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Limón seco en el sol

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Intento fallido de díptico.

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Melodía improvisada según hiroshi

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Casa ovni en algún lugar de trumplandia
Me interesa por su incongruencia visual.

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Artista americano hijo de migrantes ecuatorianos, esta serie recoge la experiencia individual de su madre como costurera y migrante en E.U

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Esta fotografía atrapa con gran sensibilidad la tragedia de la vida americana.

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Artista aleman expresionista que vivió en tahití.

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Mi hermana

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Bailarín japonés de Butoh.

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Este me parece un díptico perfecto recogido de sixteenjournal algún tiempo atrás.

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Esta parodia de un reality tv tiene elementos auditivos muy interesantes, desde la  música hasta la voz en off la cuál es incongruente con lo que está pasando.

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Fishing with John  e04   Maine with Willem Dafoe

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Artista americano que retrata escenas cotidianas de migrantes en Estados Unidos.

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Una idea de cómo resolver el proyecto sería pedirle a distintas personas que me envíen una foto de un objeto, persona o espacio  que para ellos representa un sostén emocional en esta época de pandemia, y que me cuenten alguna anécdota referente a este objeto.  A partir de lo cual tomaría fotos para después generar un collage.

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El trabajo de este artista contemporáneo me parece interesante porque trabaja con la fotografía como si fuera un archivo, les hace crop y luega las imprime en diferentes capas, otorgándoles un nuevo sentido.

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Proyecto colaborativo de Nicolas Jaar y Somnath Batt, me interesa por cómo interactúa música, diseño y los elementos digitales.

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telas.parts is telas in its liquid state. the site was made with Abeera Kamran and Somnath Bhatt.

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Subtítulo: un estudio de la dicotomía entre lo rural y lo urbano.

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El trabajo de este artista multi-media mezcla instalación con fotografía, explora "la responsabilidad del espectador frente a lo que observa".

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Jean-Marc Bustamante is a renowned artist known best for his photographs and site-specific installations. His work presents a complex synthesis of past experiences, cultural referents, and the formal attributes of light and color. "My aim is to make the viewer become aware of his or her responsibility in what he or she is looking at," the artist has explained. Born on June 4, 1952 in Toulouse, France, he apprenticed with the American photographer William Klein in Paris during 1970s. From 1983 to 1987, the artist collaborated with French sculptor Bernard Bazile, producing works under the name Bazile Bustamante. Their collaboration gave rise to style which was primarily based on codes and signs. The two artists split up in 1987. In one of his best known series Something is Missing (1995-1997), Bustamante focused his lens on non-specific areas of land, without descriptive titles or a clear conceptual direction, the viewer is left to make decisions about the work on their own. The artist currently lives and works in Paris, France. Today, his works are held in the collections of the Musée National d'Art Moderne in Paris, the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, and the Museo Reina Sofia in Madrid, among others.

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Jean-Marc Bustamante is a renowned artist known best for his photographs and site-specific installations. View Jean-Marc Bustamante's 166 artworks on artnet. Find an in-depth biography, exhibitions, original artworks for sale, the latest news, and sold auction prices. See available photographs, prints and multiples, and sculpture for sale and learn about the artist.

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También es un referente por la manera como explora el espacio en Cape Light y logra captar el ambiente a partir de la luz.

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joel meyerowitz cape light - Google Search

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stephen shore howard greenberg contemporary photography landscape provincetown photographer's street photography greenberg gallery cape cod color photographs

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En Blumen Schorr interviene en el espacio, juega con el límite entre lo frágil y lo manipulable, lo transitorio y lo estable. También por como trata la fotografía de manera puramente descriptiva, casi de manera arqueológica.

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Collier Schorr was born and raised in Queens, but for many years, she has made a second home in Schwäbisch Gmünd, a town in southern Germany where, partially inspired by August Sander, she has set about making informal studies of the population. Last month, Schorr's project "Freeway Balconies" opened at the Deutsche Guggenheim in Berlin, and on July 21, she opened an exhibition at the Villa Romana in Florence, primarily featuring works from a new series titled "Blumen."
I'VE COME TO Schwäbish Gmünd every summer for eighteen years. How I first got here is sort of uninteresting. I was traveling with a friend from New York and just ended up here. It was an escape from New York, an escape from the art world. I was really interested in German photography, because at the time Lisa Spellman, the owner of 303 Gallery, was showing a lot of it-Andreas Gursky and also Thomas Ruff. Being intrigued by that work, and then going to Germany and actually looking at the landscape, I imagined the position of an entitled outsider, a character who does not belong but who has assumed some kind of ownership. The fact that the US Army had two bases in the town had a lot to do with this feeling of surveyorship.

