#bysinclair

[digitalfaun]

Public and Private Perceptions of Meaning

DIGITALFAUN 2009-2014

By Alex Sinclair

* * *

Lately, I've been busy. I may actually be in one of the most promising and fruitful periods of my short professional career to date. I have been chipping away at a lot of projects and avenues for months in the hopes that they lead to something bigger, something concrete. And during those months, the perception of those around me may have been that I was doing nothing with my life. I've been trying. I really have. And it's really difficult to deal with a current social standard where being jobless is the default position for someone my age yet, it's also something looked down upon. I have been trying. I swear. 

I've been applying to jobs. Even jobs I don't want. Mostly jobs I do want though. None of these are great big jobs where I cost a company lots of money in exchange for little work. Instead they're modest, entry level positions at places where I think it might not totally suck to work at. And I've definitely been trying.

The problem with this process of beginning post-collegiate life is that it takes time. I say beginning despite having graduated over a year ago. College takes some time to get over before you get back on the horse. College is an ex-girlfriend that you pine over even though you didn't really enjoy your time together. Some days, this process of beginning can take absolutely all of your time yet leave you with nothing to show for it. But, I guess that's the punishment for being so naive as to think a degree in the creative arts might net you a career. I think it should be mandatory at this stage in life for your first year of college to introduce you to the key concepts of managing one's expectation and hope. Although, I guess you don't need a whole year to learn that you shouldn't have any.

I'm sure it's some consolidation to my unemployed friends stateside that US employers have squashed unemployment to a six-year low of 5.9%. But I don't live in America. And even then, that doesn't mean you don't have to try. Trying is important. If for nothing else, it proves to yourself that even though it doesn't look like you're doing anything useful with your life, you're attempting to improve the situation. This might be the one time in your existence that your parents laud you for your unhappiness. It's good that you're distressed. It means that you might do something to fix it. Unhappiness means you're not apathetic. Good.

And then there are times when you have to acknowledge that this constant application to vacant positions sometimes involves a 3 hour break in the middle of the day to watch Jodi Foster in 'FlightPlan'. Somewhere between the morning spent applying for jobs and the evening spent doing trial work for potential employers, there's a designated block of free time for Ms. Foster shouting "You're all crazy" at a plane full of complete strangers and a long overdue first extraordinary viewing of 'The Wire'. "Carcetti for Mayor", and then it's tomorrow again and you sift through more job ads.

Sometimes something crazy happens. Sometimes an employer actually likes you. Or maybe two of them do. And you get a trial for a dream job at a third. It's all comes together rather quickly. You don't look like a bum anymore. The trying becomes doing. That happened to me this past month.

A couple of weeks ago, I was on Twitter at the same time as ProFootballFocus, an American football advanced analytics firm, posted a message advertising a rare open position. I speedily replied to the ad, filled in the necessary details and was blown away when I was accepted into the trial programme. This was a company that I had admired for some time. This was an opportunity covering a sport I love in a way I thought it should be covered. This was 'doing' rather than 'trying'.

I completed the first trial with a few hiccups but was decent enough to make it through to the second round where I vastly improved my accuracy score and made it through again. And again. And eventually, I woke up to an email one Saturday morning saying I was one of the chosen few they'd like to interview. I was never nervous about the interview. I just knew it was important. The most important. In the space of a month, I had gone from unemployed shmuck to a lucky S.O.B. with an interview for a job I didn't realise I could ever have.

During this month of trials, I put my other creative projects on the backburner. The brand new NFL site and podcast I started with my friend Joe Roche, all the work I do for DigitalFaun, any personal writing projects; everything went on hiatus. And so for a month, I was in a limbo phase where I had nothing privately to show for my time and nothing publicly. I hated that feeling.

There is a public perception of meaning in our generation that dictates something must not be important or worth doing if it is not documented on the internet. Art, accomplishments, family, your boring latte jazzed up with an Instagram filter; none of this is deemed worthy of experience unless you can share it with those you barely know.

