What I Mean When I Talk About the South

“Memory believes before knowing remembers. Believes longer than recollects, longer than knowing even wonders.” — William Faulkner, “Light in August”

It’s been a while since I’ve written about my pictures regarding my senior thesis. So here’s an update. Since my crusade of shooting 100 sheets of 4×5 film during the summer, I’ve dabbled here and there in Northern Virginia, much closer to DC than North Carolina, shooting only a little bit. Thanksgiving break saw a 90-sheet increase in my shooting and later at Christmas, 140 sheets down. I took my first picture within the bounds of thesis during the first week of July 2011. It’s a portrait of my father on the beach. The last image I took for this project (for now) was of a red out building out in the community of Vale, North Carolina. The sun had just set and the landscape had sort of a blue sameness to it, except for this pale red barn out near my great aunt’s house. I’m not one to take pictures of barns, but with one last sheet left, I couldn’t resist the visual symmetry on this clear, winter’s evening. Sometimes you have to take those kind of pictures to get to the next ones. Both of these images I described were taken in extreme circumstances, 100+ degree temperatures on a windy beach, the other, nearly below freezing temperatures out in the foothills. As of now, neither one of these pictures made it into the final edit.

A lot of things have come up when talking and photographing this project regarding growing up in the South, that is say, Southern memory, personal and historic. I’m not so sure “what’s Southern” can even be described in words without mentioning some of the stereotypes of the culture. The South I grew up is nothing like the South Bill Christenberry or Bill Eggelston photographed. It remains a part of American mythology. To me, what’s Southern is something much more simple than old storefronts, sweet tea, or NASCAR, although I have photographed those things to get to the next things. Coming closer, but never quite being able to define Southern heritage. It’s almost like living in a photographic paradox, separating what’s Southern from what’s actually American, or more importantly, what’s personal from what’s global. Of course I think it begins with the Civil War, but, writer Walker Percy puts it more eloquently. It’s a statement of his I still stand by.

“There is a Southern heritage, and it has nothing to do with the colonel in the whiskey ad. It has to do with the conservative tradition of a predominately agrarian society, a tradition which at its best enshrined the humane aspects of living for rich and poor, black and white. It gave first place to a stable family life, sensitivity and good manners between men, chivalry toward women, an honor code, and individual integrity. If one wishes to sneer at such values, let him; but I can’t help wondering if the sneer does not conceal a contempt for all traditions.”

I think that’s what my thesis is all about. Here are some new images from that body of work.

Great-Great-Great Grandfather J.V. Ozmint's Confederate Calvary Saber, 2011

Summertime Tomatoes, 2011

My grandpa Ed used to carry a buckeye in his right front pocket for good luck, 2011

Dove, 2011

Lutheran Men's Fish Fry, 2012

Near Icard, NC

She grew up in rural Iva, South Carolina during the Great Depression, 2011

Little boy blue come blow your horn, 2012

Opie's Rival, The Andy Griffith Show, 2012

Near Cat Square, NC

Momma under the hair dryer, 2012

Be Our Help As In The Past…

Well with one semester down and another about to start, I figure now is just as good of a time to enlighten (ha) you all about my senior thesis endeavor. Focusing on the Serbian-American and Albanian-American communities across the nation, while also trying to find a definitive understanding of the Kosovar civic identity; I find myself trying to understand and show how these two ethnic identities use their own pasts to define their present and future. This whole discussion though has created some visual difficulties for me like; how do you take a picture of something that has already happened? and how can you operate under the banner of ‘photojournalism’ while also constructing visual representations?

While I wish I could write that I have some wonderful insight and answer to these questions, I don’t. But not all is lost (for now) as I have been doing a fair amount of visual experimentation and writing about these two ethnic identities and the whole role of an image in validating the past, which has led to some interesting results. One of those results is a collage series called, Operation Allied Forces, which is a visual history of the NATO military operation against the former Federal Republic of Yugoslavia during the Kosovo War. The collages are based around major events that took place during the campaign and the testimony gathered through interviews of individuals who in one way or another were apart of the operation. These interviews though are not always completely factual of the events that took place, creating a reconstructed history of the actual operation that may or may not be more factual than the “accepted” history of the campaign.

