ISO Fall 2008 by Michael George

FALL 2008

ISO ISSUENO1FALL2008 TSOANYU

ISO EDITOR’S LETTER

A LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

ISO MAGAZINE TISCH SCHOOL OF THE ARTS NEW YORK UNIVERSITY EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Michael George michael@isozine.com SENIOR EDITOR

Here at NYU, we are provided with a rare opportunity to be surrounded by many talented artists within an exceptionally concentrated space. However, it also seems that many times great work is overlooked. For this reason the inaugural issue of ISO magazine marks a new opportunity for student photographers. ISO aims to provide a place for students to showcase and to publish their images with the hope of initiating a dialogue about the everexpanding world of visual culture. As photographers we exist in a transitional time. We are maturing within the proliferation of digital technology and now find that our perspectives are evolving away from those of our predecessors. As we attempt to hold onto the past while questioning the future of the medium, our conglomeration of images provides a taste of our generation’s outlook. In this first issue, we touch upon the uncertain prospects of contemporary photography. Presenting a gallery that resonates with change and transient moments, the curators have found an unlikely grouping of images that fall into a rhythmic progression. Our featured artists are as varied as they are engaging, and the diversity of articles from faculty and students initiates a commentary that fosters fresh thinking. Additionally, we welcome the insight of a working professional by exploring the depths of Keith Carter’s new book A Certain Alchemy. It is an inherent quality that photographers work individually. This leads me to wonder about the power of collaboration, and I find myself left with the question: Why not? Before we thrust ourselves into a contemporary art world, which can be more daunting than anything looming on the horizon, it is necessary that we acknowledge the few chances we have to exist within a community of such talented individuals. As such, we are a new publication with developing ideas and a malleable future. It is my hope that you will take a moment and visit isozine.com to officially join the club, submit your work, and help us grow – but for now, please turn the page and enjoy.

MICHAEL GEORGE

Corinne Rapone corinne@isozine.com ARTISTIC DIRECTOR

Danlly Domingo danlly@isozine.com CURATORS

Sasha Arutyunova sasha@isozine.com Jenna Spitz jenna@isozine.com FINANCIAL SUPERVISOR

Mia Torres mia@isozine.com COMMUNICATIONS DIRECTOR

Adrian Wenzel adrian@isozine.com DESIGNERS

Nina Culotta Danlly Domingo Michael George Adam Uhl Adrian Wenzel SPECIAL THANKS Natalya Arutyunova Wafaa Bilal Keith Carter Irene Cho Delion Gourmet Deli Danny Domingo Thomas Drysdale Carol Klein Editha Mesina, Faculty Advisor Mark Mett Marshall Mundheim Paul Owen Shelley Rice Fred Ritchin Patricia Snavely Lawrence Spitz Marco and Sue Torres Deborah Willis, Chair Department of Photography & Imaging Tisch Undergraduate Student Council Cover: Emily at the Pool Hall, Collin LaFleche; Inside Front Cover: Airport, Andrew Ellis; Inside Back Cover: LA River, Paul Perez; Back Cover: Pool, Margo Herre

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

CONTENTS A LETTER FROM THE EDITOR INTRODUCTION

BY SHELLEY RICE

08 OPEN DOORS

COLLIN LAFLECHE: RIGHT AFTER

BY SASHA ARUTYUNOVA

COMMERCIAL BREAK

BY PAUL OWEN

BY CORINNE RAPONE

MARGO HERRE: MEDITATION

BY CORINNE RAPONE

ROBERT SUKRACHAND: 74TH + ROOSEVELT

BY MICHAEL GEORGE

THE PHOTOGRAPHER’S DILEMMA

BY MIA TORRES

KEITH CARTER: A CERTAIN ALCHEMY

BY MICHAEL GEORGE

UGALLERY.COM

BY MICHAEL GEORGE

PHOTOFLO

THE GALLERY

DIRECTORY

HOW TO SUBMIT

ISO INTRODUCTION

INTRODUCTION I suppose I am not surprised that the students in the Department of Photography & Imaging have initiated publication of a ‘Zine – a showcase for work and a vehicle for outreach that will help them contextualize their own endeavors within the global and intergenerational art world. The privilege of teaching is that, for better or worse, one is plugged in to social changes in the early stages, on levels that might not be obvious to statisticians for another decade. One of the things that astonishes me about the current crop of student artists is the difference between their frame of reference and my own: the generational shift in consciousness has become very evident in the past few years. Often this change manifests itself in new definitions of artistic communication. Those of us who are now aging hippies were very interested in self-expression, in exploring the inner recesses of our minds and bodies and visualizing complex and private processes. This imperative was uppermost in our minds. Once we’d nailed it, distribution and exhibition issues seemed like very important afterthoughts to the creative process. Young people today, on the other hand, growing up with Internet, with Facebook, with YouTube and the like, see the creative process in a different light: as a continuous communication that is not complete unless it has reached and interacted with its audience. Individual statements are no longer self-contained. Now they are propositions, suggestions, vehicles for the circulation of images and ideas whose raison d’être is to promote exchange, dialogue, transformation. This new ‘Zine, therefore, is really the extension of our students’ creative act, their participation in the forum that is the international image network. As Yoko Ono suggested, they are using artistic expression to “think globally and act locally.” We in the Department of Photography & Imaging at the Tisch School of the Arts at NYU thank them for their initiative, which is “launching” all of us into the new terrain of the 21st century together.

SHELLEY RICE

OPEN DOORS AN INSTALLATION BY PROFESSOR PAUL OWEN Wandering about the department, especially in the evening when doors are normally closed, you may have noticed the ongoing trompel’œil installation by Professor Paul Owen. “The purpose for Open Doors was two-fold,” states Professor Owen. “Students work on personal projects in my classes, and I wanted to produce a project along with them as part of the class. Open Doors, a site-specific installation that requires precise lighting, is consistent with both the Photography & Imaging III and Lighting courses. I also wanted to do something with photography that was fun for me and contributed playfulness to the department.” “I often stay late in the department when everyone has left and the doors are closed. It always feels so empty. The faux images give a life to the space. There is a sense that it is busy – things are still happening. Most reactions have been a double take and a smile. It energizes the department because it emphasizes the positive working environment and it changes how one feels while he or she is here.” Paul intends to complete the project by the end of the semester. I’m sure you will notice as increasingly more doors remain open. ■ The door-sized images are printed by NYU’s Advanced Media Services (AMS).

