Week 1: Hello, may I shoot you?
I have spoken these very words more than once.
For photographers the context of this phrase usually occurs after you have noticed someone compelling and you want to memorialize the moment. If a gunman uses this phrase you can assume that you are in big trouble. The only memorializing that will be done is on your tombstone. One identical phrase, two different scenarios both meanings dependent on context. Please say hello to your new frenemy- the gun.
The assignment at hand is to introduce a current body of work, that we will consider, analyze, and modify according to class discussions and critiques. Following is a brief introduction to the subject matter, methodology, conceptual intention, and artistic ideology that is defined my latest body of work known as "Ricochet".
As I sit typing these words the "countdown clock" on CNN is ticking off the hours and minutes remaining until President Obama addresses the nation tomorrow night regarding his proposed legislation on gun control. That is an appropriate backdrop for a body of work that centers on a cache of confiscated hand-guns that are stored in the weapons vault at the City of Atlanta Police Department. The fact that the weapons vault is directly adjacent to the room where confiscated drugs are stored is worthy of it's own blog-space, but I digress....
The walk through the halls to get to the weapons vault was aromatically charged with the slight, pungent smell of marijuana. I considered the irony and quietly mused, "Had I taken a wrong turn and wound up on the set of the tv show Cops?", sadly, no. I realized that I was on a journey to Wonderland to follow Alice down the rabbit hole and pop out in a Land called Oz. However, here the yellow-brick road was littered with shell casings and the creature in the corner was definitely smoking a hookak. Ultimately, this project is about the thorny, metaphorical paradox of chasing rabbits into holes and then killing them. Sometimes for sport, other times for food-- perhaps for power, defending your rights and (possibly) perverting our innocence. Just to be clear-- this is not a story about hunting...
I immediately thought about the duality of this subject matter and how different it was from what I first imagined. The message, not to mention the medium, might well be muddled in a glorified gray area of opinion that was both calculated and passionate. Surely my well-balanced, moderate geo-political and progressive photographic beliefs would offset any radical ideologies that appeared as subtext of either fact or opinion. The beautiful banality of these images would certainly over-ride any misgivings and prejudice that might arise, right?? Or could it be that I am betraying my culture and my art in one broad stroke? Killer-photography without cameras, killing-guns without bullets, where is the foundation for logic? Apparently, the familiarity of my photo-chemical background and the sanctity of my 16-gage shotgun are at risk of being out-dated and harsh. These inviolable rights aren't as neatly packaged as they used to be. Acknowledging that small voice that resides in my conscience, Alice smiled and chided me to keep up! It as tho she was saying "Relax, we're just getting started".
Entering the vault I stepped into a room full of guns and immediately channeled my inner rabbit, I felt like prey. Shotguns, handguns and rifles (oh my!): each gun mounted on peg board hooks, identified, tagged, and cataloged into some ominous database that reconciled each gun to its questionable past. This passcode-protected display conveyed a sense of organization that somehow neutralized the killing karma that must be inherent in every back-story of every gun that is hung on the wall. Some of the guns were military and some were militant-- all were designed to do one thing. Whether it's to feed, defend or vilify-- when the finger slides to the trigger only passion remains.
I unpacked the scanner and selected my weapon(s) of choice, turned off the lights and started the process. For some strange reason, I thought about the cartoon of Buggs Bunny and his nemesis Yosemite Sam. Somewhere deep in the back of my mind I heard the echo-- Dance Varmint!!
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