I will always remember the sharp rebuke from my grandmother to be quiet when I asked her and my other relatives to speak English at the dinner table so I could take part in their conversation. It was a pivotal year when my next brother and I began to wear the trappings of our acquired American culture. It was the year we showed up in South Africa with banned Midnight Oil cassette tapes, long hair, and new attitudes. As a monolingual child of pop culture I stood out in sharp contrast to the Afrikaans identity of my Mother’s family. Every summer we would relief drop into a white washed world of mountain views, vineyards, and institutionalized segregation. I grew up a South African whose cultural identity was only an illegitimate government’s passport deep. Passports are pretty thin documents that can open doors or get you kicked off trains (I can tell that story another day) but don’t tell you much about a person’s soul.

The work of Goksøyr and Martens is provocative. It challenges our self serving political discourse and challenges the true limits of privileged political action. It isn't a blanket condemnation, but a critique of empty discource. There are so many people who do good with little recognition and reward, unsung heros who will never grace a billboard. The piece isn't about them, but a challenge to the recent celebrity commericalisation of charity.

On May 18, 1989 Senator D’Amato of New York brought to the Senate floor complaints related to the National Endowment for the Arts $15,000 grant to Andres Serrano, who had created the infamous photograph, Piss Christ. Along with his work and the photographs of Richard Mapplethorpe, the late 1980’s introduced a new level of discourse concerning artistic freedom, public funding, and decency.

Many of Senator D’Amato’s constituents were offended by the artist’s combination of urine and a crucifix, offended on the surface to the image and believing that the artist had intentionally combined the elements as a form of derision. Having gone through the art education process I would have also assumed a high degree of awareness on Andre Serrano’s part concerning the degree of offense that would be taken by any religious group when an object of spiritual practice was photographed through the glowing haze of urine.

“Opton catches soldiers both on guard and off, looking out and looking inward simultaneously, and we can only imagine what they’re thinking, what they’ve done, and what they dread.” – Vince Alleti, The New Yorker

Billboards of Suzanne Opton’s striking images were scheduled for exhibition around Denver and St. Paul/Minneapolis during the two political conventions. Prior to the Republican National Convention, CBS Advertising pulled the agreement and cancelled the installation of the billboards. They were concerned that the images would be taken out of context and that the average viewer would believe that the photographs depicted dead soldiers.

I encountered the news story about the decision to pull the billboards before I had seen the images. Now having seen the images I understand CBS’s discomfort with the project, but I also wonder why we are so uncomfortable with her work? Each of the portraits was taken on the military base between the soldier’s tours of duty. During the portrait session they were each asked to lay their head on the table and have their photograph taken. The intimate, submissive, complicated, distant, transfixing results are deeply engaging.

Long ago I learned to not have conversations with people about homelessness. After 10 years of work in organizations that provide services and housing to people who are homeless, I end up feeling like the Greek Scholar trying to debate interpretation with a fifth grader. Yet, unlike the Greek Scholar, I don’t actually have any answers.

Back in the 70’s and 80’s Polish artist Krzysztof Wodiczko started creating artwork that directly addressed the economic dynamics that cause homelessness. One of his artistic “solutions” was the creation of “homeless vehicles” that accommodated living, shelter, washing, and recycling for people living on the street. Building on his previous photo projections that fabricated armed homeless insurrections, the vehicles were shaped like missiles. Some of the earlier versions were street tested by homeless people, and after a while the various metal parts were removed and sold to metal recyclers. His vehicles were a practical failure.

My family commitment to a single car (recently enhanced by a scooter) has afforded me the unique experience of walking to work and using public transportation in Los Angeles. These street life experiences have opened my eyes to the two parallel universes built into the fabric of this city. In the one universe, life is experienced at 65mph between destinations, with the space in-between filled with death defying maneuvers and regular experiences of road rage. The 10 minute or 2 hour commute encased in steel and glass requires minimal observation concerning the world outside of the windshield and inside the “cage”, as motorcyclists call cars, music and cell phone conversations maintain a link with the protected and controlled life at the points of departure and arrival. All of the sights, sounds, and smells of street life are blocked by the protective bubble of the automobile.

Built into our theology is the reality that defeat in life competes with pretty favorable odds. We live in a world and society too complex for our spiritual, moral, and intellectual development. The result is a sad state of inequalities, injustice, and a trail of wreckage through history. I wonder if the Olympics function more like a distraction from reality versus the peace making catalyst hoped for. Obviously, the Olympics didn't stop Russia and Georgia from pounding each other with artillery.

Whatever meaning and impact the Olympics carry, one consistent theme of the Olympics is the almost relentless imagery of fine tuned physics and the sweetness of victory. One of my favorite features of NBC's coverage is their excellent photo gallery. Photographs of sports are a strange form of documentation. Because sports are based in movement, still imagery often has an unreal quality. Gymnasts become suspended in air, and runner hover over the ground mid stride. What does work is the ability to capture the moment of glory when a swimmer pumps his fist in the air, or a runner lifts their flag above their head in victory. Those are the images that define the Olympics.

I’ve been thinking about the term legacy lately.  

I have a friend. Her name is Laura. Laura takes pictures. We’ve all heard the saying, “A picture is worth a thousand words.” If anyone knows the meaning behind that saying, it’s my friend Laura. Laura has an incredible story. You can read about her story at Photo Legacy Project. 

For those of us who live in the western world, we see thousands of pictures on a daily basis. Most of us are likely to have hundreds or thousands of photos in our own personal collection. Those born in the last  decade or so are likely to have a 3-D, colored photo of himself or herself as the size of a peanut in the womb before they were even born.  

But as Laura and many others know, this is not the case in the majority of the world. Can you imagine how life would be different if you had never seen, let alone owned, a single photo of yourself? I can’t. I have entire albums of photos of me as a baby and a child I pray remain caked in dust in the closet of my parents’ house and yet, there are some who are well into their adult lives who have never seen themselves in photo form and who may never see themselves at all. (Owning a mirror is a luxury as well).  

I feel the need to establish something...I am not a landscape photographer.  I have a small amount of guilt that I love all the possibilities that nature has to offer but I have no way of communicating it with my lens.  I lack the eye it takes to compose a beautiful landscape into an amazing photo I can be proud of.  I can appreciate a sunset over the harbor.  I love a crisp day in the fall with all the multi-colored leaves.  I can't seem to translate my feelings I have for these great scenic views into a photo.  I have given up on trying to make my artistic style fit into the typical varieties of landscape photos.  

On my last trip to Yosemite I took some photos of what my version of landscape photography has developed into.  I have decided not to fight my own way of seeing things but embrace it.  I am not unhappy with what I ended up with but I still felt a bit cheated when I got home and didn't have any amazing photos that communicate the magnitude of what Yosemite is all about.