Category Archives: craft


Apologies for the hiatus in my writing. I’ve been traveling and haven’t had the time to be on a computer—let alone the internet—long enough to put a post together. I’ve also finally gotten my act together and started making photobooks of my own. Instead of blogging, or even taking photos, I’ve been working on my stream, editing things down, and creating physical things out my photos.

These aren’t even “art” photobooks. They’re just family photobooks to take the place of the albums I used to make before I started switching* to digital a decade ago. There are still some sequencing issues I have to work out but for the most part, the photos are ordered chronologically. Most of my work is instead on the layout side as I’m often trying to fit multiple photos on a page without making it look too scrapbooky.

*While my main camera was film until 2007, I’d started shooting digital point and shoots on the side around 2005. Once that happened I didn’t feel like I could have a proper photo album until I started printing the digital photos. Turns out it was scanning the film ones that I needed to do instead.

Well, layout and editing. I’m wrestling with over a decade of digital backlog which, while I’ve sorted everything on Flickr, I haven’t been particularly ruthless about cutting anything. The family format is a nice way to ease into editing since it offers a bit of a cushion where sentiment and emotional attachment to lesser images is still a good thing. They’re not images I want to have blown up, but I enjoy having them alongside the images I’m prouder of.

So I get to include a number of smaller photos instead of “tossing” them. Meanwhile, I’m only picking one of two from a given event to print larger so I’m still winnowing things down.*

*Not that I’ll be making a proper photobook from these, but it’s still a good exercise for myself to cut things down to the tightest edit possible.

My biggest problem with this approach is that Blurb’s software isn’t strong enough to handle layouts with multiple photos—let alone text—in a way that I like. I tried them all and while the programs and plugins (especially the Lightroom plugin) work great for basic one-photo-per-page layouts, they don’t have enough control over dimensions and text flow for me. I had to fire up my ancient copy of InDesign and do everything by hand instead. Thankfully Blurb’s dimension calculator is accurate.

Printingwise, I’m plenty happy. I’ve been watching digital printing for a decade now and part of the reason for my waiting to make books has been waiting for the quality to be acceptable. While I can still see rosettes, they’re consistent with the higher-quality commercial print screens (~175lpi) I’m used to seeing. They don’t have the weird look of a lot of non-halftone digital screens nor are they as good as high-quality stochastic or super-fine (~600lpi) photobook screens.

The rest of the book feels great too. The premium matte paper is very nice and the bindings and covers are also solid. My family and I have already enjoyed looking through them and remembering things and I can’t wait to make more books now.

A few discoveries

Not exactly lessons learned, instead more like assumptions confirmed. I was a bit ambitious and made and ordered three books before getting a chance to confirm that they were indeed going to satisfy my expectations.

  • Converting grayscale images to RGB before creating the PDF resulted in nice black and white images.
  • 1.75″×2.625″ is indeed large enough to work in an album
  • I’m not wedded to aspect ratio with small photos
  • 10 point text is just fine

The black and white images were my largest concern since digital printing has a tendency to consider black and white printing as the budget option and not do as much quality control over print quality as it does over detecting color clicks for ink usage. But sending as RGB images worked fine. I’d consider toning them a little warmer since the Blurb defaults are slightly cool for my taste, but that may also be a lot more work for a minimal gain and a lot of potential problems.

Photographers’ Sketchbooks

Photographers Sketchbooks

I always love it when I’m at a museum and information about how an artist worked is available along with the actual art. I’m not just interested in learning how something was constructed,* I love to see how artists worked through their ideas and found what worked and what didn’t. The effort part of art is too often framed as being only in the actual creation side of things—painting, sculpting, etc.—not in the ideation and working through of the concepts or in the decision making about what to actually show people.

*Though that’s cool too.

This is especially important with photography since discarded work is preserved in ways which are often indistinguishable from the keepers. Unlike other arts, photography is in many ways a permanent work-in-progress as discards return to the archive and projects evolve. Being able to view a photographer’s unpublished work and see how it evolved is a rare pleasure.

