Blog About Photography

Well, so I’m a lit­tle late to game writ­ing about Fjord, but I have to check in on this one because I’m so excited to be a part of it. Fjord is a book project spear­headed by Grant Will­ing and Alana Celii, which they describe this way:

The dras­tic shift in the way work is being pre­sented today has become espe­cially notice­able in the more tech­no­log­i­cally adept gen­er­a­tion. Fjord’s goal is to bring together a col­lec­tion of notable pho­tog­ra­phers from the inter­net and show­case their work in book form. This tran­si­tion from inter­net to book will allow a dif­fer­ent audi­ence to expe­ri­ence the work thus bring­ing emerg­ing artists into the public’s view.

As we all know, pho­tog­ra­phy lends itself rather well to inter­net and, as a result, there’s a rather vibrant com­mu­nity of young pho­tog­ra­phers here. There’s no argu­ing the fact that our dia­logue is hav­ing an impact on they way images are cre­ated. Fjord will be a beau­ti­ful cat­a­log of this tran­si­tional moment. Though we are con­tem­po­raries, I have viewed many of these artists as men­tors as my pas­sion for pho­tog­ra­phy has grown over the past few years. I’m exceed­ingly proud to be included with them in these pages!

Be sure to peruse the gallery. There are famil­iar names in there and also less famil­iar ones, but all the work is absolutely wonderful!

Lastly, get­tingFjord to book­shelves is a is a grass­roots effort. If you can help us pro­mote the book in any way pos­si­bly, from send­ing some cash to link­ing to the web­site to sim­ply dis­trib­ut­ing some post­cards, we’d really appre­ci­ate it. Any extra dol­lars you might have can be sent to Alana thru pay­pal at sail­bel­lyup at gmail dot com.

Phew! Here’s a news­flash: mov­ing to New York isn’t really that easy! Even so, I man­aged to get moved into a pretty sweet loft in Bush­wick — Stock­holm right off Knicker­bocker. It’s a phe­nom­e­nal neigh­bor­hood, bustling and busy, and will soon be the sub­ject of exten­sive pho­to­graphic doc­u­men­ta­tion. I’m real­iz­ing how much I love to focus on describ­ing neigh­bor­hoods or parts of places that some­how relate to my life — this is what I did with La Brea, my upcom­ing project, The Hon­or­able Parts does this also and now I can’t wait to start shoot­ing Bush­wick. Any­who, my room­mate Will and I are all moved in and now I’m ready to start par­tic­i­pat­ing in my life again.

Another rea­son why I’ve been so slow to blog — I’m still work­ing for Won­kette and I picked up another blog­ging gig for Raw Story, which is about 30 hours per week. That’s a lot of blog­ging! So after I’ve done that for 8 or 9 hours, it’s tough to sit down and write my own blog, but I’ll try to get bet­ter at it. This, after all, is important.

Any­way, more will trickle out about my life soo, I’m sure, but for now I have a cou­ple of other posts to write!

A few of my friends in DC have got­ten caught up in some pretty scary drama: the Secret Ser­vice is going after them for protest­ing a Karl Rove speech! Four months ago! Arrest war­rants and every­thing. Crazy!

A full 24 hours after leav­ing Hous­ton, I walked in the door of my friend Emily’s Bush­wick apart­ment, she’s been nice enough to let me stay here while she’s out of town in exchange for feed­ing the cat. Emily and I went to the same prep school through eighth grade and then both left to go to the High School for the Per­form­ing and Visual Arts (The mag­net school proudly issues 3 foot-​​long, white on black Hel­vetica embla­zoned bumper stick­ers to its stu­dents, one still sit­u­ated proudly on the rear end of my mother’s Rav 4. We’ve known each other a long time, is my point. Check out her work, she’s one of the most exu­ber­antly cre­ative peo­ple I know).

