For me, work happens when it’s quiet. I prefer the early morning, when my brain’s not crusted up with the day’s detritus, but I’ll take evenings. Actually, I’ll take any quiet I can get.

The first meeting of 2010 for the new writers group asked everyone to write a piece that included at least two of the following phrases:

• No, she was naked. He had the gun.
• Yeah, but pink-shiny.
• Now the only question was whether one would be enough.

I wrote a shitty first draft in three bursts on Friday morning, Friday evening, and Saturday evening. I am still very unhappy with the end, but I think it’s a pretty good shitty first draft. I also stole liberally from Ernest Hemingway’s story “The Killers.”

In the Time it Takes to Ring You Up

for Ernest

The door to Louis’ Lunch opens and two men walk in, vaudevillian in their differences.  The younger man, laugh lines in the corners of his eyes, the first flesh of his early thirties circles his waist. Otherwise fit and in fighting trim. Face set into the world.  Opens the door, holds it for the older man.  Settled, this one.  Gray in much of his hair, bags beneath weary eyes. His heft and bulk like a comfortable chair.  They walk in and each take a stool at the counter.

“What’ll you have, what’ll you have,” the senior waitress says.

“Gimme a second,” the older man says.

“Sam, you been coming in here over fifteen years, and you don’t know what you want? It ain’t like we got a lot of selection.” She points to the menu board, red plastic letters affixed in mostly neat rows: grilled cheese, single hamburger, double, triple, four-way. Gut buster, fries, onion rings. Patty melt.

“Still, gimme a second,” Sam says.

She nods. “Know what you want?” She looks to the younger man.

“Take a patty melt, onion rings.”  He scans the board. “What milk you use for the shakes?”

“Whole.”

“Malted?”

“We got it.”

He nods. “Take a vanilla malt.”

“You know that’ll kill you,” Sam says.

“Like anything here’s that good?”

“Who’s this one, Sam?”

“Hery,” Sam says.

“Everything here’ll kill you dead, Hery.” The waitress stands with her small pad clutched in her hand, the other first on her hip. “But you’ll enjoy dying.”

Hery smiles, stares down at the red and yellow squeeze bottles on the table, back up into the waitress’ face, her lipstick just off her lips in small tributaries of age. “It’s what he tells me.”

“I don’t know, Muareen, what’s good.”

“It’s all good. Have what you have.”

“Fine.”

She takes some notes on her pad, turns and clips it to the wire running overhead from the counter back through the open kitchen. Sends it skittering to the man at the friers

“So tell me again,” Hery says.  “Tell it to me straight. He’s naked?”

“No no,” Sam says. “She’s naked. He had the gun.”

“But he’s the one been stabbed, right?”

“Yes, got the weapon stuck in his chest. Likely to have saved him. Weapon stuck in there like that.”

Hery cracks a smile, looks down again, this time at his hands, at the napkin holder, back to Sam.

“And what’d you say it was again?”

“You know.”

“No, no. For the report.”

“Damnit, Hery.”

“Hey, now.” Maureen a the shake machine, her lips pressed firm and her eyes on Sam. “We got kids in here.” Juts her chin towards the corner table.

Sam and Hery turn. A young family there, two small kids, maybe two and five. Probably mon and dad sitting on either side, one minding each kid.  When the two men look over, the couple  looks back. The men nod, Hery raises a hand. The couple nod back.

“Sorry,” Sam says, after they turn back. Not to the couple or to the kids but to Maureen. “I’ll keep it down.”

“See you do, detective.”

“Sure, sure.”

“She got you,” Hery says. Then, in stage whisper. “So go on. What’re you looking at there?”

Sam looks away, out the front windows, over his shoulder towards the corner table.  Around them at the other tables here and there.  Mostly single men from the courthouse. A janitor in blue, lawyers and clerks in crisp white shirts. People talking mostly quiet, chomping burgers and chewing fries.

“Guy’s got it stuck in his chest. The phallus.”

Hery smiles bigger. “Like a real one?”

“No. A fake phallus. A surrogate.”

“Surrogate phallus,” Hery says. Whispers, “Like a dildo?”

Sam’s face reddens. “Yes, like that.”

“But not like that.”

“No, not exactly.”

“Because what’s it doing?”

“It’s vibrating there, in his chest.”

“How’d she get it in?”

“Strong woman. Hard plastic.”

“Hard?”

“Yeah, shiny, too.”

“Like chrome?”

“Yeah, but pink-shiny.”

“Because of the blood.”

“Nah. Not much blood. Stopped it up, mostly. Went right in through the ribs there and the body clamped around it. Man so scared he dared not turn it off.”