A part of me feels like an old crony giving out to kids about their reliance on social media, but it's not that. I'm as culpable at taking part in this as anyone. But this month, I've found myself, or at least some of my values. During the trials for PFF, I was doing work for the sake of work. The beauty of statistics is that you want to hide behind the results, not stand in front of them waiting for someone to place a blue ribbon on you. In statistics and analysis, if the viewer can see the person behind the work, you're doing it wrong. By virtue of it all, the ego needs to be removed. It's the antithesis of the social norms regarding contemporary art scenes. And I love it. They offered me the job 9 minutes into the interview.

Everything I've done to date with this site has been out of passion. I've run into dry patches before and manufactured solutions around it. I've changed approaches, adopted new methodologies, hired new writers, chopped up the layout, but nothing has felt as good as of late as knowing that fulfilling work doesn't need to be done publicly. As a child of a barren arts programme such as DIT Photography, that's not something learned easily.

I cannot say this is the end of DigitalFaun, but it is the last thing you'll see for a while. I might flame out horribly as a football analyst. I might even make it and you never hear from me again. The important thing is that I need to be doing work for the sake of good work. This community has been an incredible asset to me and I thank everyone for their support over the years, but this space for my creative work has become cramped, pressurised, claustrophobic. This is a zoo enclosure and I'm the monkey who feels guilty if I don't put something worthy on display.

A few weeks ago, I read a pair of tweets by former La Pura Vida editor Bryan Formhals that stuck with me longer than the refresh button allowed.

 If you're going to start a fine art photography magazine, find a specific theme or topic. Basing it purely on your taste is problematic. [O]ne of the reasons I killed @lpvmagazine was because it lacked focus & a theme. It was just about what I liked. Not good enough.

Mr. Formhals could not be more on the money. And I hated him for it, but then it registered with me that this was my tool for rebirth. I am going to go away and work on statistics. I am going to spend more time with the combination of Microsoft Excel and football than anyone thought possible. But if you see me come back to DigitalFaun, it's because I have found a response to two tweets that set my brain back further than expected.

Thank you for everything.

Alex Sinclair Former Editor at DigitalFaun.com Budding Analyst at ProFootballFocus.com

[digitalfaun]

There Are Stages

By Alex Sinclair

* * *

When a celebrity dies, society goes through several phases. There are initial remarks of grief. 

"Gone too soon."  "Oh no." "I loved him/her!"

Then come the tributes. Images of the deceased are immediately manipulated to show their best side. Quotes are arranged. Some longer, more poignant, tributes are written by those who may have met the deceased in their lifetime. Most of these are by people who had brief encounters with the person they looked up to. Rarely are they by those truly close to the individual.

After that comes the third wave. This is mostly analysis and secondary writing about how society deals with grief, or how we deal with celebrity-grief differently to our own. I guess, some would push this article into that box but read on first. Not that I'm above or looking down upon anyone going through the above steps. I've been there too. My childhood saw several personal heroes die, and I was not without the clichéd, yet heartfelt, responses to death. 

When Robin Williams died, I thought it was sad. People find death sad. There's nothing interesting or new or shocking about that. But what I found more affecting was the public reaction. Clearly, this is a man which many felt a personal connection to. Something way more than Facebook statuses with Amy Winehouse YouTube embeds or pictures of a spry Heath Ledger at his most youthful. People felt affected not only by the death of Robin Williams, but the means of the death. I saw several of my friends talk about the man as if he was a loved one, a cherished Uncle or wise step-Dad. Nobody really talks of dead celebrities as two-dimensional representations on a screen. That's a bit crude and undignified, a bit unfair. 

Yet, here I am, annoyed with an interior helplessness based upon the fact that I cannot soothe the pain felt by these people whom I do know, whom I do love and interact with, not just observe on a screen. I don't know how to deal with the sadness that people in my life are dealing with because of someone they only feel like they knew. 

Personally, I find tributes and eulogies repressive. I cannot think of a greater disservice to a man than to attempt to sum him up in a few words. By all means, share quotes, share memories, but trying to encapsulate a person into a handful of superlatives is an insult to the great and original work that anyone worth eulogising has probably done in this world.

Then I remember that tributes aren't meant to comfort the dead, they're for the living. I suppose they're somewhat therapeutic in the right setting. 

"Let's all raise a glass to him. We witnessed greatness. Us. The mere mortals."

