Tim Soter … blog.

Finally there’s some fresh air here in Brooklyn, time to hit the streets and shoot.

I was listening to an interview with Broken Bells yesterday on Soundcheck on WNYC; Broken Bells is project comprised of James Mercer (lead singer of The Shins, above) and Danger Mouse.  I photographed The Shins for Rolling Stone a few years ago and had a fantastic goofy time.  Now I had people tell me I looked like James several times before actually meeting him so while I was at the shoot putting my camera together, I kept my face turned away from him and asked, “Hey James, when people say that you look like someone, who do they say you look like?”  “I don’t know” he replied, “but I look like you.”  Then we moved on to Kevin Spacey.

I shot in a tight space just six feet away from the reception desk in the Rivington Hotel.  James was role-playing a therapist, taking notes while the rest of the band (three guys) squeezed in on a not-too-wide leather chez lounge.  They were all lying on their backs, freely associating quite loudly while James nodded and wrote it all down.  Guest were checking in (people who had no idea who The Shins are) while bandmates Marty and Jesse were yelling things that are listed below (see “Dr.” Mercer’s notes.)  The Hotel was not happy.  I’ve never laughed harder while shooting.

A year or two after that I ran into Marty (who is no longer with the band) out in Seattle at the SubPop 20th Anniversary festival and had a chat with him.  He admitted seeing me from across the lawn and mistaking me for James (and this is someone he would see every day.)

The photograph above points to our similarities but I think more to our differences.  And my strange bent fingers.

Polaroid SX-70 Sonar (auto-focus disabled) and expired Time Zero film.

These posted scans are references, the actual Polaroids have such subtlety, the palettes of the two are different in part due to the age of the film - you can scan this, rephotograph this or reproduce this but you will never be able to recreate the quality of the image on the surface of the print.

A few photos from a job I shot for Adidas yesterday.

This is also to let you know that I don’t sit in my lair all day over-intellectualizing and articulating the process - nothing’s more engaging than shooting!

I’ve slowly become somewhat obsessed by the ‘before and after’ corresponding to the birth of the internet and ultimately what boils down to analog vs. digital time periods.  Recently I found myself somewhat profoundly connecting with a scene from ‘Crocodile Dundee’ (1986) where the lead character finds himself trapped with the locals late at night in a NYC bar.  Having lived in New York, pre-digital era, I was reminded of what that experience felt like.  The doors might as well been locked because without cell phones, the people in the bar were your cast and crew for the evening; the deck you were being dealt from and you had to make something out of what (who) was there.  This environment had the potential to force you into conversations or situations that you might not have expected you’d be involved in.  There was an un(der)appreciated freedom to being truly unreachable and this wonderful feeling is probably best documented unintentionally in Hollywood movies of the time.  With today’s digital disconnect, one may all too easily find themselves pressing a magic button to “phone a friend” instead of engaging in a conversation with your barstooled neighbor.  And while the argument could be made that one could choose to leave their devices at home, who would?  What a paradox - by disconnecting from your portable communication device you have a higher probability of truly connecting with someone.  Relating this to the creative process, often times a lot more creativity can generated within parameters (”you have to make X within this radius, with these items, in this amount of time.”)  When one has limitless possibilities it’s easy to get stymied, lazy or simply overwhelmed.

I’d like to say that I’m simply working to figure out what systems work best for me, so I can be happy (and connected) and make the best work that I can make - that I’m not making a value judgment.  But that’s not really true.  I’ve spent a good deal of time excitedly documenting people who make things and contribute culturally.  I believe that cultural life is richer when people are truly connected and when there are parameters and hierarchies; when artists try to best each other without the constant distractions of remixed digital nostalgia. I have a vested interest in what the new guard generates, I want the bar to be just as high.

Currently I’m making decisions on how to present a body of work I made which documents NYC nightlife from 1994-2001, the period just before the internet and digital technology starting changing the idea of subcultures, presence and connectivity.  More on that project as I develop it but this is definitely a lead in.

Yesterday I contributed work for a show put together by my friends at Parlour.  On a monthly basis, Parlour curates shows utilizing nomadic exhibition spaces that presents weekend-long exhibitions in different homes throughout New York City.  The show/party was in celebration of the 1,000,000 birthday of art.