“So it’s pink?”

“Yeah.” Sam looking everywhere now but at Hery. “Pink and kind of sharp. Had several of ‘em lying around. Green and blue and yellow. Don’t know why they’d make it like that.”

Hery smiles again. “Ask your wife.”

“The fuck, my wife.”

“Sam!” Maureen now with both hands on hips, her hard eyes and thin lips.

“I’m sorry, Maureen.” He turns a bit on the stool, addresses the restaurant in his way, his voice louder than normal. “Sorry, folks.  Tough morning with the crimes.”  He turns back, Hery laughing under his breath. “I swear. One of these days you’re going to get me in real trouble.”

“I’m sorry,” Hery says.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”  Though he’s not. Not really.  It’s good to get the old guy going from time to time. Get his blood rushing.  The man’s seen so much. So much degradation and killing.  Men missing heads after ending their lives with double-aught buck. Women bailing naked in the early morning hours from cars near truck stops, gas stations, rest areas. Once stopped the paperboy, though not a boy at all. A man near 60 down on his luck, his beater Cutlass station wagon with no tail lights, a pair of hacked-off hands on the papers in the front seat beside him. “So what’s he say?”

“Gentlemen,” Maureen says.  She sets the food in front of them, the grease already soaking into the wax paper, the small clack of the plastic basket on the counter.

The two men stop. Sam goes for the ketchup, Hery the mustard, a little hot sauce.  They take turns pulling napkins out of the chrome dispenser. Hery sips his malt. “Damn good,” he says. Outside, an old black Mercedes cruises the street, stops too long at the stop sign, takes a right, eases its way up the narrow avenue.

“Thanks, Maureen,” Sam says, though she’s already at the other end of the counter.  Just after noon now, and the place has filled up some, the sound of voices and din, the burgers deep frying in back. The smell of meat and cheese and grease.  He hunches into his burger, dabs the side of his mouth.  “That’s the thing.  Guy doesn’t speak English. Or says he doesn’t.  ‘Po anglee-ski. Rooski.’ Says it over and over.”

“And the girl?”

“I don’t know. Puerto Rican or something.  Boscana took her. Didn’t talk to her. Just got her out of there.”

“And the guy?”

“While the paramedics worked on him. But like I said, ‘Po anglee-ski.’ Over and over. Kept grabbing for the camera equipment. Lights and stuff.

“See there, Maureen? Kept it clean.”

“I appreciate it, Sam.”

“Files too?”

“Nah.  All that stuff in the back room he didn’t go for.  Tons of names, though. Pictures.  Like Polaroids, but smaller. Pictures clipped inside the folders with name and address, what they done. Some needing to get paid. Others not. Regular porn outfit.”

“That’s messed up.”

“Glad you went that direction,” Maureen says. Ringing up the guys in white shirts, the family at the corner table beginning to wad napkins and wax paper, stack the plastic baskets in the center of their table.

“And you want me to take ‘em in?”

“I’m tired, Hery. Been at it since last night.  If you could. Just take the files, check them into evidence.  I’d appreciate it.”

“Can do,” Hery says, slurps the last bits of malt and raises his hand to ask for water when the world thunders with gunfire, windows shatter in and his neck blows out on the left-hand side. Blood pours onto the lunch counter. Sam feels fire in his shoulder, watches the two men standing at the register hitch and pop like dancers, their shirts torn open and red, their ties flapping in red spray. He drops to the ground. Inches from his face, Hery’s eyes, his mouth gaping like a fish, the breath gurgling through blood, a fine mist with each exhale. Then his eyes cloud up.

Sam pulls his radio, mashes the button, “Dispatch I got shots and officers down, 436 south west second street. Shots and officers down.”

Another burst of shots, the windows on the side bust in. The little girl shrieks. Must be the little girl. Sam scrambles to the family. Dad’s cheek gone or something wrong with it, bits of skin hanging down, dripping blood into the girl’s face, the little girl screaming and wiping at her eyes. “Hey, there, Dad,” Sam says, searches around on the floor, finds the napkin dispenser. “Hey, there, it’s okay.” Pulls napkin after napkin, wipes the girl’s face, puts a wad of them in the dad’s hand and brings his hand up, catches the bits of his cheek, presses them back into his face.  “You hold that here, you get me?”

The man’s eyes searching for purchase, dazed and half lidded.

Sam shouts at him, “Dad, you listen up. You listen, you hear? You keep this here, keep your kids down. Don’t move nothing, okay?”