Open Doors is located on the 8th floor of 721 Broadway in the Department of Photography & Imaging.

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RIGHT AFTER

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COLLIN LAFLECHE

“...everything you thought at the time was pretty much wrong.” Collin LaFleche

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FEATURED ARTIST:

by Sasha Arutyunova

COLLIN LAFLECHE To describe Collin LaFleche’s project Right After as merely a collection of photographs documenting graduating high schoolers in New York City would be a gross oversimplification. Yes, his subjects may be drinking, watching porn, ditching cabs, running through dark city streets (activities marked with some late adolescent rebellion), but LaFleche’s focus is not to separate them from any other teenage life. They speak of a restlessness caused by the realization of the fleeting moment and of the persistent search for extremes to alleviate common boredom. The images resonate with the momentum of youth as they move from parties to diners to post-prom hotel rooms and briefly pause in poignant, pensive portraits that complete the nostalgic tone of the project. In our conversation LaFleche describes how this semi-autobiographical work began by sheer circumstance and evolved through the lives of his subjects. SA: To begin, could you give us some background on how the project began? Opening: Matt, Will, Henry, and Ray; Below: At School; Opposite: Henry Holding Emily

CL: The project started in January 2007. I met Will and some of the other kids in December 2006 when I was working on a project about teenagers’ bedrooms but realized that while the bedrooms

were interesting, they were only a limited part of what I was trying to explore. I photographed the group of friends through the end of their Senior year, all through the summer, and a bit into the fall of 2007, when they had gone off to college (although some didn’t and were still in New York). Mostly, I just hung out with Will and his friends – sort of somewhere between being a fly on the wall and a friend. Because I spent so much time with them (during the summer, usually about 20-40 hours a week), eventually it became a very natural thing and my photographing was simply a part of the routine, which is the only reason I was able to make some of the more intimate pictures that I did. For me the project was semi-autobiographical, not only because I was so close in age to them (they were mostly 1 or 2 years younger than me), but also because my high school senior year was less than enjoyable, and I was dealing with that. I guess what interested me most about the kids was that while they had grown up in New York and had completely different experiences from me, they were still dealing with the same bullshit that I dealt with, and I’m sure we all deal with. This isn’t a particularly novel idea but the project isn’t really about novel ideas – it’s about the mundane, boring, everyday stuff that teenagers deal with. SA: The photographs can be both revelatory and intimate. What factors do you think helped you get so close to your subjects? CL: Getting close to your subjects really just takes two things: time and empathy. I think a lot of photographers use their subjects to express ideas instead of finding ideas within their subjects. It can be very patronizing and hypocritical. And they will never feel entirely comfortable. One important thing is talking to them, getting them to talk about their lives and also talking about yours. You have to meet them in the middle. This was easier for me because I was

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so close in age to them, but it applies across the board. Another important thing is to show them the photographs throughout the project. It’s necessary in order to build the right level of trust between photographer and subject. Otherwise, they’ll think you’re using them to further your own agenda. Mostly, I think I was able to get close because I was always honest with them, but I never interfered. I respected their boundaries. I had to walk a fine line between friend and photographer. You have to be able to joke with them about something but then shut off when something starts happening and you want to get photos. It took a long time, and I think showing that dedication builds mutual trust and respect. I was shooting every week.

age of ten or eleven. I grew up in the suburbs and was driven everywhere or walked five minutes to a friend’s house. I think that’s the only real difference – they’re forced to become very mature very quickly. It can translate into a heightened machismo in the guys and sexuality in the girls, but I don’t think it’s really a bad thing. It’s just a different form of the same anxiety I felt when I was going through high school.

SA: The city seems to be as much of a character in the photographs as the subjects are. As someone who didn’t grow up in New York, what was it like observing that lifestyle? What differences did you notice within the kids as a result?

CL: Mostly, I just realized how stupid I was. Not because these kids were doing particularly stupid things, but because I realized that they were dealing with the same bullshit I dealt with and that it ultimately doesn’t matter, so long as you don’t really fuck your life up by getting into heavy drugs or crime or something like that. I wouldn’t say that I had another chance to experience that phase of life because throughout the project I was really on the edge of everything that was happening. But it gave me a lot of perspective on how I acted then. You realize that everything you thought at the time was pretty much wrong – your parents usually were right, and you were hardly ever bored. Emily said

CL: This was sort of a secondary aspect of the work. It was never my intention to explore ‘New York City Kids’ because that’s sort of cliché and has been done many times over... but I think it certainly influences who these kids are and what they’re doing. They grow up very quickly, simply because they’re forced to fend for themselves as soon as they can ride the subway alone, which for a lot of them is by the

SA: You said this project isn’t about novel ideas, and yet it seems like it gave you a sort of second chance to experience that phase of life. How has your outlook on that time period changed as a result of your photography?

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that once, looking at the photos, that they make her realize that she was doing something the whole time, even though she always felt bored. That’s very touching to me. I think I realized the same thing.

kids fucking and shooting heroin and it’s insane. I’m going for content (and form that properly reflects the content – sort of what I said earlier) that’s more emotional than flashy.

SA: What makes you and them ‘typical’? Can you tell us about some of the unifying experiences you shared?

SA: Looking back on the photographs and on the process involved in taking them, what greater ideas do you feel they explore?

CL: I just meant the stupid stuff like school and breakups and drinking and drugs and all of that. I mean typical in that none of the kids were on ‘kids on the edge,’ they weren’t total loners or complete fuck ups. That’s what people like Larry Clark explore, and I think that it can be fascinating, but I don’t relate to that because that’s not how I grew up. That’s how Larry Clark grew up and so that’s what he wants to explore; it makes sense. But for me I’m interested in how normal kids deal with normal things. It’s a lot more nuanced, a lot more beneath the surface. Larry Clark’s photos grab you because it’s underage

CL: They try to capture a universal monotony interspersed among moments of high drama that every teenager feels at some point. What drew me most to this group of kids, who were generally middle or upper-middle class kids, and I guess pretty ‘typical,’ like myself, was the unifying experiences that we all shared. Adolescence is steered by a combination of underlying factors that are entirely subdued by teenagers but at the same time highly apparent, always on the surface of everything that is going on, or maybe not so much on the surface as the connections between everything. These range

