The Weight of Futility

Cynicism, sarcasm, and a mode of detached indifference called "being ironic" have become the dominant posture through which my generation interacts with the world. This trend likely has deep roots, at least as deep as Bart Simpson, but I believe it has intensified in even the last five years. You could point to a lot of reasons, but a major one has got to be the continued emergence of electronic technologies.

These technologies are supposed to enrich our lives by making more accessible modes of expression that previously required a lot more money and expertise. My dad once told me about the painstaking work of splicing together 35mm film in the editing process when he was a teenager. A method like that required a lot more time and care than any of the free digital video editing programs out there, and professional or semiprofessional packages are not much harder to reach.

Making processes like video editing or photography or publishing easier and more accessible seems like a slam dunk, but one drawback is that the ease of producing the form of the medium can mask the absence of meaningful content. Any idiot can make a coherent movie now, but that doesn't mean that idiot has something worthwhile to say. The result is a saturation of media in which whatever is significant is buried among mountains of inanity.

I feel this malaise when I take pictures with the ridiculously affordable SLR I bought last May. Walking on the beach in Santa Cruz, California the other day I wanted to take a picture of the view looking down the coast at the reflection of sunlight off the ocean. Instantly I was awash in existential angst. First, in the world there are much more beautiful beaches at much more appealing seasons than Santa Cruz in late December. Second, I do not know how to make good use of my camera, and even if I did I am sure there is equipment which would improve the final product.

The connection of everything with everything means my photo could only be evaluated in the context of photographs of tropical beaches done by professionals the world over. Yet because everyone has seen so many of those pictures, even they elicit scarcely a neuron excitation in the brain. To even take the picture seemed a preposterous conceit, like a droplet of water aspiring to become an ocean wave and inevitably collapsing into an inconsequential eddy.

In a climate of such media ubiquity, it is easy to despair of saying anything original or meaningful. Whatever could be said has probably been said already a hundred thousand times, and probably more competently and expressively at that. At the same time, access to all of those prior expressions makes them essentially insignificant themselves.

The resulting world is one in which it seems there is nothing new to say, and in which that which has been said has demonstrably fallen short of the Ultimate. How could anyone interact with such a world, except through sarcasm, indifference, and cynicism? To do so is simply to bow to the crushing weight of futility.

What is the purpose of photography?

My friend Matthew takes wonderful pictures. You can see some examples here or here.

Most photographs serve to preserve memories for those who are in the pictures. However, they have little value for people outside of them. I think that role for pictures has expanded in the last decade with the advent of cheap digital cameras which require no film and free social publishing of photos. There is a whole genre of facebook party photos taken by women of friends with drinks.

What I like about Matthew's photos is that they have value for anyone. You didn't "have to be there" in order to see the beauty in them. This quality is probably a mark of any good photography.

I have pondered taking a photography class myself over the summer. I have always taken a passing interest in taking good pictures, and I go out of my way to try and give my posts here a fitting photograph, but I have neither the equipment or the training for the kind of results I would desire. Hopefully I have a good many years ahead of me, and I would like to chronicle them in a way which has as much value as possible.

Before undertaking such an investment, I have wanted to make sure it is worth the cost of time and money to do so. Lord knows there are enough other disciplines and hobbies to which I like to devote my time. In doing so I have pondered exactly what sort of value good photography has.

Is the value that of conferring the appearance of meaning, when in fact meaning might or might not exist? I can certainly see photography being used in this way, and if it is so then I have little interest in pursuing it.

Is the value that of "capturing" an object, of conveying the intangible facets of its character through its appearance? In this case the work of the photographer is similar to that of the naturalist, cataloging objective and intrinsic meaning. When I think of photography like this I think of The Daily Nice.

I got really excited when I thought of a third possibility, that the purpose of photography is to communicate, to show the world as the photographer sees it. In this case, the primary meaning in a photograph is found at least as much in the eye behind the lens as in anything captured through it. It is not a statement merely of what exists, but of what is seen and how it is seen. The meaning resides between what is seen and who is seeing.

I suspect photography can be any of those three things, and that good photography is a mix of the second conception, the objective, and the third conception, the subjective. I would like to have a family someday. The idea of chronicling wife and children through different stages is quite appealing to me, and much the more so if in so doing I can chronicle my journey in seeing them.

