vítimas de doenças fatais como a AIDS.

É uma obra absolutamente chocante e perturbadora, que merece ser vista - mesmo que para se discordar completamente, como é o meu caso...

A história da confusão com o Elton John, começou quando a polícia apreendeu uma fotografia de propriedade do músico, que estava em exposição em uma galeria. O motivo do confisco era a suspeita de ser uma foto que violava as leis universais de proteção à juventude, alegando se tratar de pornografia infantil. E a foto é um verdadeiro absurdo mesmo, como vocês podem ver abaixo.

O escândalo já foi devidamente abafado pelos advogados do Sir Elton John (sim, o fato dele ser condecorado como Sir pela família real inglesa ajudou bastante). A Côrte Inglesa arquivou o assunto. Na verdade, o escândalo funciona como uma forma de publicidade - que para Nan poderia ser muito bom, mas não mais para Elton John ou para a família real.

Podem me chamar de reacionário, de quadrado, do que for...mas esse é o tipo de arte que não agrega nada, que não constrói. Acho lamentável que esse tipo de trabalho seja valorizado.