Clockwise from top: Party, Molly and Will, Matt After Prom

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from sexual maturation to social sparring to loneliness to boredom to conformity. I don’t think those change, regardless of where you grow up. SA: What makes documenting this time in their lives (and yours) special to you? Do you feel that they’re on the brink of something, or that this time is something transient, that once they’re older they’ll lose something? CL: I think the transition from high school to college is one of the most important ones in a kid’s life. It’s a very particular moment when you’re stuck between being a kid and being an adult. I think that a lot of the restlessness around this time comes from an anxiety about that, about being launched into real life or whatever you want to call it. I think growing up in New York makes this more apparent, because most of these kids have already grown up, really, so going to college isn’t as important in terms of becoming more mature, but instead is important in terms of applying their maturity to new situations. That sounds cliché and stupid. I guess my point is that all through high school you’re building up to going to college and then all of a sudden, you realize you’re losing your friends and your family and everything you grew up with, and you hesitate, and you become restless to have a great last summer, or something. And then you go to college and you come back over vacations and some things are the same but a lot of things are different. Everyone has new friends at school. It’s hard, and that kind of thing happens no matter where you’re from, it happened to me too. I guess to sum it up, yes, I think they’re on the brink of losing something, whether that’s their childhood innocence, or something else, I can’t say for sure, but I know that it can be pretty daunting. But like everything else, I don’t think it’s on the surface, I don’t think everyone is so aware of it all the time. It’s more subconscious, it makes itself known in the subtle little details of what’s happening. SA: Do you feel the camera’s presence altered or embellished certain events? That things happened because there was a camera to document it? CL: That’s very hard to say. I don’t think anything was ever staged for my camera – everything that happened would have happened regardless. Were there times that some of the kids went a little further because I was there? Maybe. But to be honest, I doubt it. I know from hearing the kids tell me that there were times that I missed, maybe you could say they were ‘crazier’ than the things I saw – who knows. But I really don’t think that the kids acted a certain way when I was around. They knew it would make the photos untrue, and they wanted the photos to be as honest as I did. ■

From top to bottom: July 4th, Untitled, Will Smoking

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COMMERCIAL BREAK

by Corinne Rapone

THERE IS NOTHING MORE UNCOMFORTABLE THAN YOUR THIGHS GETTING COLD AS YOU COME TO THE SLOW REALIZATION THAT THE PLASTIC SPOOL POSITIONED DIRECTLY ACROSS FROM YOUR KNEES IS ABSOLUTELY DEVOID OF TOILET PAPER. A frequent occurrence in public restrooms or Porta-Potties, you attempt to wait it out for others frequenting the restroom to leave. Sometimes, you’re fortunate enough to have a friend in the next stall, but realistically, it’s a rare occasion. But three days ago, I entered my bathroom to find that I had become the victim of a missing roll. The clock was ticking, but I knew it was lost in that vague notion of somewhere. I had been blowing my nose with it just fifteen

minutes ago. I begged my roommate for assistance as time was becoming increasingly imperative with the growth of my frustration (and it didn’t help that we ran out of paper towels last week), and finally after ten minutes, we found it tucked behind the decorative pillow on our couch. Exhausted, my roommate got ready for bed. I poured a bowl of Cocoa Pebbles and settled in to watch the Adult Swim program on Cartoon Network. I was happy to find that Home Movies was

on. And so I settled into the couch awaiting my half-hour reprieve from the imminent responsibilities of daily life. In fact, I could already feel my brain becoming a pile of apple sauce, and as usual I didn’t mind. I remember not liking this show at first; I thought the drawings were stupid and unskilled, and I never quite thought the humor was worth the effort of staying awake. But as a friend sat down and walked me through the merit of the program, I slowly began to

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appreciate not only the humor and tone of the show, but the way in which the aesthetic of the animation exists in a two dimensional space. The show follows Brendon Small through his daily life as an eight-yearold movie director. He, along with his two best friends, Jason and Melissa, write, direct, and act in their own series of movies – snippets of which function to loosely string along the narrative of their own lives. Adults appear as caricatures that help to establish an eight-year-old perspective on the absurdity of the adult world. And perhaps one of the most personally catching aspects of the show is that I often find myself relating to the simplicity of this child’s view as it pertains to the mundane outlook of many adults in my own life. While not necessarily visually complex or attractive, the animation functions to support Brendon’s outlook of the world around him. We are presented with crude outlines of characters and bare bones sketches of background and context. The only idea of a sort of “depth of field” we are given is within the size of characters, as we never shift our focal length according to placement of character (unlike the more complex and purposeful choice of employing focus in the cartoon Boondocks, also on Adult Swim). Similarly, the use of color remains devoid of shadow or depth, and left as a visual coloring book of flat

yet vivid tone. At times we forget that this program is centered around a child protagonist. The photographic frame of the characters remains fairly consistent and repetitive throughout the cartoon. Most often, we are placed at eye level, giving the characters a certain equality regardless of age. The shots are usually flat and set on the same plane as the characters to emphasize the perspective of the two-dimensional cartoon. This photographic aspect of the show is reminiscent of the amateur home movies left on forgotten VHS tapes from my childhood. These videos are often shot from a static perspective, remaining fairly flat in point of view. There is rarely a shift in focus, we often see the frame either filled with a large group event, or an individual portrait. However, especially when dealing with children, the camera is often set at a higher height, and so we are replaying these memories through the eyes of an adult. While filing through the hours of videotapes encompassing my childhood, I feel that my memories remain much more dynamic in my mind than they appear in the flat tone of a montage of road signs or the documentation of a dance recital. Perhaps it is the color palette of the VHS, but it seems more plausible that the problem lies within the adult vantage point. As children we

find ourselves constantly seeking an adventure, willing to make mistakes and excited to explore the countless directions we may find along our path to maturity. In contrast, as adults, it seems that we view the world with a sort of blinder on, whether that may mean that one is only able to focus on their child or only able to see the world from a static perspective. It is as if the camera refuses to probe – perhaps mirroring the adult reluctance to ask too many questions. As we are given the opportunity to increase our knowledge of the world around us, it is as if we are starting our childhood over again. There is room for constant probing and mistakes and bumps and bruises. There are holes and cracks in this city to find, and just as when you were young, only a select few have the ability to explore. We are fortunate enough to thrive in a middle ground. Most of us find ourselves far enough away from our parents and other such imposing authority, but we are not necessarily on our own in the frightening place known as the “real world” that everybody keeps warning us about. We exist in a moment of transience, in which we are able to experience this expansive city as a sort of playground. So lighten up, go find a swing set, and don’t lose sight of where your toilet paper went. This has been your commercial break. ■ All Images © Cartoon Network

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MEDITATION

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MARGO HERRE

“We liked tiny towns and the tiny country roads that took us there.” Margo Herre

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FEATURED ARTIST:

by Corinne Rapone

MARGO HERRE There is a resounding quiet within the private moments developed throughout the photographs in Margo Herre’s series Meditation. As viewers we are subject to relate fondly to the innocent voyeurism of traveling and to the discovery of secret and hidden places. Upon viewing these images, there is a sense of inescapable pleasure within the intimacy of the place described. The photographs communicate the excitement of exploration, both within the locations and within the photographer herself – yet at the same time, this thrust of enthusiasm converses with a moment of calm.

