January 27 - Shoot w/ Alee Jakimowicz

The Philosophy: While we still glorify the period, modern America has moved on from the culture of the cowboy and the American West. Just like Zeus and Apollo, characters like Billy the Kid have become immortals in the realm of American mythology. Recent films, like 3:10 to Yuma, No Country for Old Men, and There Will be Blood only accentuate how remote that era now is from reality. Also, our fascination with these immortal characters is really a way for us to deal with our own mortality.

 

            I was gathering my bag to go down to St. Marks church when it came to me that it had been almost a year since I photographed Jimmy Webb, the flamboyant owner and manager of the clothing store Trash and Vaudeville, and I had yet to give him a copy of his portrait, despite having come down to St. Marks multiple times. I mention this because I really believe that the photographs I took of Jimmy Web were a really important point in my career as a photographer. Before it, I knew I wanted to be a photographer, but I was never really sure of myself in terms of where I wanted to go with my art. I’m almost certain that without those photos, I might be doing a very different senior project today.

            I arrived on St. Marks place at around 3:00, knowing Alee wouldn’t arrive for a half an hour or so. I love walking around the street; sure, it’s possible the street is now somewhat more gentrified than it was before, but it’s still a hip place. The new stores, which some say are destroying the culture of the three-block stretch, are still part of the hip underground. And if you ask me, a little bit of commercialization is a small price to pay for the PinkBerry that’s opening there. The first thing I did was to go to Trash and Vaudeville to drop off the picture. As a token of his good will, Jimmy took me down to where they keep the t-shirts advertising the store, telling the extremely pierced sales clerk to give me shirt free of charge. He had already made this offer when I had first come to see him, but I decided I could get one for Nina. The clerk and I spent a good ten minutes looking for a shirt the right size. I finally settled on a small, after having to explain three times that a white boys medium was not equivalent to an adult XS and would shrink even more.

After that, I hung around the Bamn! Automat until Alee finally called me. We walked over to St. Mark’s Church, in the wrong direction at first, negotiating our first challenge, where could we change into our costumes? (In exchange for posing for my photos, I foolishly agreed to pose in my pajamas in the middle of the graveyard.) We decided to “try on” an item at Urban Outfitters, and in the process change into our costumes. It was the first time I had ever taken off my pants to try on a shirt.

Once we had changed we went over to the back of the church to shoot. I posed first, and though I was in public in 37° weather, I somehow felt impervious to both the cold and awkward glances of people passing by. Just when I thought I was beginning to freeze, Alee finished up. This time the photo shoot was slightly less automatic, because the now bitter cold was causing my hands to freeze on the metal camera. But what was even more jarring was that every once and a while, I’d notice the people staring at the two teenagers in the graveyard, one with a cowboy hat and the other with a camera that looks like it was made when they still called them “talkies.” I hadn’t reacted when I was posing, because I had nothing to say. But this was my project. I wanted to run to the gate and scream, “I’m not an idiotic teen! It’s about the death of American mythology and its use to mask the inevitability of our perdition! You’re the idiots!” But I kept my cool, because I know that at the end of the project, these photos will have to speak for themselves.

January 20th - Shoot w/ Myrsha Santos

The Philosophy: That in today's world, even the simplest mental illnesses, such as bipolar disorder, depression, or paranoia, are being treated with drugs rather than with therapy. Not only do these drugs cause addictions and dependencies, causing even more problems for the user, but they have become recreational drugs as well for teenagers and young adults, and have thus become a part of youth drug culture in the form of activities like "Robo-Tripping" and "Pharma Parties."

My first photo shoot of the project was with my friend Myrsha, whom I had not seen in over a year. As an individual, I admired her. She is a 17 year old, Hispanic girl living in the Bronx. Yet somehow she and her friends listen to bands like Metallica, Avenged Sevenfold, and Megadeth. Knowing her personality and style—and not wanting to spend a huge amount of money on authentic looking clothing—I decided that she would be a great choice for my setting of a depressed “goth” girl looming around the local Duane Reade.

On the day of the shoot, I was waiting around my apartment with my brother, who decided he wanted to come along for the shoot—he’s begin to take an interest in photography himself. When the doorbell finally rang, I discovered Myrsha wearing a black trench coat, about a bottle and a half of eye makeup, black and white striped knee high socks with fishnets over them, and a pair of six inch platform boots that would have made the lead singer of the Misfits stumble. She was with her sister, Myrna, who had decided to come into the city with her younger, seemingly more angst-ridden sister.

We went to the Duane Reade on 88th street and Broadway. I had warned Myrsha of the possibility that the drug store would not let us take pictures inside, and that we would have to find a way to shoot outside. What I had not anticipated was that it would be freezing cold with the wind blowing. So we walked into the store, walked to the back where they keep the pain pills. (Another note, that’s also where they keep the laxatives and adult diapers, conveniently next to each other. The diapers also had strange names like “Prevail,” and “Depend.” But I digress.) Somehow, under the watchful eye of pharmacists, baggers, and sales clerks, we were not approached once, not even by the drug store’s “civilians,” or as others might call them, “customers.” We got some awkward looks, but never a single question.

The strange thing was that the taking of the photos almost seemed like the most boring part. Myrsha would look one way or the other, I would tilt my camera to try to accentuate the “Rx” in the sign above her or the Advil she was looking at; the whole thing felt very mundane. I guess one thing that I learned about photographing constructed environments is that, like in conceptual art, half of the photo’s expressive nature has already been taken care of. As we walked towards the café near my house in search of a well-deserved hot chocolate, I realized that this project is going to put me into a role similar to that of an architect. The plans and blueprints have already been drawn for this project, now I just have to build it.