There's something illicit about the "Blumen" photos, a literal trespassing. In order to get the flowers, I have to go into strangers' gardens and yards to steal them. Then I have to go someplace that's not my place and build this thing; within minutes, the flowers begin to wilt, changing shape and color. And inevitably, the wind blows them down. It takes about six minutes to construct a structure. It's the perfect illustration of the term deracinated. I like that about it, the clarity of its purpose. It's the opposite of arranging a still life in a studio with a table-and unlimited time. Here, you tie a flower to two or three sticks and hope it stays up. After I take the picture, I take a step back and look at this little theater or shrine to nothing that I've built and then tear it down. The picture is a document of a public sculpture or an act of vandalism.

So much of my portraiture involves small props or costumes, things like skulls or keys or canes, or relatively obvious iconic objects. But the people are essentially being arranged between these objects and references. I wanted to make pictures of nature that also felt arranged and compromised. To take the most passive, feminine object of beauty and cut it loose, bind it, and then animate it with a heightened sense of emotion.

I made the first "Blumen" picture after looking at Robert Mapplethorpe's Pictures book. I was struck by how much freedom Mapplethorpe was able to extract from his model's restraint-that in tying up and cropping his models, he appears to be able to work with people as forms. I never thought about my flowers as related to his (which I saw as annoyingly erotic); I thought of them in relationship to bondage. I wanted to make the flowers more aggressive and ironic and less docile and sensual.

If you limit yourself to one place, it only changes so much; I found it necessary to start altering the landscape a little bit. I used to think in terms of comparative literature, where one interrogates a text by posing it against another. More and more, I am drawn to something less fictive or poetic and more concrete and descriptive. In the field of archaeology, discoveries can be used to prove ethnic mythologies-ownership is determined by artifacts. Imagine that something buried could be attributed to a culture, proving that one tribe arrived before another. And could interpretations manipulate history? I've always taken things from underneath and put them on top, so it would make sense that I would pull all the flowers out and try to see them better by contrasting them against the sky.

- As told to David Velasco

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Collier Schorr talks about her "Blumen" series

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Collier Schorr was born and raised in Queens, but for many years, she has made a second home in Schwäbisch Gmünd, a town in southern Germany where, partially inspired by August Sander, she has set about making informal studies of the population.

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La obra de Still utiliza lo puramente figurativo para crear texturas, formas y juegos de color. Es un referente porque su composición me remite constantemente a objetos presentes en la naturaleza intervenida o en decadencia.

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exhibition museum metropolitan museum abstract expressionism artist abstract expressionist denver painter mark rothko artwork

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Fotografo Guatemalteco, es un referente por cómo explora ciertos motivos culturales, como resultado del conflicto entre la colonia y los pueblos nativos. Me interesa sobre todo la perspectiva antropológica que introduce en sus trabajos.

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¿Cómo se establecen las relaciones verticales entre lo urbano y lo rural?
¿Cómo se configuran las relaciones entre lo urbano y lo rural?
¿Cómo se configuran los límites entre lo urbano y lo rural?

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¿De qué manera se configuran los límites entre lo urbano y lo rural a partir de la cotidianidad?

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Esta idea quería mostrar la fragmentación del territorio a través de las macetas. Pero la conexión todavía no estaba muy clara.

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la modificación de lo rural a partir del crecimiento urbano en Quito.

como un lugar b cambió a partir de expansión de a

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trasponer una casa, a través del montaje en una parcela.

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Fotos por el quinche

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Lectura Mercantilización de la tierra y Nuevo aeropuerto de Quito.

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Lectura Mercantilización de la tierra y Nuevo aeropuerto de Quito.