#54 fts Operation Allied Forces

Trying to keep this in the world of photojournalism though, the images used within the collages are all from public image archives that have been meta-tagged in one way or another in relation to Operation Allied Forces. My thought behind this was that these images are meant to serve as a historical document of the past yet their validity depends solely on either your ethnic identity (Albanian/Serbian) or the country you live in and their willingness to acknowledge the independence of Kosovo. With the uncertain validity behind these images, they form the perfect tool to create a visual history to the operation that also finds its own validity placed in question.

#16 fts Operation Allied Forces

#76 fts Operation Allied Forces

In total, I have created 78 collages (one for each day of the operation) and plan on releasing them within a book series that will go along side my thesis, Be Our Help As In The Past… If you’re interested in reading more about the Kosovo war, Albanian ethnic identity, or Serbian identity, these books were personal favorites of mine:

James Pettifer and Miranda Vickers – The Albanian Question
Misha Glenny – The Balkans
Tim Judah – Kosovo: War and Revenge
Tim Judah – The Serbs 

His Soul in Heaven has Sought its Native Place

Untitled

Untitled fts His soul in Heaven

When I look at this picture I can’t help but sigh. A longing sort of, stressful sigh. A sigh that makes one ache for one’s home country that feels all but near. It’s so much about what’s not there in this picture, myself included. It was a pitiful grey day this past August when I made this image. I had 2 sheets of film left up my sleeve and it was beginning to rain. This was the last photo I made that day and almost immediately after I let go the shutter, the bottom dropped out.

I shoot so much in order to get the magic of that last shot on a roll or in a holder. Once I know I’ve attained some version of what that magic may be, my mind can rest easy. And I did so even in the rain. I took my car up on a steep hillside and made it to a plateau in the driving rain. There I found a little white church, a few houses, but mostly an unencumbered view of the land and of a mountain that’s older than any family tree on Earth. I sigh.

I sigh because my photographic gaze not only looks to the distant past, but also the approaching future of an undergraduate thesis, which means to say, the school and friends I’ve come to know the past three years will eventually become something of a memory too.

I did some research on this posts’ title. I first encountered it in a cemetery in Anderson County, South Carolina, where the roots of my family history began. It was inscribed on a headstone of a boy 18 years of age, who died just before 1900. I didn’t recognize his surname from anywhere, even among the headstones of my relatives and Confederate soldiers. It hit me in a such a way that I felt an overwhelming desire to remember it months later and make two views of his marker with my camera. His soul in Heaven has sought its native place. I couldn’t get it out of my head. I found other graves with this inscription on it too, often coming from Alabama, Tennessee, Kentucky, Texas, and now South Carolina. I couldn’t help but wonder if the young men who died in the South during this time, during the time of Reconstruction, felt an odd sense of pride for their land, mixed in with more recent but still hazy memories of the Civil War. But before they had time to wonder, their lives were cut short in their native place that’s now in Heaven.

Summertime’s Golden Girl and its Close

On sale now in the Empty Stretch store

About My Golden Girl of Summertime and Old Carolina:

As somewhat of a precursor to my BFA thesis project, I made a zine of photographs and text to explore some ideas. By shooting instant film, I became enamored with getting the picture “right” the first time, as it is an expensive process. I quickly learned that it took a certain amount of coddling to get the exposure correct (as my mind’s eye saw it), I had to constantly be aware of ambient temperatures, time, technique, a new piece of camera equipment and most of all the Southern heat and humidity’s affect on chemistry in the field. But most of all, I began to consider missed opportunities in relationship to photography: that moment when the light is just right, when your heart feels it right to set up the 4×5 camera under a dark cloth despite 100-degree weather. Each exposure meant one chance to get it right, to get it perfect. I thought about this idea somehow spilling over into my relationships, missed opportunities to tell those I care about how I care for them and with each meeting, a missed exposure and one less chance to talk.

Through this I began reading The Last Gentleman by Walker Percy whose main character Will Barrett battles many internal and external conflicts, one of which includes the possibility of love with a girl and fellow Southerner, Kitty. I explore my own writing and thoughts about missed opportunities with women as well as Percy’s voice through Barrett’s encounters with Kitty.

It’s $4 and comes with a 5×7 inkjet print.

