Loves Category

One of our favorite New York photographers, Jai Lennard, talks to us about his intriguing, thought provoking work, the intersection between art and pornography, and his “Childlike Wonder” series that challenges us to think about the way sex and childhood interact in a commercial landscape.

Portable: Do you consider yourself a photographer or a pornographer?
Jai Lennard: I’m definitely a photographer, but that could change. Not that I see myself going into “the biz”, but I’m open to do anything creative in any field, which truly makes me feel more like an artist than anything else. I shot stills on a porno once. It was a gay porno and I got the gig while still attending the School of Visual Arts in Manhattan. I was really nervous about the shoot and not just because it was a porno, but because it was truly one of my first real jobs as a photographer. I was shooting front and back box cover portraits of the male leads and took one of my closest and gayest friends to assist me, thinking he’d enjoy the hell out of it. Sparing “sopping wet” details, at one point he looked at me while I was shooting, with a nauseous stare, and said, “I got to step away for a minute.” It was quite the scene, but I held my own.

P: Is there really even a difference, regardless of subject matter?
Jai Lennard: My work is not pornographic in the least. Definitely perverse and thought provoking though. I think the big difference between art and pornography is that art stimulates the intellect and porno stimulates the loins. Though art can cross lines and all sorts of boundaries after the fact. If you’re spending late nights alone with your pants down in front of my images, I’d probably encourage you to stay as you are, but know that it was not my intent to get you there… into whatever position that may be.

P: How much of the sexuality in your images is derivative of your own fetishes? Are you showing us what is sexy, or are you asking us to react/take what we want from the images?
Jai Lennard: The last thing I’m thinking about is if my work is sexy. I obviously love sex, and not just the act, but psychology and depth to what sexuality means for all sorts of different people including me. Sexy is great! Though I’m more interested in getting my viewers to think about topics they’ve never heard of, or rethink the one’s that they already did. The internet has always been a huge proprietor of pornography and with the web growing faster and faster, pornography has grow with it. I think a good question to think about is: which is greater, the supply or the demand? Have people always been sucking toes, purchasing used underwear, or taking number twos on their partners, or did the internet prompt them to do so? I don’t provide answers but love raising questions to topics like these because for me, the most important part of my work is the conversation. And yeah, I guess you could replace me with the people in some of my images, but I’d rather leave your imagination to work.

P: Are people ever offended by your work?
Jai Lennard: I’ve never had anyone say they were offended by my work. I’ve definitely had a few people, all women, say that they’ve seen my work and do it in a way to let me know they consider me a typical boy or childish. There’s a lot of male photographers and artists out there who make sexy work, or work on sex, and so I understand those initial reactions to my work. Fortunately, I always get them to change their mind after we talk about the work for a few minutes. There’s a lot of depth that goes into it, and I believe that various viewers get caught up in the often perverse candor of the imagery; whether it be a penis or dripping wet lips (the pair on your face). I generally get really positive responses, but either way, look forward to the truly opinionated minds that want to talk to me. They’re the one’s who inspire me.

P: What’s the concept behind “Childlike Wonder”?
Jai Lennard: Childlike Wonder is a project about seeing the effects of sexually explicit advertising on children. Minors are flooded with sex through all sorts of media on every level each day of their lives. They often don’t understand or realize to what extent, and therefore don’t see it as we often do; affected as we are in a similar capacity. Projecting well known ad campaigns, and taking out the logo, onto children seemed like the perfect idea of how to illustrate this notion without hitting my viewers over the head too hard. The young boy is 11-years-old and he never got to see the images we were projecting, as his father stood behind me during the shoot. Though there is a series of reactions that I get from him from placing him in the dark, under the projectors spot light that imitate a sort of lost feeling that I imagine most children have under the abundance of sexual media that surrounds them. It’s hard to tell to what extent the imagery is affecting the boy in my images just like we’re not sure how it’s affecting the state of our [North America] children as a whole. There’s simply a lack of conversation.

P: Who’s the kid? How did he come to be part of the shoot and what did his parents think?
Jai Lennard: I can’t tell you who the kid is, but I will say I had help in getting him on board through an artist friend of mine named Grace (wawa) Yang. Grace works with children a lot and I was fortunate enough to have her by my side for this one and also in the creative process. Recently I’ve been really wanting to dig deeper in the topic of children and their relationship to North American culture as it deals with sex. I hope to work with more kids in the future in hopes that it raises some truly concerning and thought provoking issues.