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El primero habla del proceso mediante el cual la tierra fue convertida en mercancía. Por un lado la tierra se opone a los procesos de acumulación del dinero, lo cual es convertido en beneficio a través de la especulación de la tierra, y la construcción. Esto le dota de un carácter híbrido (tierra + edificio) que también permite nuevos modos de imaginar el espacio a partir de la desmercantilización del espacio.

La segunda lectura analiza el proceso de construcción del nuevo aeropuerto de Quito y óomo fue utilizado con fines de político, pero que en el fondo llevo a la desplazamiento de la población, mediante la expropiación y la alza en los precios de la tierra.

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Imágenes por nono

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Having begun his artistic career well over three decades ago as a photographer, Jean-Marc Bustamante has since worked across diverse media to produce sculptures, prints, paintings, and installations. His tellingly titled series "Aperture," 2015-, is the latest reminder that no matter what materials, tools, or processes Bustamante employs, his work remains conceptually rooted in photography.

The nine large-format ink-jet prints on silver photographic paper that were featured in Bustamente's recent show are based on scans of his colored-felt-tip-marker drawings. Installed in numerical order across four walls of the gallery, Aperture I- IX, 2015, from the series "Aperture," 2015, feature simple doodle-like designs in a consistent palette of brown, yellow, orange, blue, green, and purple. While some, like Aperture V and Aperture III, hint at landscape (a field of flowers and sunlight reflected on water, respectively), the bulk of the series is categorically abstract. Though he's replaced the camera with a scanner, Bustamante holds on to certain framing and focusing techniques that make these works convincingly photographic. Hand-drawn blue rectangles around the contents of each drawing have a double resonance, evoking an in-camera viewfinder as well as grease pencil marks on a contact sheet indicating which frames to print. The graph paper support, meanwhile, recalls the gridded focusing screen inside large-format cameras, like the one Bustamante used for his " Tableaux photographiques " series, 1978-82.

No stranger to blending media to create hard-to-(neatly)-define hybrid works, Bustamante previously transformed drawings into large-scale prints in his "Panoramas," 1996-2013. For this series, his drawings were scanned, enlarged, and silk-screened onto large Plexiglas sheets. Unlike the "Panoramas," whose analog print process required that the original drawings be digitally simplified into bold lines and hard-edged areas of color, the laser-printed "Aperture" works magnify the original drawings' nuances. Blown up to over eight feet in height, compositions of squiggles, dots, lines, and areas of shading are elevated to a painterly stature, but dubiously so. Ostensibly trivial marks appear unconvincingly monumental. Similar to the nondescript landscapes—dirt roads, construction sites, empty swimming pools—of the large-scale " Tableaux " photographs that launched Bustamante's career in the early 1980s, his recent photographic subjects are at odds with their grandiose treatment.

If nothing else, the banal subject matter of the "Aperture" series makes it easier to focus on the artworks' curious dual status: photographic reproductions that are also objects in their own right. Blown up to such an extreme degree, even Bustamante's most confident marker strokes appear to break down, feathering at the edges and suffering slight pixelation. Upon closer inspection, even the underlying grid (the backbone of modernist painting as well as a photographic tool) begins to dissolve. This impression of dematerialization, which is not inherent to the original drawings, but rather the result of their digitally mediated representation, articulates the distance and distinction between subject and photograph. Never one to shy away from paradox, Bustamante insists on the materiality of the photographs themselves by mounting the prints on aluminum sheets and floating these inside the frame. Diminishing the substance of his drawings, the artist imbues his photographs with depth, weight, and objecthood.
—Mara Hoberman

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Having begun his artistic career well over three decades ago as a photographer, Jean-Marc Bustamante has since worked across diverse media to produce sculptures, prints, paintings, and installations.

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Josef Sudek (17 de marzo de 1896 - 15 de septiembre de 1976) fue un fotógrafo checo. En 1918, en la guerra, perdio un brazo y abandono su trabajo de encuadernador por la fotografia. Trabajo toda su vida recluido en su estudio en Praga. Su fotografia intimista, delicada, sin estridencias, evoluciono sin presiones del Pictorialismo hacia la Nueva Objetividad. Conocido como el Poeta de Praga, no concurria a sus multiples exposiciones, ni a la presentacion de los 16 libros que edito en su carrera. Su fotografia, de estilo neo-romantico, contiene muy pocas personas. Murio en 1976, y hoy su casa es el Museo Josef Sudek, que guarda sus miles de obras y expone obras seleccionadas y su atelier esta restaurado como atraccion turistica.

