“A word to the wise is sufficient.” -Alfred Stieglitz
On The Spectrum
Which way do you swing?
John Sypal? “I will never apologize or make excuses for my belief that silver-gelatin prints (and books made from them) are an essential part of my enjoyment of photography, both in viewing and creation. I can’t imaging marble sculptors having to spend too much time defending their choice of materials to a guy with a new 3D-printer.”
…or (ahem) Rolling Stone? Getting Film Developed
“What a pain this was. Some photo developing chains did start offering drive-thru service in an effort to ease the inconvenience of having to take your film in for developing before you could actually see the photos you’d taken. Just don’t forget to keep the negatives. You might want doubles someday.”
We’re not suggesting that one must choose. But can we please do it without the snark factor? Thank you.
Calling All Couch Phototatos
Overslept today? Light not “right?” Promising subject matter demolished since you last drove past? Make some popcorn, and peruse this list.
Chef Roger
“A downstate Illinois boy loves the Steak ’n Shake as a Puerto Rican loves rice and beans, an Egyptian loves falafel, a Brit loves banger and mash, an Indian loves tikki ki chaat, a Swede loves herring, a Finn loves reindeer jerky, and a Canadian loves bran muffins. These matters do not involve taste. They involve a deep-seated conviction that a food is absolutely right, and always has been, and always will be.”
Fraenkel’s Passion
Jeffrey Fraenkel recounts a moment similar to what many of us have experienced http://openspace.sfmoma.org/2011/01/75-reasons-jeffrey-fraenkel/
(… and poses for Lee Friedlander)
Q. o’ th’ D.: William Gass
“So to the wretched writer I should like to say that there’s one body only whose request for your caresses is not vulgar, is not unchaste, untoward, or impolite: the body of your work itself; for you must remember that your attentions will not merely celebrate a beauty but create one; that yours is love that brings its own birth with it, just as Plato has declared, and that you should therefore give up the blue things of this world in favor of the words which say them: blue pencils, blue noses, blue movies, laws, blue legs and stockings, the language of birds, bees, and flowers as sung by longshoremen, that lead-like look the skin has when affected by cold, contusion, sickness, fear…chant and pray, since the day may begin badly, in a soggy light that moistens the soul before consciousness has cracked so every thought is damp as an anxious forehead, desire won’t spark, and the morning prick is limp…consequently speak and praise, for the fall of the spirit, descending like a diver toward the floor of the ocean, is marked by increasing darkness, green giving way to navy, then a hair-wide range of hues which come to rest, among snowing fish and plants as pale as paper, in a sightless night; and our lines are long when under water, loose and weedy, turning back upon themselves like the legs of a dying spider; we grow slack of feature in our melancholy, and the blue which marks the change is heavy, thick as ooze…so shout and celebrate before the shade conceals the window: blue bloods, balls, and bonnets, beards, coats, collars, chips, and cheese…while there is time and you are able, because when the blue has left the edges of its objects as if the world were bleached of it, when the wide blue eye has shut down for the season, when there’s nothing left but language…watered twilight, sour sea…don’t find yourself choir’d out of choir and chorus…sing and say…despite the belly ache and loneliness, new bumped fat and flaking skin and drunkenness and helpless rage, despite dumps, mopes, Mondays, sheets like dirty plates, tomorrow falling toward you like a tower, lie in wait for that miraculous moment when in your mouth teeth turn into dragons and you do against the odds what Demosthenes did by the Aegean: shape pebbles into syllables and make stones sound; thus cautioned and encouraged, commanded, warned, persist…even though the mattress where you mourn’s been tipped and those corners where the nickels roll slide open like a slot to swallow them, clocks slow, and there’s been perhaps a pouring rain, or factory smoke, an aging wind and winter air, and everything is gray.” –On Being Blue
Slow Down
“That’s what I recommend.”
All Bow Down (and we mean that).
Heck, we’ve been avoiding cell phones in our street shooting; now, once again, Mr. Friedlander owns a meme. Click on http://elleryeskelin.blogspot.com.ar/2015/04/spring-2015.html and scroll down a bit. I agree that he disagrees with a point in the mostly OK article (with its flimsy premise and cliches). Read it mostly for the pictures: http://www.nytimes.com/2015/04/26/magazine/lee-friedlander-captures-the-citys-hustle-and-flow.html?_r=0 
Creative Camerawork 