So what took so long to get here? Well, I will tell you. The trip stated smoothly. I made it to Houston’s Bush inter­con­ti­nen­tal Air­port with plenty of time to get through secu­rity and take it easy on the other side. No searches, thank­fully, though I did have to explain that my Has­sel­blad was not capa­ble of mak­ing video, which some­how ruled it out as a likely host for an explo­sive*. I ran into another for­mer HSPVA stu­dent, Jor­dan Hunt, who has just been cast in his first pro­fes­sional show in Boston. We talked about peo­ple we used to go to school with and teach­ers that were crazy.

In Chicago things began to go awry. We sat on the tar­mac for­ever. The plane was enor­mous, the kind with three rows of seats across the cabin, each row equipped with its own scream­ing baby. I hap­pen to be a fan of babies, and at first the scream­ing infant fac­tor didn’t bother me. It’s pretty hilar­i­ous how dis­traught these lit­tle peo­ple get over noth­ing at all, and also funny how the fits come in pre­dictable cycles, and their chubby lit­tle faces, etc. Equally adorable are the ner­vous par­ents, fran­ti­cally look­ing to con­nect with who­ever may be scowl­ing with them, to dif­fuse the sit­u­a­tion with an eye roll as to indi­cate, “Hey, man, It’s a baby. What’re ya gonna do?” I was men­tally con­grat­u­lat­ing myself as we sat there, motion­less at the gate, for being such a lov­ing, empathic and gen­er­ally won­der­ful human being. Forty min­utes later though, as we were finally tak­ing off, I was pretty much ready to start smack­ing some of these self-​​absorbed lit­tle bas­tards around.

There was a storm over Chicago, and fly­ing around it added an hour to the flight, land­ing at Dulles almost two hours late. You might be say­ing at this point, “But Greg, Dulles is not an air­port that serves the Tri-​​State area,” and you would be cor­rect. A round trip ticket from Wash­ing­ton was far cheaper than two one-​​ways, end­ing in New York. Round trip tick­ets are far cheaper than two one-​​way tick­ets, and since I departed from DC after mov­ing all my stuff into stor­age last week, I came thru Wash­ing­ton with the intent to take a shut­tle to another area air­port, BWI, to get on the 10:30pm regional AmTrak train (the last one of the night) up to the city, putting me in Brook­lyn at around 3am.

There still seemed to be enough time to make the train if every­one in the van was going to Bal­ti­more and we left rel­a­tively quickly. They weren’t and we didn’t, and I arrived at the main ter­mi­nal at BWI 20 min­utes after the train had departed, the next one sched­uled to leave at 4:30 am. The ride to BWI was $75, clearly worth every penny.

But I’m flex­i­ble. I’m spon­ta­neous. I’m young and ener­getic. I can roll with the punches. I sat on down in a row of air­port chairs, my feet rest­ing on my bag­gage stacked on a Smart­Carte. My head­phones in (though not play­ing any music) and my immer­sion in an intense text-​​message con­ver­sa­tion prompted a man pass­ing by to com­ment to his wife, “Hey, that guy’s really got it made.”

I slept on the floor for a cou­ple of hours in the dark­est hall­way I could find, hid­den behind my Smart­Carte, var­i­ous gad­gets charg­ing from a nearby power out­let. I woke up at 3:45 and headed out to the com­pletely des­o­late ground trans­porta­tion area to catch the shut­tle to the AmTrak sta­tion, 5 min­utes away. At about 4:20, with not even the sug­ges­tion of an appear­ance by the shut­tle despite a sign boast­ing it’s reg­u­lar­ity 24 hours a day, I got in a cab. After two min­utes explain­ing to him why I wasn’t tak­ing the shut­tle and agree­ing on an exploitive price of $15 for the drive around the block. got the sta­tion two min­utes after the train had left, accord­ing to a guy who as appar­ently just hang­ing out on the rainy plat­form. I called up AmTrak (the actual sta­tion itself was still closed) and they hap­pily put me on the next train, a 5:30, as my $60 ticket became a $100 one. It was time to switch from debit to credit.

I spent a very moist 45 min­utes speak­ing exten­sively about Las Vegas with the guy on the plat­form and explain­ing to a police offi­cer as non-​​chalantly as pos­si­ble what I’d been doing in the bushes when he pulled up if not pee­ing (I had been peeing).