Which is what makes Stephen McLaren and Bryan Formhals’s Photographers’ Sketchbooks so exciting. Rather than being about a single photographer, this book has samples from dozens of them. The term “sketchbook” doesn’t begin to describe the various working methods in here. There are contact sheets, maquettes and dummies, online streams, notebooks, workbooks, work prints, plans, sketches, and more. All vastly different ways of conceiving projects, working through them, and editing them. This is how art is made. There’s never one right way.

Many of the samples involve working with the stream and the archive. Taking unfinished work and knocking the corners off or reshuffling things. Showing the results to trusted peers. Rinse and repeat. That we’re allowed in to see this unfinished, unreleased work—oftentimes without explicit references to the finished pieces—is a major privilege which demonstrates the significant amount of trust that the artists have placed in McLaren and Formhals to handle and present these private documents into a more public space.

For photographers whose work I was familiar with it was great to see the behind-the-scenes side of how the work was produced. For those whose work I was unfamiliar with, I enjoyed being introduced to new work as well as learning some backstory for when I encountered the finished work. I can see myself returning to this book as I encounter more photography in the wild.

As a photographer, it’s also great to see how many different approaches there are. This isn’t a how-to guide. But it is inspiring. It’s easy to accumulate an archive of photos. Winnowing through and turning that archive into projects—even if they’re just family photo albums—is something I’ve been putting off for too long. Where most photobooks influence how I take photos and see things, Photographers’ Sketchbooks is encouraging me to do something with them.



I went to Philadelphia to see Paul Strand but I couldn’t help but be excited by their Vitra Exhibition too. For the same reason I would always hit the design rooms at SFMOMA, I never ignore a design exhibition at a museum I’m visiting. It’s not just because of my background, I enjoy seeing items which make me think about the things I use, how I use them, and how they’re made.

The Vitra show offered exactly that in addition to reminding me of SFMOMA’s chair obsession. While it’s interesting to see all the information about how Vitra works and designs things, it’s being able to see the objects—in particularly the chairs—that’s really fun.

Most of the objects on display are furniture. Most of the furniture is seating. Which is great since seating is one of those universal things that we all understand. I used to side-eye SFMOMA’s seating infatuation but I get it now. This isn’t like looking at a DWR showroom.* Instead, there are designs which push the concept of usability. Maybe they’re not comfortable. Maybe they’re not practical. But they’re playful and expand the concept of what a chair could be.

*I’m beginning to be convinced that the Ikea Nesting Instinct is really the affordable DWR Nesting Instinct.

And that’s kind of the point, Vitra doesn’t play it safe. Yes, there’s a heavy emphasis on usability. But you can’t be truly innovative without playing and being willing to put something crazy together. What the hell, let’s make a chair out of wood laminate. What the hell, let’s make a chair out of sheet steel. What the hell, let’s make a chair out of corrugated cardboard. What the hell, let’s make a chair out of iron mesh. Some of those work. Other’s don’t. You learn from what doesn’t and enjoy the result as an object anyway.

Cutting my losses

I’m not a big TV watcher. I tend to pick shows carefully (usually at the recommendation of friends) and watch them on DVD (or streaming) at least a few season after the fact. Part of this is because I’ve much preferred watching movies. But the main reason is that watching a TV show is a major time commitment that I’m really hesitant to embrace. So I usually have very high bars for what I choose to watch. And I’m extremely fast on pulling the trigger when it comes to bailing from a show.

This is something that’s come up a lot on twitter when discussing TV shows. Compared to a lot of my contacts, I appear to give up on things much more quickly than a lot of people. Even when bingewatching. Just because I have access to the DVDs doesn’t mean I finish the show. Heck, sometimes I don’t even finish the season.