The artist describes the act of imagemaking as a sort of meditation, and one cannot help but to feel the same coolness and peace translated through the photographs themselves. We feel a nostalgia for wherever home may be, for the family we left behind, and for the moments of our past forgotten in the dusted corners of our ever-working mind. Here, we remember them all. CR: Could you give us an idea of how this project came to fruition? MH: This project started out just driving with my dad in South

Carolina. We started somewhere on the coast and drove around the middle of nowhere. We’d gauge if residents were home before I’d get out and trespass on their fields and chase their chickens. We armed ourselves with a GPS so we could drive anywhere and not get lost. We liked tiny towns and the tiny country roads that took us there. We drove up deep in the mountains to western Virginia to the cabin my dad helps my uncle build in the brush on a logging road. We sang along to a lot of Simon and Garfunkel and the Beatles. Most of the photographs were taken in the fall in Amenia, New York, riding on a bicycle a few hours out of the city, but the long drives with my dad served as the base, both pictorially and in establishing the general feel I wanted the final presentation to have. Although the places I went were all similar and remote, I’m not trying to describe any specific place. Taking the pictures, whether on my bike in Duchess County or with my dad in South Carolina and Virginia, was always more of a kind of meditation than an act of image-making, and I hope to translate that to the photographs that came from it. CR: Before this excursion, had you been to any of these places before? Have you revisited any of these places again since you photographed for this series? MH: My dad and I usually drove somewhat aimlessly, and I had never seen any of the places in South Carolina and western Virginia before. When I went to upstate New York with my bicycle, I picked the

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route out of a rural bicycling guide online and had never been there before either. However, half of the negatives I took from my first trip somehow didn’t come out, so I returned a second time to retake the lost images. It turned out that most of the pictures I showed in the series were pictures taken on the second trip, after I retook the lost images. If something hadn’t have happened to the negatives from the first trip, I would have never gotten the image of the pool and lifeguard stand, the picture of the trees with the sign “Sacred Grove,” or the picture of the cut tree in someone’s yard. I haven’t revisited any of these places, and I wouldn’t know where to find most of them. CR: Personally, I’ve heard you talk quite often about your father and his enthusiasm for your photography. What was he like on this trip and do you think his presence had an influence on this body of work? MH: My father’s presence on our trips has had the greatest influence on my work. When I first started taking pictures in high school, before I could drive, he would drive me around Virginia, and we’d take pictures. Every camera I’ve shot with has been a camera of his that he’s given to me. CR: You talk about these photographs as a form of meditation. Would you say that this is generally your approach to photography, or was this a new approach? MH: Regardless of what I take pictures of, I think this has always been my approach. Wanting to be a veterinarian instead of a professional photographer has proved to be liberating when working on photo projects because I never feel any need to be stressed out. I don’t feel like I need to work for other people or get internships. If I look at my negatives from a particular day and the images are terrible, it’s never that big of a deal. I think this enables

me to always have photography as a meditative exercise. CR: How does this body of work compare to your other work? What direction do you see yourself moving towards in future projects? MH: I’ve always been drawn to the country. When I first started taking pictures, my dad and I would often find ourselves at abandoned or decrepit fishing wharfs on the Eastern Shore of Virginia, but even then this series has been really different from my recent projects. Now that I think about it, I don’t think there is a lot of continuity between my recent projects, I don’t think I have a style. I did a documentary project about the volunteers for this incredible Halloween spectacle in Connecticut and shot through a microscope last spring. I’m double-majoring in biology, and I’m thinking about doing something leaning more towards the scientific side again this

spring; there’s a process where one can set up a concave mirror and a series of color filters and be able to capture on film differences in air densities, such as hot air rising from a candle. At the same time, I love something as different as Civil War reenactments as well. CR: Can you tell us about some of the technical aspects involved in the photographs within the series? MH: When I started this project, I had no idea where I was going. Even then, though, I had an idea of how I wanted it to look. My dad gave me his Rolleiflex, which was his highschool graduation present from his parents and is what I shot the whole series with. Everything was shot on Kodak 400VC Portra film. When I look at the ground glass, there’s a grid, and a circle in the center. I love shooting square format because I love putting my subjects right in the center of that circle. As a result, when all the images are lined up on

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the wall, there’s this straight line that goes through all of them. This is an unintended consequence of the way I composed these pictures but is certainly one I welcomed. CR: Many of your photos have an adventurous and often almost magical quality to them. How prevalent do you feel this both innocent and voyeuristic attitude was in the taking of these images?

MH: I never had an adventurous mindset from the beginning of a drive or a bike ride; there was never a sense of getting in the car and going for an adventure and bringing the camera. But thinking back perhaps getting each picture was a miniature adventure. I’ve never been inclined to ask for permission – as they say, it’s easier to ask for forgiveness. And even though there are very few pictures in the series that were taken

without trespassing (the picture of the horse was taken legally, though I was shocked repeatedly while leaning against the electric fence), I never had to face confrontation. However, the day after Thanksgiving, my dad and I went out to take some pictures, and we found a plot with massive mounds of Carolina red clay. I went in to take a few pictures and saw a truck driving up from the back, so I promptly left, only to

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see that the rednecks in the truck were confronting my dad about my being there, claiming that I was “kicking around their dirt.” I was doing no such thing, and they didn’t even stick around to listen to my side of the story. Other than the chicken chasing incident, I generally don’t touch anything. I do get nervous though, and perhaps my dad’s big red F250 – or my yellow bicycle – is like the getaway car. In this way taking

the pictures is much more fun than seeing them and dealing with them afterward. I don’t think this aspect comes through in the images, and I wouldn’t want it to. I’m not trying to take pictures of adventure; I’m trying to take pictures of peace. ■