I don't have any advice. I'm scared that someday I'll be forced into the role of comforting loved ones dealing with death and mostly, I'm scared of my ineptitude at that specific activity. Dealing with death is easy. There are stages. Don't make me deal with the bereaved. 

[digitalfaun]

A N   I N T E R V I E W   W I T H   J O H N N Y   D E   G U Z M A N

By Alex Sinclair

DISCLAIMER: I've been to Chicago twice in my life. Both times I never set foot outside of airport property. I say “property” rather than “terminal” because while I was there during a layover on my way home from a New Orleans wedding, I was really sick and regularly alternated between navigating the ice rain outside and the bleach-blonde tiles of the bathroom.

* * *

I met him at the corner of Walton and Michigan. He wore a plain black t-shirt, narrow jeans and his shoes look black too, but matte black, like charcoal. He had just finished work and we were meeting up to talk about David.

This was my first time meeting Johnny, and I'd never met David, the subject of his latest photo-series, À Tout Le Monde. I only had a couple of hours in town before I had to run back to O'Hare and catch a flight to see my cousins in Louisiana. We didn't have long but I think that may have helped the matter. With complicated issues such as these, it's almost better to be forced into confronting them. Address the subject. Get the answers. Understand things a little better.

“With David,” he's scraping an errand piece of green gum from the bottom of one of the charcoal shoes, “photography will always be connected to him.”

We walk east, I don't know how far, or where we're going exactly but it's east. I don't know the area but Johnny is walking as though he does so I follow his lead. This is his city. I'm nearly 6,000 km from mine and I could feel every step of it.

“At the moment, most of À Tout Le Monde is referent to the past. This has been the first year of the project and I suppose I let myself slip into a heavy dose of nostalgia.”

I'm curious about why he says “at the moment” and I wonder how/if the project will grow to become something else. The sun is awkwardly low and it keeps cutting in and out of the gaps left by smaller buildings as we walk. There is a scratch on the left lens of my sunglasses because the TSA guy wanted to double check there weren't any explosives in them. Explosives. In my sunglasses. Between the sun strobes and the scratch, it's just easier to remove them and resort to squinting.

We stop at a corner store and I'm briefly relieved of the sun's annoyance but the security guard decided we were of significant threat to the overpriced food stock so there's a new annoyance and his name-tag reads “Terrence”. Johnny buys a Fiji Water. He says he doesn't drink pop. I find it both weird that he calls it "pop" and that he doesn't drink it. I settle on some crazy Mountain Dew derivitave because it's not available in Ireland and I'm always keen to try new fizzy drinks but it's immediately clear I made a poor choice. I didn't know you could actually make something Aspartame flavoured. Johnny offers me some of his drink after he sees me very quickly dump my bottle in the nearest bin.

“It's perhaps because I've not really encompassed myself with this much consideration of everything since 2005 and 2006.”

He pauses and screws back the cap on his water.

“... which was the immediate time of David's death. In one way or another, everything in the project is inherently referent to a point in our adolescence. I can be making a photograph that involves subject or object matter that is very much so present of the now.”

The David in question is David Mess, a childhood friend of Johnny who passed away at 16 from a suspected heroin overdose. In the project statement that Johnny wrote, the word “unintentional” prefixes this. I read his 178 words repeatedly on the flight over. 178 words. I counted them. I thought memorising it might help pass the time too. It didn't. I don't ask if he has any doubts regarding the intention, or unintention, of his friend. It wasn't that I didn't want to upset him, it's because I knew the answer. I'm sure he does doubt, or at least at one point did, because that's how humans work. We doubt.

Johnny recently graduated from Columbia College here in Chicago and he points at it down a busy side-street, asking if I wanted to see it. I politely decline. I'd spent enough time already in airports this week and there's always a similar vibe between most big buildings. So instead, we settle on just talking about it. He sits on a curb and he wipes his brow with the hem of his shirt.

“Now that I've been out of school, although only for a few months now, I can definitely see myself prone to making more risks and playing loosely with the aesthetics, assessing my own aspirations and presenting several options.”

That answer sounds rehearsed or contrived but it's emblematic of anyone's time in a creative education scheme. While Columbia may be different to my college back home in terms of funding and facilities, I'm sure the ethos behind it all is similar. The sentiment he just expressed certainly hit me a little weird, a little like how déjà vu feels.

