After a few detours, I’m now returning to posting the nude images that I made with my cheap, plastic Holga camera in September of last year in and near Joshua Tree National Park in California. Today’s photos are of Rebecca Lawrence. I hope you like them.


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As I mentioned in my last posting, and as you may have seen already on his blog, my good friend Dave Levingston came to stay with me for several days, beginning Friday night. First Dave called to tell me that his flight would be an hour late due to bad weather. Then he called to say the flight would be two hours late. Then he called to say that it was cancelled. Then he called to say that it was not cancelled.
Eventually, he got here. On Saturday we rode up to Woodstock, NY, to attend a lecture by Mary Ellen Mark at the Center for Photography there. She’s a great photographer and it was good to see so many of her images, both of ordinary folk and actors and directors on film sets. (My favorite was the one of Tim Burton with a squirrel, no doubt from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.) We also were treated to the very first screening of a rough cut of a short documentary film she’s made.

Dave spent Sunday and Tuesday out on his own, but on Monday we went to the Museum of Modern Art, as it’s pretty much the only art museum here that’s open on Monday, as far as I know. As Dave wrote, the main photography gallery was closed for re-installation. What photography we did see there was generally pretty awful. There were a few photos that were in mattes measuring about 11 by 14 inches. The photos themselves (if they can be called that) measured about one-quarter of an inch by one inch. (I am not exaggerating.) If this is what curators think of as good photography, I think I’d rather be a bad photographer.

Anyway, Dave returned home safely today to Ohio, and I enjoyed his visit.
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On the subject of good and bad art, I read the following today in a recent issue of Art News magazine, in a story about the late Italian “anti-art” artist Piero Manzoni:

Manzoni’s undeniable masterpiece – a sequel to Duchamp’s urinal – is Merdo d’artista (1961), 90 signed and numbered cans supposedly containing the artist’s own excrement, 30 grams each and “made in Italy,” which he sold at the daily price of gold. They’re now worth far more: some years ago the Tate bought a can for $67,000.

And I wonder why I can’t get a museum to collect my photos.

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