Bärenquell

After having selected and processed my images of Heilstätten Beelitz in a first ‘run’ last week, I have now started with our next destination: the Bärenquell Brewery in Berlin. It concerns a historic complex of monumental buildings from the early 20th century, unused since 1994 and thanks to vandalism, burning and metal looting in a very deplorable state (though ‘cheered up’ big time with graffiti), waiting for demolition.

To us it was a great experience to enter the facility and to capture its final phase of existence. We felt a gloomy atmosphere, the level of senseless destruction was saddening and to witness drop-outs hanging around the buildings being busy with tearing off the last bits of metal was rather discomforting (strangely enough we also saw two young girls there too, who seemed to be beamed down from outer space). And still it was a great adventure that allowed you to be totally there, peaking in terms of intensity and level of alertness – fully focused at what you see and hear, at the photographic possibilities the area have to offer, and at the same time fully conscious of the danger that lures, both possibly coming from fellow human-beings as from holes in the floors, things coming down from the ceiling and everything in between. Driven by an unstoppable urge to discover and hunger for images we felt and moved like commandos storming room in room out, corridor in corridor out, literally chasing images.

Strangely enough I had to think about this when looking back at the occasion earlier this week, when I met again for the first time since 33 years with one of my old loves.  What stroke us both was the immediate familiarity we felt with each other that blew away the distance created by those 33 years. Even more astounding to me was the flow I came into, triggered by seeing all those familiar face expressions and ways of looking and talking, that took me back almost immediately to who I was, to my mental state at the age of 22 when we had our very brief but intense affair and when so much was changing to us. I suddenly felt, fully aware from who I am now, the high level of intensity of being and experiencing at that age, a level that is currently pretty rare in day-to-day life, but very much similar to being in a creative flow, like I experienced at the Bärenquell Brewery.  This told me that you really have the power to travel in (your) (life)time and that your mental state is a matter of choice – a river which flow you can alter as you like and to which, as opposed to anything else (thinking of Heraclitus), you can descend into again, time after time. This also reminds me of how as a child, in my more introspective moments, I imagined that I was merely the thought or remembrance of myself as an old man, my elder self, thinking back of his youth. As if I felt that old soul looking with me and through my child’s eyes – and in this way nurtured and enriched his mind with my imagination. In this way also this experience triggered by my old love enriched me, allowing me to take this along to my now, my home, my love today.

Meetings like these, and similarly these photographic explorations and the camaraderie we had during our trip – they allow us to wander and change the flow of our mental river. They are like rapids, like the transitional and more intense scores in that single, sometimes clearly heard but often hardly noticed symphony of life that make us want to join in and play.

Surely the images taken at the Bärenquell represent some of the dark episodes of this symphony – no illusions about that. These images aren’t pleasing at all. But just like immense beauty also negative intensity, as felt in anxiety, has the power to release the sublime, the ability to release ourselves into (life)time traveling deep into ourselves. Experiencing that make that spring - of love, friendship and joy of life we have in us feeding our lives - well up with even more vigor.

Old crap

Last week I visited with a few fellow members of the Old Crap Society (Oude Meuk Genootschap – OMG) several locations in and around Berlin, including the Heilstätten Beelitz, the Bärenquell Brauerei, a depot of Berlin Wall elements, Chemiewerk Rükana Rüdersdorf and finally Südwestkirchhof Stahnsdorf – places that have been able to escape from the wrecking balls but not really to stand the test of time. Besides six memorable evenings full of sausage and beer, good company and conversation, it gave us an adventurous dip in the phenomenon of ‘Urban Exploration’ (also referred to as ‘urbex’) – a sport that comes to the core of us as OMG.

What makes urbex to such a fun? Well, in the first place it is a kind of adventure that appeals to the boy in us as it stimulates imagination beyond any belief: the excitement of penetrating into decayed buildings, where the ghosts of the past have entered into a secret pact with the strong arm of security services that could emerge behind every corner. Feeling the hunger of the hunter – hunting for images in this case. The sound of splintering glass, the danger of falling through the rotten floor, the cold wind that bleaks through the open windows into the abandoned corridor; the distant stumbling of people living on the edge of society fiddling with paintbrushes or old metals, possibly preparing a can of beans over a fire of scrap wood.