When he gets a nod from the man, he turns to the wife. The wife’s shirt is covered in blood.  The son is shot bad, and she cradles the boy and rocks him.  Sam scrambles through the glass to them, watches the hard lines on the woman’s face deepen, watches the knowing come to her eyes as she looks from the boy to him and back again.  The boy’s so young, his eyes big and blue. He can’t talk. Something wrong with his neck or his throat, and he’s not breathing well.  Sam tries to touch him, to see where he’s hurt, but the woman beats with her fists, her forearms against Sam’s forehead. He falls back on his ass, and she retreats to the corner, her legs kicking in the broken glass, the ketchup and blood smeared on the floor.

There are no gun shots now. People moaning, a few whispered conversations here and there.  Someone telling someone else it will be okay.  Maybe a prayer.

He crawls the few feet to the front door, chances a look outside, around the door frame.  In the street, the dark Mercedes. In the parking lot two men in denim pop Sam’s trunk with a crow bar. One leans in, picks up the box of files, the other turns around to keep watch, blunt black machine gun in his hand.

Behind Sam, the woman wails, and he has had enough of killing. A belly full. A life full.  The hack jobs and creeps. Just the life. The life he’s seen and seen extinguished.  Didn’t tell Hery about the woman’s tears, the blood on her thighs, the rope burns on her wrists and ankles.  Didn’t tell him about the printed photos, the computers, about the two girls they found in back of the place, waiting their turns. Didn’t tell him any of it because Hery’d been so young.  Hadn’t seen it yet.  Didn’t need to know it then and there, would have seen it soon enough.

And now these two after the files. After what they’ve done to this place, to these people.  Pulls his gun from his shoulder holster and backs up to the shattered window.  Rests the gun muzzle on the window frame to help steady it, takes aim along the barrel.  The guys confident and sure, barely looking. Guy on the move gets one box into the Mercedes’ back seat, comes back for the second.The woman’s wail, the dad now, too, bellowing.  Maureen’s voice in the background, her husband’s not.  Sam grits his teeth and pulls the trigger.

"Reflection in television, July 28th 2009" by Katie West

Greg Turner: Where are you from and what lead you to photography? How did you get your start, so to speak?
Katie West: I’m not sure if you mean where am I from geographically, or artistically, so I suppose I’ll answer both. I’m from a small farming village called Holland Landing. That description makes it sound much more interesting than it is; it’s about 45 minutes outside of Toronto. In Canada. I never took any art classes in high school because for some strange reason I thought I was supposed to take business courses and computer courses. I managed to sneak into the second part of a photography course in grade 11, even though I didn’t have any of the prerequisites. I did that because my friends were in it, and they were always using me as a model, so I thought maybe I’d like to take the pictures too. Also my school had a darkroom and I used to hang out with them in there, always wondering what exactly they were doing. Unfortunately, what they were doing was taught in the first part of the photography course, so I just sort of had to learn by experimenting and making mistakes.

GT: And why writing? It seems photography would be a thankless enough slog, but to add words on top of that?
KW: I always wanted to be a writer, for as long as I can remember. Unfortunately I’m not very good at it, but I really like it, so I keep at it. And I don’t find either photography or writing thankless – quite the opposite. The amount of email I get thanking me for my pictures or my words is often incredible to me. Now, saying that it pays off monetarily? No, not exactly. And I don’t think I’d want to depend on my photography as my sole source of income. I worry that would stress me out and force me to do things I’m not interested in which would make me like it less. I’m not interested in taking pictures of weddings, or babies, and so I don’t want to have to so that I can eat that month. Now, if I could make a living doing what I already do? Amazing. Perfect. And who knows? Maybe one day? Maybe…

GT: You and others have described your work as being “honest” (I happen to agree). What do you suppose this means? What about your process or aesthetic contributes to your work’s honesty?
KW: I think the honesty is my work comes across through my willingness to share many vulnerable moments in my life. I rarely plan a shoot (talking self-portraits here) in advance. The vast majority of my pictures are born of moments when I feel I just have to take a picture. It’s like I get this feeling from inside me that is like a small voice pestering me and then it gets louder and louder and the only way to make it go away is to take a picture. Whoa, that makes me sound crazy, but it’s also true. So the process – of never planning, mostly going on a whim – results in very real and honest portraits I believe. I mean, on the internet, we’re always in control of how much of ourselves we share with an audience; I just tend to share a lot. The honesty also comes through in that though: I share a lot. I have no problems with being who I am online. And I mean, I’m really nerdy and awkward, but that doesn’t bother me and I don’t mind if people know that sort of thing. Aesthetically, the honesty comes across in the use of natural light, the locations of most of my photos (which are usually in my house, or in the places I work, or places I frequent), the lack of elaborate set-up, or costumes or make-up. I’m not saying I never use those things, but those aren’t my more honest photos, you know?

