MFA stands for you know what . . . (7/29/08)

“As almost anyone who has bought one will agree, the M.F.A. degree has only one practical application: it is a work permit that qualifies its possessor to seek employment in the academic-photography sector of the photographic-art establishement.”

* A.D. Coleman, Items For An Agenda (Epilogue of his book of essays, Depth of Field)

I teach photojournalism and documentary at California State University, Northridge. Part of the tenure requirement process requires that I earn a terminal degree, so I’m working on an MFA in Visual Communication. Living and working simultaneously in both the Art and Journalism departments is an interesting but often frustrating situation. Discussing the politics of representation opens the proverbial can of worms, found inside Pandora’s Box, located somewhere between Marx’s grave and the New York Museum of Modern Art. It’s difficult, and probably counterproductive to attempt reconciliation between the imperative realism of reportage (re: the myth of objectivity) and the shifting, sometimes idiosyncratic tendencies of photography as Art, where phrases like “the deconstruction of the traditional narrative” rule the postmodern day.

In spite of my initial cynicism and struggles, I eventually found, with a combination of relief and exhilaration, one genre of photography that employs the best and worst of both worlds. After two years of dabbling and experimenting in reductive semiotic representations (don’t ask), and some well-spent time working with video, I’m now back to doing one of the things I most enjoy. I’m a “street photographer,” walking up and down the Historic Theater District on Broadway St. in Los Angeles, documenting a world that is simultaneously growing and disappearing. 

“Gazing on other people’s reality with curiosity, with detachment, with professionalism, the ubiquitous photographer operates as if that activity transcends class interests, as if its perspective is universal.”

* Susan Sontag

Robert Adams wrote that although most artists work out of a sense of obligation to themselves, they tend to believe that by doing so they will also fulfill their obligations to others.  He was referring to Paul Strand’s Time in New England project of the 1940’s, which Adams sees as a very “personal and altruistic” body of work, undertaken by Strand due in part to his reaction to an America that was “in danger of dying from within.” Over time, I’ve come to view the Historic Theater District of Los Angeles as a place that is simultaneously dying and being reborn. In a word, evolving. Ironically, it is doubtful I would have undertaken this project without the impetus of being required to earn the MFA, hence my priority appears to be just the opposite of Strand’s—to fulfill my obligation to others first. Interestingly, as the project unfolds, a sense of obligation to interpret and represent the environment for both others and myself has grown steadily.

During frequent visits to Broadway St., my attention is torn between several competing areas of fascination. There are the people, whose faces and posture reveal everything and nothing at once, and whose activities are alternately exciting, mysterious or banal. Once proud buildings with ornate and chiseled artifices stand as defiant monuments to the urban decay that has left many of them hollowed shells. The streets and shops are a veritable repository of cultural iconography, eclectically diverse yet steeped in traditional urban pathos. To interpret all this visual stimuli, I draw on a variety of influences which manifest themselves unconsciously—I never find myself thinking about “style” while shooting. It is in the editing stage that my derivative tendencies are revealed: echoes of the Straight Photography of Paul Strand and the surrealism of Manual Alvarez Bravo; the intellectualized artistry of Henri Cartier-Bresson and the poetic lyricism of Helen Levitt; the dispassionately static, vernacular leanings of Walker Evans and the concern for the underdog exemplified by Lewis Hine; the environmental portraiture of Diane Arbus, August Sander and Bruce Davidson; and finally the prolific, scattershot anonymity of Garry Winogrand, and his iconoclastic alter-ego Robert Frank.  All of these artists, and others not mentioned here inform my approach to the Broadway project. Each explored the medium of photography as part of a personal journey to discover a visual language for interpreting the world around them. Each of them sought their own answers to questions posed not only in this paper, but in all photographic work: How do form (re: Art) and content (re: Reportage) coexist within the structure of a photographic narrative, or are they mutually exclusive? My goal for this thesis project is to find where I (and the subjects of my photographs) fall on the sliding scale of interpretation and perception. 

To see more, you can go to either the MFA page or the complete photo library of the Broadway St. documentary on Flickr.