In terms of photography – urbex is in the end a branch of photography – the job seems to be simple: making images of old crap. But to make images that are as exciting as the experience of making them is not as easy as it may sound. That excitement is almost impossible to be captured into the frame of an image, as becomes clear in post-processing. It turns out that the actual deal is to superimpose an emotion or idea of your own that is independent of place and time, that is more enduring and convincing than the fascination for decay and destruction. To transcend from transient matter, on the wings of your imagination, the desire to find the endlessness in the perishable.

The images that want to survive the remorseless selection must express the beauty of melancholy, accentuating mortality – but also as sacrifice, as stairs to a higher state of being, as windows to new life – all emphasized by the colors of autumn and the humid grayness outside that both emboss and accelerate the transformation. The desolation in the moment of death is further emphasized by faint signs of human life, like rags of lace, the skeleton of a chair, the signature of a graffitist, the shadow of an occasional visitor (or: the photographer himself?). But foremost by the sheds of light – that are nowhere else as pure, soft and essential as here, where there is barely anything of value left. To see the light in darkness, in conversion – to capture the mystical moment, I see that as the real challenge secluded in urbex photography.

Holiday pictures

Last June we were on holiday in Slovenia and Croatia – countries blessed with beautiful mountains, romantic towns at the seaside, narrow streets cheered up with colorful laundry, gorgeous beaches, quiet islands, suffused with endless sunlight and topped by day-in-day-out blue skies. The latter is of course, from the perspective of the average tourist, certainly not a punishment, seen the extensive period of rain we had since last winter. However, for me as a photographer this all together almost ensures a boringly ‘perfect’ mix of postcard-topics with the harshest contrasts you can imagine. Especially knowing that shortly after me the herds will come in, taking the very same pictures by the millions – this really challenges you to make something special out of this. Indeed, I could say goodbye to photography for the time being – or to the concept of ‘holiday’ as this is really hard work (not really). I chose for the latter.

To give it a go, we gave ourselves occasionally challenges and assignments to move us off the beaten track – themes like “the end of tourism”, “scars of war, “the lost village” or “big and small”. Themes that surprisingly offered us fun and some good material as well. Also, holidays give you the opportunity to do things in photography that usually take more effort, like playing with night photography or long exposure photography. After all, you are located already in the midst of that medieval village, or your tent happens to be just a few feet away from that jetty at the seaside, making it really easy to go out, interrupt your book and glass of wine and do you thing with tripod and release cable.

But you could also try to look through different eyes – changing quasi your retina. So put on your virtual photographic sun glasses (=filters) and change the way your experience light and colors. Back & white, of course, is the first thing that pops up. Thinking in b&w mode learns you to see differently, and different things. But what about polaroid, glass negatives, infrared, pinhole? And how about bleach bypass and solarisation? Not necessarily by changing your camera, or using 'real' filters. In the end, it’s holiday, why carrying all that old stuff? Just think about the capabilities of your image editing software (e.g., NIK Color Efex Pro) – that also includes filters like that or allows you to create your own 'recipes', emulating old photographic and dark room techniques. I am sure many serious photographers appall just by the idea, but why? If the chosen filter/recipe appeals to the feeling, the idea you got when you took the picture, and in particular if you are able to tweak and embed the filter well to make the result really yours, then suddenly you have, besides the default digital color ‘film’ (and black & white conversion) a range of other virtual cameras in your pocket. Allowing you to look around, experience and capture the world around you differently, merely through your inner eye. Then that abandoned village quietly bathing in the sun, apparently waiting for the people to return shortly, suddenly gets something eerie or magical. Those "scars of war" then really take you back to the battle of the cruel Post-Yugoslavian conflict.

Obviously, that takes more than just a tick in the software box – it requires phantasy/empathy at the moment of experience, imagination of how the end result should look like (to represent the inner image) – and requiring in turn understanding of the capabilities of your toolbox of possible filters and tweaks and how to apply them. It requires that you indeed free yourself of what your eyes can see – and to look inside at what unfolds in your imagination. How different is that from turning an image into black & white, something we all accept?

In that way our vacation eventually resulted in quite some interesting material – while giving fun too. Shortly to be seen on my website!

