Happy to teach a three week, three session workshop for Gwanghapdan Art Collective! We’ll be shooting on the street, editing a sequence of images and making zines from the experience.
Language of instruction: English.
Join us in Seoul!
Light table
Luca and Olin are consumed by their passions. Starting a few months back, their newest obsession became entomology and the world of insects.
If we let them have their way, they’d be out all day and half the night poring over leafy plants, climbing tree branches and looking under rocks for new specimens.
But when they can’t be out catching insects they stay in reading books about them or sketching them over and over again in their notebooks.
Sometimes, when they are learning to draw a new insect they ask us to make a print from an online photo they like. Then they lean up against the windows and use the backlight from the sky to trace their outline.
The moment has finally arrived.
The day finally arrived for us to welcome our first guests to Jaime Stay Seojong. The houses reflect our own story as a family, bringing together elements of classic New York brownstone architecture with vibrant colors and carefully handpicked objects from Latin America. And throughout a special emphasis on the beauty of natural light which is the heart and soul of our photographic practice.
It’s been a three-year process to arrive at this day. All I can say is Luca and Olin houses looked resplendent and that we hope our guests will have a truly memorable visit.
Stay
When we moved from NYC to Korea we had a dream of finding land somewhere in the countryside - within striking distance of Seoul - where we could build a home.
A few months after arriving here, we first visited the small town of Seojong and found a field in a larger tract of farmland which was being offered for sale. We felt a sense of peace and belonging in that valley, crossed by a stream and surrounded by rolling hills and mountains. We took a deep breath and purchased the land. Our next step was to find the right architect to help us realize our vision. We partnered with the award-winning, stellar firm 100A.
For the better part of three years we have worked on building symmetrical, twin houses in Nomun-ri, one named Luca and the other Olin. Their design is inspired by our own lives: highlighting the beauty of light which guides us as photographers, weaving elements of New York City brownstone architecture with color and objects from Latin America. We are now ready to open our home to all of you as Jaime Stay.
Come for a visit soon!
Lucky
It seems like my whole life people told me I’m a lucky guy.
Don’t I know it ~
Brooklyn days with HRM
Museum of Fine Arts Houston
Gwanghapdan is celebrating the Museum of Fine Arts Houston’s acquisition of our zines 1 through 16, our complete production to date which will become a part of the museum’s Research Library and Archive.
Thank you Jon Evans and Anne Tucker for making this happen. We are so thrilled and honored!
BLINDNESS, a new body of work.
Blindness can take many forms. Physically, it is the affliction of being born sightless or losing sight later in life.
Figuratively, one might think of Milton’s darkness visible, which the poet uses to describe the hell which awaits Lucifer when he falls from grace.
Blindness can also be a self-inflicted punishment, as in Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex who puts out his own eyes to atone for an unspeakable sin.
Saramago’s epic novel opens at traffic light, where the first victim of a mysterious pandemic suddenly loses the ability to see. Chaos quickly ensues and then proceeds to engulf the city, bringing society to the very edge of cataclysm, only to lift again suddenly and inexplicably.
More broadly, blindness could refer to the human condition: to the ability to see but not comprehend. Think of a newly arrived immigrant unable to read or speak the language of her new home, trying desperately to navigate and adapt to a different culture.
An artist might feel paralyzed by losing his sense of wonder. Unable to break free from his own visual language and habitual practice, how can he seek out new avenues of expression or fresh lines of sight?
On a personal level, I might add that a photographer knows no greater fear than blindness.
And for that very reason, it is a subject worthy of artistic exploration.
Rain or shine
First there were cars, then cars that transformed into robots, sharks followed and afterwards dinosaurs. Godzilla suddenly became a thing, including heavy metal soundtracks. Next, sharks came back in vogue with a vengeance.
And now it’s all about insects. Olin and Luca have done a deep dive into all aspects of this form of animal life. They can watch documentaries endlessly, draw them from books or from memory, and fold complicated origami versions of their favorites. But without a doubt, rain or shine searching for them in gardens, parks and wooded areas is their favorite thing to do.