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Josef Sudek (17 de marzo de 1896 - 15 de septiembre de 1976) fue un fotógrafo checo. En 1918, en la guerra, perdio un brazo y abandono su trabajo de encuadernador por la fotografia. Trabajo toda su vida recluido en su estudio en Praga.

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david benjamin sherry - Buscar con Google

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painting art monuments landscape photographer photography artist's national monuments aperture

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Recently, the artist Bruno Roels has been making short runs of postcards, tear-off flyers and silkscreens, and sending them out to people on Instagram. Known for his framed grids of tea-toned darkroom prints of palm trees, he exhibits with galleries and fairs worldwide. Though playful in form, Roels' interest in these trees is a serious one, digging deep into history. Callum Beaney got in touch with Roels and they chatted about how he thinks about photography, history, colonialism, Ed Ruscha, and the art industry.

CB: I've seen you posting about these smaller distribution projects, such as those postcards, next to your gallery sales on Instagram. How do you think about them next to your more commercial side?
connection between art and money is vexing. It equates price with quality and with value, but that's not very useful. As an artist I love selling works, because money means independence. I also believe that people sometimes do not get the value of something that they didn't have to pay for. And yet, I keep on giving stuff away. One of the artists I look up to is John Baldessari, and he said that an artist always has to have 'an affordable line'. I took that to heart. So I do make editions, and they are sold at 'more democratic' prices than the rest of my work. In Baldessari's case, this meant that I (as a collector) was able to buy a very nice edition for a reasonable amount. His works typically fetch prices that are far out of my range.
Was there a particular motivation behind the postcards project [ Post Card Series #1 - Noli 2019], and how it ties in with your wider palm-trees-oriented practice? I know there's a rich history behind it but
I started looking into the history of palm trees as a visual icon. That took me to colonialism, empire, the history of photography, orientalism... I think that the contemporary, Western, definition of the palm tree is formed not by 'high art' but by vernacular imagery (postcards, stereoscopic photographs, toys, advertisements and later cinema and television...). In the beginning of the 20th Century there was a postcard craze; they were printed in Europe, shipped globally, sent from all over and collected. I collect these and they are amazing documents. I'm very interested in those ways to disseminate my take on palm trees. Postcards are a wonderful way to get images into the world in a way that makes a more lasting impact than an instagram post. I'm working on my next book, which will consist exclusively of postcards and vintage prints from my collection. Stuff from 1885 - 1935. Images made in the colonies predominantly by Europeans for Europeans.
I think that 'empire' seduces. That's part of orientalism for instance: it seduces with mystery and beauty, and obfuscates the horrors of colonialism.
My own work is mostly printed from my own photographs, yes. Because I love photographing (the act). Last year I experimented with sending friends off with a single use camera to bring me back palm trees images from their holidays. I haven't used it in any of my works yet, but I probably will. It's the logical evolution of my 'a palm tree is a palm tree is a palm tree' mantra. I'm also trying to figure out if other printing processes like silk screen printing can have a place in my 'oeuvre'. I'm pleased with the results of the 'Fixing History' serigraphs I made. These are based on a vintage postcard I scanned and I can see myself doing more of that kind of appropriation. The book I'm working on will consist of postcards and vintage prints 1885 - 1935, made in / bought in / sent from the European colonies. The idea is not to just reproduce these photographs and turn it into a historical overview. The images will be reproduced as bitmaps, black and white and grainy. Making the images even more 'timeless' (if that's even possible).
Could you tell a bit more about that upcoming book? RE: using postcards, I was going to ask - though you've got the archive, most of your works are printed from your own negs right? Will this change with that?
The oldest objects in my collection are coins (200BC). The meaning was different yes, but still related. Palm trees often signified success (they still do, in a way. Le Palm d'Or as a prize at the Cannes Film Festival comes to mind). I'd argue that posting images of palm trees on instagram also signifies success. 'Look at me, I am wealthy and take my holidays in exotic or luxurious places.' The ecological impact of the palm oil industry is one thing to think about yes. I'm not sure it will impact the iconography of palm trees, but it's a fitting symbol for the way money corrupts almost anything it touches. In my mind, colonization begat globalization and mass industry as unholy children. Another is that climate change . is hurting the 'normal' date palm tree industry as well Some of the most iconic palm trees, the ones in L.A., are dying off. They are getting too old (they were planted in the early 20th Century to give the city the allure of the French riviera, so people would come live there) or palm weevils are ravaging them. In many cases the old palm trees are replaced by indigenous plants that bring more shade and are far more economical in terms of irrigation. Which makes total sense.
Has that iconic palm tree changed much from the oldest images in your collection to the most recent, be it in style, those layers of history that they've got hiding behind them etc.? I wonder how they'll be thought of in 50 years, given the environmental impact of harvesting oil palms.
No, my interest lies with the symbolic. The idea that I can use globally relevant 'exotic' iconography without leaving Europe, proves the impact that these images have. Across continent, across cultures. I'm interested in the mental seduction that goes on. Empire seduces. Money seduces. Success and luxury seduce. Mental health, peace and quiet are all seductive notions. I'd like to find out where that seduction comes from. How our minds are hardwired. We see, we want.
Do you ever think about moving from the more directly symbolic and art history side, to more location-specific work? The mental image of those LA palm trees is eerily allegorical.

