While John Keatley is most widely known for his commercial photography and advertising campaigns, shooting everyone from Anthony Hopkins to Macklemore with punchy, studio lit, conceptually-driven portraiture, his latest personal series Uniform treads on darker territory. Using some of the same commercial aesthetics and devices of his campaign work, the Seattle-based photographer aims to create conversation on how many Americans perceive, and often distance themselves from the soldiers that make up the United States military.
From 2008 to 2015, Caitlin Teal Price photographed strangers sunbathing on New York City beaches under stark, immaculate rays. Shot from above with her medium format camera, her subjects lay back with eyes closed, presumably unaware of the photographer's presence. They exist for viewers to ogle and observe, to draw our own conclusions about their personal stories, to look without permission. Price recently published a monograph of the series, Stranger Lives with Capricious Books, which piqued our interest to learn more about her process and metaphors at work.
Since 1996 The High Museum of Art in Atlanta, Georgia has invited photographers like Sally Mann, Alec Soth, Emmett Gowin and Richard Misrach to participate in their ongoing documentary series Picturing the South. The initiative prompts photographers to break from the regions potential visual clichés, in favor of a more open-ended approach. In his new book, One Sun, One Shadow, 2012 invitee Shane Lavalette focuses on the rich history of Southern music with an eye that strays from traditional documentary tropes.
There are no photographs of guitar players’ aging hands, nor are there caricatured images of Deliverance-style banjo players plucking away on back porches. Less than five of the photographs in the book include instruments or literal signifiers of music. Instead, the series reflects the ambiance of music and its rich sensation through landscape, portraits, still life. “I knew immediately I didn’t want to set out to illustrate significant places and people that are part of the musical history of the South, or directly trace any specific lineage,” says Lavalette. “I wanted to explore the subjects on the fringes of these places and focus on the atmosphere.”
A few years ago, Amy Lombard photographed a pug Meetup in Staten Island, NY. She left the event curious about how the Internet had united a diverse group of people, based purely around their shared interest in pugs. From that point on, Lombard began shooting more and more of these gatherings, evolving the photographs into a long term series documenting Meetup culture around the country. "At a certain point along the way," Lombard tells us, "I kind of had to play the role of therapist on myself: What is it exactly that is appealing to me about the idea of documenting people coming together from the Internet and finding their people?" Lombard's latest book, Connected, designed by Elysia Berman, follows groups ranging from "Parrot and Kimono Lovers" to the Harry Potter obsessed, with a curious, yet non-othering eye, looking to how they use social media to find community in real life. We spoke with Amy to learn more about the series and her inspiration behind it. The project was supported by the VSCO Artist Initiative, and you can buy the book HERE.
King Cheeto. The Giant Orange Crayon. F-kface Von Clownstick. Angry Creamsicle. A racist clementine. The list of absurdly accurate nicknames for Donald Trump goes on, as the 2016 election has become more of a circus than ever before. A man who many thought would have no chance of making it beyond the initial republican debates has somehow garnered support from masses of Americans.
Responding to Trump's frightening buffoonery, New York City-based photographer William Miller made a series of photographs that appear to be disintegrating before our eyes. "Making fun of Donald Trump," says Miller, "is like trying to put clown makeup on the face of a clown already in full clown makeup."
To make these pictures, Miller prints a found photograph of Trump onto a sheet of clear plastic or acetate. Since the plastic can't fully absorb the ink, the colored liquid gathers and drips, distorting image, which Miller then scans with a flatbed scanner for the final print. "He's almost impossible to parody or imitate because he's an atrocity against the norms of civil behavior," adds Miller. "He lives inside the joke so his reflection could never be more absurd than its referent." To see more of Miller's work, visit his website, follow him on Instagram, or check out our recent group show: 'Roid Rage.