Opening Night
Opening Night for Gwanghapdan Art Collective “Grounding” exhibition at Gallerythec in Seoul, Korea.
Thanks to all who attended ~
Touché ~
I started to shower, then a knock on the door. “Papi, I need to pee”. “oK, Olin. Come in”. “No, I don’t like it when it’s wet”.
I finished washing in record time, squeegeed the floor dry and let him in.
When I was done dressing, Olin was waiting for me outside the door.
“Papi, let’s play!”
“oK, gordo. Give me a second”.
After dropping my pj’s in the hamper, I reached for the French press and yesterday’s leftover coffee. About to pour myself a cup, Olin again:
“Papi, let’s play!!”
“oK, Olin. I’m coming…”
“No Papi, you’re going”.
Touché ~
Gwanghapdan
A few weeks ago, I was invited to become a member of Gwanghapdan, a collective of Korean artists.
Although I’ve been an artist all of my adult life and I’ve been an integral part of various communities through the years, being part of a collective is a first for me.
Attending my first meeting as a member, I was surprised and honored to be asked to edit the coming issue of our monthly zine.
I proposed the theme of “Blindness”. When the submissions started coming in, I was blown away by the quality of the works. I presented the completed dummy today and next month it will become available through Gwanghapdan and Same Dust Bookstore.
Look at this
“Look at this” is how us, photographer fathers, like to teach our children about the world. But photographer Frank Espada, father of poet Martin Espada, knew that looking - and understanding - should be followed by action.
Here’s Martin’s poem, remembering his father.
—-
Look at This
My father spoke: Look at this, he said to me. We were walking throughan alley from somewhere to somewhere else in Brooklyn. In front of us, a man with white hair and a white beard reached into a dumpster, plucked out a bag of potato chips, stuffed his arm up to the elbow in the bag, let it flutter to the pavement at his feet, and shuffled ahead.
Look at this, my father said again. Sometimes, he would repeat himself.He walked up behind the white-haired man, called Good morning, sir! so the other man wheeled around to see us, shook his hand and left a twenty-dollar bill in the handshake, all without slowing down.
We never spoke of it again. The day we left Brooklyn, he drove away away so fast he left a stack of his 78s in the closet of the apartment in the projects. Look at this was all he said, and all he had to say. Look.
Hanukkah Miracle
Last night it was -4C and today the temps rose and rose until they reached a blissful 16C.
Was it a little Hanukkah miracle? Possibly. It sure was a gift!
Chag Sameaj!
한글
O: Papi, what are you doing?
J: Practicing my Korean.
O: Dinosaurs can help you.
A loaded gun
My Senior year in High School, I applied for and received a scholarship from the Hebrew University in Jerusalem to study Psychology and English Literature. The first three years of my education I lived in the student dorms on Mount Scopus.
It was a remarkable experience in many ways, in part because it brought together under one roof foreigners, Israelis and Palestinian Israeli Arabs, many of whom were scholarship students like myself. We shared the common areas like the kitchen and shower stalls on a daily basis. We lived beside one another.
A couple of times during my studies, my parents came to visit from Guatemala. Those were the days before cell phones and 24/7 connectivity. So when they wanted to visit me on campus, we would just agree to meet in my dorm room after class. Jerusalem being Jerusalem, we would spill out from the classroom, walking together, arguing and laughing, continuing lively academic conversations and debates. It was not unusual that I lost all sense of time and arrived late to meet my parents. Whenever that happened, I knew where to find them: one of the Palestinian students on my floor would surely have welcomed them into their room and offered them tea or coffee and cookies while they waited for me.
Among Palestinians, the process of brewing coffee is very similar to that of Turkey. There’s a whole ritual involved. Coffee is brewed in a small copper pot, mixed with sugar and cardamom. It is allowed to rise, cool slightly, and rise again repeatedly until it reaches the desired consistency. My floor mates knew that I loved to share a cup with them and they sometimes asked me to join them in one of their rooms.