Most of that is just speculation, though. How possible is it really to take another into one's frame of reference? To those who have experience in photography, I welcome your insight.

Irony at 37th and Powelton

Practice what you preach, Philadelphia!

I don't have many artistic gifts, but from time to time I conceive of projects I would create if I did possess such gifts.

One project, for example, would be a better version of the above photo, more clearly highlighting the irony.

Which brings up another point. Philadelphia's roads are in terrible condition:

• The above intersection has been that way for weeks.
  
• I can think of at least three intersections where the stoplights at times don't work properly.
  
• It's not unusual to find sections of road blocked off because of giant potholes or ditches.
  
• When it snowed two weeks ago, it seemed the roads weren't treated at all. My car almost got stuck going down Chestnut St. Roads across the Ben Franklin in New Jersey were completely clear.

I can only conclude that the road condition highlights the desperate condition of our city's finances.

A book I'm reading now puts the current crisis in perspective. It's called "A Prayer for the City," and it's about Ed Rendell's first term as mayor of Philadelphia from 1992-1995. I've been amazed at how worse off Philadelphia was then. However, I've been struck by how similar the city's plight seems now.

For instance, Rendell's big challenge upon taking office was dealing with Philadelphia's unprecedented budget deficit. Mayor Nutter's has been the same.

It remains to be seen whether or not the roads were in similarly bad shape then.

Idiosyncrasies at Mealtime

I think signs of health in families are habits and traditions that would seem weird to outsiders. At dinnertime I was mildly embarrassed to observe:

Milk. 1% for Mom, skim for me, and whole for my stepdad.

Of course, you take the delicious with the embarrassing:

We make pizza.

Photos of the Week - 1/27-2/2, 2008

A colleague of mine on the blog last semester referred to my style as "taking pictures of things that annoy you." Given gems like this I could see his point.

In any case, I carry my trusty digital camera most places I go, and I take pictures of things which catch my fancy. Here're a few pictures I took last week:

Banana Blues

First, I discovered at Trader Joe's what it means for a banana to be organic: they don't put in any yellow.

I think there's something wrong with an ethic of organic food which still allows for picking completely unripe fruit out of season and shipping it long distance to mock residents of northern climes.

The stuff grown with petrochemical fertilizers wasn't really any yellower, but that's at least what you would expect from industrial produce.

Burger Bonanza

Don't forget the milk. Oh, yeah. Mmm mm. Delicious.

A conversation with my housemate Carlos about his love of fast food led me to indulge in my semi-annual Whopper.

I give the whole experience three and a half out of five stars. First, there's the drive-through. I probably derived most of the enjoyment from nostalgia, but to smell the indistinct Burger King aroma while waiting in the car was delightful. The price was cheap and the service was fast.

The actual Whopper was filled with indistinct Burger King flavor, which for the most part was a good thing. The experience was over quickly, but not altogether unsatisfying. Lots of pickles.

Mostly it was just great to give the middle finger to forces which tell me fast food is a horrible thing and enjoy it for half an hour. I suspect this is what is behind much of Burger King's recent success. They've come out with new sandwiches which take calorie density to unreached heights, and Americans have responded enthusiastically.

Have you seen the recent commercials where they tell Burger King customers they can't have a Whopper? It's an astounding feat that you can make beloved intellectual property out of a cheeseburger. There are essentially the same ingredients in a Whopper as in any other burger, yet I know one when I taste one. I guess it's the indistinct Burger King flavor.

Thinking about it, that happens all across the American foodscape. Chips Ahoy tastes different from Chips Deluxe. Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup tastes different from Progresso. Somehow value is added by affixing a brand to the commodity in question: you know what you're getting. The soup may not be any good, but at least you know that this can tastes the same as that can. Familiarity breeds comfort.

Bummer Buster

Thanks, Mark. Thanks a lot.

My (Catholic) stepdad heard that I had been turned down by a (wonderful) girl recently, so he put this ad for the priesthood in my bedroom mirror at home.

What a guy, huh? Sometimes a gentle ribbing is much better than straight sympathy. It's great to have an older man who can tell me not to take myself so seriously.

Note that this ad's strategy is to reassure you that life as a priest is preferable to suicide. "Hey, is your life not worth living? You sound like just the kind of man we're looking for!" If I were them, I would set the bar higher.