But you're right, the allegory of those L.A. palm trees, the rise and fall would make for an interesting seri es.
When I started tugging at the iconography of palm trees, the postcolonial angle revealed itself. It's not present in my gallery pieces (yet). I haven't figured out where it will take me. I let my archive and the research I do / read take me along. I feel that I have much to learn yet. (That's a shit answer isn't it? it's the truth however.)
Were you as focused on these historical aspects when you first broke into the artworld? I remember older conversations around your work being mostly about repetition and embracing imperfection. It's hard to actually see this post-colonial discourse in your grids and gallery pieces .
I try to take away as many hurdles as I can to see how far and how quickly I can put an idea out in the world. It needs to be down to earth or it doesn't really work. I'm very democratic and send out to everyone, if they ask politely. At the same time, I like using systems that have been in place for a long time. Mail is an obvious example, but the tear-away poster is a time-honored way of communicating with the world. I've also silk-screened protest posters around Leopold II (still a big unresolved issue in post-colonial Belgium). That has a definite counter-culture vibe to it. Knowing full well that the impact of those things is minimal. The "Looking For Paradise?" tear-off poster I made is a good example. It's a simple piece of paper, printed on my home printer, but people still keep it around or frame it even. As an artist, what more could I possibly ask for?

Thing is, with these little projects, you're using Blurb-type publishing, plastic toys, copier prints set up like tear-flyers etc. right? And whether someone can get one is really down to whether they engage with you enough on Instagram that the algorithm puts your posts high in their feed, and a bit of lucky timing, which I dig.

The photography world has a habit of not understanding that the most interesting photography looks at a lot of different disciplines.
I need to believe in the powers of a growing post-colonial discourse. I need to believe that all those little changes may in the end affect structural change or at least have some impact on the discourse that is evolving.