Johnny's phone vibrates and he opens an app I don't recognise. I feel awkward for a minute because I catch myself looking at his phone and it's clear he's reading a message from his girlfriend, Alyson. That's the girl he calls his muse. She's in a lot of his less-structured work, the stuff he posts on Facebook or Instagram. Some of that stuff is so mind-blowingly awesome that I find it difficult to do similar things myself. It's negative inspiration. Not that my own girlfriend, Lauren, is in any way lacking. It's more that photography plays a different role in Johnny's relationship with Alyson than it does in my relationship with Lauren. That's our thing though. Lauren was a classmate of mine at college, so we're both photographers by trade, and photographers hate having their photo taken. I guess I'm a little envious of Johnny's ability to document a relationship so easily.

“First and foremost, it was a common interest where we both built upon a friendship that became a romantic relationship. When our relationship blossomed into said romantic relationship, I became a sap and couldn't stop making photographs of her.”

I push him on what he sees in the photos compared to what he sees in her but he's hesitant, lacks confidence.

“How I see it is this, if I am incredibly infatuated with this moment that I could stare at forever, then anyone would have to give it a glance. And somewhere within those glances there'll be someone that will empathize with our moment. These answers probably need a bit of editing.”

There's a small park with some benches and we both naturally gravitate to it in search of shade. We sit on a bench under a sycamore and wait for Alyson to arrive because she's bringing a copy of his prints from À Tout Le Monde. It'll be easier to talk about the series when we're actually looking at the photos. Worried about damaging the prints, I suggest relocating to a café or something but the idea is quickly dismissed. Apparently, they're only work prints or duplicates or something. I'll admit that I don't really remember. There was a young couple, white as the sun is hot, sitting on a bench across from us. It was distracting. I think the guy forgot to do something, or attend something. I couldn't really make out what but I quickly realised I was prying again. Don't stare at Johnny's phone. Don't attempt to decipher why the white woman seems irrationally mad at the white man. Etiquette. Please.

Thankfully, Alyson appears at the park gate distracts me before I get too mentally lost in the notion that maybe I'm too nosey (or too solipsistic). I've barely ever seen these two as a couple in real life but there's an odd sense of familiarity because of the intimate photos they share online. It's not quite like thinking you're friends with Hugh Jackman because you've seen all his movies, but it's close.

After the introductions and handshakes, Johnny spreads the photos out in a constellation form on the pavement in front of us. It's not like looking at them online. These aren't exhibition grade prints at all. There are dogeared corners. There are colour correction issues. They're imperfect and real. As such, they're perfectly suited to the reconnected memories Johnny is trying to compose. Seeing the various iterations that didn't make the cut or had technical issues, this is suddenly becoming clear how important they are to him. These are the ones that went wrong, the collection of almosts. I hunker down. I want to admire every blemish and misprint. Alyson takes Johnny's hand in her own. I pick up a dark print showing TV static.

“I still think there's a long way to go within the work, though, I would say that I've learned more about him than I did while he was still alive and I'm at a loss as to if that makes me feel like I'm closer to him or more distant.”

***********************

Johnny De Guzman currently resides in Chicago, IL and can be found online at the following: Main Site | Tumblr | Instagram

[digitalfaun]

A N   I N T E R V I E W   W I T H   E D W A R D   C U S H E N B E R R Y

I don't know that many artists like Edward Cushenberry. Take that however way you like. Maybe there are some unpolished points, some devil-may-care cavalier attitudes that invade his work from time to time, and for that I'm a little bit grateful.

No artist likes to hear that they don't put thought or effort into their work, and that's not what I'm saying about Cushenberry here, though nor am I singing his praises simply because I've decided to feature him on this site.

What exemplifies his images are how raw they are. That aforementioned unpolished nature of Cushenberry gives the viewer, or at least I feel gave me while viewing, a rare feeling nowadays. It's a feeling that indicates maybe what we're seeing is unrestricted, that there aren't many shots that ended up on the cutting room floor. Not that this work is a bevy of poor self-editing, it's more that his work has a certain flow of intentionality that indicates that every shot really mattered to this guy. At a time when the finnickity nature of photographers is most likely at its peak (or God forbid, still rising), it's refreshing to get access to something a bit more real. This is a body of work composed without melodramatic flair or ironic mesh screen.

