lori vrba photog blog

the longest blog post ever

We just finished decorating the tree.  I have spent a week decorating my house for Christmas for the last 20 years.  This year, I gave myself 2 days.  I decided what wasn't up by Sunday night wasn't going up and we are here on Sunday night with plenty of holiday cheer and no complaints.  

Today I thought about all kinds of things I could blog about.  I sorted thru bags and bags of knotted up yarn that represented several things...1. a puppy came here 2 years ago who was obsessed with my baskets of knitting and tangled himself in them with wild abandon.  2.  I'm not knitting enough...OH SO THAT'S MY PROBLEM  3.  My life needs sorting very much like these bags of yarn.  Hey, I know.  I'm on it.

The other thing...while I was out Christmas shopping today...I went through an intersection where just moments before, an accident had occurred.  It looked pretty rough...air bags had exploded, cop cars everywhere...enough chaos to cause a stir.  But what caught my attention was the mother of the mini van...about my age...with 2 young children...several feet away from her beat-to-shit-van.  She had them just on the edge of the woods.  I could see that they were shaken, of course.  She was hunched over with her arms around them both, and then she had them sit down.  And I could hear her in my mind.  Not out loud, but in my mind.  I knew how she was comforting them...oblivious to her car, or the cops, or the traffic, or herself.  I knew what she was saying and I thought to myself...isn't it amazing that women everywhere just. know. how.  How mothers all over the world instinctively know how to take care of babies.  Especially in chaos.  It really blows me away.  I wanted to stop for her.  But I knew she didn't need me to.  

Lastly, I posted this next thing for about 24 hours awhile back.  I pulled it just after the interview went up because...well...it is heavily loaded with F-bombs and I try to keep my language clean here.  I don't know WHY at this point.  Initially, I thought of myself more as a photographer-for-hire.  And I didn't want to represent myself on the blog as a chain smokin' foul mouthed red-neck.  But the truth is...in real life...I cuss like a sailor.  And when you read the following...you will understand my overwhelming need to express myself in the most honest way.  I wrote the following several weeks ago while in Florida with one of my dearest friends.  I've still not fully recovered physically.  I will.  Spiritually...not sure that I will.  Which is good.

November 21,2009

A few weeks ago, my dear friend Nata B invited me to join her for a working trip to Boca Raton, Florida.  She planned to be there for a long weekend...wanted company and most importantly...was flying out on her birthday...so I agreed.  Boca, with Nata, on her birthday...hey, worse ways to spend a weekend.

So three days ago, we took off.  Talked non-stop for the two hour flight and then held hands as the plane landed.  We are both nervous flyers and were convinced as we touched down that we would die together.  We did not, and quickly forgot how grateful we were to be alive.  We gathered our things and made our way to the car rental shuttle bus.  We were the last ones on with standing room only.  Nata stood near the front of the bus and I was midway down.  We were well on our way down the road...going about 50...when I saw a white mini van cut directly in front of the bus.  It is amazing how quickly the human brain works.  It was a fraction of a second, but I remember instantly knowing that this was going to be bad.  It was.  The driver, slammed hard on his brakes to avoid t-boning and killing the mini van driver (who had done a hard U-turn directly in front of him...on her cell phone)...and in that instant I felt myself launched.  I was airborn.  And not aware of anything else happening in the bus, or in time.  Only that I was moving back ass forward at rocket speed.  My brain latched on and I wondered in that single second what I would hit that would stop my body, how hard I would hit, and if I would survive.  I woke up in the well of the bus (where you step down to get off).  There was a woman standing over me telling me to not move.  I wasn't really interested in moving.  I was hoping I could figure out a way to breath...which seemed impossible and then wanted to be able to open my eyes.  Eyes came first.  And then Nata was there, crying.  She had been flying as well.  She later told me that her in-flight brain was convinced that she would blow thru the windshield.  Her back hit the metal pole next to the driver instead.  The police came.  The paramedics came.  Here is where I could spin off into a whole tangent about what is wrong with health care in this country...I will stop myself because its not the point of this post.  But I will say, the primary goal of the brightly clad paramedics was to relieve themselves of any liability.  They would not comment on my nor Nata's condition.  They informed us that they would gladly strap us to a backboard and take us by ambulance to a trauma hospital.  I said that I would like to sit up first and see how I felt before committing to that ordeal.  In order to sit up...I had to sign a release saying they were done.  Are you kidding me?  How does that make sense?  And why the fuck are you wearing a neon orange vest that says RESCUE if you are not here to help me.  Fuck that.  