So at the request of a number of my twitter contacts, here’s a quick rundown of when, and why, I gave up on some shows. It’s not a complete list of everything I’ve watched, these are just the ones I’ve ended up in discussions about and had to explain why I bailed. This isn’t a critique of these shows either as I’m inherently unqualified to critique these due to bailing early.

Sopranos—Season 3

I’m one of those viewers who found the Meadow’s college trip to be the high point of the series. This episode is what got me to watch season 2 but as the show became more and more about the mob stuff and the banality of it all I started to drift away. I’m not sure I made it through season 3 actually. I can watch people do their jobs. But have a hard time with stupidity and a lot of the mob stuff started to get increasingly stupid to me.

CSI—Season 4

I stuck with CSI (only the Las Vegas edition) a lot longer than I expected. This was brain candy which I enjoyed watching for a few years. I eventually got tired of the fact that it was only ever about murders. And after watching The Wire season 1, CSI just seemed like a joke.

Lost—Season 1

Lost is a show that I made a conscious decision to drop because I didn’t trust the network format to treat it correctly. Season 1 felt like a full-season Monsters are Coming to Maple Street. I loved the mystery and open endedness of it all; I just didn’t expect or trust the show to be able to hold on to that. Either the mystery would get pushed out past the point of credibility. Or the answers would suck. Or the show would get cancelled at a lousy point. So I picked my exit point.

Heroes—Season 1

Holy crap. I should have bailed sooner. I like origin stories—even with the current rebootitis trend going around*—but I hate stupidity. Hate it. And this show got intolerably stupid in the second half. The only reason I finished the season was because I was watching this with friends and we ended up hatewatching it together instead.

*I will always find something enjoyable in watching someone discover what they are good at. I also tire at the way that no one—well, besides Brad Bird—seems to be able to write superhero movies or shows which deal with aging or growing out of the superhero thing.

Veronica Mars—Season 1

Another show like Lost which I stopped watching because I didn’t trust the way the network would handle it and found the existing ending to be just fine. In this case, the season one story arc was just too good. Even if season 2 was good, I didn’t think it was needed and instead risked straining the credibility of the world they’d created. How fucked up could that high school be?

Dexter—Season 1

I got tired mid-season but wanted to see the conclusion. The show gimmick had potential but never measured up to it. In hindsight, it’s hard to make a show about characters who are so emotionally damaged they don’t seem capable of growth. Also, I had problems with the idea of so many competing serial killers being active in the same location.

Mad Men—Mid-Season 1

I couldn’t figure out what this show wanted to be. It appeared to glorify a time period without addressing the underlying race issues. It also has similar character issues as Dexter. And it tapdanced around critiquing mass culture plus its smart moments felt more like accidents. There were also too many moments which reminded me that the show wasn’t on HBO and, quite frankly, it could have used some of that edge.

I may come back to Mad Men though. I’m still skeptical but if it really does manage to make something of a central character’s lack of growth I might be interested to see if they really pull it off.

How I Met Your Mother—Mid-season 3

I bailed when Ted became a certifiable asshole. Any show whose main character becomes that awful isn’t worth sticking with.

True Blood—Season 2

This show is technically on probation. I was fully prepared to bail mid-season with Godric’s death. Only the Sam storyline is keeping any interest right now. Still, I haven’t watched any of this for a few years now. Nor do I really feel like watching again. Unlike the better HBO shows, there’s a bit of “fuck yeah we’re on HBO” in this show. When it’s good, the writing is crisp and smart. But it tends toward pulp and losing a handle on the writing a little too much for me.

Lingerie, Dance, Silhouette, and Movement

My sister works in costuming and is big into fashion. After visiting MoMA, we wandered over to FIT since it’s the museum in New York which is most in-line with her interests. As a design/use junkie, I also enjoy fashion and clothing exhibitions since clothing is one of those universal things. Even if it’s fashion, it’s meant to be worn and reveals a lot about how society views the human body. The two exhibitions on display when we visited—Lingerie and Dance—both explicitly discussed issues about how much of clothing’s intent is to either emphasize or alter the body’s shape and movement.