Opening: Trailer; p. 20: Horse; p. 21: Lighthouse; Opposite: Construction Site; Above: Sacred Grove

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74TH + ROOSEVELT

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ROBERT SUKRACHAND

“We are all wanderers in today’s world, homeless in some way.” Robert Sukrachand

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FEATURED ARTIST:

by Michael George

ROBERT SUKRACHAND As with many things, it was a product of chance that initiated Robert Sukrachand’s interaction with the locals of 74th and Roosevelt Avenue in Jackson Heights, Queens. In December 2006, as he emerged from the Subway, he was greeted by a man named Tommy who yelled, “Yo, Mafioso, want to take my picture?” To this day Sukrachand, who has since graduated from the Tisch Department of Photography & Imaging, continues his documentation of the crew he happened upon almost two years ago. The cinematic feeling that emanates from the images serves to recognize Sukrachand’s honest relationship that has formed over time. Rather than develop this relationship on my own terms, I instead invite you to read through our conversation and discover for yourself the lessons to be learned from “the corner.” MG: There are various differences between you and the residents of 74th and Roosevelt. After all, you began this series as a student. In what ways would you say you currently (or already did) relate to them?

RS: For a long time, I would just go to the corner whenever I could, not really thinking about why. Something kept drawing me back, and there was a point when I realized it wasn’t just the photography, but there was genuine friendship there, and my interactions with these people provided something that interactions with the rest of NYC did not. A certain honesty and straightforwardness, a group of people who weren’t afraid to tell me what they thought of me, the world around them, and the state of their lives. In the beginning it was subconscious, but I have always felt a kinship with these people. We share a disillusionment with the world and a homesickness. They teach me things – but not really about themselves, more about myself and the world around me. We are all wanderers in today’s world, homeless in some way. MG: You say we are all “homeless in some way.” Is this the result of our break into adulthood? In some ways, it’s impossible to describe home. How would you?

RS: Well, I think that home is a place where we don’t feel alienated or anxious. A place that feels naturally comfortable. This is hard to find today when we live in a world that is so diffused culturally, racially, religiously, and geographically. I don’t think we are yet at the point where society has broadly been able to accept the fact that this new, globalized world can still be a home. Instead I think many people often cling to orthodoxy, ideology, and things that give them a concrete picture of home. In today’s world, unless you’re born in some rural village and never leave that place, you are likely to feel alienated and homeless in someway because the world you interact with is so complex, so modern and diffused. MG: Was the photographic element a consequence of your relationship or does your relationship with the group exist as a photographer? RS: The relationship is complex and varies from person to person. For a while I was known as a photographer to those I was not close to but I often go to the corner with or without a camera. In either case I’m just Bobby. Marianne sees me and says “Bobby!” and comes and gives me a hug. I find myself doing things like driving people to detox centers or visiting them at hospitals almost more than I’m photographing now. The photos began out of the conversation I had with Tommy one random day, and they all developed out of my relationships. They can’t be separated. My being who I am, I could not have photographed these people without the relationship I’ve had with them. MG: For your senior thesis show, you printed the images on postcards and accompanied them with personal stories from the people of the corner. I presume this was to open up a dialogue between

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Opening: Bugsy calling his dealer; Opposite: Bugout shaving on a Monday morning; Right: Willie + Dougie smoking ‘bazooka’ outside of Dougie’s hut

students, others, and those portrayed. What do you feel is the importance of this dialogue? RS: The point of the postcards was that it was an easy way to put the stories of these people in direct interaction with the photos and also an easy way to send these stories out. That’s the most important part, some bit of agency for the subject… But also, it is meant to follow the theme of being a wanderer – because what do you when you’re homesick? Send out a postcard home. It is also perhaps a way to describe the adventures you are currently experiencing so that it’s not a negative form of communication. I liked its open-endedness. The dialogue you point to is very important, but I don’t think it’s feasible, honestly. The average NYU student or person who sees my work is not going to get up and go to Jackson Heights and start hanging out with these people. Nor is it likely that they’ll consciously think about my photos in the future. What I hope is that subconsciously the photos and stories may have fostered some small bit of mutual understanding and help the viewer initiate an internal dialogue about their own lives and/or the communities

that immediately surround them. MG: Your more recent images appear to extend outside the microcosm of the corner. What is your intent in this extension? Is the series becoming more about the people and less about the place? RS: First, the pictures were always about the people and the place. The place is what brings this community together, and only to that extent does it have any significance. I would have no interest in it otherwise. I should just say broadly that I no longer have any intentions, and I think that premeditation and a plan when photographing something like this is dangerous because your vision as a photographer can impose on and overwhelm the reality. I just try to be open. I follow the people and the story and my relationships with them wherever they take me, and I photograph that. Over the summer, being able to spend days at a time with these people, I found them bringing me into their personal spaces – the van where Willy sleeps at night, the hut where Marianne and Dougie live. These are intimate areas, like our own bedrooms, the places we can perhaps relate to and see

the similarities we have with these people. Unfortunately, these can also be destructive habitats— the places where drugs are used as seen in some of my photos. But they are safe, communal, intimate, and warm. Some of the most peaceful photos that I have taken happened there, and it is often right at the second when the crack pipe lights up. Contrary to the image we have of people smoking crack, that is when the tension is released and things become more calm. MG: It seems important to you that the series is not labeled as “concerned photography.” In what ways, while shooting and editing, have you been able to steer away from this? RS: I don’t really like labels including photojournalism, social documentary, fine art, etc. However, to the extent that I am concerned and I am a photographer, this is concerned photography. Even the kind of progressive genre of concerned photography can end up having its own set of conventions and rules that pigeonhole the content. What I hate far worse, however, than what someone might say the genre of my work is, is the oversimplification done to the subject

