Archive for the ‘Residencies’ Category

Come Away In

Well I just found out that I did not make the final cut for the Scotland Residency that I applied for. I had made the initial cut from 180 to 15, but didn’t make it to the final round. I don’t think there was a great chance to win this, as only three are selected and those represent all artistic mediums, but it would have been a wonderful experience.

I’m sharing this with your for two reasons, first I didn’t want you to think that I only share my successes. I am disappointed by the loss of this opportunity and want everyone out there like me, who has gotten these notes that feel like rejections to know that it happens to everyone. Second, I thought you might be interested to read how I responded to the tough questions that were posed for the application. I have such a hard time writing answers to questions like “Please describe your artistic practice?” Or, “What is your interest in this residency?” Deceptively simple questions… I have to say how grateful I am to have such talented writers around me that I can turn to for guidance and feedback (especially after reading 5 drafts). So thank you to especially to Joel Preston Smith and Kirsten Rian… The odds were against me, but I’m know I put my best foot forward.

I think most of us photographic artists are such visual people that we can’t even stand reading the introductions to some of our favorite photography books (shame on us). I know I’m guilty of it. I hope we can all take some time to appreciate the artists out there capable of communicating clearly and eloquently with the written word. I know that as I continually struggle to become a better writer, the more in awe of them I become.

What is your current artistic practice?

The questions I attempt to answer when creating art, are: What, if anything is permanent? How are the things that we value or leave behind reflections of who we are? What around us is a model of humility and inspiration? What lasts? Using refined techniques, I provide a formal medium for valuing and studying informal subjects—in order to pay tribute to things we see everyday—discarded toys, dresses hanging in a closet, or trees growing beside dumpsters. The joy for me in taking pictures is when I am able to look closer, recognize the beauty that is present everywhere, and then successfully communicate that vision with others.

I take great pride in my print-making abilities, and have studied with both darkroom and digital printing masters to ensure that my skills are always at the highest possible level. All of my images are all generated from film negatives, which I scan and print digitally on an Epson Professional inkjet printer on acid-free, archival-rag paper designed for fine art printmaking. I was recently named a Moab Master photographer, an honor given to artists who are redefining artistic standards for digital printing.

Recently, I received a grant to publish my first book, Displaced, which will be released February. While working on the book, I realized that all the choices I have made in my artistic career–including whom to work for, whom to study with, which projects to pursue and when to invest in further education–have all led me toward creating books. I have thrown myself into the study of camera operations, composing images, film selection, negative development, scanning, printmaking, writing, graphic and web design, color theory, bookmaking, packaging, and marketing all in the hopes of arriving at a point where I felt qualified to produce them. I work extremely hard not just to be competent, but to excel at all of these disciplines, in the belief that I can make work that is exemplary, expressive and inspired. Designing these packaged stories is my life’s passion; it is what excites me most as an artist.

What is your interest in this residency?

In 2007, I traveled throughout Nova Scotia, Canada on a self-imposed exile resulting from a painful separation from my husband. Needing a place to escape, to find beauty in, and restore confidence in myself, Nova Scotia provided a safe haven for artistic exploration and healing. In my marriage, I’d become unwelcome, an interloper, but in Nova Scotia, I was an honored guest. I hadn’t traveled on my own for ten years and was scared of being on my own, alone. But, I felt welcomed by a hauntingly quiet land that somehow came to feel like my true home. Toward the end of the trip, I realized that I had changed there—safely returned from a state of anxiety-ridden sadness to one of faith that I would be able to go on—alone.

After returning to the U.S., I felt grateful for being allowed to find sanctuary in such a serene and beautiful place. I wondered how I might present a gift to a place? What could I possibly bestow on New Scotland?

I felt that Scots arriving there for the first time, possibly in exile themselves, would have been relieved to find solace, safety and familiarity in that land. I wondered how often they’d thought back to their past—to what had been left behind and whether it would have made the separation easier knowing that Nova Scotia and Scotland were literally attached at one time and that in a sense, they were now residing in another part of the homeland they had left.

I knew then what I wanted to do—go back to Old Scotland and assemble a photographic record of the sibling land, as an homage to the people and landscape that I was now connected to.

I haven’t been to Europe in twenty years. A lack of money and scarcity of time have prevented me from exploring and documenting the landscapes that I find most compelling. Coming to Cove Park will open my eyes to a different part of the world again while simultaneously giving me the opportunity to visually reunite two places linked by history, people and landscape—to reconnect two lands, and in doing so, honor them both.