JaiLennard.com

For the better part of her life, San Francisco-based photographer Amanda Durbin has been obsessively recording the moments and events occurring all around her. From the first time she picked up a camera at age 8 when she took an extra-curricular summer class at the University of Memphis—”Photography just seemed like the most fun to me. Thinking back on it now, I actually don’t remember learning anything technical in those classes except for how to load film into my crappy 35mm point and shoot. Maybe it was just my little 8-year-old mind not paying attention”—she’s been injecting her perspective into every image she creates.

“I’m lucky that my dad is into photography as well because he was very encouraging and curious about what I’d been shooting growing up,” she remembers. “He’d tell me how jealous he was of me because “my eye” and said it came naturally to me, which made me feel really special and fueled me to shoot more. It was also really nice to get his hand-me-down cameras and equipment too.”

Since studying Photography and Printmaking at San Francisco State University, the 24-year-old  has been capturing images all over the world of observations, of her subjects noticing their surroundings at the same time as she does. From a man using a point-and-shoot to remember his time with the Mona Lisa at the Louvre, to a lone restaurant patron gazing out a window, awaiting a mystery guest, there is a sense of patience, remembrance and contemplation in each of her shots.

“I see the world as a place to be explored, admired, questioned, and laughed at,” Amanda tells us. “I present excerpts from my every day, but having a handful of odd jobs (working the night shift on Mondays at a 24 hour donut shop, babysitting an energetic red-headed 2 year old, assistant managing a DIY school whose motto is “Drink beer and make stuff”, and occasionally being contracted as PA for Google shoots), my every day can widely vary.”

Amanda tries to bring an iPhone and disposable camera with her as often as possible (“Don’t get me wrong, I love the control I have with my SLRs and sometimes wish I had the clarity and precision they provide for me. Though I figure as long as I have some kind of camera to capture what I want, all is not lost”) to ensure happened-upon moments are preserved in both her memory and portfolio, the visual storybook of her life that’s been a driving appeal of her craft since her first roll was processed some 16 years ago.

“What really captured me and made me a life-long photographer was having my film developed and then presented to me on contact sheets. It was like I was reading a short story that I had written with photographs.”

Hearing Hans Palmboom discussing his passion for photography is akin to hearing Judd Apatow wax lyrical about comedy: it’s so ingrained in him that the thought of him doing anything else is laughable. Every fiber of his being either supports or relates to his artistic pursuits.

The Amsterdam-based artist told us that, despite his childhood love of taking snapshots with his family, it was an adult trip to New York that really set him on his course.

On a short trip to New York City, I shot a photo of a woman in a museum reading a book. There’s this statue and it looks like the statue is looking at the woman. At that moment I knew I wanted to see more moments like that. I then, for the first time, saw Henri Cartier Bresson’s photos online and decided (within my own reality) that we had something in common.

The influence of Cartier-Bresson is evident in Palmboom’s observational style; with each picture you can practically imagine him darting in and out of tight spots, searching for the next unsuspecting subject to capture with a quick click of the shutter. This unpredictability of his candid work is something that was ingrained in him from an early age.

My parents always kept a camera around, and especially my mom was eager to capture spontaneous moments without being posed. We weren’t allowed to look in the camera, and if we did, it definitely wasn’t on purpose. My whole childhood is captured in pictures of spontaneous moments taken on a daily basis.

Later on—I think I was 16 or so—my parents gave me my first SLR, a Nikon F70 (which I still have). A few weeks after I got that camera, me and my brother went to the casino and I won enough money to buy a flash. From that moment I shot rolls and rolls. I experimented a lot, I loved it. Long exposure, zooming with slow shutterspeeds, threw frisbees in the air to fake UFO sightings: all that a creative mind could think of, and that everybody does when falling in love with imagery or having a camera for the first time.

His love of just holding a camera is only matched by his love of what his relationship to the instrument allows him to do and see. “I get fascinated by weird, ugly and strange things, light, people, moments and objects,” he tells us, shortly after giving an example of one of those fascinations, for which he has great disdain: “I hate the amount of streetlights and traffic signs we have here in the Netherlands. They are, from a photography point of view, pretty ugly and obstructing my view on a daily basis. We really have too many vertical lines in this horizontal country.”

Apart from the man-made obstructions in his home country, Palmboom is resigned to the fact that both its weather and his day job there limit the attention he can pay to his craft, but he refuses to be put off by them.

I have another job which I also truly love, but leaves me less time to do photography. I’m a biomedical engineer of origin and when the light is at its best, I’m either leaving home for work, or are on my way back home…I like harsh sunlight and shadows, the warmer the weather the better. So during those long winters it’s very difficult to get motivated. Also, most of my favorite photographers are Americans, and they all seem to bath in the light I enjoy so much, and that I am deprived of.