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Clockwise from right: John checks himself before heading into the subway station at 74th + Roosevelt where he will sleep that night; Michael, Fay, and Natasha on a typical summer afternoon on the corner; Dougie carries Marianna to their hut hidden in the woods

matter. For example, the other day at Thanksgiving dinner a second cousin of mine comes up to me and says, “How are you, Bob? Your photography going well? Your mom told me you’ve been working on this project about the homeless?” and I got so angry inside because this work for me has never been about the homeless. Some of the people pictured are homeless, but that’s not what it is about. This happens all the time when people try to describe my work because people search for these generalities to make sense of things. We like the idea of ‘homeless,’ ‘down-and-out,’ or ‘addicted’ because they completely cut through the complexity of these people’s lives as though the fact that someone is homeless explains away everything else that is important in

their life. If I was going to do a story about you, the reader, would I call it a story about someone who has a home? No, it would be a story about you being the unique individual that you are. I do my best, only sometimes successfully, to present this work in a way where it is not so explicitly about a social ill. In terms of my practice while shooting and editing, these things just internalize, and you try not to fall prey to the photographic conventions that connote victimization, pity, down-and-outness, etc. Often, this happens in the editing process. There are some strong pictures I have taken, which I don’t show sometimes. I try to do justice to the fullness of these people’s lives as much as I can from a photographic standpoint, but this has been my biggest struggle as I am still growing as a

photographer and my pictures are too often straightforward, repetitive, predictable, or formally conventional. What I love about shooting is how difficult it is to bring in some kind of unison between how complex these people’s lives are and how I frame their lives photographically. This is really hard, and why I still have so much learning and growing to do as a photographer. MG: Up to this point, what have you learned from the corner? RS: We all have anxieties, insecurities, problems, and to the extent that they linger in us, even if subconsciously, we find ways to numb them. You and I, Joe the plumber, whoever that mythical ‘normal person’ is

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supposed to be, we have our own opiates: the pursuit of wealth, the cult of celebrity, sex, ideology, aspirations to get the best job, buy a new house, car, various worldly possessions – the so-called “American dream.” We tell ourselves that we can’t live without such things; well, my photos prove that some people can. Those pictured by me have their own problems, and their method of forgetting is an opaque one, often erosive – alcohol, crack cocaine, and other hard drugs. It’s devastating to witness, but we cannot pity them or patronize them. In a sense they are just being more honest than the rest of us about their problems. It’s like ‘fuck you, I don’t have to hide. I have issues, and I have trouble dealing with them.’ I think these photos and stories are successful only to the extent that we see ourselves and the foolishness of our own lives in them. I would hope that people might begin to understand the lives of others through my photos and to allow that understanding to trigger their

consciousness about what’s important in life in their own immediate environments. I’ve learned not to expect anyone to want to go to 74th and Roosevelt and help Tommy or Fay or Marianne, but if they did, I would be delighted and surprised. ■ To read personal stories and learn more about the corner, please visit www.74thandroosevelt.com

Above from left: Willie, beneath the highway; Marianne shows her wound in Elmhurts Hospital. Two weeks prior she was run over by a car while crossing Queens Boulevard and broke her leg

ISO DILEMMA

THE PHOTOGRAPHER’S DILEMMA

ACTION, NON-ACTION, AND THE PRESERVATION OF TRUTH

by Mia Torres

AMUSEMENT MAY SUGGEST A CERTAIN DEGREE OF IRREVERENCE TOWARDS THE SUBJECT, BUT IT IS CERTAINLY TRUE THAT THE MEDIA OFTEN SKEWS THE ORIGINALITY OF THE SCENE PHOTOGRAPHED. The photograph, taken in 1972, is black and white. Children run screaming along a road towards the photographer Nick Ut. In the foreground a boy’s face is twisted blindly into a painful grimace, his mouth hugely agape. Just behind him, a young naked girl runs along the same road, arms outstretched from her sides in an almost gracefully angelic form. But her expression is one of immeasurable agony; one can almost hear her high-pitched desperate scream. Behind her are several more children and four soldiers. These children were covered in napalm, sprayed in an attack on the Vietnamese people of the area

by American Soldiers. The photograph, called Vietnam Napalm, won the Pulitzer Prize that year. It is a clear, windy day. Cars zip by along the Golden Gate Bridge’s narrow highway. Looking out towards Alcatraz Island and into the San Francisco Bay, tourists snap pictures over the side of the bridge’s walkway. Spandex-clad cyclists and tourists on rented bikes peddle along, enjoying the scenery and the challenge of the bridge’s enormous span. One man, wearing all black, is seen through a video camera’s lens. He walks slowly and haltingly along a

portion of the walkway, occasionally looking over the side, his long black hair whipping in the wind. All of a sudden, he vaults himself up onto the burnt red railing, dangles his feet over the side, and plummets down. The camera follows his flailing body until it hits the water below with a loud splash. This scene is one of many in Eric Steele’s 2004 film The Bridge. Three young children stand against a worn brick wall. The boys on the left and right side of the photograph – one wearing a bright yellow soccer jersey and shorts and the other in a worn

striped polo shirt – stand casually and smile down at the smallest boy between them. Each has an arm around the small boy with one arm around his back and the other cradling the side of his face. However innocent and childlike this scene may sound, there is a crucial discontinuity. Each of the older smiling boys is also holding a gun to the youngest child’s head. It is unclear whether or not these guns are real or simply toys. Regardless, the emotions in the photograph are clear. The young boy has raised a hand to his face, his fingers nervously clamped in his mouth. His small forehead is furrowed with fear, and tears stream down his cheeks. This photograph, called War Games, was taken in Baghdad in 2007 by photojournalist Hadi Misban. They are all images of suffering, whether it be physical, psychological, or both. It is unlikely that the photographer had any direct connection to the subjects; they are not relatives or friends, but rather parties whose life paths have converged upon a single instant – the taking of the photograph or the filming of the scene. In the case of The Bridge, the subject might not have been aware of the photographer’s presence hundreds of yards away on land southeast of the bridge. It is possible that the man was aware that someone was watching him but certainly not filming for a feature film. However, it is also possible and more probable that the man had, in an attempt to end his life, donned mental blinders to anything in the world around him that may have swayed his determination. Taking a photograph inherently creates a relationship between photographer and subject. As this relationship is formed, so is an ambigious obligation. Does it have something to do with the subsequent representations of the subject as well as the effects that the photograph may have on the subject in the future? In the case of the War Games boys, should the photographer have intervened?

Of course, the viewer doesn’t know what happened after the photograph was taken – perhaps the photographer did intervene – but regardless, the over arching question remains: What are the photographer’s responsibilities in terms of action? When the photographer saw the children playing, should he have been more concerned with preventing or capturing this moment on film? By choosing to take the photograph, the photographer exposes the effects of war and allows the viewer to judge the necessity for social reform.

the subject, but it is certainly true that the media often skews the originality of the scene photographed. It may have been more responsible of Romero to have stepped back, become a wallflower, and let the events of the mafia wedding unfold. Through those photographs the untouched truth would be shown – the reality of the subjects. Whereas Romero was invited into a private ceremony, the situation depicted in Ut’s Vietnam Napalm shows the pain that the subjects are experiencing as the photographer observes and translates a public tragedy.