How will the opportunity impact your work?

In my artistic career, I have never had the chance to focus exclusively on making art. I am constantly distracted trying to make money, marketing my photographs, teaching and the other responsibilities of daily life. I find it harder and harder to carve out the time to simply create. As a resident at Cove Park, I would be able to dedicate myself to developing a comprehensive body of images of the Scottish landscape.

I would also be extremely enthusiastic to participate in the residency’s Public Programme component. In Portland, Oregon, and around the U.S., I now frequently present my work to art communities and eagerly participate in opportunities to learn from other artists. I founded and now lead a critique/discussion group at the Newspace Center for Photography in Portland, a monthly meeting dedicated to constructive critiques of photography, shaping careers and artistic practice. I am also a guest critic for Portland State University’s School of Architecture, advising students on how photography can improve their communication skills, and in 2010 will be starting an artist book press and gallery called Vela Noche. I firmly believe that artists have a responsibility to share their own work and perspectives, to teach and inspire when possible, and to listen and learn from others.

Because I have not been able to travel much over the last ten years, I have not been able to devote longer than a few weeks towards one endeavor. My other works to date are small, intimate portfolios. Participating in the Cove Park Residency will have a profound impact on my work—in attracting a wider international audience, in my exposure to how other artists approach their work, and most importantly, in helping me take the leap towards a higher plane of artistic and personal growth.

During this residency I will create a new book, Come Away In, about being welcomed home—back to a place I’ve never been.

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Speaking of talented writers, I’m so proud of my nine-year-old niece, Gaby. I created a blog for her as a holiday gift this year and I’m blown away by how good of a writer she is at the age of nine. Her web site, in case you have a free moment is www.gabyvinick.com. Check out the Haiti posts in particular…

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New Work: Still Standing, Standing Still

One of the issues I struggle with in my life is being open. I think it stems from a fear of being judged, that in knowing the real me, I will be found lacking in some capacity and abandoned. It’s something I’ve tried to work through, a lack of faith in anything that would endure.

It is one of the reasons I wanted to become an architect. I thought that in imagining these built forms, I was creating something that would remain, something I could construct that would stand long after I was gone. It is also the reason why I’m so drawn to photographing the natural world, especially near urban areas. Repeatedly, the subjects that I find engaging are the ones that survive in an environment meant to exterminate as a way to answer the questions I continually grapple with: What is permanent? Will anything last?

I became obsessed with this tree’s form and I photographed it more intensely than any subject I have ever focused on. It was alone, with its scars unclothed, threatened by vines, but still standing. I was moved by its quiet beauty and strength, within it a humble model of perseverance and survival.

© Lauren Henkin.  Still Standing, Standing Still 1

© Lauren Henkin. Still Standing, Standing Still 1

© Lauren Henkin.  Still Standing, Standing Still 2

© Lauren Henkin. Still Standing, Standing Still 2

© Lauren Henkin.  Still Standing, Standing Still 3

© Lauren Henkin. Still Standing, Standing Still 3

© Lauren Henkin.  Still Standing, Standing Still 4

© Lauren Henkin. Still Standing, Standing Still 4

© Lauren Henkin.  Still Standing, Standing Still 5

© Lauren Henkin. Still Standing, Standing Still 5

© Lauren Henkin.  Still Standing, Standing Still 6

© Lauren Henkin. Still Standing, Standing Still 6

© Lauren Henkin.  Still Standing, Standing Still 7

© Lauren Henkin. Still Standing, Standing Still 7

© Lauren Henkin.  Still Standing, Standing Still 8

© Lauren Henkin. Still Standing, Standing Still 8

© Lauren Henkin.  Still Standing, Standing Still 9

© Lauren Henkin. Still Standing, Standing Still 9

© Lauren Henkin.  Still Standing, Standing Still 10

© Lauren Henkin. Still Standing, Standing Still 10

© Lauren Henkin.  Still Standing, Standing Still 11

© Lauren Henkin. Still Standing, Standing Still 11

© Lauren Henkin.  Still Standing, Standing Still 12

© Lauren Henkin. Still Standing, Standing Still 12

© Lauren Henkin.  Still Standing, Standing Still 13

© Lauren Henkin. Still Standing, Standing Still 13

© Lauren Henkin.  Still Standing, Standing Still 14

© Lauren Henkin. Still Standing, Standing Still 14

© Lauren Henkin.  Still Standing, Standing Still 15

© Lauren Henkin. Still Standing, Standing Still 15

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Still Standing, Standing Still

Sunday was the last day of my residency at Newspace Center for Photography. I had planned on working on Coexistence during my month there, but I quickly became diverted by an idea for another portfolio that I mentioned in a previous post about the Raymond Meeks workshop I took about a month ago.