When I’m in my zone and the light is right, I can’t sit still or barely sleep. I’m scanning my surroundings constantly for moments. Every time I go out to shoot, I try to see things like it is the first time I see them. I sometimes even close my eyes just before pressing the button.

For too long I have thought I had to completely compose every shot in my head before taking it. Lately I am back to my roots, not thinking too much about how it should turn out, but trying to be surprised again as it was the first time I had a lucky shot. I love looking at photos with a little imperfection. To me that’s thinking: I see what you did there, fellow photographer, and you don’t care either.

In the photographs of Italian artist Ilaria Luciani, we are made privy to the inner sanctum of femininity where girls and women languish in oceans and bathtubs, hair is kept long, and emotion teeters just below the surface of what we see.

Born in Milano, interior decorator Ilaria lives in Reggio Calabria with her husband and “a big fat cat named Apple”. While her father, who always took pictures on their family vacations, influenced her artistic direction, her career trajectory was spurred on just five years ago, when a friend saw her travel pictures from a trip to London and encouraged her to publish and sell her work. “That was something I had not even thought of, and since then I never stopped.”

In order to best capture her view of Italy, only rarely is Ilaria not armed with her Canon 5D Mark II or Leica D-Lux 5. “Sometimes I don’t have the opportunity to have them with me,”  she explained to us, “When this happens, even to the supermarket or post office, I shot with my iPhone. I feel never naked in this way.”

When we asked Ilaria what it was about the way she saw the world that made her pictures so special, she mused:

Good question. So good that I think I still don’t have the answer ,and this is why I need to continue to shoot. Photography is a journey, a path changing. My pictures are different from those of three years ago, and in three years they will be different again, and again. We grow, and our photos grow with us. What excites us today is not the same in ten years, but a photo will make us relive the same emotions. It’s life’s job to give surprises.

The eerie landscapes and spooky scenes captured in the work of photographer Patrick Joust are a result of his desire to better acquaint himself with Baltimore, Maryland when he moved there as a stranger to the town a decade ago.

“I moved to Baltimore to work in Americorps as an educational mentor/tutor/jack of all trades,” Patrick told us. “This position involved a lot of driving and walking around to different parts of the city. As I got to know the place more, I wanted to try and capture my impressions. I took a couple decent shots back then, but I didn’t really develop a clear direction for my work until much later.”

As the subject and location for his work, Patrick’s view of Baltimore is very different to ones you’d see in, say, the films of John Waters. While it shares the gritty reality the filmmaker finds in the city, Patrick’s work anthropomorphizes the town itself, rather than the subcultures that exist there. Armed with his medium format cameras, he spends a four-nine hours in any given week seeking out new places and perspectives to capture.

“While I’m sure there are “decisive moments” out there that I’m missing, I tend to take the attitude that there are a lot of good photographs just waiting for me, or someone else, to capture and that it’s just a matter of wading into “the stream” in order to get a lot of those shots.

I work in downtown Baltimore and see interesting scenes just about everyday. I also live in a great and lively neighborhood. I know I’m “missing” a lot out there, but that’s okay. I think I would be more stressed out about the idea that I might not be missing opportunities. The important thing is to try and make some time during the week to take pictures. Some weeks you’ll take more and others less, but I think good photography requires a concerted effort so that a decent pool of photos is created to draw from.”

The 34-year-old librarian regrets the pictures he didn’t have the skills or confidence to take during his high school and college years, but sees the study of art he did during that time influencing his haunting practice, rather than viewing them as wasted years.

“I’ve always had a big interest as an observer of art, particularly painting, and I spent a lot of time as a teenager and college student in art museums and looking at books and I think that some of that might be helping me now. It’s hard to say though because I don’t necessarily see those connections day-to-day, while I’m out shooting…My participation in online photo sites like Flickr has especially helped to build within me a sense of momentum when it has come to taking pictures and improving my output…I find myself looking at dozens (sometimes hundreds) of photos a day. It’s easy to get inspired when others are doing the same kinds of things that I’ve been wanting to do or making new subjects and methods accessible. While I’ve never formally studied or taken any courses in photography, I think I’ve gotten a pretty good education this way.”

Erik Mowinckel‘s photography allows us both a thorough and limited view of his home city of Oslo, Norway. Often operating within the frame of portrait images, the 23-year-old rarely awards his viewer the luxury of context; we get only glimpses of the moments he captures, and have to build our own stories about the people and locations that exist in Erik’s work as fragments, as tiny portions of a whole.