This dilemma may be more clearly represented in the previously described scene from Eric Steele’s film The Bridge. “The film crew’s basic job description was to wait for people to die…they needed people to die for the film.” The crew, standing a half-mile away, filmed twenty-four people make the foursecond fall to their deaths. In fact, in order to obtain the necessary permits to film, Steele stated that his intentions were simply to “capture the powerful, spectacular intersection of monument and nature that takes place every day at the Golden Gate Bridge.” A film labeled “exploitative, voyeuristic… [and] immoral” has also been praised for “showing what suicide is like.” In exposing the reality of suicide, is the filmmaker justified in his lack of intervention?

It is the photographer’s responsibility to be aware of the effects of his presence; it is the photographer’s dilemma to choose between acting on immediate moral conflicts or preserving an image of struggle in hopes of social reform. The Bridge is an example of the photographer as a vessel for the dissemination of awareness. However, unlike Ut’s experience in Vietnam, these filmmakers had to actively ignore their ability to intervene with the tragic circumstances. In Vietnam the event was scrutinized on the world stage. Ut used his abilities as a photographer to pinpoint concentrated events within its massive scale to reveal details that would otherwise go unnoticed, thus heightening the personal connection and depth of the tragedy. In similar fashion War Games mimics Ut’s sensibility in using children to evoke universal sentiments about war’s consequence. However, Misban shifts the focus from physical injury to psychological abnormalities presented through their actions.

For this we must consider not only the regenerative bias of the artist but the informative aspect of the art. Describing a mafia wedding he photographed, ex-photojournalist Lee Romero remembers, “The girl is still screaming, but the guy pulls out a dirty old fish knife and starts cutting. And here I am taking pictures, blood and all. I was encouraging it…but when I went back to the editor I said, ‘Charlie, what are we doing? We created this story. It’s bullshit; they weren’t going to do this… Where is the responsibility to people when we use some of their life for our amusement?’” Amusement may suggest a certain degree of irreverence towards

The ever-evolving nature of war justifies the constant need for its documentation. As photographers we are given the option of sacrificing our human and moral responsibilities to the immediate context in the passive hope that the medium will harbor the potential for future change. ■ Opposite from left: Vietnam Napalm, Nick Ut; War Games, Hadi Misban

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GUEST INTERVIEW

KEITH CARTER: A CERTAIN ALCHEMY by Michael George

Opposite: Radio Flyer; Above: Rocket Man

I have discovered a place where dreams are alive, where dancing bears and checkered walls are found among wizards and floating boys. In this literal blur of my imagination, there is a force that twists the literal into something completely obscure and exciting. This place, too alluring for reality, is found within the mystic pages of A Certain Alchemy. Welcome to the world of Keith Carter. In his tenth book, Carter continues the proliferation of a place all his own. To describe this work as beautiful vastly oversimplifies these images, which transcend meaning beyond any silly string of written words. A Certain Alchemy has a poignancy of emotion that can reignite the creative corners of even the most analytical personality. In speaking with Carter, I found that our conversation worked to support the notion that Carter holds within his spirit a child’s eye with an elder sensibility. This combination of youthful imagination and clever composition resonates throughout, forming a coherency between a myriad of subjects. If there is any downside to the potential adventures within A Certain Alchemy, it is that, like all dreams, their end is as imminent as their existence is magical. MG: A Certain Alchemy is bookended by two sections that not only bring a new tone to your photographs but also a new way of looking. The first of the two sections is reminiscent of taxonomy; a physical description of animals, plants, and objects. Was this your intention, and what has inspired this new facet of your work?

KC: I’ve always loved those small fragments of paper that Fox-Talbot used in his early experiments making his “shadow pictures” – what we call photograms. Where I live, near the Big Thicket in East Texas, everything either flies, slithers, buzzes, or stings, hence some of my subject matter. Mostly, I was just trying to replicate the beautiful mottled tonality of some of photography’s prehistory images. MG: Images like Crossed Fingers, appear scientific but the action of the object is consistent with the mystical nature of your work. How do you think these attributes play with one another? KC: I don’t think science is necessarily incompatible with mystical or spiritual sensibilities. I often weigh them equally in my thinking, which sometimes finds itself into the work. Crossed Fingers was intended as a dialogue between hope and mortality. I should have titled it Good Luck. MG: In the main body of work, you continue the style that is so prominent in your previous books. I find it’s like visual poetry, an exploration of the ethereality only the photograph can accurately capture. Do you find yourself inspired by romantic literature or any particular poets?

[continued on p. 36]

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Dawn

Thirty Plates

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KC: Like Joseph Cornell or Ralph Meatyard, I’ve been inspired by both romantic and surrealist literature. In my earlier days, I used to run both through the “southern gothic” realm also – which got a little weird. I don’t much care for images that illustrate poems, but I read and have been heavily influenced by the nonlinear aspect of poetry. I like what Wallace Stevens said: “Poetry must almost successfully resist intelligence.” I just change the word “poetry” to “my photographs.”

tells the viewer where to look. Do you believe this guidance is important?

MG: How much searching do you do? Are the images conjured in your mind and then brought to fruition, or are they products of exploration?

MG: Have you ever prescribed narratives to your images or are you fond of their inherent shroud of mystery?

KC: The answer is both. I like to work in the real world, so I do a lot of searching or just simple looking. But I’m not above tweaking reality and making something up. I don’t think there are any rules in art. It’s not so much what you see as it is the significance you, the artist, see in it.

KC: I’m fond of implied narratives, oblique angles, and leaving a little room for the viewer to finish a picture. ■

KC: For me it is. When I started using the extreme short depth of field and single point of focus, I was trying to replicate my changing eyesight. We have binocular vision; one eye perceives space from the other. I don’t experience a scene visually at F32. It’s more like F1.4.