Does the minimal political impact aspect bother you?
That's a good point. I don't think I could make anything that would place it outside the system. I do think I might be able to shed a light on 'understanding' the allure instead of just 'participating'. At least, that's what I hope to do. It's an interesting notion to make something that that system can't digest.
When the art world challenges itself, it's often in a way which at one step or another reaffirms whatever it's challenging, be it Billy Apple or Mathieu Asselin. If you could swing it, would you make something that that system can't digest?
None, except for the ones I put up. That's okay, especially in times of quarantine and lockdowns. If I had 'fuck you'-money, I'd make billboards like the legend Larry Sultan.
RE the Looking For Paradise? flyers. A lot of folks collect them, but do you see many put up on street corners?
I take things at face value. Just having a look on instagram tells me that young folks (or most folks in the West) use/interpret palm trees as signifiers of holiday, adventure, luxury and paradise. It's only because I wondered why that is, that I came across the long history. Human beings have trouble putting things in any kind of real historical context. So I doesn't surprise me that a lot of them have no idea what the holocaust is. "L'histoire se répète" say the French, history repeats itself mostly because humans draw no real lessons from the past. I sound like an old man :-) To be clear, I think it's perfectly okay to see a palm tree and think of holidays. Not everything needs to be deconstructed all the time.
I'll put one up at my local. Do you think younger folks might see the palm-icon differently? A friend who lectures told me that some of the students don't know what the Holocaust was - I've got to admit, it was only after reading up on it that I became consciously aware of this kind of iconography.
I wrote a dissertation on libertine 18th Century erotic literature. I spent months and months looking through handbound folios from the 17th and 18th Century and I loved every minute of it. I had to come to grips with philosophy, literature and psychology, which was quite the trip. Some of the scenes from Bret Easton Ellis' American Psycho come straight out of de Sade's works (almost verbatim). Ellis' novel caused quite the uproar when it was published in 1991, yet de Sade had paved the way two centuries earlier. I like that kind of broader context; it highlights the important issues and filters out the 'outrage of the day'. Western history is very 'serial', but to me, history becomes more interesting if you look at it as cyclical. (There is a Hellenistic god of time called Aion, he's represented as a man between a green and a bare tree (summer vs winter). He represents cyclical time, whereas Chronos stands for linear time (past - present -future).) History - anthropology - psychology: I find that if I pull at those strings, I get a small p e ek behind the curtain.
Your interest in history goes pretty far back, right? I remember you mentioning researching as a graduate.
I had a show in New York and a woman walks in and says 'I've seen this at Paris Photo'. Now as an artist, this can mean two things: you're stuck and you're never getting out, or you've succeeded in creating a body of work that is so coherent that it is recognizable on a global level. I was raised in provincial Belgium, I didn't ever think I would show in New York, not even if I was pushed to dream wild. That woman gave me the biggest compliment without knowing it. I'll take "making work that can be recognized at a fair like Paris Photo" over "I'll do whatever I want but nobody knows what I do" any day of the week. Would I put on a show with wildly abstract stuff? no, not yet, maybe never. The reason I self-publish now and then is also to scratch an itch of stuff I don't expect a publisher to be readily interested in. And that's okay, I don't feel the photography world owes me anything. Your question is a relevant one: should an artist shy away from making work knowing that 'the market' will probably not appreciate it? I can't answer this for everyone, but I try to make everything I want to make. And I see it as part of the dialogue with 'the art world' to make sure that they'll understand what I'm trying to do.
As someone in the industry, signed up with publishers and galleries, and with a fairly recognisable aesthetic, what's the law on changing what you do? Do you ever feel typecast, expecting galleries and fans alike to lose interest if you dare to try something too different?
I waited a long time to 'show' my photography in a 'serious way'. When I did, I felt fairly certain I wasn't going to do documentary photography or fashion. I don't feel pigeonholed as a photographer. I do have an artistic alter ego, some kind of outsider artist persona that does massively different things. It's a low-key undertaking, for fun. The work is ribald, scatological and poorly executed. The poorly executed part is on me, but ribald and scatological art has been a staple in art history, so I'm in good company.
Have you ever made under a different name to get around that kind of boxing-in?
I've said publicly that I could make my own work with nothing but vintage photographs I buy on ebay. I have 19th Century prints from the same negative but printed slightly different that would make a perfect Bruno V. Roels. I like 'archive artists'. People like Batia Suter blow my mind. Tell me, are you saying that if I made the same work but with archival materials, people wouldn't appreciate it as much? Maybe the fact that I actually do some work in the dark room makes the difference? People distrust artists that do no real work :-)
^ I also asked that because I feel there's sometimes this pigeonhole of "the archive artist" floating around how people categorise artists. I like that you're using your own images as well as exploring the historical materials, but find something uncomfortable in that, even if you were to make grids using postcards that more or less resembled your own shots, people might appraise it differently. Is this cynical? (ok a little)