Erik began his pursuit of photography in earnest during his teen years, when he and a friend started to take pictures of one another. “We borrowed this compact digital camera from my parents that we would film “stunts” with,” he told us. “After a while we started snapping photos instead and editing in wild colors in whatever software I was using back then. We got more into it, bought analog cameras and started taking long walks around the suburbs where we lived to find locations to shoot.

“I think what I loved about photography in addition to the photographs was the process surrounding the pictures; the walking and looking, the good feeling and anticipation after taking a shot. That was enough for me not to stop.”

Many of his images give the feeling of movement—whether it’s something moving within the frame or the image expressing the idea of travel, of moving on or running away—and, for Erik, this is representative of his state of mind and physical location.

“I prefer taking photos when I’m traveling, it doesn’t have to be a long trip, just a change of scenery…I feel like my photos could be taken anywhere.”

Commenting on a photographer’s use of light is ultimately redundant, as the play of both natural and artificial light on objects in a frame is one of the foundations the craft is built on. And besides, Brooklyn-based photographer Elizabeth Weinberg is not content to just rely on this one element; she infuses each of her images with the cornerstones of nature. Water plays a large role in her personal work, which captures youthful vitality and quiet moments of solace both above and below the surface, while portions of her commercial projects utilize the spontaneity and feeling of danger that fire instills in a scene.

A graduate of Boston University’s photojournalism course, Elizabeth relationship with the craft and the camera has always been a part of her.

I don’t know why I do it, but it’s an integral a part of me. I began shooting casual snaps of my youngest sister when she was a baby and as she grew up before I left home for college (we’re 15 years apart). That’s turned into a project that continues to this day. Photography was always just a part of my household growing up; we had photo albums everywhere and photos all over the mantle. I really like preserving artifacts and ephemera from my past so I guess photography was an easy way for me to do that.

The 29-year-old has a decided knack for savoring the fleeting, ephemeral moments in her life, and a glance at her portfolio is akin to flipping through someone’s memories of their best summer vacations. This personal feeling we get from viewing her work is one that would not be possible if it existed in any other medium.

I actually used to enjoy writing immensely. However, I’m not the most patient person and taking a picture is a lot quicker than sitting down and writing a short story. It also leaves things a bit more open to interpretation for the viewer. Even a glance will suffice. I want for my pictures to evoke a visceral response in people—to make them wish they were there, or to remember a time or place in their lives; that is the most successful work I can make.

Elizabeth told us that, to not be taking pictures would “be like if I took one of the main facets of my life away,” and this passion for her craft is clear in every water ripple, ray of sunlight and captured glances that she immortalizes in her images.

I like to catch people in an unguarded moment: something that’s relatable. It’s pretty incredible that I can make a living taking pictures because people respond to the way I see the world. It’s an honor.

Rising photographer Kelsea Kosko draws thoughtfulness and delicacy from her mostly female subjects, many of whom are as young as their photographer. An 18 year-old Florida high school senior, Kelsea has a knack for capturing the intricacies of burgeoning femininity that feeds into her contributions to photography zine Alorika mag. We spoke with her recently about her entry to the craft and the places it’s taken her.

When and why did you being taking pictures? What was it about the medium that make you want to continue?

It wasn’t until a few summers ago, when my mom passed down to me her 35mm Minolta, that I seriously began to integrate the magic of picture-taking into my life. I wish I had started sooner.
I have always been one to obsessively record any moment or experience that holds some meaning for me. In the past I always did this through writing, either in a journalistic or creative manner. Photography is another strand of documentation, it’s more of an art form, and I think it opened up a lot of doors when I discovered how much it can enhance and preserve memories.

What elements of femininity are you trying to capture in your work?

My images are a way of not only documenting what I am privelaged to see, but also as a way to capture images that I want to see, photographed from ephemeral scenarios I create for myself. I like to do shoots after I read some bit of literature or whatever we’re studying in english class, and portray the feminine characters in a contemporary light. I suppose fragility, and vulnerability, are recurring themes in my work..almost without intention. I think in a way you are seeing my reflection, to some extent.

What is the trickiest shot or shoot you’ve ever worked on?

In my town there’s this rooftop that all the kids love to climb up to, and to get there of course requires trespassing… It has a really neat graffiti piece on the wall, and it’s completely silent and still. It feels like you’re tucked away between the brick buildings of a 1920s city slum, and you’re the only person left. I don’t think anyone’s ever gotten in serious trouble for being up there, but it’s fun having to be stealthy…especially when you see a head poke out from the restaurant kitchen beneath you, furiously looking for the perpetrators he could have sworn he just heard from above. I have some beloved shots from that roof.

