There are photos of me! I really haven't had any new photos of myself for ever, but luckily a few commandeered the camera from my hands and went shooting mad: John-John, Penelope, and Molly. Thanks to Jen for fixing me up with some rocking hair, and Savers for the raw materials. I was slightly sick at the outset of this party, but I decided that I would try to beat it with my own energy. So I partied it up, passed out a little after 7:00, and really felt my mind was stronger than the little bacterial colony that is my body. It turns out that the brain is only good at tricking itself from the pains of reality for so long. I slept all day yesterday and today I've slept more. So that's why I am done typing. What I've got so far was hard enough. The end.

Labels: Photos, Raves

Photographs tame the memory. They solidify a space which was much more vibrant. First of all, they are such scattered instants, selected for compositional clarity, color aesthetics, and pyrotechnical wow. On one level, the photographs are so far removed from the experience that they lose any connection with what they might mean to be "documentary." Sometimes the camera clicker wants to represent that moment that happens so often when glancing around, things fall into place, and some image just gets burned into the brain. Most aren't frantically searching to encapsulate the eyelash flash, and so the scattered assortment of accidents and unintention that are produced feature a drive alien to the motivations of others.

But maybe that's good. There is no unified objective, after all. The removal from that sort of intent could perhaps do something else. If it is not possible to catch what is in the internal subjectivity, then some sort of real truth might arise, might bubble up from the void. Intent does, in a way, destroy the documentary function of photography. But then it comes down to selection, searching for secrets in the faces of all these strangers - and friends; looking for disparities and contrast; finding stories that might never have been; selecting for what was mentioned above, composition, color, and light; all of which bringing personal opinion, a personal aesthetic, back to mix. Some avoid this problem and post every photograph taken during the night. It doesn't eradicate the problem, though. Every time you snap you select. Videographers only have to deal with the subjectivity of aim. They don't have to worry, until editing at least, about preferences of time.

Labels: Photos, Raves

One of the more vital elements of rave culture lies in the way it transforms space. The most hotly sought areas have always been warehouses, shopping malls, old churches, and other arenas that, and here is the important word, obviously serve other masters in the light of day. These are the parties that are remembered. And it distinguishes raves from clubs. Ravers feel a bit dismal at clubs because, come on, they were built for the purpose of dancing. There's nothing revolutionary there. The quality of a party can be in some sense determined by how far from the original use of space a production company can go. Obtaining and transforming space is the essence of the scene.

The first photograph in the series necessitates close examination. It begins the metamorphosis of what could be passed by easily as a place other than a greasy patch for parking cars. As the series progresses, the garage converts more thoroughly into something else, is pushed further and further from its original state. Flags become anti-props. Brooms are still-reeling implements of transition. An illusion of sophistication sets in - which illustrates the plasticity of the term. The costumes contrast with and create a new reality. Energy rises. And, eventually the original scene is forgotten entirely; some never knew it. And thus, the butterfly emerges.

But that is not all. Every rave is refreshed by exit. Cinderella is seen for her cinders again. After it is all over, people leave through garage doors and glance back on that which holds back the paradox inside: black, corroded steel, bruised brick, and a faded sign that reads a yellow page appeal. The secret is safe.

Labels: Photos, Raves