Under pressure

From May 25 until June 19 I had for the second time an exhibition together with Bart van Rijsbergen and Hester Busse, with whom I establish Photo collective InsideOut. This time we exhibited together with our creative coach Ariane James, who also had very fascinating work on display. In the meantime we are quite a few weeks further, but it tasted good – we want more of that! Next year we’ll do it again, was our joint conclusion. Of course it is fun if (many) people enthusiastically come to visit – that’s what you are doing it for. And furthermore it is an honor to get the opportunity to exhibit at Fotogram / the Amsterdam Photo Academy. And as a bonus we got a beautiful article in FOTOgrafie, written by their editor Peter Maat who happened to open the exhibition and while he took a tour along the images got so excited that he immediately wanted to write about it. That gives you a kick.

But it also works as a tremendous stimulus to work together towards an exhibition. Consciously give focus and direction to your work, and being critical about what would fit and what doesn’t, and looking together to what may add to it. A kind of making series of series. So, we begin to feel the pressure.

That pressure you also feel when you get home with a mass of very interesting material that you want to post on your website. In my case images need to fit ideally in series of 5 (per row). With not more than 3 series (15 images) per sub-gallery (page), and not more than 5 sub-galleries per gallery - if possible less. In that way I believe my webpages look the best.

Certainly when you get home with nearly 850 images you have to select very critically, not only on quality piece by piece, but also to order them in those series and galleries where possible – and further strengthening that coherence in your post-processing. Working backwards you will be shooting on location in terms of series as well – with an eye for what is really creative or just nice and registration, and furthermore: to attempt to shoot in series, exploring more sides of the same in a comparable, extending fashion. 

Does that put yourself under pressure? Of course! But the satisfaction is so much bigger when things work out. Like with the results of that photo weekend in Dortmund (recently posted under the name ‘Fundgrube’) where I spent two days shooting with a group of fellow club members under the guidance of Hayo Baan.

One plus one is two you would say – so the material for the coming exhibition is ready? Don’t think so. But every successful shoot is another step in your development. And in that sense, indeed, it is coming closer: that beautiful exhibition in Summer 2014. Keep me posted?

Bulb-growing fields forever

"Nothing is real and nothing to hungabout"... Bulb fields, anything more corny to take pictures of than bulb fields? In spring swarms of Japanse and Americans fly in daily to take pictures of these eternal bulb fields. Without doubt, they are special and beautiful, certainly from the air. Just like the French sunflower fields, and the rape seed fields in Flevoland by the way - just having much more colors. However, if you think a bit more about them, they also have something disturbing. All those flowers lined up, ready to have their heads cut off when time is there, just like chicken in the slaughterhouse. And until then they stretch their stems to reach above anyone else. You should photograph these idle and ambitious rascals from the ground up for a change.

No, then I prefer to look at them though my eyelashes, rubbing them to stains, to an impressionistic abstraction, along a vague path to a vague end - in the somehow washed-out colors of suffering and resurrection. Then, in the words of Andreas Gursky on his famous and controversial image "Rhein 2": "It says a lot using the most minimal means … for me it is an allegorical picture about the meaning of life and how things are."

Bad dreams

As a young kid I always cherished the Bad Dream. When let the volcano made of stew erupted with thunder, leaving behind the island on my fork/speedboat as the gravy engulfed the sleeping village at the foot. Of when I turned a pleasant evening at the campfire into the eve of something horrible - at least in my own imagination. Early enough I discovered the dark side of creativity - enjoying it, and later-on appreciating it as a necessary evil.

I agreed with with Nietzsche's vision that the tree, in order to reach out to the light must stretch deep too into the darkness of the earth. That creating something means destroying something too. Like a statue can only be created by destroying the stone. Purity, beauty and harmony cannot exist on their own but depend on a struggle with their antagonists. Only in contrast they can - for a short period of time - come to expression.

That also counts for photography. Here perceptions are destroyed to make room for new perceptions. And that requires a good dose of evilness.

I had to think of that when I saw a clot of glue or paint smeared on the glass of a greenhouse. The dark side of me awoke and was set to work, destroying its context, releasing the Beast hiding in it.