Do you think you need to know a subject in order to take a portrait of them that will do them justice?

No. I’ve taken pictures of people that I’ve only met that same day, and we end up getting some beautiful shots.
Some subjects are incredibly photogenic by nature, others a little anxious. I don’t think it matters how long you’ve known the person; what really matters is the photographer’s ability to make the subject feel comfortable and at ease. Taking photos of someone is an incredibly intimate experience. By the end of the shoot you have gotten to know the person so much better. It’s very odd.

From his home in Seattle, photographer Cody Cobb travels across the United States seeking out the best landscapes to visit, immerse himself in and ultimately capture. Armed with only a point and shoot camera, Cody—who is untrained in his art—infuses his overwhelming natural subjects with a sense of curiosity, and draws out the personality in inanimate beings.

Your landscapes are stunning—how many of them are planned and composed, and how often do you work spontaneously?

I immerse myself in these landscapes for days, sometimes weeks. I don’t plan the shots but I plan my treks very thoroughly so that I’m prepared and comfortable while alone in the wilderness. Being alone seems to heighten my awareness and ability to observe. I study the map carefully but I’m always so surprised by the territory when I’m actually there. All of my photos are spontaneously captured with a point and shoot film camera. Shooting film has helped my photography so much but it’s not very environmentally friendly. I feel like I’ll eventually need to transition back to shooting digitally but hopefully I can carry over what I’ve learned from shooting film.

When and why did you become a photographer?

I first started shooting with my friend Alex around 2004. We were spending a lot of time creeping around abandoned buildings and driving all over South Louisiana at odd hours of the night with our cameras. Even though we live in different places now and our interests and environments have changed, his work continues to inspire me.

Only recently have I really considered the possibility of being a photographer full-time. I’ve worked as a motion designer and 3D animator for the last 10 years. Spending so much time outside makes it really difficult to transition back to sitting at a glowing computer screen trapped in a gray, gridded world manipulating polygons and f-curves.

What has the response been like from putting your work online? What’s your relationship with the net as an artist? Do you see it as an integral part of creating in 2012?

I’ve only shared my work through Flickr. I’ve never seen my photos printed out and put up on a wall. I’m very grateful that I’ve been able to share my images with so many people and such incredibly talented photographers, artists and writers. There’s such an overwhelming flow of images online right now. It’s so hard for me to imagine my photos standing out in that flow for more than a few seconds before the viewer moves on to the next post. I suppose that’s the reality of how people consume content today, but I’d really like for my images to nudge someone offline and into the woods.

When she’s not teaching math to sixth graders, creating jerking animated GIFs or compiling tactile collages, chances are Austin-based photographer Abbey Lee Sarver is packing her bags and planning her next getaway.

The 26 year old graduate of Philadelphia’s Tyler School of Art credits the internet with inspiring her and strives to capture with her camera the infinite wonder of the natural world.

“I have been moving around a lot since graduating from college,” Abbey tells us, “And the nomadic mindset and lifestyle is a big part of who I am. I’ve gone from living in a soap factory in Philadelphia to a few different farms in southern Oregon and a place called the Solar Ark in northern New Mexico. I ended up in Texas. I tried settling down in Albuquerque because I am so drawn to the geography of New Mexico and the desert, but Albuquerque sort of sucks as a young creative place.”

Amongst intimate images of her friends and loved ones lie Abbey’s greatest visual feats: images emphasizing human’s infinitesimal presence on Earth.

“I have been working with landscapes, often with a lone dwarfed figure somewhere thrown in there. The idea of drowning one’s ego. It feels so good to realize how inconsequential you are, when all your life you’re bombarded with the feeding of your ego. I started that formula when i was in college and had access to 4×5 cameras. I took lots of photographs in the strip malls in the northeast. The idea that the most expansive space out there is a parking lot. Then I drove out to the west a few times and realized there is large enough natural space that has the power to squash anxieties. I can’t get enough of the western US. Right now I’m looking for a space to make more work—I want to buy a camper or trailer to put in my backyard and use it as an art studio. That way if I want to move, it won’t feel like I have to pack up everything and restart.

I am currently trying to settle down more to make larger works and take my art more seriously. I found Austin, TX to be chill enough to stay for a while, but there is no mountain here for me to escape to so I might have to move again soon.”