Out of the blue, my mother sent me a rather long essay response to Gray Days.
Those who have known me a long time understand that I have a strange and sometimes strained relationship with my mother. Of late, we’ve been a lot closer, or at least a lot nicer to each other, but it’s been a long path with various ups and downs. Like many a mother, she invests a lot of time in seeing what I’m up to, but her conclusions are often far from mine. She was most supportive of my most commercial imagery (contrasty, studio lit, pretty and vacuous.) It seems she has had trouble with most of my art work.
In this response, it’s interesting to think about what comes from her struggles and our relationship and how she applies that to the images I’ve created. Or applies it to her image of me – is it an accurate depiction? I think that a lot more people see me as a goofy guy, not someone dark and broody. Those that know my attitude toward art are familiar with my fondness of visual jokes. Bitterness towards established visual trends is usually dealt with in dark humor, not necessarily dark spirits.
A series like this lends itself to reflection – it’s not propaganda or idealized imagery. It becomes meaningful through interpretation. Gray, in this work, is a shifting of contexts, not only the dark and dreary fog of a sullen day. I picked some images to illustrate this while I was trying to understand what she was referring to – it’s hard because I don’t necessarily feel the same way about the images. Many of the spreads seemed much too upbeat for her words.
I could go through and make a line by line “no, but, I mean” but it would be boring to read. I also wasn’t sure if I should edit it at all, but in the end decided to post it just as she sent it.
Hopefully you have or will now look at Gray Days before reading this and find your own interpretation. Many people have told me the images are beautiful and uplifting. The images work best in the book, quietly lived with, instead of quickly browsed through online, of course.
In any case, here’s my mother’s response:
Thoughts On Feeling Gray
What is it about Gray Days that grabs me and also leaves me uncomfortable? Well, for one, there are images of me (above right, below left) and my home in this book. They seem at times mundane, moody, and sad. There is a quiet atmosphere and a sense of emptiness. Some seem just still, muted, and others depressing. Some actually have bright colors and seem out of place in the sequence. They capture some active moments, seem upbeat (not my notion of Gray). I find a disconnection rather than connection between some of the paired images and a break in the consistency of the theme. That in itself is unsettling and confusing.
Looking at the somber, muted, personal and a bit alienated images, I can relate to the mood and existential angst. What is the meaning of this proscribed life? I also feel a bit guilty. Perhaps my son would be out shooting a more engaging world, if his younger life had been different, or his genes. Maybe his images would convey the vibrant beauty and energy of the world around him if I, his mother, had been more able to connect him to it, to live with verve and joy rather than fighting fatigue and the sense of clawing negativity on many days, for many years. Maybe his work would have more clarity, color, drama, and be striking. Some of his early stuff was. Why is he pulling away from that? What is the message he is reaching to make- is it partly to me?
Life with me was not all dark, muted. I look at the videos and photos of my children’s childhood. I did try to surround my children with color, both in the home and outside. I chose to live in a beautiful place where nature surrounded us. I took them ‘out to play’ and ensured they would have contact with other children. We went biking and hiking and to the beaches. We went skiing and watched theater, dance, circus, and surrounded ourselves with music and comedy. I read childrens stories with lots of pictuers and moral messages, of hope, beauty, and of can do attitudes,with wisdom. I exposed them to others who were thoughtful, kind, loving, smart both in and out of school. I tried to bring a bit of magic and wonder in to our home even while concerned with day to day survival. I tried to feed us well, although my stress around being an adequate cook and homemaker often seemed to taint the food, destroy the meals- sap the joy out . In stead of tapping in to the nourishing and nurturing energy I wished to convey, create, I tapped us into tension, mine and my own sense of futility or failure. At times I had little sustained joy in the process. I touched and hugged and cuddled, thought often I wanted more, and it seemed that it was my need I was satisfying, not theirs at times- reaching to closeness and connection that was difficult to sustain?
My children became sensitive and aware, but maybe too much so, too self conscious and perhaps not relaxed. Or is this still just my experience and my impression? Is it a striving I feel in these Gray day photos, striving to find a theme, meaning? And yet not quite getting there. Striving to claim beauty and meaning in muted and not tehnically stunning photos. Or is it a lazy or muddled appoach to shooting a subject that is conveyed, that I encouraged? Do these photos demand approval for being imperfect in rebellion of the perfection my son may have felt, feels, pressured to achieve? Is it me he is rebelling against or the society around him and commercial art aesthetic he has been exposed to? Or is it this work influenced by a fine art/performance art aesthetic- artist as rebel that he has embraced?
I am not sure Ian was quite aware of what was drawing him to shoot these images. Was he trying to find depth in the superficial and simple surroundings of this home, life and places he was living in – just his own student experience?
