Blog About Photography

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© Greg Wasserstrom

Merry Christmas, everybody. I hope you’re enjoying quality time with your family, thinking about the birth of Christ, etc. And if you don’t celebrate Christmas, you know, like me, then I hope you enjoy the day, few days, off from work or school or whatever it is that occupies your time. Here’s what’s been occupying mine:

• Last week, after about 9 months of “interning,” I began work as a contributing editor over at Wonkette, Gawker’s political site. I finally have a regular gig that also happens to be sort of a dream job! So, you know, go and check out my handiwork and stuff, even if you hate politics! So we do! Mine are the posts that say “Greg Wasserstrom” next to them and for the moment, I write 5 per day. To celebrate, I’m writing this entry in the style of one of my ubiquitous headline roundups. [Wonkette]
• Tiny Vices included me in a recent update, took me like more than a month to find out about it. Also, I friended Tim Barber on Facebook and OMG we’re totes friends now. [Tiny Vices]
• Finally stopped holding up the entire Fjord project. Opps! Sorry guys! [Fjord]
• Website tweak and a couple of new photographs. [Home]

I think that’s everything. So, Happy Holidays, Happy New Year,

© Greg Wasserstrom

I tinkered with the new look of my site a bit more as well as the photographs included in The Doldrums and I’m happy with the results. You can check that out at gregwasserstrom.com. Subtle changes, and I carried the pink through to the blog. Looks ok, I think though I want to redo this entire thing. At the moment I dont really have the technical expertise or the time - plus I should focusing on more posts!

Also, I’m going to start posting more of my writing which hopefully won’t bore you too much (I’ll illustrate whenever possible). I’m realizing, contrary to what I have said in the past, that my passions for photography, writing and politics are all coming from the same place. It’s all the same pursuit - it’s all observational, descriptive, revelatory.

And this just occurred to me. The photograph I’ve included in this post is a newish one, from The Doldrums, and I’m quite happy with it. But a photograph as satisfying as this one isn’t without complication. When photographers take images like this one, are we not literally taking it? What I mean is, since I didn’t this scene up myself, since I came across it in someone else’s apartment, was it not their creative sensibility that makes this shot interesting? Certainly, I composed the photograph, chose what to include and exclude, but doesn’t that make it a collaboration? Can I really take credit for it?

And finally, if i may say so: I’m very happy you’re here. Writing this blog has been tremendously rewarding for me in more ways that I can recount. The reason for this isn’t anything I’m doing at all - it’s you. Interacting with you is wondeful and I’m thrilled to get to know so many people I’ve communicated with through this forum in the real world. This whole thing means a lot to me, so please don’t go away!

Her hair is up, tied up somehow, I can’t really describe it, but it’s like a little girl’s might be. It’s this kind of muddy, indecisive shade of brown. White wires come down from the earbuds she’s got in her ears, her head bobs, her body sways back and forth, lightly, completely asynchronously with the rhythemless flute music drifting across the subway platform. Her coat is white even though it’s the first day of fall and she has a scarf tossed around her neck, its white and black and fuzzy, like TV static. She looks down at her feet, her toes pointed inward and maybe wriggling a bit in her black on black canvass shoes.

Another time I fell in love on the subway, I was coming up out of the station in a part of town I only visit when I need to buy something for the apartment. A girl was walking ahead of me, there was a certain something to her stride, and again those black canvass shoes. It was still warm then, or I should say, much warmer than it is now, and her skin shimmered slightly. On the street we went different directions. I turned around to watch her round the corner. How pleasant that she’d done the same.

Back on the platform, the girl in the white coat she steps forward, peering down the track, checking for the train. It’s coming, and then it arrives. I loose sight of her. I write about her from memory.