Monthly Archives: June 2012

Let me get this straight: the forks go on the left and the knives and spoons go on the right, right?

28 Thursday Jun 2012

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The printing of the photographs is finally complete. I can now look at these and see if there is any sense to be made of them. Or should I just go ahead and get a job in a shoe store?

(citizenbrand.typepad.com)

Editing a photography book is like playing with LEGOS (TM – don’t want to get into trouble here!). All the pieces do fit together, but sometimes they make more sense one way than another. And so it is with 200+ photographs.

How to use, what to use. How to put them together. What does it mean? What do I want to say? Argggh!

Slowly, after sifting through them, some begin to stand out as definite keepers. Others are discarded quickly only to somehow find their way back in. And yet others quietly reveal themselves only as the shape of the book develops. These, on their own, may not seem like much until put into the company of others. Then they take on a new significance. The sum of the parts, etc.

But, there are still more than 200 of these and not all will make the cut. As I mentioned just a few lines back, there are obvious keepers. These stand out, I believe, as the strongest images in the lot. But they still beg the question: what order? It’s like setting a dinner table: knives here, forks there, spoons to the right, wine glasses over there. (Who set up those rules anyway?)

See? This is what I mean. (dummies.com)

As I continue to look and arrange, and rearrange, and repeat this over and over again, it does start to take form and meaning. It would be one thing if there had been a shooting script and the photographs were taken in a chronological order. Yeah, it would be one thing, but it isn’t. So I have to engage in a kind of reverse engineering of this. Usually that results in the construction of something like a Yugo. Please, please don’t let that happen here!

Typical photo of a Yugo. (wired.com)

Certain types of images are beginning to look like they belong with each other. As that occurs, the book slowly begins to take form and the elements within start to “write” the book. As that occurs, I realize its final direction. This does not mean the selection is complete, no, not by a long shot, but I can edit with a particular vision. This is good.

Yet, it will still undergo many permutations and combinations before I’m ready to submit it. And even then, it will probably be revised further. It’s a long process and I still won’t know if I put the forks on the correct side of the plate.

Now where’s that photo with the, the, you know…

25 Monday Jun 2012

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Even though there are many photographs to print, some are revealing themselves to be keepers right off the bat; others, ehhh, not so much. So the editing starts while I’m still printing. That should make things easier at the end, right? Not so fast, Bucko! Some become instant favorites while others are quickly relegated to orphan status. If they remain orphans at the end, I might be convinced to call in Sally Struthers for help.

If you’ve never been in a photographic darkroom, it is a place of miracle, wonderment, surprise, and frustration. Sort of like golf, but without the funny clothes. When printing an image, one doesn’t just make one print and that’s it. There is so much influence the photographer can have on the image, that the final realization of it may look entirely different from what was originally seen on the proof sheet.

The adjustments are innumerable. It can go lighter or darker all over; composition is always being fiddled with; one can make only specific areas lighter or darker; contrast is infinitely adjustable; developing techniques affect it strongly; and cropping can make it into an entirely different image altogether. With all that in mind, it doesn’t get printed once. It gets printed many times. All the generations printed of this image lead to the one that stands out; the one where you can’t see that it needs any further work. The differences between the last few generations might be miniscule and often are, but that little difference makes all the difference in the world.

It is not uncommon, rather it’s normal, to spend hours working on an image from just one negative. (The late W. Eugene Smith was known to work as long as a week on one negative!) Multiply that by 200+ images and it’ll be a wonder if I ever see daylight again. On the other hand, if I print at night, that problem is easily eliminated.

W. Eugene Smith in his darkroom. (oocities.org)

So, as preliminary editing begins, there’s always that moment (or moments), when looking through all those prints, you go, “Now where is that photo with the…”. Good times, good times.

This is what looking for that print is like, only cleaner. (the atlantic.com)

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Exclusive, first time ever, interview… with me. Part 2.

21 Thursday Jun 2012

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Sponsor: And now we return to our regularly scheduled interview -

I. You mentioned that the cod, Newfoundland’s largest source of revenue, were gone and the affect it had on the island’s population.

B. Yes, that’s right. The fish stocks had fallen off before, but certainly not to the precipitous levels that they reached in 1992. At that point, it was sort of like the canary in a coal mine – if the bird in the cage is laying on its back, you better get out of that mine fast. A catastrophe is about to happen. And that is what happened in Newfoundland. It was the canary in a global coal mine, but nobody noticed until it was too late.