Was he feeling blue and lost? Muted? Gray? Was he trying to put a life with years of struggle and depression into perspective? Yet did an emotional fog that pervaded then surround the sequencing of this series? Some seem so unclear, uncertain, though Ian claims a process that was very precise in selecting the images, and often a stubborn one of inlcuding images others felt did not fit.
Gray, the term and shade, IS what I would describe as the tone of my depression for years, I was not able to really ‘see’ or sense the sunsets, the rich blue of the sky, the billowy white or varying shades – pink to bluish gray of the clouds. I could hear birds chriping and singing, in fact numerous varieties, but I couldn’t really sense them. It was like it all seemed to blurr into meaninglessness, sameness, eveness, numbness.
I knew it was not quite right. It was not ‘good’ to feel or think this way. There was a world that should encourage wonder and delight, and all I felt was bleh- gray, lack of a range of tone. My expression and experience was monotone, or close to it. Careless.Although I wanted to care, be excited, be motivated.
I strived to shed light for myself on this state, this state of mind and body, I tried to accept. I tried to distract. There were days all I wanted to do was sleep.I had to push myself to work , to shop, to pick up children, to dance. Each effort and action seemed heroic. As If I was on my deathbed, or a battle field and had to arise, or drag myself out of further dancger. Normally- all these activities should have been manageable, maybe they would have brought up some feelings of effort and frustration, but also joy. Yet it felt like I was sentenced and at times I wanted,,waited for a painless execution, exit.
Some of the gray days photos convey this alienation, the darkness, shadows, limited light, diffuseness, but many do not. And that is confusing. Many do seem like they were taken randomly, maybe should have been edited out, or developed into a theme by adding more images to, before them. Are they really ‘Gray’.
And as I think of this-I wonder- should Ian really delve into this topic, consciously seek out the sorrow, deliberately shoot to expose the underexposed. To express a deadened moment (duskiness) both in landscape and portraits. Could he really build a consistent body of work that captures this consciously? And to what end?
I also think of his Bad News project. That had more consistency, was shot with a theme and technique in mind. How do these relate or not?
People generally want to be cheered, healed, encouraged to action, to passion, to feel . Generally they want art to lead to something positive or at least cathartic. Dramatic? To experience insight, understanding, compassion? Does ‘Gray Days’ allow for this, point to this possibility? Maybe the project itself did this for Ian, allowed catharsis, gave him a focus, helped him find a meaning or purpose?
Yet, I find that without words, Ian’s words, I am unclear what is the story that is being told. Can it be told more clearly even if it is about the fog- the Gray? What is the next chapter?
Alison
Where’s the beautiful photography? « Design « Pushing pixels and taking names since 1993 Pingback on January 30, 2010 6:55 pm:
[...] My Mother Writes on Gray Days | Ian Aleksander Adams [...]
Bryan Aulick comment on February 1, 2010 3:26 pm:
I don’t know exactly how to describe my reaction to the above. The use of your photos as subtext for your mother’s essay is fascinating as she tries to describe her own contributions to your photos’ subtext. It makes me consider, among other things, my mother. Thank you for posting.
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Ian Aleksander Adams reply on February 1st, 2010 3:31 pm:
yeah, it’s really more about her, isn’t it? But none of us can deny our influences.
Thanks for reading, Bryan – it’s not often that I post much so personal anymore.
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Travers comment on February 1, 2010 6:05 pm:
I think she needs a camera of her own.
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Ian Aleksander Adams reply on February 2nd, 2010 3:45 pm:
you know, she used to take pictures and I’m not sure why she stopped. It’s been a long long time. The camera that I actually shot the whole book with (and many other projects on here) was one that was originally given to her by my grandmother.. and while she used it a couple times in college, it sat in storage for an extremely long time because she thought I wouldn’t be interested in it.
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Paul comment on February 2, 2010 3:49 am:
Thank you Ian, for posting. And I am assuming that your mom gave her approval for you to post her reflections.
Your mother’s feelings are transparent, which is admirable. Having said that, like most of us,
she is very self-critical. Those who have battled depression will be able to relate. I feel that you
are very lucky to have her.
After a while, we began to realize that our parents, in their own way, are doing the best they can … to survive … and to provide for us. Even if they are passive aggressive, it is still a survival technique which somehow still serves them, even if it’s unhealthy.
One thing about your mother’s thoughts that I find baffling though … her interpretation of “gray” and all that it might imply seem somewhat narrow. Like most creative expressions of our sensations or pathways, the connections are highly complex. Maybe even tangled.
On a personal note, some of your images (for me) speak of isolation, but are made more buoyant by the vibrant and interesting glimpses of people in other images. The pervasive feeling is gray, but a multi-faceted gray. I like your thoughts on visual jokes, too.