GT: What draws you to self portraits?
KW: I sort of addressed this already, but I can say more. I think mostly two things draw me to self-portraits. The first is what I already mentioned, this compulsion I have to take photos. And this compulsion is usually born out of intense emotions I’m feeling. Often taking pictures, the entire process appeases me in some way, and that can be useful when you’re prone to The Crazy. Even the clean-up after I shoot – moving furniture back, putting lights ad camera away – feels very satisfying in my gut for some reason. And the second thing that draws me to self-portraits is having this immense photographic and written diary of my life. I really like history – visiting cities with me is horrible if you don’t like history because all I want to do is museums! and historical places! and oh! That’s the chair George Washington sat in! – and also really like the idea of the personal history. I love going to my grandparents and looking through all their old photos and newspaper clippings and just…old stuff. In addition to the historical aspect that I’d like to have someday to look back on, I also like getting glimpses into other people’s minds. I like reading other people’s diaries, I like going through their rooms, I like figuring people out. I like seeing the things that people usually hide. So I guess I like to offer that closeness to people, that look inside my mind, that open diary for people to find. I think that sort of thing is interesting, and I’d like to do something interesting, right? So yeah, basically craziness and creepiness draws me to self-portraits. Ha!

GT: You currently live in Toronto, correct?  How do you think where you’re from and where you live now affects your work? Is there a particular aesthetic found in Toronto not found other places?
KW: I do not like Toronto. Of all the cities I’ve ever lived, or visited, it’s my least favourite. And I lived in Windsor! It’s not a friendly city. It’s a city obsessed with trying to be New York, and liking to think it is the Canadian New York, but there can’t be another New York, there can’t even be anything that comes close. Toronto is a city that just seems confused about who it is, where it’s going, where it came from even. One of my favourite cities is Philadelphia, and compared to Philly, Toronto is just, I don’t know, it lacks character. I’m not saying there’s no redeeming qualities about the city; the diversity of Toronto is unlike anything I’ve experience before. Forty-nine percent of the people who live in Toronto were not born in Canada, this results in a very rich multiculturalism that doesn’t exist anywhere else because in Toronto, you don’t need to learn to speak English. Toronto is still a Canadian city despite its wanting so badly to escape it. So if you don’t speak English, the Torontonian you’re attempting to communicate with will feel bad and apologetic that they don’t speak your language, albeit in their best impression of an unfriendly American. (It’s bizarre I know, because Americans are not unfriendly, but Canadians think they are. But! The rest of Canada outside Toronto is too polite and too apologetic; no wonder we never actually separated ourselves from Britain and the Queen’s head is on our coins.) But this amazing tapestry of people in Toronto means really great, diverse food options, easily accessible exploration of other cultures and some sort of cultural festival almost every weekend, especially in the summer. Often I wonder if I would move to the States if I could (which I can’t). But I love Canada. As much as Toronto is not the city for me, and as much as I believe there isn’t a city in Canada for me, I love being Canadian. I love being polite and apologetic and kind. I like my accent and how I say eh. I love the expansiveness of Canada, the extremities of our climate and terrain. I love our healthcare and our gun laws.

Wait.

What was the question? Oh yeah. So, where I am certainly affects my work, which is why I don’t mind moving, and why I like to visit new places. I’m very moved by locations, as I quite dislike studio shoots. I like to go places and take photos. The first thing I notice when I walk into an interesting space is where the security cameras are. Know what I mean?

GT: Finally, if you were going to show a single episode of STNG to someone to win them to the show, which episode would it be?
KW: Once, a bunch of people I know got together and formed the Council of Trek, in which we had very intense discussions about what would be the 10 episodes we would say were the best; that highlighted the shows strengths as well as demonstrated its range. (Though the list also kept in mind things such as “Riker’s beard”, “android banging” and “Wesley”.) The best episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation is, arguably of course, “Chain of Command.” But a good starting point, though still maintaining the quality of “Chain of Command,” would be “Encounter at Farpoint.” And then “The Inner Light.” And I could go on, but you said a single episode and I’ve already mentioned three.

"Untitled (53 and counting)" by Katie West

I can’t remember when I first stumbled on Katie West’s work. I’m sure it was via Flickr, but now I’m not sure how I would have found it. Glad I did? You bet.  I didn’t know what to expect when I asked Katie to be interviewed. Maybe I expected the artist to be as tough as her work. She is, in a way, but she’s also generous and kind and clearly passionate about what she does.

