In Orvieto I am who I feel I am. I have come out of the darkroom… temporarily.
I am committing art in an unusual way. A far departure from my classical training as a “purist” photojournalist. So pure, that when I discovered Henri Cartier-Bresson in undergrad college, I took a file to my 35mm negative carrier so I could print my negatives with a black border. Sorry Alan Ross. I digress…
That signifies that I print 100% of the negative. I never (except sometimes) crop in the darkroom. My compositions are 100% of the frame… If you have the subject in the frame and must crop to get it, you were not there. And if you do not compose in the camera, you will decompose in the darkroom (Lightroom). I digress…
So…
This image. Is it even from me? How could I? To some of you it is kitsch. To me it is freedom. Freedom…
I thought I discovered freedom in grad school, Vermont College of Norwich University. The first night, at the “students'” exhibition, my photographs were the last that were critiqued by the highly educated full-time faculty (Ph.D.) Miwon Quan, who stated in front of the 30 students who started the program (11 finished), “Well, we all know this is photojournalism. And photojournalism is not art. And Kenn, I don’t see any of you in this photo.” That was the best compliment I ever received as a photojournalist. I digress…
What I came to realize at that critique is this: the fine art of photojournalism is the captured critical moments that illuminate the human condition. I have written extensively on that subject. Illustrated, of course.
So, here I am. And whoever (whomever?) I am, I am in My Orvieto.
I leave you with Tables and Chairs, Corso Cavour, Orvieto. FotoOils.