This new portfolio, titled Still Standing, Standing Still, was a project that developed out of a love at first sight experience with a single tree located about 30 minutes outside of Portland. If you have seen my earlier work, you may recognize what I now see as my purpose in photographing — to address the questions What, if anything, is permanent? Are the things we own what define us or is it the relationships we have? What enables us to survive the disappointments and heartaches?

I spent this month in particular pondering those questions and coping with an ongoing mistrust of people. The experience of photographing this lone tree has helped on all fronts. And maybe by surrounding myself with others (human or not) that face similar struggles is all I need to manage the anxiety. I was inspired at this place, by this thing, that can’t converse or provide affection, but can still give.

Thank you Newspace for allowing me the opportunity to use your facilities and the excuse to push my eyes into looking closer and extracting the beauty around us that is ever-present.

I am only showing 1 image from this work right now, but will post more shortly.

Here is what I have written for this portfolio:

Still Standing, Standing Still
One of the issues I struggle with in my life is being open. I think it stems from a fear of being judged, that in knowing the real me, I will be found lacking in some capacity and abandoned. It’s something I’ve tried to work through, a lack of faith in anything that would endure.

It is one of the reasons I wanted to become an architect. I thought that in imagining these built forms, I was creating something that would remain, something I could construct that would stand long after I was gone. It is also the reason why I’m so drawn to photographing the natural world, especially near urban areas. Repeatedly, the subjects that I find engaging are the ones that survive in an environment meant to exterminate as a way to answer the questions I continually grapple with: What is permanent? Will anything last?

I became obsessed with this tree’s form and I photographed it more intensely that any single subject I have ever focused on. It was alone, with its scars unclothed, threatened by vines, but still standing. I was moved by its quiet beauty and strength, within it a humble model of perseverance and survival.

Still Standing, Standing Still #15, © Lauren Henkin.

Still Standing, Standing Still #15, © Lauren Henkin.

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Continued Coexistence

Getting back to Coexistence, I thought I would present you with some new images. I began this portfolio stating that I hoped to “show how our obsession to control, inhabit, and possess Nature never really works and eventually a new relationship between the natural and manmade is born, sometimes beautiful, sometimes chaotic, but always interesting.”

Since starting with image #1 shown in a previous entry, I have taken more pictures, some of which I feel fit into the predefined parameters and some which don’t. I’m not sure, at this point whether or not that initial statement even applies. I feel like it may be already heading in a different direction.

When I worked as an architect, there was a continual back and forth between what I wanted my designs to be and what they demanded to be. I tried and tried to control them only to repeatedly realize that in the end, they were their own entities. When the project would get stuck, I would try to interject something new into it and it would move again only to come back to center. I think that developing a photographic portfolio is the same kind of process. I can state from the beginning that it will be this but in the end, if the images are hanging on the wall, will I even want to tell people what it is or does that become irrelevant, inappropriate or even infringe on the viewing experience? I think it’s good to start with an idea or approach and lead the process, but you must be able to recognize clearly when it doesn’t want to be what you hope it is. I am struggling right now wondering if this is really about what happens when we try to possess Nature, or if it’s simply a series of urban tree portraits or something completely different, something I can’t even define right now.

I am presenting these images knowing they’re not a cohesive collection. But I’m trying to organize what my eyes are seeing to try and understand where I should head. For those of you following this project, I would ask for answers to the following questions (and I know these can be difficult ones to answer). What do you like — can you find 1 or more pairs that work together? If so, why? What don’t you like and why? What would you suggest? Any ideas for moving forward? Are you having a similar struggle?

I do see a few different pairings, and I’d like, if you are willing to participate, to compare in a future post what you’re seeing to what I am.