For me it doesn't make much of a difference. Maybe I'd think more of old archive boxes rather than imagine you in the darkroom, but depending on the print, the result be more or less the same right? Just like how the art photography world is very isolated from the artworld at large, maybe being labelled as a certain "type" of artist is its own kind of isolation.
I don't care about the 'photographic program'. I care about it as a photography enthusiast; as an artist I don't, I just do what I like. I think that the photography world has forgotten a lot about the possibilities of photography when compared to the early pioneers/modernists. I like the idea of working in a 150 year old tradition. I like the idea that the pioneers were less rigid than a lot of contemporary photographers are now. I also think that 'the photography world' or 'art photography world' is doing itself a disservice keeping itself so separately. (Another thing that the modernists did better). So what you call 'photography program' is of no interest to me, not compared to a bigger, more encompassing 'art program' with roots in history, anthropology, psychology.
Where do you place yourself next to the artworld, then? You clearly don't limit yourself to photography, unlike many of your contemporaries, who seem more focused on photography about photography, about the "photographic program".
I think so, they see it as a tool, not as a fixed set of rules and frameworks and history. The photography side has a habit of not understanding that the most interesting photography looks at a lot of different disciplines. My favorite bookstore in Belgium is in my hometown. They have a sizable photography collection and it's positioned all the way from 'the real arts'. Where do I want my book to be? I dunno.
I remember my tutor Jean pointing out that people on the "art side" tend to be more free with photography, materials-wise. Less adherence to standards.

My favorite bookstore has a sizable photography collection and it's positioned all the way from 'the real arts'. Where do I want my book to be? I dunno.
The Ruscha book was me tipping my hat at other artists working with palm tree imagery. Ruscha and Baldessari for that L.A. vibe, Marcel Broodthaers and Sigmar Polke use palm trees to make fun of the bourgeoisie. There are others, of course. I also made a series of collectibles (multiples) of 5 of the plastic palm trees I've used for A Few Model Palm Trees. I've packaged them the way cheap toys would be packaged. The toys I gave away when I presented the book. I had big crates for people to choose from. It's a gimmick but also I get a strong vibe when I see all the multiples someone like Joseph Beuys produced during his life. It's an endless list of silly and not so silly prints or 'objects' and it warms my heart.

The obvious thing to do was to use my own photographs to make my version of his book. But because I'm also fascinated by dioramas, it took it one step further. It made more sense to me, but it makes for a weird, almost useless book. That's fine with me. I see the book as a key, as a kind of declaration of my interests, influences, scope. It's also me breaking down the walls of the box that I'm in. I don't know why he included so many white pages in his books, but I was more than happy to follow suit. The publisher got a lot of questions about it, people thought it was a printing error. By the way, there is a book that consists of all the empty pages in Ed Ruscha books (Various Blank Pages by Doro Boehme and Eric Baskauskas). So meta!
I wasn't aware of Ruscha's A Few Palm Trees up until I read about your response to it, ( A Few Model Palm Trees). Even though Ruscha's book is pretty hard to access now, it's great to pluck at a historical thread and give it new life in doing so (also, do you know why he left so much of it blank? did he ever give a reason?)

All Rights Reserved: text © Callum Beaney & Bruno Roels; images © Bruno Roels unless otherwise noted.

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On Postcards & Palm Trees with Bruno Roels

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Recently, the artist Bruno Roels has been making short runs of postcards, tear-off flyers and silkscreens, and sending them out to people on Instagram. Known for his framed grids of tea-toned darkroom prints of palm trees, he exhibits with galleries and fairs worldwide.

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Fold by Moleskine: The New Magazine for Art, Trends and Talents

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My passion for photography started when I was very young, around age twelve. I convinced some friends to join me on a photography course, and we learnt how to process black and white film. We use to take pictures of each other. It was so much fun, and that is where it all began.

I kept shooting and even in my late teens when everyone else was going out, I was always in the darkroom, developing and processing film. It was my true passion. I was deeply inspired by the work of Sarah Moon, Ansel Adams, Josef Sudeck and Sally Mann. I would spend hours in bookshops, staring at their work in books. The work really touched me, especially Josef's. It triggered intense emotions; it's beautiful, yet fragile. He photographs ordinary objects, which change over time. I still remember how I felt looking at that work many years ago. Now. I'm making still lives myself, and it's almost a meditation when I'm developing compositions or working on sculptures. I'm always hunting for that deeply personal connection.

Plastic Ocean started with my dog. I moved to Cape Town with my family six years ago. I would walk my dog on the beach and began to find all this plastic rubbish washing up on the beach. I started to photograph it, almost as a witness at first. It shocked me. The sheer volume of it was overwhelming. Everyday it was different, and it started to haunt me. I felt driven to do something with this material, to show my friends and the world what was happening.