“The Inner Light” happens to be my favorite.

"50 Year Tree Section Illustration" by Brian Everett

Greg Turner: Can you explain  the path you took to get where you are now?
Brian Everett: That is a good question. Looking back now, I would have to say there is a clear path; though I would not have thought so before you asked me that. As far back as I can remember I always drew things. My mother would spend time teaching me how to draw, and I’m not talking about stick figures or coloring with crayons. I can even vividly remember her teaching me how to draw three dimensional objects with proper shading. That definitely had a big impact on me. The outdoors certainly captured my attention as well, and I spent all day everyday outside. I would also spend a lot of time investigating how things around me worked. Taking apart electronics, and borrowing parts to build other things. I kept a large box of various parts and motors under my bed. I even fixed a boat trolling motor once that had been damaged, which my father gave to a friend who used it for another 8 years afterward. Probably the biggest role in where I am today, was high school art class. I loved every single different medium, and was decent in them all. But drawing was always my strong suit. It wasn’t until my senior year of art class that I found out about Industrial Design. My art teacher told me to look into it when I scouted for colleges. Off to college I went, but initially started in a major of Forestry (I told you I loved the outdoors). After one semester I switched to Industrial Design and stuck with it. I’ve now been in the Industrial Design field for almost 7 years, so it looks like my Art teacher was spot on.

I am really doubtful I might be farther along in my career or be better at what I do, if I lived in Chicago or NYC for example. Brooklyn, NY is pretty much the center of the country right now in terms of design and the things being cranked out. It seems to be a hot bed. But honestly, if I were there and being surrounded by people everyday that had a similar path as me, I would be annoyed. I am sure they see it as inspiration, and maybe it motivates them. For me, I look at things in completely the opposite. I want a good challenge, knowing it might be a little more difficult for me to make a name for myself being in the center of the country. But it really isn’t even that. It is more so the belief I have always had, which is you can be anything you want to be, from anywhere you want. Especially with the technologies today, there is no reason this should not be true.

However, with Industrial Design sometimes it is different. There I draw a lot of ideas from brainstorming sessions with other people. Which is basically a time you set aside, to think of ideas and expound on them. That is one of my favorite parts of ID without a doubt. Just tossing ideas back and forth, and even some crazy ones. Thinking completely freely. I try not to look at too much of other peoples work, but that is pretty difficult to do when you are surrounded by it. And that is ironic considering I run a blog that shows other people’s work all the time. There is a quote I posted on the blog quite a while ago that has stuck with me. It was from the artist Robert Rauchenberg: “Anything you do will be an abuse of somebody else’s aesthetics. I think you’re born an artist or not. I couldn’t have learned it, and I hope I never do because knowing more only encourages your limitations.”

GT: What keeps you going?
BE: Honestly, the biggest thing keeping me going lately is to one day work for myself and own a design business. But it is a slow process getting to that. I’m a non traditional, risky and adventurous person, but I’m not risky enough to just drop a good paying job and get a $300,000 small business loan either. Probably because I’m at a different stage in my life, where I cannot take on that sort of personal risk. I won’t bore people with the details of why. So I am slowly building and working towards my own business.

Beyond that, most of the time I find it extremely challenging to want to continue in my current career. I’ve never been a follower, and don’t take directions from others very well. And I do not work well with close minded people, which is often what you find when you work in-house for a company. My mind is always racing at 100 miles an hour with ideas. And right now, I’m trying to channel as much of those thoughts through EVRT Studio when I can, but without taking over my entire personal life. It is very challenging.

Patterned City by Brian Everett

It’s weird having a mid-west doppleganger. Still, I can’t imagine better luck than finding mine is Brian Everett. He’s a good designer, a good photographer, and good people to boot. I long ago vowed not to visit Kansas again, but now I find I just might have to go back on my word.

To Get What I Want by Lauren Peralta

Greg Turner: How did you get into photography?
Lauren Peralta: Throughout high school I was seriously into oil painting and never thought of photography as an art form I’d be into. I started playing with photoshop and a 1.3 megapixel digital camera that my stepfather had laying around the house just for kicks. When I turned 16, my grandmother saw some of my  pictures and took me out to buy me my first DSLR, just to play around with. It ended up turning into a love affair  with photography, and I couldn’t put the damn thing down for 3 months straight. I started neglecting my painting, and  eventually no longer cared for it. Without taking any photography classes, I applied to art school to major in  photography. I am now a BFA Photography major at SUNY New Paltz. It’s history from there.

