Flash Practice, Part II: Self F****** Portraits!

. . . continued from Part I.



After the stunning success in the coal room, I bought a flash rig. Are you hearing this, potential brides? Why wouldn't you want your portraits taken in a basement by some dude who censors obscenities out of his blog titles?

My endeavors all defeat each other and I'm going to die unknown in the gutter. But back to the flash: After a decade of saying I wouldn't, I bought an umbrella and a stand and gels and started reading Strobist. It's not that I don't like flash; I do. It's that, all these years, I thought that flash was a dilution of photojournalistic principles. In fact, every serious photojournalist I've talked to hates flash--it's always a necessary evil.

Then I read an article on Eugene Smith in Photo Technique, discussing his blatant violations of journalistic ethics. All through the article, I was dreading the mention of one of my favorite photos of all time, Tomoko Uemura in Her Bath. It's an amazing photograph with an even more amazing story, and you should read the entire Wiki article to see why I don't post a link to the image itself. It's out there on the web, but you won't get there from here. Anyway, reading the PT article, I was hoping and praying that Gene Smith didn't alter that photo. And of course, he didn't, according to Photo Technique. The only alteration was the flash, held by an assistant.

So that got me thinking. Is it a lie to bring your light with you? Probably so. But, when you strip all the skin off the bone, do we ever tell the truth? These are the kinds of questions artists use to torture themselves. And according to art school, what's the only thing that will quench the fiery hell of artistic dilemma? Self f****** portraits. These are from my "blue period."




And of course, the only thing with more artistic depth than a self portrait is a naked self portrait.





















Made you pause a second, didn't I?

Actually, I shot self-ports because there was no one else to model. Jes was out supporting the family and the cats are so traumatized at this point that they can't stop shaking long enough for me to get a sharp photo.



I hate self portraits. But that last one breaks the rules, and is of course the most interesting. It is very hard to take self portraits of any worth. It is technically hard, in holding the camera and focusing. It is also artistically hard to separate yourself from the image, and swallow your pride. Luckily, after being an "emerging artist" for several years, I have very little pride left.

I like the last one so much that I shot this one, with my favorite art crime of including the light source as an integral part of the image. Screw you, Van Gogh.



Stay tuned for Part III, the shocking conclusion . . .