We left.  In shocking pain and paranoia, we left.  I wouldn't have done it alone...and given how often I travel alone, its kind of a miracle that this happened with my friend because I would have unraveled. 

We have very v e r y slowly worked, moved, related, played and enjoyed each other.  The night of the accident, we decided to at least have a toast...roof top poolside, for Nata's birthday.  We each donned our ridiculous Boca pajamas, grabbed a beer and sauntered our way up.  The pool was lit up like a fucking football stadium but we we caught sight of the steaming jacuuzi...you've never seen two girls get naked so fast.  Glorious.  Back in our room, we ordered up PLENTLY of cake, PLENTY of ice cream, and PLENTY of potato chips...don't forget the candles...and we re-invented the slumber party.  Very aware of how human we are.  Very aware of how good it is to have a true friend.  Very aware of how precarious it all really is.

Sometimes when you aren't paying enough attention...the universe just smacks you hard on the back of the head.  And ribs.  And spinal chord.  And mid-back.  And ass.    And right arm.  All over really.  Ok.  I got it.  You have my attention.

Chit Chat

Paul Giguere interviewed me about a month ago.  He just posted the pod link on his site.  There's just no hidin' the Texas accent.  I give up.    

www.thoughtsonphotography.com

Beauty

I took my camera and my daughter out yesterday in an attempt to move out of my funk.  She is magic.  She is beautiful in every frame, making a good edit nearly impossible.  I must have been a saint in a former life to have earned the privilege of having her with me in this one.

Olivia Grace and a white balloon...

www.lorivrba.com/whiteballoon.mov

Whatz Next

this pretty much sums up my  mood...

www.lorivrba.com/next.mov

Tweet Yourself

I logged in on Twitter one time.  I didn't get it and I have no idea what my password is so I don't Tweet.  But for the last two days, I was laughing in my mind with the thought that if I DID tweet...it would be hysterical.  Because I have looked like a ridiculous comedy routine, working from pre-sun to post-sun to moonshine and woulda drank some moonshine if I'd had any.  In my pajamas no less...cause you can save a huge amount of time by skipping that whole "personal hygiene/getting dressed" thing.

I've been pressing and spotting these big ass prints which sounds like no big deal but I will kill anyone who says that to my face.  I like them verrrry flat and perfect and I have had to re-invent the wheel to get them that way.  So don't say it.  Say, "whoa Vrba, those big ass prints are shockingly flat and perfect!  How in the world did you get them that way?"  

In the midst of the flattening extravaganza...I had a lovely conversation with Crista Dix who owns Wall Space Gallery in Seattle.  la la la LAAAAA...she is now representing me.  Should go up on her website in the next few days.  I am thrilled.  Wall Space REPRESENTIN!!!

I want to leave you with a quote I'm lifting directly from Jack Spencer's website.  I would give you a hot link here within this post but I don't know how and not willing to learn at the moment.  But go to his site.  I love his work, I love his writing, I love him.  If you know him personally, or run into him on the street...please tell him you know this girl who is in love with him.  Anyway, the following is Sally Mann's response to academic criticism...enjoy...

It's so odd to live as I do right now -- sitting on the same deck of the same cabin where Hayhook was taken. There is no electricity, no running water, no telephone. Not even a cell phone will work where we are.

So, I come in from time to time, driving across the 450 acres, as pristine as any land in your imagination, and I plug into my electronic life: faxes, e-mail, telephones, and so forth. When I did so yesterday, I came across your letter [inquiring about the use of pictures from Immediate Family] and Noelle's article.

Over the years I've learned not to talk about my work, taking to heart the Robert Doisneau quote that goes something like this: "If you make pictures, don't speak, don't write, don't analyze yourself and don't answer any questions." I would amend that by adding, "And don't read any critical comments, either." People always seem to freight the work so heavily with meanings that were not in any way intended or even subconscious. 

So when I ignored my own advice and read Noelle's piece, I did so initially with indignation: What is all this talk about oppressed peoples? Conquered tribes?? Torture victims??? If my children didn't have better things to do, I'm sure they'd love to rebut all the bullshit that comes pouring out of academia about my work . . . But, still, Noelle's piece was better than some, and she did make some interesting points. At least she didn't see repressed memories of incest as my artistic motivation. 

It's not like these kids had to keep some shred of personal dignity squirreled away from their prying Mom's camera lens. They were -- and are still -- active participants in the art-making that goes on all around them. Art is in every aspect of our everyday life -- in the gardens we have designed around the house, in what we put on our walls, in the pumpkins we cut for Halloween. And any parent knows that you can't force a child to make art; they have to cooperate, they have to want to be part of the process. When we made these pictures, the kids knew exactly what to do to make an image work: how to look, how to project degrees of intensity or defiance or plaintive, woebegone, Dorthea-Lange dejection. I didn't pry these pictures from them -- they gave them to me. Remember that and the images take on a wholly different meaning -- no deep psychological manipulations or machinations, just the straight-forward, everyday telling of a story. 