The Finish

Last weekend we as photo club took pictures for Mud Masters at their Spring Edition. The Mud Masters Obstacle Run is a 6- or 12-kilometer run that is designed by marines and inspired by the most challenging assault courses in the world. As the name already indicates mud plays an important role here, just like mud water by the way, fire and other inconveniences. This edition, spanning two days, had about 8000 participants who not only had a challenging day of fun and mud madness, but also contributed to the charity this event sponsors, the Revalidatiefonds (Revalidation fund).

This time I was posted at the very last obstacle in the course: the Sizzler. This was a kind of gate where people had to run through about 15 meters of electric wires hanging down. This meant quite a challenge for the tormented participants, but also for the photographer – a challenge that was twofold.

In the first place everybody runs here as fast a possible to minimize the pain, preferably bending down of protecting the face against the wires, through the Sizzler passing the photographer towards the finish that is just behind him, where a cool beer and a t-shirt are awaiting. This means that also the photographer must deliver some kind of sportive performance, comparable to skeet-shooting.

A second challenge is to capture in that very short moment of passage – in between all this movement, usually in groups – the emotion. This is where it is all about, and there is plenty of it at this stage of the course. Here people arrive at the very end of the run, often literally, exhausted, covered in mud and soaked, glad to have reached (nearly) the end. And then they face this ‘energizing’ treat. Under these conditions participants go through a number of rapid emotional stages: first the hesitation, then they clench their teeth and run for it, followed by anger and pain when they get their shocks. And once they are through it you see their relief and joy when they realize they made it to the finish.

To capture these emotions you need concentration and (dynamic auto-) focus, empathy and panning your camera, and in post-processing ‘abstraction’: cropping, black & white conversion and playing with contrast. In the end you keep a few gold nuggets, shining in the ... mud.

Abstraction

Recovering from surgery I have all the time to think about which direction to take in my photography – and I made up my mind. I confess myself to what I call abstracting photography (abstract as a verb).

What abstract means in the context of photography was subject of a discussion we had in our photography club some time ago. And this is how I think about it.

In my opinion abstract painting is a valuable movement in art that was in fact to a large extent ‘released’ so to say as a result of the development of photography in the early 19th century – de facto releasing painting from the care to represent the physical, visible world. The question is, if photography could benefit from a similar departure from representation – and to which extent. My answer would be: ‘yes’ respectively ‘half ways’, and I will explain why.

Though even fully representational photography – the ‘natural’ common ground for photographers -  offers a lot of opportunity for the photographer to add personality to his images, and for the viewer to experience curiosity and imagination while enjoying it, I believe there is so much more to gain if we move to the other side of the spectrum: to the abstract. But just copying abstract art from in particular painting is not the way.

There is a fundamental difference between painting and photography in approaching abstraction, which is derived from Latin ‘abstráhere’, meaning ‘to leave out’, the reduction of everything that is not relevant to reveal the more fundamental structures. Well, the modern painter starts fundamentally always with a blank canvas and the abstract essence of what he wants to convey – and then starts to add form and shape to it, which can be abstract too. The photographer, however, by necessity must start at the other end of the spectrum, with the visible world as captured on his sensor/film, making ‘abstraction’ here a verb, an activity that takes effort, led by his personal ideas, intuition and feelings.

This mean that, from my perspective, abstract photography that makes sense (has meaning and personality) cannot be an easy imitation of fully abstract painting. Fully abstract pictures are often enlargements of small parts of visible reality that can no longer be recognized as such. These abstract images don’t relate to any real feelings or ideas of neither the maker nor the viewer, except for experiencing the result as pleasing, surprising and decorative. The maker is de facto fully absent – and there is no place for any empathy or imagination by the viewer either.

Photography in contrast, should in my experience start with recognizable reality (‘to look’), but should at the same time also grasp beyond at what is meaningful to the photographer (‘to see’). The bridge to that is established by the things that draw attention and that apparently/possibly have meaning. These are ‘signs’ that trigger the imagination, first with the photographer, later with the viewer. The discovery and interpretation of these signs, which largely takes place intuitively, benefits from a process of ‘leaving out’ (abstraction) and distortion (‘transformation’), both expressions of the communication that takes place between the personal imagination and the essence behind the visible world, aimed at surfacing what is really important. Examples of abstraction are the reduction of shape and sharpness, number of elements within the frame (composition), all or selected colors and full specters of light (like in infrared photography). Distortion can for example mean fading (by time, motion and focus), running, discoloration and perspective distortion. This can take place in post-processing but already starts while taking the picture:”framing, choice of filter and lens, depth of field - and even before that, while viewing: by the mental state that is called by Zen-Buddhists as ‘mushin’, no-mind-ness. It means a fully open mind that is extremely alert but not focused on anything particular, capable of detecting unexpected signs and meaning.

