Browsed by
Author: H. J. McCracken

52 photographs (2018) #47: A moment of beauty

52 photographs (2018) #47: A moment of beauty

Now here in this one I am wandering the streets of Passy which used to be a remote unwashed suburb that impoverished writers like Balzac exiled themselves to. But today, ach, it is full of wealthy ladies in fur coats with small dogs. But… what’s this?

A moment of beauty

He’s not on the telephone, but he is not combing his hair, it seems…

52 photographs (2018) #45: The frame within the frame

52 photographs (2018) #45: The frame within the frame

It’s often been remarked that photography is easy — you just point the camera and click the shutter. But yes, just where do you point the camera and when do you press the shutter? Looking through the viewfinder of a camera like a Leica is wonderful because it makes this choice obvious — provided you have chosen the right focal length for your viewfinder, looking through the eyepiece you see a floating grey square with space around the edges, reminding you that over there, that is where the photograph is. Or it could be a little to the left. It is up to you.

So at Montsouris last autumn they re-installed a series of panels describing the history of the park and Parisian parks in general during the second Empire. There are interesting stories. The engineer responsible for the artificial lake in Montsouris committed suicide because on the day of the park’s opening a technical error mean that all the water had drained from the lake! And for the display, why have photographs? We are after all standing in Montsouris itself. They simply put a square frame neatly enclosing the landscape. This is where the photograph is.

52 photographs (2018) #44: From the window

52 photographs (2018) #44: From the window

The 31st of October: a minor (expected) outpatient operation and I’m confined to the house once again. In the days that follow I don’t go further than a few hundred metres from here. Of course there is a long photographic tradition of such confinements. Kertesz photographed constantly from his window. And poor Josef Sudek spent decades photographing his house and garden.

From the window

From our front window here? Avenue Rene Coty, and in these days, fading winter light. On the street, below our window, there is a bench where all kinds of Beckettian shows can take place. But on this particular week, I’d perhaps already had enough of waiting. Slanting shadows were enough for me.