I am reminded of when Eudora Welty came to Hollins. The back of the class was filling up with these guys in beards, academic types. As she read this short story in which one female character presents another with a marble cake, you could see one of the beards getting all excited. He started waving his hand as soon as she stopped reading and said, "Miz Welty, how did you come up with that powerful symbol of the marble cake, with the feminine and masculine and the Freudian and the Jungian all mixed together like that?" -- his doctoral thesis probably hanging on this. And Welty, this wonderful little old lady, just looked at him for a really long time from the lectern. Finally she said, "Well, you see, it's a recipe that's been in my family for some time." 

I guess I'm a little like that.

Done & then Done. And so done...

I have been dancing with wet 20X24 fibre based paper for weeks...& lemme tell ya...its a ballet.  Tonight I made my final print for the January show.  And I am in ahead of schedule which is remarkable for a procrastinator.  This print is way the hell better in person btw.

next.  

  

I'll Show You Mine If You Show Me Yours

I've been avoiding the blog.  There hasn't been much excess in my world lately...supposedly that excess is where creativity thrives.  The blog, shooting, ideas...its all still.  I guess you could say that my artistic voice is mute at the moment.  Deaf, dumb and mute.

It won't stay this way.  I'm getting myself to the other side.  But there are quite a few road blocks to maneuver.  I was talking to an artist/photographer friend of mine this weekend who is considerably farther along in his career than I.  He said that these road blocks will show up at every single stage of my photographic life.  HA yea right.  I pressed him on this subject...not believing that he ever faces disappointments.  It seems that he is constantly showered with praise & glory.  "So tell me what hasn't happened for you that you REALLY wanted."  (here's the part i loved)...He wouldn't.  He couldn't stand talking about it.  I wouldn't tell him mine and he wouldn't tell me his.  His "failures" were as gut wrenching for him as mine are to me.

Well I'll be damn.

Its all the same.  Every artist feels that same vulnerability.  The same hope.  The same uncertainty.  The same self doubt.  

And some keep going anyway.

 

In Your Own Backyard

Ok, let me tell you about my own backyard...its ridiculous.  Thank god that yard is in the back because it is neglected and ugly.  Last January, my husband set up a trampoline while I was away for the weekend.  Unfortunately, he chose to do this literally, two feet from the backdoor.  You open the door, step outside and bump into this gigantic eye sore of entertainment.  I was not happy.  

But the kids are on it every single day and interesting things happen on a trampoline.  Static electricity, toys that do cool things when they are bounced, acorns and leaves that fall from the surrounding trees, somebody decides to nap on the warm sprawling space.

So occasionally I grab my camera and shoot...not knowing how or if any of it fits in my working projects.  Then I got my big idea.  I'm going to collect everything I shoot on, over, under, around the trampoline and call this series "Tramp Art."  I don't have enough keepers yet to put the gallery up on my site but I'm excited about it and I'm calling Dibbs.

TRAMP ART

Life 101

October has been thought provoking.  On the tail end of Atlanta, facing a schedule that is quickly over-flowing into the new year, and printing the January show with images I have made through out the last 16 months...well...a good deal of reflection is going on inside my head.

 I realize I'm speaking in generalities when I say, the forties are an interesting time in a woman's life...but I believe that its often true.  Babies have turned into young people who can dress themselves.  There is ample room to consider oneself as more than the mama bear.  Time starts rushing by and the empty nest becomes a future reality rather than some unimaginable, distant impossibility.

So here I am.  With an awakened awareness that no, I don't know everything.  For awhile there, I actually thought I did.  I had lived long enough, had plenty of life experiences, put a few demons to rest and figured there wasn't much left to learn.  Arrogant and stupid...yea, I know.  The universe was cracking up, and apparently this year, decided to bring me back to the classroom.

I'm trying to figure out if its possible to learn without making mistakes.  Is the mistake required?  Cuz I would prefer to be spoon fed the lessons and skip the messy stuff.  I'd like to avoid the remorse & guilt that lingers too long after such mistakes.  Yea, a pain-free learning environment sounds better.

Doesn't seem to work that way.  This year...misguided trust, ignoring my own intuition, and losing sight of my personal priorities and sensibilities have been the biggies.  And I have only myself to blame.  Its time to own it.  Learn.  Move on.  