On one of those occasions we got onto the subject of the history of Israel. A chasm seemed to open up before us. Their narrative of events had nothing to do with mine. It contradicted every historical account I had ever read. For instance, I asked what they thought of the 1948 War of Independence. I said that on the very day of its creation, following a vote and mandate by the United Nations, Israel was invaded by the combined armies of Egypt, Syria, Iraq, Transjordan, Lebanon, Saudi Arabia and Yemen. I was told in reply that it was the exact opposite, Israel had declared war on its neighbors and expelled Palestinians. We talked for the better part of an hour. We could find no common ground.
Finally, visibly exasperated, one of the guys took out his wallet and showed me an ID. It was his membership in the Palestinian Liberation Organization. He then told me that were his commanding officer to order me dead, he would not hesitate to kill me. I looked into his eyes and saw this was no empty threat. There were at least five or six others present. I glanced at their faces. Nobody spoke. The silence was deafening and I felt like I was staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. I drained the last of my sweet coffee, suddenly bitter in my mouth.
I rose, left the room, and never went back.
Hope Week
In early June of 2019, I got a call from the New York Yankees. By then I had become accustomed to taking all kinds of calls on behalf of Olmedini. The truth is nobody could find him, so they looked for me instead. In a way (although I never took a penny) I had become the de facto agent to an octogenarian, blind magician.
The Yankees told me they had seen my photographs in the NY Times; they were so moved by the story they planned to honor Olmedini during their annual Hope Week celebration, inviting him to throw the Ceremonial First Pitch at the stadium on game day.
They gave me a date and asked me to make sure the magician would be at home that morning, without spoiling the surprise. So I called Olmedini: “Respetado mago, make sure when you wake up on June 19th you stay at home until I arrive. Have your best suit ready, get a fresh haircut and a manicure. And just know that this will be one of the best days of your life”.
And he did. And it was.
Five pitchers and a host of cable news networks arrived in El Barrio to greet him at home and escort him by subway to Yankee Stadium. And that was just the start.
The ties that bind us
We were once strangers meeting on the subway for the first time. As I look back over the work we created together, it suddenly dawns on me - and I feel completely overwhelmed by the realization - that I have taken more photographs of Olmedini than anyone else I’ve ever known.
The bond between us runs that deep.
Blossom
It’s only our second shoot together but Olmedini’s appearance has already dramatically changed. The magician is poor and lives in city housing for the disabled. Money comes to him in crumpled single dollar bills. Nonetheless, today his hair is freshly cut and his hands manicured. His suit has been cleaned and pressed.
Soon, Olmedini will stop leaving home without his prosthetic eye.
Such is the power of knowing that you’re seen, that your talent and gifts are recognized. And of course, that goes double for an octogenarian performer who also happens to be blind.
We blossom when someone believes in us.
One in ten thousand
Underground. A reflection of Olmedini and Ana in a subway window. It reveals to me the feeling and connection between them at that moment, so I shoot a frame.
One in ten thousand.
Will it make it to the book? No idea.
But I hope so.
Memories come flooding back
Here's an image from the very first day of shooting with Olmedini, September 1st, 2018. I remember thinking: Olmedini has somehow upended the gravitational field of the subway; as soon as he boards a train objects levitate, appear and disappear, transform into other substances.
For the next few weeks, I am revisiting my files once again, photograph by photograph, to make sure that significant images are not missing from my edit. And of course they are. I know I am seeing these photographs anew but sometimes I am just understanding their deeper meaning for the first time.
The memories come flooding back.
There are over 10,000 photographs from the project. Of those, anywhere between 75-85 will be included in the monograph. Will you see this photograph in the book? Possibly. I am not certain yet. Part of that answer lies in the careful sequencing that will best tell the story of Olmedini El Mago.
Editing for a book is a complex, sometimes punishing process; sacrifices have to be made.