GT: What keeps you going?
LP: Everything. The stress, my happiness, love, anger, hatred, numbness, my family, my friends, beautiful things,  ugly things, autumn, loneliness, heartbreak, disgust, relief, release…There is nothing in my life that doesn’t  inspire me to keep taking photos. I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. Even my worst photographs – they don’t deter me  from doing this. They spur me on to create something to better convey what I want you to see. I want you to see what  I see. I think it’s completely remarkable that photography allows the viewer to catch a glimpse into what my eyes have
seen, and how I saw it.

GT: How do you think where you’re from, where you grew up, and
where you are affect your art?
LP: I came from a pretty weird family situation. The split between my family acted as a catalyst for some pretty heavy  artwork in the early stages of my camera work. There are a lot of demons in my head, and a lot of it comes from being 16 and incredibly vulnerable and unstable, not having something permanent and loving to come home to. On top of
that, the second phase of my photography comes from the loss of my first love, as is the case with many young  photographers. When your heart is stolen from you and smashed on the floor, you don’t have much left to give… and I gave it all.

The one thing I did have was my camera, and it saved me from falling to pieces. As for where I am  now… I’m in a good place. My photos have consequently taken on a message of feminine strength and pride. There is  always a sense of vulnerability mixed in with it, because there always IS that small part of me that could possibly be broken, as is the case with anyone. But I’ve learned too much to falter, and I believe that shows in my recent work  as of this past winter.

GT: What do you think separates your self-portraits from your
other photographs?
LP: Well, to be quite honest… in most cases a model simply can’t convey exactly what is in my head. I don’t tend to do  fashion work, or photos for the hell of it. My photos are very emotionally driven. I can tell a model all I want to  pose how I want her/him, but only I know what’s in my head. Generally I am just able to convey what I feel better in a  self portrait because it’s ME. That’s how I feel. That comment, however, was a remark based on flickr popularity.

It bothers me when photos I’m really proud of don’t get as much attention as some of my “not as good” self portraits.  While my self shots tend to convey more emotion, they AREN’T always technically well done, and I’m not always happy with  the way they come out. I post them anyway, and they get an overwhelming response because just because I’m the model. That leaves me with less faith in people to be honest with me about whether or not my work was successful. But hey,  people like what they like, right?

2:15 am by Lauren Peralta

And so she strives. She strives to put the things in her mind out into the world. And she strives to be known and recognized and to do good work. And her fans will cheer her on and folks will steal her images and people will comment on the tattoo, not the photograph.

It’s why I’m not showing it.

sleeping stranger with tie by Tanya Dakin

Greg Turner: The basics: How did you get into modeling? Photography?
Tanya Dakin: I have been doing self portraits since about 12 years old,
and my mother has always made me pose for fashion shots at home. I did not start to actively model for others until I was about 32, 2002.  I started shooting my own images around 1984 and have become ultimately committed to it since 2001.

G: Of your photography work, your “sleeping strangers” series is probably my favorite. How did you start this project and what about it appeals to you?
T: I started the Sleeping Strangers project by accident. 2007 to be exact. I saw a man half asleep at Madison Square Gardens at the News stand. The excitement of shooting the image before the subject opens their eyes was a rush that i have never felt. Almost like shoplifting with less consequences

Since I had been traveling often for modeling, it gave me the opportunity to see a lot of people in transit that are tired enough to slip into a public nap. I will eventually have a book after I collect enough to edit from.

G: What makes for a good relationship between model and photographer? What are some of the things you try to do as a model to make for a good photography session?
T: Be courteous, friendly and professional; don’t let your ego extend past your talents. Give back images in a timely fashion. Be willing to collaborate, and exchange ideas.

I usually do my own styling and my own concepts, and give ideas of lighting and angles that I envision. This usually makes it super easy on the photographer, and very rarely does it not produce great images.

G: How do you think modeling has influenced your photography?
T: Actually I think Photography is a bigger influence on my modeling. I know what makes for a great image, and this helps me at the concept and styling process, the rest is just role playing. Becoming the character, or bringing a
mood to the frame, always find the light, know your angles and be aware of your body parts, and having grace and confidence, is my main components for modeling.

G: I did want to ask one more question of you, and it has to do with equipment. I know from your Flickr stream that shoot most of your own material with a Fuji FinePix F30. How do you think equipment affects your ability to take compelling photos and what might you say to those people who feel they can’t be photographers until they have their first Hasselblad or Canon Mark III?
T: I have seen people with exact same camera as me shoot not so great pictures. It’s defiantly not the equipment that gives one the capabilities of a great image. It’s the user. Having knowledge of how to get a great photo helps with any camera. but i have had photographers shoot 35 MM plastic camera point and shoot with no controls and have gotten glorious images.