Coming out of those mistakes...landing on the other side...there is reward.  The prize is...you get to be a better person.  And isn't that the whole idea in life?  Isn't that what we're supposed to be doing?   

Knit A Life

Hey People.  Full day here.  I planned on setting up chem first thing after getting the kids off to school.  Plan was derailed by my youngest son's tummy ache (we were up all night)...morning trip to the dr. and then an x-ray to rule out some swallowed foreign object.  Reminds me of the time we had a plummer out, to retrieve a Superman toothbrush that had apparently been flushed by some innocent looking child...reeked havoc on the pipes.  So the x-ray was to eliminate those kinds of suspicions.  Ya never know what those kids are up to.

Finally had the darkroom up and running this afternoon.  I'm printing for the January show in Durham.  I've put off the tough stuff for last.  I have 20 20X20's to print.  But its going better than expected.  And it felt good today to see some of these images for the first time BIG.  Oh yea, I like 'em big.  

Nata brought dinner over and we sat out on the porch for awhile.  You can actually SMELL fall.  Musky, earthy fall is all around.  I have wood drying on the porch because it is almost time to START MAKING FIRE.  So maybe you're asking yourself..."How can this crazy girl STILL get so amped up over every. single. change. of. season."

I went my whole freaking life without it.  That's how.  Leave me be.  I'm busy with Fall

Road Trip Revelations

Just back from Atlanta.  I saw two wonderful shows running in Jackson Fine Art...Mona Kuhn and Shauna & Robert Parke Harrison.  Both were thought provoking and inspiring.  

I had portfolio reviews all day Saturday and then made the six hour drive home on Sunday where I spent most of the time processing the entire experience.  By the time I pulled into my beloved Chapel Hill...I had some real clarity regarding my work.  

Okay, a few epiphanies so where to start?

Whether it be a reviewer, collector, photographer...when I show someone my portfolio for the first time...the response is positive.  Hey, this is good.  I have had that positive experience enough that I no longer feel nervous about opening the box.  But what I find fascinating is, what happens when individual images are being critiqued...particularly by reviewers i.e. "The Powers That Be."  These are credentialed professionals who have seen it all and have the means to launch a photographer's career in the world of fine art.  And still...the response to each image is personal and swings wildly from one person to the next.  It goes like this...(Reviewer #1): "Lori, this image is incredible. Haunting. Universal.Truly one of your best."  (Reviewer #2) SAME EXACT IMAGE: "This one does not work. Its contrived. Too theatrical. Obvious. I think you should take it out of your portfolio."  They speak with authority.  And I have now had THAT experience enough that I don't even feel confused or frustrated by it.  I listen with an attentive, appreciative look on my face but I'm smiling on the inside because I finally know that I HAVE TO TRUST MYSELF.  And I finally do.  This is large.

Now here is the most interesting thing to me.  With all of the preparation that goes into going to a review...I edit, re-edit, look again, re-print, sequence, shuffle and sequence again, lay them all out on the floor...I mean its nuts.  By the time I get there, I can hardly stand myself.  I hate every picture I've ever taken.  But I've discovered that while I am repeatedly presenting my work to people who have never seen it...I SEE IT WITH FRESH EYES.  Not through THEIR eyes, but through my own.  Their response isn't even relevant to what I'm saying here.  It matters of course, but more importantly, I am able to look and consider my own work with far more objectivity and clarity than when I'm alone with it for months at a time.  

And here is what hit me in Atlanta.  This year has been prolific for me.  I have shot and printed a ridiculous amount of work.  I've tried all kinds of things.  I've questioned who I am as a photographer.  I've pushed the envelope.  I've allowed myself to be influenced by some who I believed knew more about what makes a good photograph.  Great.  But this weekend, as I was REALLY seeing my prints for the first time in a long time...I found my place.  It isn't the dramatic, staged, tweaked, and over worked ideas that make my best pictures.  It is the quiet ones.  Where I saw some subtle soft expression or slight gesture in perfect light and pressed the shutter.  Those quiet pictures are my best pictures.  That is who I am as a photographer.  Monu-Freaking-Mental.  I know.  Finally.

There is some real peace in that.  And a calm confidence.  Let the real work begin.

  

Rock To The Pocket

I'm headed to Atlanta in a week.  The whole city is exploding with all things photography for the month.  I'm doing a day of portfolio reviews and then staying for a few shows.  I am particularly excited to see a show of Robert Parke Harrison.  I've only seen one print of his in person...at the Art Institute of Chicago...stopped me dead in my tracks.