I. Is is an isolated case?

B. It was thought to be until 2006 when a paper, by Dr. Boris Worm of Dalhousie University in Nova Scotia,  was published predicting a worldwide version of this disaster. The paper received worldwide attention as it should have as it stated that by the middle of this century, all stocks of wild, edible fish will be in total collapse. After that, lots of kids will not be taking tuna fish sandwiches to lunch any longer.

I. OK, that’s the problem. What’s the solution?

B. Well, as in so many things, identifying the problem is often far more easy that determining the solution. The quick, cheap, and dirty answer is stop fishing. Is that realistic? Probably not. Could we get an easy buy-in from fishing countries around the world – same answer. But, unfortunately, that is the only answer at this point.

I. How about fish farming as a replacement?(organicguide.com)

B. That becomes a whole political issue for which there is a lot of debate. The other part of that though is it does not return the fisherman to the sea. As I said earlier about another solution – it’s an answer. Maybe not the popular one though. Without the fishermen returning to their livelihood, rural Newfoundland will, and is, disappearing before us. That is what the book “Arn? Narn.” portrays.

I. So fish farming is not a viable answer?

B. Not for cod at least. They don’t seem to be very cooperative about it. Additionally, there are too many studies floating around discouraging wide consumption of farmed fish, particularly salmon. Catfish do well as a farmed species, perhaps Tilapia as well. But they can’t replace all the other species.

(fitsugar.com)

I. Last question, Bruce. When will the book be out?

B. It looks like now sometime in late September or the first week of October. We hope to start getting the word out in the next couple of months.

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Mummer Dearest. (Don’t worry about the wire hangers.)

18 Monday Jun 2012

Posted by in Culture, History, Local Art

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For a lot of people, the idea of mummers is garishly dressed men in otherworldly and fanciful, often feathered outfits marching in a parade. Almost as if RuPaul had been on a bad acid trip. Making it worse is that it was usually held on New Year’s Day morning in Philadelphia. As if a hangover weren’t enough!

Not from Philadelphia.

But as in Star Wars, these are not the Mummers you’re looking for. As opposed to the Mos Eisley of the aforementioned parade, the mummers I’m talking about are of a traditional kind. This mummer tradition dates back to the mid 1800′s originating mostly in Northern Europe. Since the book “Arn? Narn.” is about Newfoundland, let’s talk about their mummering tradition. It’s a hell of lot more entertaining.

The names have been changed to protect the innocent.

In Newfoundland, locals would dress up, (a slight overstatement as anything that would fit on one’s person or over other garments would constitute a “costume”) and visit, well rather prey on other people’s houses. Once admitted in, they would generally carouse and torment (all in good fun of course), causing minor and sometimes major damages to that particular abode, usually drink all the legal adult spirits, and not leave until the hosts (read this as hostages) identified who the invaders were. Once that was accomplished, the mummers would then move on to yet another house and repeat their holiday mayhem. Sounds like fun doesn’t it? Unless yours was the next house to host such “festivities.”

The mummering tradition is immortalized in all sorts of folk art: from statues to drawings and paintings to song and story.Singer Loreena McKennit also sang about it in her haunting song “The Mummer’s Dance.”

In my travels while photographing Newfoundland, I became interested in the Mummer tradition. Not so much as to participate (the opportunity never presented itself and more’s the pity!), but as something I would like to remember as part of the Newfoundland experience. The closest I was able to get was in local art. One in particular caught my eye. The photo below are Mummer figurines produced by Pam and Cara in Newfoundland. They issue one new Mummer each year and they sell out pretty fast.

True confession: I even have a few of these. Does anyone know where I can get a curio cabinet cheap?

And in atypical fashion, as I am loathe to like anything that falls into a category loosely defined as tschotckes, I found myself charmed by these. The good news is that if you invite these guys into your home, they won’t cause any damage. And better yet, they’ll leave your liquor stash alone! That alone makes them better than most guests, right?

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Exclusive, first time ever, not seen on any cable networks, other blogs, or even tweeted about yet… imaginary interview. Part 1.

14 Thursday Jun 2012

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Interviewer: Hello and welcome to this exclusive interview with the author and photographer of the book “Arn? Narn.”, Bruce Meisterman. Thanks for coming here today Mr. Meisterman.

(ossipeevalley.org)

Bruce: Thank you. I’m very happy to be here with you and please, call me Bruce.

I: OK then,… uh – Bruce. How did you come up with the idea for “Arn? Narn.”? What was your inspiration? Who influenced you the most? Did you really go to Newfoundland? Where is Newfoundland?

B: Whoa, one question at a time. My mind can’t handle that many concepts all at once. Inspiration is a funny thing, sort of like Groucho Marx. He might have said one thing and on paper it would look like something else, but when it came out it was altogether different once again. And that’s how this book came about.