Lately I am shooting with photographers that are shooting with very low end equipment and getting very satisfying results.

The Fuji Finepix’s opticals are fantastic, and aside from it not shooting in RAW, It does a lovely job. I recently spoke at a photo class and gave a presentation on self ports, and I made a point of letting the students know that my equipment is very minimal. It’s important in this economy to know you can get a satisfying image with out breaking the bank. And that all you really need is a good eye and understanding or love for photography.

"LA Lolita - self portrait" by Tanya Dakin

Tanya continues to be one of my favorite Flickr contacts.  The few times we’ve emailed (mostly about food), I’ve been surprised by her honesty and comforted by how well she seems to know herself.  Because of this candor, this confidence, I imagine she would be a nothing but a joy to work with, on either side of the camera.

White Sands National Monument, New Mexico. (Or the moon?) by ck/ck

Greg: So first, what’s your name, and what are some places you’ve lived?
Claes: My name is Claes, and I’m from Sweden. I grew up in a town called Sundsvall (pop. 90,000), and lived there most of my life so far before moving to Karlskrona, which is at the very south of Sweden. There I attended school, which sent me on an internship to New York City last summer through this spring, where I lived for nine months until this road trip started at the end of April. Currently I’m living out of a suitcase and a car.

G: How did you get involved in photography?
C: I only got into photography in December  2006 when I had to replace a broken digital camera (a tiny, fully automatic Sony), and for reasons I really don’t know or remember, I made a conscious decision to buy a compact camera that offered more than auto modes. I got a Canon Powershot A710 IS that had manual modes, quite a zoom, macro, etc. Flash forward four months, I was completely in love with photography. Like truly and madly. I had used this compact camera to do every type of photography imaginable, and I felt I was ready for a DSLR. So I went from not interested at all to obsessed within just a few months. The rest is history.

G: What made you wish to travel across America and photograph it?
C: I’ve always wanted to go on a road trip across America for as long as I can remember. I think the seed of going on a road trip comes from traveling across Europe with my family and our caravan as a kid; that travel-by-car bug got me early. It really is the only way to really see the world. Fast forward to the present, I’m living in New York and I have my final project for my school coming up post-internship, and it just seemed like the perfect timing (and maybe the last chance), not only to go on the road trip that I always wanted to go on, but do it with my camera in hand and be able to do it as a school project. So it’s been a trip that has fulfilled many things.

G: I think it’s interesting you traveled when you were young.  I don’t think people normally associate the road trip with Europe. I think of it as something very American.
C: Europeans travel a lot within the continent, but maybe not always as a road trip where you keep moving throughout the whole journey. The road trips I was on when I were young was basically a week of driving down to Italy, where we would stay put for a month, then a week’s drive back.

G: In your photographs on this trip, you have taken such perfect shots of America.  One of my favorites is the picnic table at White Sands. How does being from another culture affect your ability to capture a place?  How do you see things and capture things in America that you might not elsewhere? Do you think you would be able to make the same kinds of photographs of Sweden?  I ask because I’m becoming more interested in photography and place.
C: Actually, I feel that I hadn’t found my photographic “voice” until I moved to New York City, so I actually have no idea how I’ll fare back in Sweden. I think I’ll do just fine, I think the things that interest me as a photographer can be found in any country or culture, but I do also agree that coming from a different background helps you look at things a little differently than someone who grew up there would. It’s just looking at things with a fresh pair of eyes. If you’ve been looking at it all your life, you stopped really looking a long time ago.

For example, when I think of Sweden, while it’s beautiful and is a very good country to live in, to me it’s sort of bland and familiar, whereas someone from another country might see the same things and be amazed. It wasn’t until I got really interested in photography that I actually walked around my hometown and really looked at what’s there. It was quite a revelation.

Astoria, Oregon. by ck/ck

Take a wander through his website and pay particular attention to the “Disposable Coney” section in Series (one of my personal favorites). Then wander over to Hypostyle.net and saunter back and back through some amazing landscapes. Then go ahead and bookmark both. You’ll want to return.

Greg Turner: How did you get into photography?
Kris Payne: Just like everybody else: my Dad gave me a 35mm SLR. I took a bunch of pictures with it and then enrolled in some photo classes in college before dropping out and going to an all photo school. No sappy bullshit story about my grandfather’s lenses or some heavenly apparition.