While I was in Houston, I attended the opening of "Unseen & Rediscovered"...Keith Carter's show at the Art League.  Stunning.  Rather than show his greatest hits, or even what he knows the public wants from him, he put together a variety of new work...unexpected; some color, some digital, self portraits.  It is fascinating and valuable for me to see how a successful artist keeps the work challenging and therefore interesting for himself.  I think its risky and brave...which I most admire in people...artist or not.  Guts.

On the homefront...my 8 yr. old Grayson has been taking guitar lessons from my teacher Joe.  He's been playing the electric for a couple of months now.  While I was away, Joe sent a recording to my iphone of the jam session the two of them had just done.  I stood there in Beck's kitchen, a thousand miles away with the volume on full blast, tears rolling down my face.  So last week, Joe taught it to me and Gray and I jam every morning before school.  I made up lyrics..."Me and the G-Man Are Gonna Rock This House Down", which I sing over and over while we play in my office.  Him, in a child's chair, with his wild head of curls bobbin' to the beat and his still chubby fingers workin' out the song on his bad ass guitar.  Oh it is a sight to see.

Seeing Stars

I FORGOT TO TELL YOU...you'll never guess who I saw at the Texas airport...well, Beck guessed in a second, but she can read my mind so it doesn't really count.  Ya ready?

LYLE FREAKING LOVETT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was hustlin' to the gate cuz I now have a phobia about missing my flight (look in the archives under "airport hell" and you'll understand)...I turn the corner and there he is, sitting there getting his boots shined, like some glorious mirage from my wildest dreams.  The only people around him were all the shoe shine guys.  So I went up to him, introduced myself and we had a nice chat.  Now if I had any wits about me, I would have asked to photograph his BOOTS and then he could have autographed MINE.  But I didn't.  I was concentrating on being cool and hoping he would proposition me.  But he's a gentleman you know, and married.  Oh, that's right...so am I.

But there he was.  Lyle-I've-Loved-You-My-Whole-Life-Lovett

Finding My Way

Oh this sad, neglected blog o' mine...ugh.  The problem is this...There is so much going on in my life and the lives of those most dear to me...BIG stuff.  I am not capable of small talk these days.  There is no room for small talk.  And the big stuff should not be up for public cyberspace consumption...so the blog is neglected.  Sorry.

I attended a funeral last weekend in Texas.  A 19 year old girl, with tremendous potential and a beautiful spirit, was killed in a car accident.  I was at the hospital on the day she was born.  She is the only person I've ever known from her first day till her last.  I have been a part of her family since I was a kid.  

The service moved me in profound ways.  Her Aunt, Grandmother and Mother each spoke of her eloquently.  They faced the enormous crowd and took a deep breath and read poetry, told her stories and touched the hearts of everyone there.  It was the women of this family that mustered up the strength to face the crowd and inspire us all.  The Women.

The graveside service was for immediate family only.  They asked me to photograph it.  In a tiny town, my hometown, in a little cemetery, under a cedar tree...we gathered.  Old Baptist Hymns were sung, the last words were spoken and then the family buried her.  The family patriarch, with his long white beard...looking like God himself...took the shovel, passed it around, helped the youngest grandchildren...but they buried her.  It was one of the most breathtakingly beautiful things that I have ever witnessed.  

I was reminded how precarious life is.  I was inspired to clean up my own.  I was moved once again by the quiet strength of womanhood.  And I left the cemetery that day determined to do something positive with such a tragic loss.  In her name.  In my father's name.  In the name of those who don't have this day or any other.  This day and every other, counts.  To squander it would be the ultimate tragedy.

Awakenings

There seems to be an epidemic amongst the Sisterhood.  We are all hovering around the mid 40's mark and I believe this age is significant for women.  All the babies have become little people...our days are no longer filled with the singular goal of keeping tiny humans alive.  Our children's independence frees up a little more time for us mommies to take a look at ourselves and our lives and make choices.  

Dead marriages are being laid to rest.  Unfulfilling careers are being abandoned.  Nearly forgotten dreams are reborn.  The pot is being stirred.  I see brave women all around me choosing to live authentically, awake, engaged, making every day count.  I don't know if it is the female version of a mid-life crisis.  I'm sure an awareness of our own mortality is a factor.  But the messiness of re-inventing one's self and one's life doesn't seem to be slowing the Sistahs down.  Some are taking it one step at a time and some are hauling ass and jumping off the cliff...but everyone is moving.

And I know that each of us are only able to do that because of the power of the whole.  The safety net is full proof.  Its easier to move when you've got the force of womanhood blowing at your back.