Dance Varmint

.....Dance Varmint.

The process has begun and it's now time to step to the soapbox for a simple declaration: I don't have a definitive stance on gun control. Or if I do it's deeply rooted and conflicted with guilt, memory, love and fear. A laundry list of your basic emotions that can be called upon to support my beliefs and/or justify my conscience. The truth is that guns, for some strange reason, seem impartial and oddly comforting to me. Perhaps the mug shots of the offenders who surrendered these guns would be more terrifying and intimidating.

The fact is that guns seem to simultaneously comfort and frighten me. It's not the gun that scares me so much, as it is the distorted mind that employs it's devious delivery. More specifically, it's the death of the innocent that makes me sick to my stomach.  I imagine that most rational people think that unjustified killing is a boil on the butt of humanity. But, of course, how does one define "justify"?

I'm glad you asked--

justify:

1 show or prove to be right or reasonable: the person appointed has fully justified our confidence.
2 Theology declare or make righteous in the sight of God.
3 Printing adjust (a line of type or piece of text) so that the print fills a space evenly or forms a straight edge at one or both margins.


For the sake of argument, let's eliminate the third definition and consider the first two entries.


Better yet, let's focus a little tighter and consider the inherent visual narrative of a confiscated gun. You want circumstance and reason? Maybe it's here and maybe it's not. This much I know, each gun has a unique barrel-signature that imprints itself on each bullet that it fires. It also imprints that same indelible signature upon the lives of countless victims, defenders, sportsmen and prey. It's messy and begs resolution. The answer is deeply personal and, for me,  elusive.

Perhaps it would help to observe this dilemma through the lens of a subjective analysis-- the photograph. Let's experiment with the object and literally solarize a polarizing subject.  Let's turn shadow to highlight, evil into good and right into wrong-- let's introduce metaphor.  Guns are good, guns are bad-- perhaps (of course) they can be both.

metaphor:
- a thing regarded as representative or symbolic of something else, especially something abstract.



I think the real question is Why are guns both the sinner and the savior? In other words..... let's consider the ways and justify the means.


oh, btw:

consider:
-think carefully about (something), typically before making a decision: each application is considered on its merits.

McCullers- Richochet week 1

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!!