The pervasive visual trend among young photographers seems to be wide angle shots of an isolated outdoor scene, in a snapshot sort of way. I am still trying to understand the possible varied interpretations of this, but this mode strikes me as a bit conformist. I mean no offense…this is just my take on lots of the contemporary photos out there.
Perhaps your work, and your future discussions with your mother will serve to deepen your appreciation of each other. Best wishes, Ian and Alison.
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Ian Aleksander Adams reply on February 2nd, 2010 3:52 pm:
It’s true, I’m extremely lucky to have her. It’s been a hard battle for her and she’s made so much progress with it.
I feel similarly to you – the reason I named it Gray Days was because I wanted to hint at the “shades” of existence, instead of anything being “black and white.” So the complexity is what is important to me. It’s hard to explain to some people, because for years we’ve been trying to “get” art, and there just isn’t an end point for a lot of work… no goal or punchline.
While I’m not sure about “wide angel” (If you want to get technical, it’s all fixed lens, and a pretty normal length), I understand what you mean about pulled back outdoor shots. I see it as a reaction to the “in your face” subject centered commercial imagery that’s otherwise so prevalent. Sometimes you need to pull back and take a breath – I’m sure I’m not the only one that feels that way, as you’ve mentioned. Whether it’s comformist or not, I’m not sure – this is certainly work that “looks” like fine art photography from an art student, I think. It’s hard to get away from that considering the tools and mindset used to create it.
The other work I was doing during the years these pictures were taken (like Exposure Therapy or permanent stick it out ed ness) uses very different visual styles, but those were specifically designed to look like certain styles of image creation.
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Paul reply on February 2nd, 2010 5:01 pm:
Thank you for guiding me into some of the reasoning behind the “pulled back outdoor shots”. The fog is beginning to clear. I also find your willingness to have a patient dialogue about this speaks well of your approach to art. A moderate number of artists are are too distracted by the flurry of information surrounding them, that they dismiss the value of considering things, especially when approached on a blog, by “strangers”.
When I left my original response, I had not searched out the scope of your other work. I like “Barking Irons”, and am bemused by the Knee project. Your First Rolls contain some vibrant shots. I will look forward to other work.
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Ian Aleksander Adams reply on February 2nd, 2010 5:44 pm:
I’m certainly distracted by flurries of information at times, haha, but I’ve tried to use my blog as a tool for considering things. It helps me to think about what I want to share with others, what I feel I need to comment on, and I’m often surprised by what sparks large amounts of writing from me and what I’m content to pass on with little commentary.
Barking Irons is a lot closer to my early commercial work. Maybe it’s a bit of a middle grounds between the more recent work. It was paid and I’m not heavily emotionally invested in it, but it marks where I started insisting on shooting in a more organic matter – and stopped feeling like everything needed to be “perfect” to be beautiful. Of course, I know now that those feelings existed all along, now I can just embrace the work I did before I was so “educated.”
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colin pantall comment on February 2, 2010 6:01 am:
“Is it me he is rebelling against or the society around him and commercial art aesthetic he has been exposed to? Or is it this work influenced by a fine art/performance art aesthetic- artist as rebel that he has embraced?”
Fabulous. There are so many things that hit the spot here and then places where the comments apply to a more open-minded, less dogmatic, snide and bitchy world than academic (or commercial, editorial, art or fashion) photography.
The quote above stands out though – I think your mother is right on the money here (if not for your work, for so many other people’s).
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Ian Aleksander Adams reply on February 2nd, 2010 3:57 pm:
haha she’s really channeling me there. We’ve had about 50 discussions about why I’m not making work like this anymore. She was always a huge fan of those kind of pictures – anything I did with at least two studio lights. It always felt so forced for me though, and while it got me some work, never really made me happy. The performance art aesthetic is much more strongly referenced in my other work, I think, versus gray days, but it’s definitely a “rebellion” against commercial art.
I mean, I guess she could call it a rebellion, but I don’t see anything rebellious about it. Reacting to things, maybe, but I feel my work is pretty tame and I create within more than a few existing and accepted systems.
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liz comment on February 2, 2010 4:57 pm:
It was truly wonderful to read these comments by your mother. I loved the list of things she did with you as a child (taking you out to play, reading you the right books, surrounding you with interesting people etc etc). A wonderful, heartbreaking, never-ending list that I find myself adding to daily as I look at my 2-year-old and try my hardest to do everything “just right”. Its a big burden and the puzzle of what our offspring create and put out into the world will never be solved by us or by them, I guess. Thank you.