The lingerie exhibition was more interesting to me—especially as a social history. The main takeaway for me was confirming that demonization of underwear in the late 1960s was indeed misplaced. Underwear gives structure to the silhouette—something which changes with the fashions of the time. Looking at this structure allows us to extrapolate a lot of other things about the fashions of the time, but it also reminds us that the way people look in clothes often has very little to do with how they look out of clothes.

For most of history, structured undergarments allow for clothes to fit “correctly.” And it was understood that the undergarments were doing most of the heavy lifting*—In other words, it wasn’t “cheating” to wear a corset or bustle or crinoline. Comparing this to today where wearing a padded bra or Spanx seems to feel dishonest** because women are supposed to be able to exercise or diet to be able to achieve the desired silhouette in a “natural” fashion and I can’t help but conclude that focusing on the undergarments as “instruments of female torture” may have misdiagnosed the target that should have been protested.

*Or squeezing or padding or tucking.

**Shit, getting surgery to minimize or maximize certain body parts feels dishonest.

It’s not the underwear which is the problem. The problem is the desire to have a specific silhouette—and the fact that what is desirable changes every decade. At least you can change your underwear easier than you can change your body.

That said, looking at the history of lingerie also makes it clear that even before those protests started, underwear—and the clothing being worn over it—was getting less and less complicated and revealing more and more skin anyway. I found it somewhat ironic that the late 1960s through the 1970s in fact had the least restrictive and softest-structured undergarments in the entire show. We’ve swung since then to more structured bras and increased padding and even corsets again. Though a lot of that has become outerwear as well.

The other interesting thing in looking at lingerie was seeing how the technology and materials changed and the number of different ways we’ve tried to accomplish the same sorts of goals. The exhibition goes from whalebone corsets to padded underwire bras and touches on many other kinds of ways to shape the body. It’s amazing to see how much lighter and more efficient everything has become. This is extremely intimate technology intended to be worn for long periods of time up against the skin. It’s kind of a shame that it’s relegated to fashion museums since not only does it concern half of humanity, it’s also just a fascinating design challenge.


The dance show felt a bit forced to me. It’s a great concept but there were too many pieces which felt shoehorned in as possibly dance related. Which is too bad since I was liking the comparison between the dance costumes and the lingerie exhibit—in particular how these costumes were explicit about how they were intended to impact the body’s movement in the same way that lingerie impacts the body’s silhouette. These are two sides of the same coin and both need to be kept in mind when thinking about clothing and how it works.

Dance appears to have two distinct ideas about how fashion and costume should be. One is that nothing should get in the way of the human form and how it moves. The other is that by altering the form and restricting its movement through costume, other interesting things can be revealed. Both views are valid though the second view results in the costumes I find more interesting.

The costumes that stay out of the way end up being more decorative—some fabulously so—but mostly things that we can get a sense of when seeing them on mannequins. The costumes that rely on restricting or hiding movement though need videos so we can see them in action.* I could kind of picture some of them with basic movement. But dance isn’t basic and that intellectual leap was more than I could muster.

*Although, really, more video in general would be nice since this is, after all, a dance exhibition.

Matisse Cutouts


The big exhibition at MoMA was the Matisse show. Unlike Gober, Matisse was packed full of people who like his artwork—and who were visiting the museum to indulge in how much they liked it. It is indeed superficially easy to like: Bright colors. Fun shapes. A famous name. Some iconic pieces.

I liked it too, but the main appeal to me was that it was, in many ways, an exhibition of process documents instead of final products. Many of the pieces on display were actually about designing for a different medium. Maquettes for murals,* printed books,** ceramics,*** and stained glass. Cutouts eventually realized as silkscreens. Even the pieces which remained as cutouts went through multiple iterations before ending up in their final arrangements.