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I set out with a lofty goal this summer in North Carolina of shooting 100 sheets of film and 100 rolls during my time here. I leave tomorrow morning and I ended up with around 121 rolls and exactly 100 sheets. I read a lot, not just from Walker Percy and my usual Flannery O’Connor, etc. dates, but about my own Southern culture and identity in the form of The New Encyclopedia of Southern Culture from the UNC-Chapel Hill Press. I collected a lot of rejection slips too from photography exhibitions in North Carolina and the South saying my images just wouldn’t fit in their show under the concepts I mentioned. But of course I continued to shoot like always.

I visited where my people come from: a small community called Cat’s Square in Lincolnton, NC where everyone knows everyone. And another small town called Iva in Anderson County, South Carolina where of course, everyone knows everyone. Don’t you know all these places are like a never-ending episode of Cheers. I’m not sure how much I learned by visiting everyone, but I think my mind’s eye has become more in-tune with what my heart and mind wants in a picture. Frankly, I don’t know how much more my head needs to know, only that it hits the heart.

Yesterday I found myself hiding under the entrance door awning of the post office in Newton, NC. The flood gates opened up from the sky and from my vantage point I could see two churches, the library, the auto shop, a few lawyers offices and the dentist all getting pelted with rain. It was the Old Soldier’s Reunion parade: a tradition of honoring the veterans of Catawba County, NC that’s been going on each year since 1889. See it was raining, and I had always been told in driver’s education class in high school that the roads were the most slippery just after it starts raining and coupled with the low visibility and lighting, it makes for accidents. I hear fire trucks and ambulances honking and sounding their sirens to get through the deluge of parade-goers and vehicles. There were already fire trucks in the parade so it was a little confusing to tell which trucks were there for the parade or the emergency across town.

Through the sounds in the street, the honkings, the sirens, I was instantly reminded of life in Washington, DC which I have to return to tomorrow morning. So where my life ended before summer, comes back as a reminder of what I have to put up with come fall. Earlier I began by walking to the mouth of the parade before it spilled its long line down the street, somewhere between the cheerleaders and Civil War re-enactors. I walked with the Confederate actors down the street, and like with just about everything, it was faster than me. I saw the Civil War, WWI, WWII, Vietnam and other heros of war pass before me on my right. It was like tracing my family’s history in just a few seconds, something I had been trying to learn all summer. Like in my research for my thesis project, the past caught up with me, literally and figuratively. Eventually I was left only with myself walking on the street with my camera, a sight I’m familiar with, but it caused me to think. To think about how my memories don’t lie too far in the past or in far-distant relatives or events, but within only the past couple decades, years, days, minutes, things that were apart of an experience uniquely mine.

Maybe I was thinking too much into this simple parade and the act of pressing a button on a camera. Yet on the last full day of summer in North Carolina, a small, dim light was cast upon this vast expanse of future that lay before me in photography or even my life. Of course that light swings like a wind chime in a Southern, baptismal-like rain, like what I was hiding from under the awing of the post office. But it was there for an instant and went away.

Here’s to a senior year full of discovery.

Constructed Text, Constructed Image

In thinking about my senior thesis next year, I’d love to combine text and image in a single piece. Throughout my own photography, photographing vernacular text has always played a big role. The artist statements attached to my works go hand in hand and play off one another. I’m very interested in photographers inflicting their own hand (literally) to their pieces, or asking a participant to inscribe directly on the photographic surface. It’s easier than ever to apply text and image in one entity in the digital age, but one problem photographers must face is how pertinent and important it is to the overall work. I’ve compiled a few photographers that do just that: some old standbys and a few newly found image-makers.

Lewis Koch

Ni Haifeng

Matt Siber

Lorna Simpson

Ken Lum

John Baldessari

Jim Goldberg

Jeff Wolin

Duane Michals

David Shrigley

Gillian Wearing

Know some that I missed? Please let me know!

NEXT

As usual my intentions were there but I am a little late to the game. Saturday night was the opening of the senior thesis exhibition at the Corcoran. The amount of people and support was amazing and I would like to thank everyone who was there.

I was interviewed for a promotional video for the show and you can watch that here.

If you have not seen the show, please come show your support.

There will be more updates in the coming days.