I went to the Corcoran Gallery of Art about 2 years ago to watch the documentary on Sally Mann and to hear her speak about her work. In the film, there is one scene where she’s in her car driving and talking about how the hardest part (I assume she meant in being an artist) are the in betweens — the periods between projects where doubt can creep in…

Coexistence #2

Coexistence #2

[caption id="attachment_74" align="alignleft" width="620" caption="Coexistence #3"]Coexistence #3[/caption]
Coexistence #4

Coexistence #4

[caption id="attachment_75" align="alignleft" width="620" caption="Coexistence #5"]Coexistence #5[/caption]
Coexistence #6

Coexistence #6

[caption id="attachment_80" align="alignleft" width="620" caption="Coexistence #7"]Coexistence #7[/caption]
Coexistence #8

Coexistence #8

[caption id="attachment_82" align="alignleft" width="620" caption="Coexistence #9"]Coexistence #9[/caption]
Coexistence #10

Coexistence #10

[caption id="attachment_84" align="alignleft" width="620" caption="Coexistence #11"]Coexistence #11[/caption]
Coexistence #12

Coexistence #12

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Time & Place with Raymond Meeks

After attending PhotoLucida, I took a 1 day workshop at Newspace Center for Photography with Raymond Meeks titled Time | Place. The workshop was the day after PhotoLucida ended. I was exhausted from the 4 days of portfolio reviews and while driving to Newspace, I was wondering if I shouldn’t be taking the day off from creative thought. I know, though, from experience, that in every workshop, whether a week or a day, I always walk away with something of importance. This experience was not different.

The plan for the day was to spend a few hours talking, getting to know one another and what our individual goals are. Then, we would head off to a site about 20 minutes outside of Portland and watch Raymond make a photograph (see picture below) and then come back and have a quick session in the darkroom developing the 8×10 negative and making a contact print.

It was interesting to go around the room and hear what everyone was hoping to learn and their different approaches to photography. I believe there were 7 students and I was surprised to learn of everyone’s differing backgrounds. There was a commercial photographer, a few who had just gotten back into photography from a long hiatus, one who is a successful fine artist, and two of us had just finished the PhotoLucida experience. We talked a lot about the importance of leaving some questions unanswered in images. We talked about how each of us has been influenced by other photographers. He told a story about contacting Sally Mann and asking her if she thought he was infringing on her style. I appreciated that very much. George Tice has been a big influence on me. I took a workshop with him in Maine a few years ago and beyond learning how a fine print should look, I learned something I didn’t expect. I realized that it was ok to be an urban landscape photographer working on the east coast — that I didn’t need to be in New Mexico photographing the landscapes that many others before me had already shot. This was a very important realization. I bring this up because I don’t recall the description for the workshop saying something like, “Also, you will learn that you don’t have to be a world traveler to develop your vision as a fine artist! You’ll realize you can photograph in your own back yard!” There are things I have learned in every class/workshop that were unexpected. After that workshop I went to work in Charleston, West Virginia on a portfolio I ultimately named The Other Charleston. I’m not sure I would have committed to that project if I hadn’t seen the beauty in George Tice’s work in Paterson, NJ.

I wrote in another post about the artist book that I prepared for PhotoLucida of my series Displaced. I was really interesting in taking this workshop because of Raymond’s success in publishing. I’m not sure what I wanted to hear from him exactly, but I guess I just hoped to gain any knowledge or insight into the publishing process. He shared with us a new book about to be released by Nazraeli Press as well as some handmade books that he had made with the help of his son as designer. I found this part of the day the most interesting. In particular, he showed us one small book with maybe 12 images of his son mowing the lawn… back and forth, row by row. It was a very intimate short book and one I admired very much. I knew then, immediately, what I would take away from the workshop.

During PhotoLucida, Jim Casper of LensCulture presented a midday lecture on a couple of photographers using innovative methods for image creation and presentation. There were some very grand and elaborate processes being shown. One photographer, Myoung Ho Lee, was framing trees with white backdrops in their natural environments. Some of the white canvases span 60 x 45 feet and he uses a crew and cranes to set them up. I remember watching this lecture wondering if Mr. Casper was trying to show us that this is good work, or if it’s the process that is the actual art. I wonder a lot when I visit galleries whether it is value is in the actual piece of art or the process in which it was created. I left that lecture feeling a little overwhelmed and anxious about the difficulty in competing for attention with so many other photographers and wondering, “Do I need to come up with such an expensive and elaborate method for capturing my subjects?”

With that lecture fresh on my mind, seeing Meeks’ little book about his son mowing the lawn made me realize this: I am not a photographer who will orchestrate cranes and a crew to take a picture. I like the solitude of photographing, I like the feeling of connecting with some other being on earth, I like the intimacy of my work. I realized that there are times when I don’t need to take such a broad approach to producing. I can do small little projects, with 10 images or so and narrate a short story instead of a novel. It was a realization that felt just as important as the one I had with Tice and I know that it will stay with me for a long time.

I was very inspired by that little Meeks book. So much so that I’m starting a new portfolio this weekend. More later…Raymond Meeks Photographing

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