At 5:15 the sta­tion opened. I ate a dan­ish. At 5:30 the train came. I got on it. I read the New York Times front to back, which felt pretty good, and then got to work on this post before some of the fun­nier details slipped my mind. I made a to-​​do list. I took a nap.

Then we got into Penn Sta­tion. Another pricey cab ride because fuck the sub­way right now. A key exchange with the neigh­bor who had my key, she was about ready to go to work with­out leav­ing it for me. I opened Emily’s door and went in, put my stuff down, said hello to the cat.

Ok. I’m here.

*Due to a recent ter­ror­ist sur­veil­lance over­haul recently passed by Con­gress, I’m com­pelled to indi­cate at this point that in no way is my cam­era rigged to det­o­nate, nor do I pos­sess an ide­ol­ogy com­pat­i­ble with such an action.

© Greg Wasserstrom

Hello New York­ers, tomor­row I’ll finally be one you. I’ve been yearn­ing to live in New York since I was about 14 years now It’s finally time, though it’s true that I don’t have a job or an apart­ment lined up, I’m going more or less blind. I do have a place to stay for a lit­tle while thanks to my friend Emily who is so gra­ciously allow­ing me to stay at her apart­ment to feed her cat. It’s funny; thanks to this lit­tle pub­li­ca­tion right here there’s a long list of peo­ple I’m look­ing for­ward to hang­ing out with that I’ve never met or met only briefly — peo­ple I’m as excited to see as I would be fam­ily mem­bers I’ve been away from for a long time. I’m resist­ing the temp­ta­tion to list every­one because that’s tact­less and sort of bizarre, but I think a lot of you read­ing this can expect a phone call in the next week or two. I just have to over­come one minor set­back, which is that I dropped my cell phone in a pud­dle a cou­ple hours ago and it’s most cer­tainly not work­ing any more.

I’ll also say that in light of hav­ing spent the last two weeks doing all kinds of end-​​of-​​college bull­shit, I haven’t been able to get as far along on my cur­rent project, The Hon­or­able Parts, as I’d hoped. My neg­a­tives, along with every­thing else I own, besides the few things I have with me while I’m here in Hous­ton, are in a stor­age unit on New York Ave. in Wash­ing­ton and will remain there until I have a place to live, which is as of now an inde­ter­minable length of time. I have been quite happy with what I’ve looked at and have a few images that might end up as part of the book in my flickr stream. I’m look­ing for­ward to pulling more from the pages and pages of neg­a­tives I got back last week, but too late to avoid hav­ing to pack them away.

Also, I used some of my grad­u­a­tion money to finally replace the light meter that was stolen a year ago, though I’ll say I have greatly improved my expo­sure guess­ing abil­i­ties — it’s like I am a fuck­ing light meter. But the spot meter I picked up is a great one. It’s about 30 years old and shaped sort of like a laser gun. I was look­ing through it in the park­ing lot of the hos­pi­tal where my mother works on Fri­day, and a secu­rity a guard came over to the car to ask me what I was doing, prob­a­bly think­ing I’m some kind of ter­ror­ist. Nonethe­less, I feel ready for anything.

Not really note­wor­thy but I’ll tell you any­way: I was at the Museum of Fine Arts, Hous­ton the other day and came across a copy of Nia­gara in their book­store. What’s the deal, Alec? Is this thing out of print or not? I spent like two months (here, here and here) try­ing to track down a copy, and then I come across one in my own back­yard. Any­way, I bought it sort of on prin­ci­ple so, fine, now I have two. I’m pretty much like one of those crazy peo­ple who com­pul­sively buy Catcher in the Rye when­ever they’re in a book­store. I own sev­eral copies of the entire Hitch­hik­ers Guide series for the same rea­son that rea­son being that I guess I’m a lit­tle unhinged. I shared my story with the cashier at the museum store and she did not care.

You may also have noticed by now that I can’t spell to save my life. I like to think that it’s part of my charm. And I promise my next post will be some­thing sub­stan­tive, maybe even some­thing about photography.

So here we go, the biggest adven­ture of my life.