MG: Many photographers find themselves attracted to animals for various reasons. What’s yours? KC: There are lots of them around where I live, and I grew up around animals. They move me in ways I am unable to articulate. My idea of heaven on earth would be to have been present with a camera when Noah was loading the animals two by two. MG: You place a certain emphasis on the physicality of traditional processes. If this magic comes from the alchemy of the medium, what value is there in digital photography? KC: I love digital photography and Photoshop. I think it’s the future. However, for me there’s no romance in pixels. I came of age when the camera, film, and the darkroom were the heart of photography. I enjoy the physical process of it all. I think the smart students will learn both traditional and digital platforms. I love the history of photography and one process has always replaced another. However, very, very few have disappeared. MG: The repetition of children, animals, and dreamlike sequences creates a feeling of an imaginative world. I believe our imaginations allow us to see beauty in things we would otherwise dismiss. Is there always something more to see? KC: I would refer you back to the earlier Wallace Stevens quote. MG: In compositional terms the single point of focus

Crossed Fingers

UGALLERY.COM

THE LAUNCHPAD FOR EMERGING ARTISTS by Michael George

You might find it worrisome to learn that there are more than 20,000 college students graduating each year with degrees in photography. Based on the ever-looming laws of natural selection, you may feel as if one place your work will rarely, if ever, land is on a gallery wall — unless it is a virtual one. In many ways the Internet has tremendously expanded the photographer’s ability to connect with other artists and the general population. Your work can be thrust under anyone’s nose through the use of blogs, portfolios, and forums. UGallery.com is no exception.

prints is set at 12” x 18.” It is also important to note that, like most galleries, they receive 50% of the profit. One of the more formal aspects of submitting to UGallery is the upkeep required for their 48-hour guarantee, as the website promises their customers that the image will be printed and shipped off within 48 hours of purchase. This means if you are out of town or unavailable to print and ship the image, you must post a note ahead of time. Although the staff is helpful and understanding of the busy college schedule, they expect a professional relationship when handling sales.

This website was created with the goal to provide art students a market for their work. Branded as a place to find affordable artwork, you won’t be selling for outrageous prices, but you will be getting your work out

Additionally, the website is somewhat hindered by the plethora of artworks exhibited. There are a few ways they attempt to remedy this, most extensively through the use of filters. Using these search options, you can sift through artwork based on anything from color to school to genre. Perhaps the most interesting aspect of the purchasing process is the “virtual wall” – this little widget allows the customer to view and arrange the artwork on an imaginary wall rendered in your browser. You can change the colors of the wall and floor to match your own while resizing the work and positioning the furniture. Although the virtual wall is a rather disappointing replacement for a gallery wall in Chelsea, it’s better than shoving your prints into a box and leaving them under your bed.

to the public. And in this economic climate, more and more collectors and casual buyers are turning towards the Internet to find better deals on quality art. So how does it work? To begin, you apply with a sample portfolio and fill out a questionnaire with an artist statement. While their acceptance rate rests right around 25%, there are most notably a large number of submissions of amateur work. Once contacted and accepted, you may begin posting images to your profile. Each image is reviewed by the UGallery staff and then made available for purchase. The minimum size for

Over the past few years UGallery has grown from a fledgling business into a solid presence, receiving constant and increasing press. Fortunately, as they grow in popularity and recognition, so does the potential for your work. Throughout the year the gallery participates in art and design fairs across the country. Last year, at the ART NOW Fair in Manhattan, UGallery held a room amongst gallery spaces from New York to Sweden. If you are one of the top sellers, there is a good chance the site will exhibit your work in these venues, transforming from virtual into real space. In the end there is nothing to lose by joining with UGallery, so don’t hesitate to jump into cyberspace and pull ahead of your 20,000 competitors. ■

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THE GALLERY a note from the curators We are inhabitants of a place that is in perpetual transition where sights, sounds, and sentiments are transformed many times over the course of a day. As a collective we work to find a balance between the intimacy of the past, the momentum of the present, and the mystery of the future. Imagery often reflects this movement, and for our first issue of ISO magazine, we are featuring a selection of student work that surrounds the themes of change and transience.

SASHA ARUTYUNOVA JENNA SPITZ

Untitled, Cristina Ma単as

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Violet, Beryl Bevilacque

Untitled, Lupe Salinas

Della, Beryl Bevilacque

Untitled, Emily Junker

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Untitled (St. Petersburg), Sasha Arutyunova

Untitled, Dennis Nazarov

Untitled, Lupe Salinas

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Untitled (tennis court), Charley Damski

Untitled (Fairfax and Melrose), Charley Damski

Skate, Andrew Ellis

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Diffraction, Antonio Santini

Sky, Sage Grazer

Coney Island, Meredith Rom

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Airstream, Sage Grazer

Tire Tracks, Jackie Munro

You Were Here 001, Jordan Reznick

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Untitled (Amsterdam), Sasha Arutyunova

Untitled, Jenna Spitz

Yearning, Cameron Justice

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Untitled, Amanda Knudsen

Ukraine 2008, Peter Curtis

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HOTOFLO

Thomas Prior

PHOTO BLOGS

www.thomasprior.com Prior works as an assistant to a major fashion photographer. His behindthe-scenes shots of models, shoots, and locations are often quirky and brilliant. Also take a peek at his blog.

PHOTOGRAPHERS GALLERIES RESOURCES COLLABORATIONS

The Canary Project www.canary-project.org The Canary Project produces visual media, events, and artwork that build public understanding of humaninduced climate change and that energize commitment to solutions.

Action:Reaction www.aurora15.com An evolving look at photography that inspires action.

Emily Shur www.emilyshur.com A Tisch alumna with an extensive editorial portfolio.

PHOTOFLO

The Year in Pictures pause | to begin www.pausetobegin.com Their aim is to publish selected photographers through an online application process and to articulate the artists’ as well as their own ideas on the photographic medium. The website includes videos. interviews with photographers,

http://pictureyear.blogspot.com/ James Danziger, owner of the Danziger Projects gallery in Chelsea, knows how to keep a blog: consistently informative and chock-full of insight.

and documentaries of their travels.

UNphotographable www.unphotographable.com A text account of pictures missed.

William Hundley www.williamhundley.com Playful and witty, this Austin, TX, native knows how to use his cheeseburgers—and creative chops. Fun in photographic form.

AND MORE FORUMS

The Ones We Love

www.photo.net

www.theoneswelove.org The Ones We Love is a project highlighting young and talented photographers from around the world. Artists contribute six photographs under given guidelines, and what results is a beautiful and interesting collection of portrayals of “the ones we love”.

www.thephotoforum.com www.photospot.com BLOGS/PHOTO SITES www.2-see.org www.skydancer.fr www.somedaysomewhere.net www.treeswing.net

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