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Ian Aleksander Adams reply on February 2nd, 2010 5:45 pm:
It is! Heartbreaking! But building maybe, also… I’m just now at the point in my life (and love) where I’m thinking about what I’ll be like as a parent, and connecting to the past generation is very important. A burden, yeah, but the best one.
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colin pantall comment on February 2, 2010 5:14 pm:
I like the Gray Days so much more than the other work, Ian, and your mother’s comments only add to it – about what life, happiness and art is, how we make it, how we create it, how we preserve it and how we lose it. And a whole lot more besides – are you going to make some work in response to it?
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Ian Aleksander Adams reply on February 2nd, 2010 5:49 pm:
Thanks Colin.
I’m not sure if I’m going to create anything directly in response to it, but it would be impossible for it to not influence me (as it already has… much of this essay is just down in pixels what we discuss often over the phone or in person.)
Family seems very important to me right now, as my grandmother is in the hospital and I’m too far away to visit. Recently she let me take her slide collection home to scan (at least 12000 slides starting in 1968 and going all over the world). It’s a huge project and I’ve hardly put a dent in it. I have seen so much amazing stuff in her slide shows over the year, but she never thought of showing it to anyone outside immediate friends and family. There is an awesome book in there and I’m so honored that she’d let me find it… I hope that I can bring it forward sooner rather than later..
That’s the only real project I have on the burner right now, at least the only one I’d publicly talk about at this stage. Everything else needs a while to gestate. Always working on something though, of course.
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Jessica Pierotti comment on February 4, 2010 10:15 am:
I have been realizing lately how fascinated I am with the personal narrative behind photography. Does this mean that I find work more meaningful when placed with text? Is this because my imagination is too weak to form this narrative without encouragement? I don’t know. Hearing (reading, though I can for some reason sense her presence more so) your Mother speak candidly while viewing your images made this something completely different. I am impressed by her honesty and her interest to dissect your imagery and your motivations. This makes me want to open a dialogue with my Mother about our past and how photography is connected. Thank you for sharing.
Jessica
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Ian Aleksander Adams reply on February 4th, 2010 9:21 pm:
It’s been really great to hear how so many people think of their own families when reading this. All else aside, just that alone makes me glad I decided to post it.
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Ian Aleksander Adams’s mother & lessons on fear « marcia chandra Pingback on February 4, 2010 8:07 pm:
[...] published this blog post of his mother’s letter to him about his photography. I absolutely love my mother, but its [...]
objective viewer comment on February 5, 2010 4:28 pm:
Art is a subjective form which becomes the foundation of perception, expectations, beliefs, introspection and expression. As all artists know. Every viewer will have an intimate organic sense of personal connection or disconnect when viewing images with an objective manner, let alone the interconnected musings of a mother, who in some right could possibly be trying to understand herself, her life, her son, her son’s impressions of the world around him, in hopes to perhaps understand him more intimately, or not. Or perhaps, moreless understand herself, her life, or her son’s image of her. The process is known as “the looking glass” self, in which one tries to make sense of their own self worth, or worth of self based on how others percieve them. I think that not only, is Ian’s work incredibly sensitive, intimate and beautiful in ways unexplainable, in no way depressed, in fact the body of “Gray” is incredibly colorful, dramatic in the sense of atmosphere and emotion, composition is unparalleled. The emotional attachment of the viewer is only owned by the viewer.
I also think that his mother’s response is beautiful thought provoking introspection. Look at both works with an objectivity that understands, Ian’s work would not be what it is without his own perceptions of the world, only some of which influenced by his mother, and the rest influenced by his own personal experiences, thoughts, feelings and expressions of a world that he explores outside of the childhood his mother attaches to his work. There is natural balance to this entire post. A thoughtful awareness that all should take from it.
Ian, beautiful post through and through. Perhaps one of the most organically truthful works I’ve seen. A sobering awakening to many things.
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Alison comment on February 26, 2010 5:32 pm:
Wow, Ian I finally reread my words and the responses of some readers and admirers. Many are right on. The thoughtful dialogue is fascinating. Of course, you and others should be reminded that my response was one of a particular moment and of course personal. Indeed I did not know you were going to post this or I would have edited it better for spelling and grammar! Maybe you can. I do find the juxtaposition of text and images interesting and provocative. Each has an effect on the other. In books and displays, I often like to read about photos or the photographer, or learn about the life or the period of time around certain images. Maybe your story along with mine and the images would make a richer ’series’ for others to appreciate and respond to, a fuller book. It seems so.
I’d like one day to see images and story of Rin. I think there could be something very powerful and worth publishing.
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Ian Aleksander Adams reply on March 1st, 2010 5:00 pm:
haha you did send it to me asking about posting it. We can do an edit of it together if it ever goes anywhere else.
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