B: My first idea was really to explore the concept of isolation in a western culture. What’s it feel like to be in contact with the entire world but cut off geographically. Sort of like Delaware.

I: But you said this was about Newfoundland. Where does Delaware come into it?

B: Not actually; just figuratively. Initially, I thought I wanted to go to Nova Scotia. Shows you how much I know. Way too many tourists. Seriously, only after a week of thinking about this, I realized, and god only knows how I came to this, that I needed to go to Newfoundland. Really, that’s how it happened. I knew nothing of Newfoundland at the time, but upon doing my research, it became clear that was the right decision. What I needed to find at that time was a destination not a stop on one’s way elsewhere.

I: That is interesting, but that’s not what the book is about. What changed it?

B: That’s a great question. After my first trip, I saw that the photographs were pretty good but didn’t hold together as a story. So, unfortunately, I had to go back to that really wonderful place. These are the sacrifices an artist has to make! Right? It’s tough, but, hey!

I: So you did go back. What did you find?

B: I found the story – which I then realized I already had known, but not photographed with that in mind. Once I had gotten to that point, it became really easy now that I knew where I had to go.

I: You said the book was originally about isolation. But it turned out to be about the disappearance of the fish. Isn’t that so?

B: Oh, yes. Imagine a country dependent on mining or oil. And then suddenly the coal or oil is gone. What do the people do? That is exactly what has happened in Newfoundland, but in this case it’s the cod that have disappeared. That is almost always the outcome in an extraction society.

I: The fish have disappeared. Do they know what happened? They just didn’t swim off somewhere else. did they?

B: No, it wasn’t anything like that. It was something much more serious with an impact that is only starting to be felt around the world.

I: Can you describe for us what that is?

End of Interview – Part 1. To be continued on arnnarn.com shortly.

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Come from away’s are welcome here.

11 Monday Jun 2012

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I’d come from a long way away. I’m not from Newfoundland and more’s the pity, to me at last. I’m a “come from away.” That is the gentle term Newfoundlanders use to describe visitors or people who have moved from a different part of this province or another country to this new one. Come from away? Well, yes I have.

To a come-from-away, the Newfoundland language is unique to itself. It is a lingual stew comprised of English and Irish with a hell of a lot of salt water thrown in for seasoning. When you hear it, and it’s not spoken like Jimmy from a previous post, it has a lilt and a rolling cadence. The Dictionary of Newfoundland English (yes b’y! ) is a nearly 800 page book with all you need to know. Unlike Madonna, I don’t advocate you starting to use a Newfoundland accent. That’s just silly.

Being that big and that thick makes it just a wee bit unwieldy to carry around to use as a handy pocket travelers guide (it’s more like a door stop!) to speaking the language. But it is a start. The language spoken in Newfoundland is English, but filled with unique and often funny colloquialisms.

“Touch da beer cap b’y!” translates to “You’re quite the cheapskate!” Succinct and right to the point.

“What’s your name” comes as “Who’s you buddy?” Please, do not under any circumstance confuse this with “Who’s your daddy?” Really.

If your car breaks down and you call for help, you would probably hear a response along the lines of “Stay there and I’ll be right over”. Translated it becomes the wonderful “Stay where’s yer at ’til I comes where yer to.”

If you are in a courting mood with a Newfoundland lass, you would probably say something like “Missus, what’ye at?” All of these done in a Newfoundland accent of course. Please, don’t try this in NYC.

“Buddy, you don’t know n’one who don’t want nuttin done, d’ya?” is the plaintive plea for work. Put that on your resume!

And the all purpose “Yes b’y” has many meanings. It can mean something as simple as “Right?” It can also be used to express emotions of agreement, acknowledgement, disbelief, amazement, shock, dismay, ridicule, impatience, happiness, endearment, and just as a lingual lubricant. But there are places where one should probably not use it as in: “Thank you, I’d love another serving of the pecan-encrusted pork tenderloins, b’y” – nah, that’s wrong on so many levels. If used within the context of Newfoundland English, it’s OK. Just the same, they’ll know you’re a come from away. Don’t try and fake it. You won’t get away with it.

So, I am a “come from away.” Yes b’y!

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Done and done-r.

07 Thursday Jun 2012

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After careful and meticulous (I hope) examination, I’ve selected some 200 photographs to print from the several thousand taken in Newfoundland. Having so many to choose from is like deciding which of your children will live and the others, well, you get the picture. In this case, several thousand negatives (most of them!) will never see the light of an enlarger. They will be destined to remain in the files until some misguided cultural anthropologist in a dig discovers them and announces a major find. Uh-huh, sure.