It would be easy to fall into all sorts of traps analysing Cushenberry's images under archaic banners such as 'the snapshot' or 'the family' but none of that is interesting at this stage, not for fledgling artists still trying to find their footing. Nothing here is new, but what's fresh about Cushenberry is a firm standhold in not dressing his images as something they're not. And as an oversaturated viewer dealing with copious amounts of artist statements and vague declarations of departure from previous artistic institutions, it's a bit nice to get something devoid of artificiality.

What are the people in your photographs to you?

On the surface the people in my photographs are just family and friends.

But on the whole, they play a big part of who I am and the work that I make. My work is extremely personal, invades peoples’ privacy, and allows me to live vicariously through my camera. I first started shooting this way when I was in school at Art Center College of Design. My friend Josh Schaedel and I were sneaking into an abandoned office at school to sleep because we both lived far away from school.

Soon I found myself being on campus 24 hours a day and seven days a week. I began taking pictures as a way to leave the office, and eventually the photos transformed into a way for me to share experiences with people who were close to me. I found myself living through my camera. The more I shot, the more intrusive I wanted to get because I was interested in others and the way they thought, behaved, looked, and how they lived and existed. A lot of my subjects gave more than others but I was able to get really personal and intimate, and create narratives that were a mixture of intense and quiet moments.

Right now, post­graduation, I pretty much shoot the same but I’m also looking for commercial work so I’ve been doing test shoots and shooting a lot of digital and a lot portraits. But I’m still interested in my friend’s lives, especially now because the majority of them are out of school and are in the same boat as I am. I’ve also been documenting my relationship with my girlfriend and my relationship with my friends who are women.

What are the challenges of photographing in your space?

One of the challenges of photographing in my studio is that after a while the work becomes very repetitive and constrained. I’m currently working on this portrait series that takes place in the corner of my studio only because that’s where the best lighting is.

But as of late, all of the portraits have been looking similar because I’m shooting at the same time and location. The goal of this series was to take very minimal portraits but at the same time trying to convey the personality of my subjects during these shoots. Some of them work, some of them don’t. So I’m finding myself using different areas of my studio, shooting at different times a day/night and using on camera flash with my point and shoot in order to have some variations to the project.

Watching for light in and around my studio has become a little easier but it’s still hard to get people’s schedule to match with the best lighting situations.  7am­-8am has beautiful lighting but it’s hard to find someone who wants to come to my studio that early, especially on a Monday.

Tell me about 'The Weirdness'.

Man, The Weirdness was and is still weird.

It’s a documentary of my friendship with Emily who was also in the photo program with me. We had color theory class together and we eventually started spending a lot of time together. Soon I started shooting very intimate photos of her and it became this project about pushing the limits of what a friendship was. Even though the photos were sexual in nature, that’s the furthest it ever went and it never went past taking pictures. I’m not bummed about that part it, but I feel that it’s important to state that only because people always ask me that question.

On the other hand, in order to get some of the photos, limits were definitely pushed, there were nights I was questioning why or what I was doing with her and I’m pretty sure she thought the same thing too. I never intended it to be a separate project, for me it was experiencing something new- the majority of the project took place during my days in the office and it gave me something to look forward to when I was staying on campus. The Weirdness was shot over two years and began to slow down, especially when we started our own respective relationships. Besides the obvious, it was a fun project and very important part of my work. I called it "The Weirdness” because that’s the only way I could describe it, it’s some of my rawest work that I’ve made.

Even though the work has a lot of sexuality in it, I never meant for it to be anything more than just a documentation on a friend.  A lot of people like the project. I had a teacher tell me that I made being a pervert "beautiful", in fact a lot of my teachers liked that body of work once it was finished. My mom and dad have seen some of the work, they get it.

Forgive me if this is an opportunistic question, or a leading question, but what are your views of minority representations in the Art World?

When I was at Art Center, I was lucky enough to have a few knowledgeable teachers and friends who introduced me to “different” artists. I’ve always been in a position where I felt somewhat under represented.