*The Barnes Mural


***La Gerbe

The exhibition does a great job at showing how the cutouts evolved and interacted with each other as Matisse worked on them. There are photos showing different arrangements and the displays go out of their way to emphasize the pinholes and other ways that the pieces were held together and rearranged. This is distinct from other process documents where multiple iterations are created and can be preserved. The fluidity of composition in the cutouts is fascinating to see and think about and there’s something wonderfully tactile and evocative with cut shapes stuck on a surface where we can see the possibilities of playing with everything.

Which made it especially interesting to see how despite the ephemeral nature of the cut outs, they were all also presented as being finished and final. The maquettes might be final proofs but they’re not the final piece. Some of the cutouts were indeed intended to be final pieces but many of them were living on Matisse’s walls and there’s a huge difference between being in the state Matisse’s death left them in and having it be finished complete works of art.* I can appreciate them as being finished enough, but declaring them as complete—and seeing people view them as complete—got me thinking some more about how we conceive of art and the role that presentation plays in how we react.

*It’s worth mentioning an exhibition on sketches I saw at Princeton here for some additional thoughts about process documents and unfinished pieces in the museum.

It’s an exhibition of Matisse Cutouts, not an exhibition of maquettes for Matisse Prints or Matisse Ceramics. So cutout as final form is the expectation going in.

And that’s fine too. Many of the pieces are a joy to look at and the form itself is fun. Squiggles where you can see both parts and try and match up the original paper pieces across multiple compositions. Vaguely botanical shapes that remind me of Hawaiian quilts. Some remarkably effortless and graceful forms such as the parakeet which show how much a single confident line can convey.*

*And other equally effortful forms, especially his human figures, which show that this medium is a lot harder than it looks.

There is so much here which I want to show my sons as basic art education. How to explore colors and positive and negative spaces. Being able to move compositions around before committing to their placement. The willingness to just try a line or shape and see what happens with it. The fact that this is just cut pieces of colored paper means it’s simple and cheap to try.

Italian Drawings

Vittore Carpaccio. Two Standing Women, One in Mamluk Dress

A brief review of Princeton’s 500 Years of Italian Master Drawings exhibition which I saw last February.  I didn’t initially plan on writing about this but I’ve ended up thinking about it more than I expected to.

This was an exhibition about craft and process rather than the final productions. Most of the items on display are either plans for sculptures and paintings or sketches and studies of things being observed. In both cases, these drawings are the first step which takes us from observing and thinking to making and understanding. These drawings are what make all the other arts possible.

They’re wonderful. Besides the linework and technical skill, there is so much gesture and life in these since they are sketches rather than renderings. I’m also a total sucker for drawings using both dark and white pigments on medium-tone paper. Looking at these makes me want to start drawing again.

I ended up thinking about this exhibition more than I expected because I started wondering when these drawings became considered art in their own right. I’ve seen other exhibitions about process but none with pieces as old as these. My understanding from the wall text is that these were collected by specific people even at the time—suggesting that most people would have seen these as process documents only.

This is something I’ve wondered off and on about for a while whenever I see “unfinished” work in museums—especially now since we’ve thoroughly absorbed both the concepts of ruin value and wabi-sabi into a lot of modern art. Things don’t have to be finished perfectly to be complete. Nor do they have to be preserved intact in order to stay complete. And while neither of these is a modern idea, the concepts do seem to have made it into museums relatively recently compared to the age of some of these pieces.

Before Rodin, how were fragments and unfinished pieces like Michelangelo’s Slaves presented? Were they just examples of the artist’s working practice and a way for us to learn how things were made? Or have they always been viewable as complete pieces, finished in their own way.

I’m not enough of an academic to be able to answer this. But whenever I see exhibitions like this where process documents are being displayed as art in their own right, I’ll keep looking and reading and trying to get a better understanding of how it works and when we started seeing them as something more than just a step in the design of something else.