Noted and not misguided cultural anthropologist Loretta Orion, not likely to make this major discovery. Oh, well. (27east.com)

From these 200+ images will be the ones I choose to be included in the book “Arn? Narn.”. In turn, those will determine how the book will be divided into chapters. At this point, I’ve no idea how they will come together once selected. I also have no idea of how many I’ll wind up including. It’s much like a very large puzzle whose final image is not on the cover of the box in which it came. How do you put so many disparate pieces together cohesively when you don’t know what it’s supposed to look like? It’s sort of like the ultimate blind date.

Having lived so intimately with these images, it gets to the point that I don’t know if they’re any good. I do have favorites, of course, but there is no rhyme or reason for that. Those may not necessarily make it to the book. Only throwing them together and seeing how they work will I be able to start to shape this.

Like the written word, what I choose, what I edit, will certainly tell a particular story. Rearrange them, add/subtract, and it’s now another story or at the very least one with a different point of view. I have to ask myself continuously, how do I want to tell this story: this tale of survival, this morality play staged against a backdrop of beauty and government greed, and finally what do I bring to it and can I keep my opinions locked down? It’s like being given a dictionary but told “You can only use words that have no “e”s in them. Go ahead and write your story.” I can’t use everything.

I know what my given words, my photos, are. It’s just I don’t know yet how to put them down in a way that makes sense. Eloquence with words is one thing; eloquence with images is an altogether different situation.

So I will enter the darkroom, play and sing diddly music and Peter Gabriel, and print. These will be master prints (suitable for exhibition), so it’s going to take some time. There’s no pressure yet to produce this by a certain date, so I can dawdle, but I won’t. I can’t wait to see what this looks like.

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Partridgeberry jam: Nectar of the Gods.

04 Monday Jun 2012

Posted by in Food, Newfoundland

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I’m not getting out much anymore. Sounds almost like a song. No, that’s “Don’t get around much anymore.” Good try. Johnny, show Bruce what he’s won.

No, I’m not getting out. There is a lot of work to do on this book. While I’m deeply involved in now creating the bones for “Arn? Narn.”, I find myself mightily homesick for Newfoundland. As I’ve written before, it has been a singularly transformative experience. To requote my wife from an earlier blog entry: “Where you’re born is not necessarily where you’re from.” Ergo – homesick.

I’m everyday looking at images from a land I’ve grown to love immensely. And it is so far away my heart feels as if it will break. I do miss it that much. (Little man on my shoulder – “Oh, grow the hell up!”)

OK, sniff-sniff, I will.

While I’m printing the photographs for the book, I am still keeping up with news from Newfoundland on the internet. I want to keep it as current as possible and include anything that might impact the story.

I see ads for restaurants, coffee shops, B&B’s, whale watches, etc. Some of these I’ve been to and remember them fondly. Other ads are just that, ads. Ads for car dealers; ads for hospital supplies (always good to know where you can get a splint in a hurry); and ads for other sundry items that I’ll never need. Whoa! What’s this?

It’s an ad for all things Newfoundland. And in that ad, partridgeberry jam. Now, if you’ve never had partridgeberry jam, write your will out now, pick out your box, and get your affairs in order. There’s no need to go on living. It’s that good.

This is it. The real stuff!

In other parts of the world, the partridgeberry in known as the lingonberry. I don’t know – that sounds like something you might call someone who’s a little drunk or just not with it. With slurred speech: “That guy’s a lingonberry!” Now, partridgeberry – not so – there’s a nobility to that.

“I’ll have the scones with the partridgeberry jam on it, James.” That sounds proper, doesn’t it? Now, replace it with lingonberry and you might as well be living in a trailer. “Puh-leeze pass the lingonberry jelly, Paw!” No, it has to be partridgeberry. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

Woo-hoo! I called this store and they will ship it to the US. Of course who knows what customs would do when they got their hands on it. I can see it now – you’re driving through the gate at the US/Canada border and the Canadian guard is slathering my partridgeberry jam all over his Tim Horton donut while asking you for your papers! Homeland security my foot!

I order 4 jars of this edible soul salve and wait until it passes through the gauntlet of regulation and illicit tasting by border guards. It arrives. The top of each jar is covered with a cute, red piece of fabric. How precious! Tear that $%$!* off and give me the jam, damn it!

Once opened, once tasted, calm and contentment are restored. All that from just a little jar of partridgeberry jam. Yeah. it’s really that good. Yes, b’y.