The result should be an image that still has visible image elements, but at the same time is abstracted to such an extent that the signs stand out. Signs, which meaning is not obvious but emerges/develops subconsciously in a process of introspection, imagination and decryption. A successful picture is just besides reality, inspiring the viewer to take another view on reality, with different eyes. And to look into himself: what does this mean to me?

How different abstraction in photography is from painting I refer to Saul Leiter. As a painter Saul Leiter is part of the Abstract expressionist movement in art, the American counterpart of what is called in Europe the Lyrical Abstraction.  In his paintings, like in most later abstract art, any form and shape has disappeared. However, as a photographer he made pictures that start with everyday reality – but through a process of no-mind-ness and abstraction pictures are captured that are recognizable as well as alienating and puzzling, and as a result keep  on stinging and stimulating our imagination.

In summary: real abstract photography that makes sense should seek for the middle ground where there is still enough to recognize (and experience beauty) but where we are also puzzled and feel slightly at unease, making the viewer drift by his own imagination - like a moth, captivated by a fascination for the candle.

Portrait

Portraiture often raises the philosophical question to which extent a (good) portrait says something about the person (in the sense of ‘soul’) of the portrayed, or just of the appearance, the outside, the mask. An appearance that is subject to change, highly determined by the moment and context (and the ideas that the viewer gets while seeing the picture) – and often even deliberately feinted too. The question to which extent it is even possible for a photographer to bring that ‘soul’ to the surface. Isn’t he - by means of pose, decor and light - at best not manipulating that appearance to his ideas (and hence his ‘soul’), and therefore having the portrait reveal more about himself than of the model?

How relevant would that question (and the ‘right’ answer) be? I believe that in the end it is more important that the outcome is a good portrait in its own right. For me this means that it provides an authentic image of a person, which gives the viewer the convincing feeling of looking into the soul of the portrayed, feeling a connection.

I come to these thoughts because of an assignment to make portraits of someone whose head is ‘extended’ with an object that tells something about this person. Well, that gives a certain element of playfulness because normally people don’t have something on their head and therefore have to dress up. As a model I took Jantina – my beloved who usually volunteers gladly for these occasions (a while later I played model for her too).

It is surprising how this element of play works out. It makes the session (but also the preparation: the choosing of attributes, the thinking up of poses) fun and relaxed. Playing – even of someone else – apparently brings people closer to themselves - and makes the resulting image more authentic. Judge for yourself. Whether these images give an in-depth view in Jantina’s soul I cannot answer – but it is for sure the Jantina I know and love.

The Attic

In the latter days of the old year I started on a new project: "The Attic". Towards Sylvester people tend to look back, and so did I, and this time even further back, over the years. I have more and more to count, and although that is a blessing, it also makes me feel as if I am getting further away from quasi the planet on which I grew up. The “Major Tom to Ground Control” feeling.

Once, when I was dreaming of becoming a poet, I expected to end before my fortieth birthday - like my heroes Hölderlin, Nietzsche and Slauerhoff, - in premature death or insanity. Comparable to how men in the Middle Ages assumed to drop off the earth when leaving the continent too far behind.

Hence I look back from this ‘afterlife’ upon myself and how I got here - and peel off layer by layer of my self-image until I reach deep into the dark side of my imagination. An experiment for which I restrict myself to a single object (myself), a small and sober space (the attic – metaphor for my mind), a single strobe of (northern) light, and a single non-color (black&white). Still, the resulting images express various moods or states of mind which I take on me, fitting them like coats to sense how they suit me, and foremost: what they do with me. While doing so, engaged in his evil game, my elder self returns to life, shimmering through shades of madness. À la recherche du temps perdu.