G: Why do you think you’ve become so attracted to landscapes?
K: Have you seen the planet we live on? How can you not be attracted to them? The natural landforms we get to see on a daily basis are the most beautiful things on this planet, because they /are/ this planet. We’re naturally geared to be drawn to the forms: seas, mountains, deserts, forests, rivers, fjords, etc. There is so much beauty in what you can’t control. What’s interesting is that we are finding out that we do have control over our landscape, and we’re also finding this out much too late.

G: You seem to travel a lot, and I wonder how you think this might affect your work–this idea of being out in the world, away from home (if there even is a home for you).
K: The travel is the work. My goal isn’t to seek out landscapes that haven’t been shown, or some new and interesting angle. It’s quite the opposite, actually: by going in and showing the same thing that anyone can see, you begin to see more of the simple beauty. It’s very accessible. You don’t have to have an art degree to understand my work.

I would consider Brooklyn my home, for the time being. I’m not as transient as it would seem, even though I get itchy and need to be somewhere new (or even somewhere old). It’s also very healthy to get perspective every now and then and see your self and your place from another point of view.

G: What do you think are the benefits of going to an all-photo school? And do you think would be in a similar space if you hadn’t attended?
K: School is such a touchy subject. I’m technically a college dropout and am doing very well for myself, but that’s not to say I don’t value education. Knowledge is very key, but real world experience is such a better way to learn than most schools can (or ever will) offer, and that’s just reality. Benefits of going to an all photo school mean you’re surrounded by like-minded people who can encourage and challenge you, and your instructors aren’t also diverting attention to other aspects of education that they really don’t need to.

If I hadn’t had gone to the all photo school I did, I don’t think I’d be in New York right now, but I’d probably be in the same place, does that make sense? I don’t really think it was the school that put me anywhere, it was my own ambition, I just happened to go to school near New York. I got a really strong foundation at my school and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.

G: Also, you mentioned our too-late realization of control over our environment. Does this put extra responsibility on your work?
K: What’s contradictory about my work is that fact that I don’t shoot digitally. I’m an advocate of recycling and taking care of your part to do better for the environment, but I spend copious amounts of money on having magic paper dipped in magic water for the sake of art.

There’s a new book out right now that deals with the problem landscape photographers face in dealing with vanishing landscapes (the title of the book). There is a sense of conservation among all landscape shooters, I mean, why wouldn’t we want to preserve that beauty for someone to look at later? What if my kids never get the chance to see a mountain, my parents may never see a glacier, but through my work maybe they can, and hopefully it’s powerful enough to spark something in them to see more of the world.

I was fortunate enough to find Kris’ work via a Tumblr confluence and then first contacted him about a lawn mower.  I’m really glad I did.

"Benjamin" by Megan McIsaac

You may know Megan McIsaac’s work from Flickr, or you might have the good fortune to live in the Pacific Northwest and know Megan personally. I’ve been a fan for a while and totally stole the “making photographs” idea from her. Then I asked her some questions:

Greg: Where are some of the places you’ve lived?
Megan: i suppose technically i have only lived in michigan, near detroit, and now portland, oregon. i have travelled to most states out east and in the midwest and have spent time in mexico and a lot of time in ontario, canada. i will most likely be living in oregon until october of this year and then depending on how much money i have saved, i would like to go further south and explore california and even texas, and then early next year i plan on taking off to europe, most likely france, to live for as long as i can!

G: how did you arrive at photography?
M: my grandfather was and still is a great photographer, he is the one held responsible for my passion in making photographs. our family, the mcisaacs, have been traveling to canada every summer for over 50 years to meet at this great lodge and when i was five or so, i remember my grandfather handing me his nikon while he was making the traditional family picture and i was fascinated with it. when i was seven years old, he and my father gifted me my first camera, a polaroid, for christmas and i really haven’t put it down since.

G: i love that you say, “make photographs” rather than “take photographs.” when and why did you start saying this?
M: haha! a lot of people have been pointing that out lately. to be honest, i have no clue when i began to say it, as far as i remember i have always referred to it as “making” photographs, it makes more sense in my mind. i don’t feel as though i am taking anything and that is not my objective. i suppose the most simple way i can describe it is that i am out to make and show moments, show my perspective through my photographs, not take someone else’s life or take other moments or anything of the sort. i am simply making memories, both personally and for others.

"february 13" by Megan McIsaac

I want to thank Megan for taking the time to answer, and point you all to her prints currently for sale. I hear, if you buy a print, you get extra stuff, like gum.  Who doesn’t like gum?

Go. Look.