“On January 17, 1963, French Fluxus artist Robert Filliou celebrated the 1,000,000th Birthday of Art, which he determined was born when a sponge was dropped into a bucket of water.”

I made this work fifteen minutes before walking out the door - it felt great to be forced to do something quick and instinctive.  I used some expensive last-batch Polaroid SX-70 film which, having gone through a few airport X-Ray machines, has a really low grade palette to it.  Not overthought (a theme that runs through my posts on Process) the finished piece installed appears BELOW.

ABOVE is the isolated Polaroid.  It really brought me back to fun spontaneous creations of the past.

Occasionally I’ll think about an old assignment and wish that I had the opportunity to do it over, in the style and manner in which I’m currently shooting.  There hasn’t been any radical change over the years, I’d just like to add the knowledge and experience that I’ve gained since that shoot.  It’s like a system software upgrade - simply building on a foundation and making improvements.

At some point though a few years ago, I reached a plateau.  There’s definitely a cut-off where I feel that the work found some solid ground.  Before that plateau, if it were possible I would definitely go back and really redo some assignments/after the plateau I would go back and possibly make some minor adjustments with what I know and do now, but it’s successful where it is.  Things can always be improved but it’s resting on the plateau.

(I could fragment this thread into several different directions.  I had a talk with a friend last night about how well Robert Frank made a strong point of not looking back. I could talk about how obsessive photographers are as we very obviously want to control life, stop time, etc.  That’s all been pretty well covered before.)

Lying in bed this morning, I was thinking the photo ABOVE (made after achieving the plateau.)  I shot this two years ago in a hospital in Syria - I’m really happy with it, it’s part of a full reportage story and it’s a good stand out as an environmental portrait made within the full narrative.  But I was lying in bed thinking… if I were shooting this assignment now I would have reached in my pocket, pulled out my Olympus Stylus and shot a separate photo of that TV in the corner. BELOW is a crop of the digital photo I made that day; it’s an approximation of the photo I would have made with the Stylus had I had it on me. It’s a sketch of a photo that would have been added to the ongoing body of work found at TheShipEscaped.

The plateau is so important for me. It’s such a mark of positive mental health. It’s the difference between obsessing about past “failures” and wanting to apply the excitement of the present.

It’s not what keeps me up at night… but it is what gets me out of bed in the morning.

There is a segment in the documentary ‘William Eggleston In the Real World’ (if I’m not confusing this with an article that I’ve read, instead of the documentary) where a student stands up and asks him, “do you take several photos of the (portrait, object or landscape) you’re shooting, or just one?”   Eggleston pauses and replies, “Just one.”  There’s another long pauses as the student tries to find a way to get more information beyond that curt reply and he asks, “Could you tell us why?”  And Eggleston responds that when he gets his developed negatives he would then have to choose between four of five and he doesn’t want to choose.  This of course is all coming though in a slow handed southern drawl and presented in an almost slightly annoyed manner as if to suggest, “is there any other way?”

I’ve tried to abide by this but I confess, sometimes the Olympus misfocuses and I would hate to get back a good image and have the focus be off.  So sometimes I take another shot, though not often.  Then while I’m “retaking” the photograph I’ll make an adjustment, recomposing slightly… and I’m not retaking the photo at all.  I’m taking a new photo.  A variation of the first.  And then I’m left with making a decision when the prints come back.  Above and below and the siblings.  Sophie’s Choice.

The above photo is most in line with the photos I have been making.  The angle and the crop are similar to photos I’ve made for this ongoing series.  But the straight forwardness of the photo below is different and for me a little exciting in its novelty.  It’s a little farther away than I normally allow myself to be.  It seems like is might be less about abstracting shapes and textures and more about the experience of standing there, where I’ve placed the viewer.  I see it both ways.  That is the problem.

In September, the New York Times published a piece by Tim Kreider (here) titled “The Referendum.”  One of the topics Kreider profiles is the frustration that humans have in choosing one path of life - in this case, the choice adults make to become (or not become) spouses and parents.  “We only get one chance at this, ” he writes, “with no do-overs.  Life is, in effect, a non-repeatable experiment with no control.”   I have a very, very difficult time making choices, large and small because I usually can see the possibilities and potential of all decisions and this become paralyzing.

Perhaps all we can do is simply embrace the luxury and privilege of having choices.