Personally, I have always been interested in and cared for the environment, but it was never part of my work until now. The core message of the project is sharing my personal experience, how this has shaped and informed my life and increased my awareness of this issue. The change didn't come overnight. It started with the plastic on the beach, and then it seeps into your everyday life. It forces you to be more conscious about what you buy, avoiding things wrapped in excessive plastic. The project is a manifestation of my journey and the impact it has had on me. I know it's not easy to change, but I hope the work encourages people to do what they can. If we all contribute, then we can start to make serious changes.

My approach to the project was to play with tension. I seduce the viewer with interesting shapes and a delicate colour palette, and when I've captured their attention, the images unravel, and you start to recognise the objects as trash, waste or garbage. You can see by the wear of the objects that many of them have been in the ocean for years before they land on the beach. I want the work to be accessible and people to have prints in their home to serve as a reminder. They are beautiful; yet carry a more significant message.

I can honestly say this project has changed my life. I am now planning to travel with the project and make work all over the world. I am developing an interactive workshop where I can work with communities around the globe, arranging beach pickups and creating a space where we can make art together. I want to bring people into the work; I believe being part of it allows them to build a personal connection with the issues.

I'm also interested in preserving the sculptures I create. They usually are 1-minute sculptures that often collapse shortly after the image is made, but I'm experimenting with making them more permanent.

The response to the work has been incredible. It's generating lots of conversation; people are sharing tips and pro-active actions they are taking, everything from pickups to how they are educating their kids about plastic. It's been a wonderful experience. The project feels so alive; I hope a change is coming.

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My passion for photography started when I was very young, around age twelve. I convinced some friends to join me on a photography course, and we learnt how to process black and white film. We use to take pictures of each other. It was so much fun, and that is where it all began.

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Sacado de un capítulo del libro Vida del ahorcado de Pablo Palacio. En este capitulo se habla de los últimos arboles en medio de la ciudad que quieren ser talados para ser usados en el proyecto nacional de desarrollo. Evidentemente que es un critica llena de ironía y humor, de los discursos homogeneizantes que se producen a partir del nacionalismo sudamericano.

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Tesis y estructura         El fraccionamiento del espacio en el extremo norte de Quito como consecuencia del binario urbano-rural presente en la contemporaneidad.     1. Teorías del espacio y su configuración a partir de la realidad material.              2. Historia geográfica del desarrollo urbano en el extremo norte de Quito en los últimos 10 años.                  3.Nuevas concepciones del espacio, posibilidades para producir un lugar que admita la diferenciación.

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Tesis y estructura         El fraccionamiento del espacio en el extremo norte de Quito como consecuencia del binario urbano-rural presente en la contemporaneidad.     1. Teorías del espacio y su configuración a partir de la realidad material.              2. Historia geográfica del desarrollo urbano en el extremo norte de Quito en los últimos 10 años.                  3.Nuevas concepciones del espacio, posibilidades para producir un lugar que admita la diferenciación.

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Esta película de Depardon es uno de mis referentes porque muestra de manera muy sutil el espacio que habitan los campesinos de Francia y como esta delimitado por estructuras de poder.

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La urbanidad provoca un desplazamiento del territorio rural a partir de políticas que favorecen lo temporal por encima de lo espacial.

La creciente fragmentación del espacio rural en Quito se da a partir de políticas que favorecen el desarrollo urbano.

El desa

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Perfiles rurales
Una exploración de los límites entre lo urbano y lo rural.

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1.Explorar el territorio en el extremo Norte de Quito.

2.Fotografiar paisajes y plantas endémicas a lo largo de la carretera.

3.Fotografiar paisajes urbanos y las casas de la zona (arquitectura muerta).

4.Intervenir la fotografía de los espacios rurales con partes y ciertos objetos de las fotografias de paisajes urbanos.

5.Utilizar el modo de fusión “restar”, ajustar la opacidad y las capas.

6.Modificar el color.

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La modificación del color  y la intervención de las fotografías buscan hablar de la fetichización del espacio.

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Presentar las imágenes en una página web ficticia que evoque esta mercatilización de la tierra, ironizando con esta dinámica.

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https://vimeo.com/ondemand/seeknowevil

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https://www.katriendeblauwer.com/work/