I grew up in the suburbs, went to private schools and that feeling didn’t go away when I went to art school, especially when I had teachers and students question my “blackness” and the majority of those teachers and students were white. I get really stoked when I see galleries that have group shows or solo shows by black and/or minority artists.I also get excited when I see black artists who have work that speak to my experiences of being black. Like I said, I grew up in the suburbs and I feel that my work is a result of living in Orange County.

So my idea of what it is to be black is different from others' ideas of what it is to be black. So, as much as I'd love to be “I’m not a black artist, I’m an artist” I do get excited when I see artists who are like me. It gives validation to what I’m what doing. I still hate myself for missing Henry Taylor’s show at Blum and Poe, and the Blues for Smoke show at Moca Geffen Contemporary was amazing. Come to think of it, I always get stoked when I see black contemporaries.

I grew up listening to Punk and Hardcore and I felt that Bad Brains made it okay for me to listen to that music without having to question myself. I also love skateboarding and I remember years ago there was an all­ Black issue of either Transworld Magazine or Skateboarding Magazine and every article was an interview with a black skater. I had torn out pages of the magazine and had them taped on my wall until my dickhead cousin took them and threw away the pages calling them “Whiteboys”. 

Getting to the point, 30 Americans is the best example I could give to answer that question. I love that book.

***********************

Edward Cushenberry currently resides in Los Angeles, CA and can be found online at the following: Main Site | Tumblr

[digitalfaun]

Building Blocks for Still Life: Everything is Anything Else

The current style of still-life images which employs mostly brightly coloured backgrounds for fruit, mirrors and various stripped down household goods has spread rapidly due to a postmovial practice which encourages and instructs the viewer towards engaging with work on disposable social media platforms. The problem with this strategy is that the volume of copycat creators that occupy an online space is innumerable and, as such, any process which gains attention inevitably leads itself to its own dilution. 

The basic concepts behind art systems constitute that you have to be different, but not so different that there isn't a place for you to branch out from. If you're too different right from the outset, your work appears as a disconnect. It appears without foundation and as something outlandish. Not that I'm a genius who understands the intricacies of the progression of art history but the ideologies that underpin any art movement is the intrinsic ability to build on, adapt or construct in opposition to something which has already been established.

Everything is Anything Else is a body of work by Jason Lukas, Zachary Norman and Aaron Hegert which embodies the in-vogue styles of imagery which populate the blogosphere on a daily basis with one exception; they're ready to take a step further. I won't say they have already taken that step as this is still very young work. The collective trio's first foray into the world of public display occurs this Saturday at a gallery in Cincinnati and we'll see how successful the translation from screen to space is but the groundwork for advancing an already-stale medium of photography is in place. 

I think that comes down to how the group informs itself. The three artists work from a manifesto, their site provides a selection of readings and even a feed of directional imagery in which the viewer can trace the group's influences. Even on first visit to the site, you get a sense that EIAE is clear in its intentions. What is normally a very vague and unreferential form of photography, is transformed into a systematic look at vulnerability within the practice. The current style of still life is aimed at folding photography in on itself, with complex photoshop layering and ubiquitous subject matter, it's always been a bit of a puzzle but EIAE loses none of that mystery while installing an over-arcing sense of order. The hap-hazard superfluousness that inhabits a lot of the trendy equivalents has been replaced by a distilled mediated process of addressing the photographic condition. 

It's too soon to make a judgement call on the group's work itself. It would be crazy to jump into declaring this a turning point in the medium. Maybe EIAE is the group's branch on which to grow from, maybe it's not but one thing's for sure Lukas, Zachary and Hegert are a few of the more melodic birds whistling in a very busy tree. 

  ******************************************************************************************

  Everything is Anything Else opens at Third Party Gallery, Cincinnati, Ohio on August 3rd and can be found online at everythingisae.tumblr.com

[digitalfaun]

DigitalFaun turned four years old today!

The above photo, by the extremely talented Harry Mitchell, was my first post on the site. As far as first posts go, I'm pretty happy with that. It's clear that while my knowledge and understanding of contemporary photography has changed, my taste in image makers has not. 

Since the site's inception, there has always been a struggle to match interesting content with valuable critical insight and as such the process of running DigitalFaun has been a lot slower than a lot of other image-heavy photography sites. This will be the first year in which I actually won't be in college while working on the site so there's a possibility that even if things don't get churned out any faster, at least there should be a greater consistency to the site's output.

Thanks for sticking with me while I learned (and continue to learn) the fundamentals of what makes this medium so interesting. 

Alex

[digitalfaun]

The Curious Experience of Expecting Trauma

A few years ago, I sat down to watch the Le Mans 24 hours with my father. I was an avid World Rally Championship fan at the time and was watching to root for Sebastien Loeb, a rally driver trying his hand at a different form of motorsport. The endurance race, which really does last a full 24 hours, is quite the spectacle. I’ve been told countless times by my father, an executive for the Irish motorsport governing body, that it’s the holy grail of car racing. The motorcycle equivalent of course he would state as the Isle of Man TT.

Though I’m yet to physically attend the event in person, I’m positive the true joy of Le Mans comes in the experiential nature of indulging in this chosen sport in one long binge session. This is the Coachella of motorsport. Fans challenge themselves to stick through the night-action for as long as they can pry open their eyes to watch as headlights carve out paths for 200mph prototypes. ‘Die-hard’ is a sought after title in all sports fandom but rarely does someone get such an opportunity to prove themselves as with a 24 hour endurance race. It’s right there in the title of genre; endurance. And so this past week, my father, between shifts at the office, has been looking forward to the historic event. He appears incredulous to the outstanding passion he has for the sport. If pushed, he would cite himself as being lucky to work at something which he loves but the ability to spend 40 hours in an office dealing with a subject, then go home to voluntarily watch the single longest event of the year is a level of dedication to one thing that most fans can only dream of emulating.

My father’s only other sporting passion is golf, so he arrived home a handful of hours late to a tape-delay catch-up arrangement organised via his DVR system. It allowed him to bypass the first dozen or so commercial breaks while still enjoying (to-him) live coverage. The start of the race is particularly spectacular; the full field of cars spanning four different vehicle classes take off on a flying lap signalled by the flying of a decorated French tri-colour. Despite the huge distance ahead of them, the drivers waste no time in wheel-to-wheel racing and the commentators make sure to emphasise this is by no means “procession racing”.

Ten minutes into the race coverage, a Gulf Oil sponsored Aston Martin, whose sky blue and orange livery carry a special historic significance in motorsport lore, is seen at the edge of a corner facing in the opposite direction and sporting critical damage; a wheel and a door among the missing elements one expects to see on any car. The commentators rush to identify the car and driver as the TV feed focuses on the subject in question. Bright yellow marshal’s flags wave furiously as the other cars slow and steer around the static wreckage. It takes a few minutes of showing cars running behind the safety car for the TV feed to cut to a replay that shows the tail end of the aforementioned Aston Martin’s accident. The car spins backward toward the track from the direction of the barrier. Imagery of the impact is conspicuously absent. The two of us joke about how angry team management would be with a driver who writes off his car in the first 1% of a day-long goliath like Le Mans. A light blinks red on Dad’s Blackberry and he picks it up to check his email as the safety car still circles the track at phenomenal speed only made possible by the fast-forward function on the DVR remote. My Dad sets the TV feed back to normal speed and hands me his Blackberry. The driver of the Aston Martin, Allen Simonsen has been declared dead at a hospital close to the track and seconds later, the tape-delayed commentator announces that Simonsen is conscious and actively talking with medical personnel. The TV feed has been reluctant to replay their footage of the accident, instead focusing on pit-lane team interviews during the safety car down-time.

The surreal experience of waiting for a commentator to announce a death that by all rights, happens in the future for this TV feed, is not lost on me. Knowing more up to date information than what is currently being broadcast is becoming more and more common as live-updates on Twitter undercut TV sources who need to verify with two individual sources before announcing anything as truth. Suddenly, myself and my father are acutely aware of the TV feed’s policy on talking about the accident. The commentator mentions the communication between driver and doctor is a positive one and continues on to discuss race minutia as if nothing has happened. That’s what the commentator is employed to do. Above all else, you must not make it awkward for the audience, must not give them a reason to turn away, even when faced with death.

The TV feed have shown the replay of the accident just once since its first broadcast. I’m beginning to suspect they knew it is much worse than the commentators are playing it. I keep my eyes predominantly on the TV screen as my fingers search on YouTube for “Le Mans” and sort by upload date. Several video thumbnails appear to show little 18 second clips of already-seen TV footage but that’s not what I’m looking for. One upload has an in-car camera view of the driver trailing Simonsen as he leads up to the fateful corner. The Aston Martin enters the apex of the corner perfectly then runs wide and touches the outside curb. Simonsen over-corrects for the lack of backside grip and flicks the car out of view in the direction of the barrier. I’m relieved for the respect of the driver and his family that the video hasn’t depicted the moment of impact and the guilt from my morbidly curious YouTube searching slowly passes. The TV feed never shows this footage.

My Dad has been on the organisational end of a few tragedies in his time. I’d say he attends a motorsport-fatality funeral at least once a year. For such a small island like Ireland, that number is probably high but the sport is popular here and most days he counts himself lucky that a well-paid job such as his can even exist. That handful of days when he doesn’t, those are generally days spent offering condolences to a family of someone he never met. His position does not contractually obligate him to do anything more than issue a public statement on the incident and recommend a formal inquiry. There’s a lot of times my Dad goes above and beyond his job description and I’m going to put that down to the sports fan in him. To want to go out and tackle tragedy head on, that’s a whole new level of passion that only those close to him can appreciate.

A news report online states that the family of the driver have asked that the other team car not be pulled from the race and continue in honour of Simonsen. I’m absent from the room when the TV feed finally acknowledges the death. Replays still remain unplayed and unlooped and I’m drawn to a strategy that heavily constrasts with the repetitious CNN style of broadcasting tragedy. The barrier where Simonsen’s car catastrophically smashed into the wall is repaired and the cars continue with the race.

“Why do you think they’d not call the race off at this point?” asks my Dad, his face outwardly showing that the events in question have affected him, even if he’s not the one who has to deal with the consequences when he sits down to work on Monday morning. “If a death happens during an event here, we stop immediately in respect of the incident.” "News media dictates what is and isn’t good taste depending on what makes it easier for them to do their job. Should the race be stopped, what will fill their feed for the duration it was supposed to run? With a small market un-broadcasted event, like, say, the Donegal Rally, the death would be on main evening news but without it, you’d struggle to get any sort of TV coverage.” My Dad and the sport he works so hard to promote is only covered on a national scale when something goes wrong. For 360 days of the year, it’s his job to make the sport better and present it as a marketable package to media in an attempt to raise its awareness and popularity. Those other 5 days of the year, he’s inundated with journalistic inquiries attempting to forge out any kind of juicy nugget relating to who is to blame or the integrity of a sport increasingly portrayed as irresponsible. “That’s a pretty good answer, Alex” he says.

I see him turning back as the TV feed highlights a potential first place dogfight between two rivals. The cars keep lapping as the sky gets darker. The die-hard fans keep watching.

[digitalfaun]

"The only thing that dictates the list is narrative. Does it have a story to tell? or Can it teach me anything? I didn’t study art, or art theory, so until someone with that knowledge comes along, everything will be steeped in narrative! And that sequentiality of an art book forms the perfect frame for telling a story in pictures – which as something I’ve not experimented with a huge amount is very appealing. And then you add text to the picture book, make the two features intertwine, and that’s a whole new level of elucidation and extrapolation. 


"

Here is an extraordinary explanation as to why I write copy for every post on here rather than just reblogging an endless stream of pictures I find interesting. To me, narrative is the key to making any project work, but it essentially lies within interpretation, and the multiple viewing aspects that it allows. If everyone saw the same narrative when looking through a photobook, it'd be boring, it'd be meaningless.

Without the doubt and multiplicity of understanding a photograph, you'd be left with just text. The meaning of text, at least on a base level, is available to everyone. Photographs don't offer their message to everyone the same way due to the codes and signifiers of your own society. To me, what's really captivating is an individual's personal response to an image, to see how it differs from mine and perhaps open a dialogue on the subject. That's why I think it's important to write about photography, not just expose it.