André Kertész’s The White Horse drew my attention with its apparent contrast emanating from the white horse. The white color of the horse contrasts with the rest of the surroundings, so it inevitably catches the viewer’s attention.  The horse is also set apart by the diagonal, gray-topped wall.  Kertész put diagonals to good use by raising awareness of other elements of the photograph through them. Just as I was captivated by the striking whiteness of the horse, also the imaginary diagonal line extending from the white horse on the bottom left drifted my attention to the top middle of the photograph. That section brought into view a dog being walked by a woman. The shadows of these two are cast diagonally, almost parallel to the wall running diagonally from the top left to the bottom right of the photo. The diagonal shadows also enlarge the profiles of the woman and the dog, providing a clearer image of the two figures in a quick glance. Kertész emphasizes diagonals yet again with the sidewalk that runs diagonally from the left to the right of the photo; this particular direction of the diagonal displays to the viewer the direction that the woman and dog appear to be walking towards. Hence, a dynamic component is incorporated to the composition of the photo, which also manifests itself in the mobile stance that the white horse is pictured in.  Furthermore, the dark bushes and the tree contribute to the effect of contrast to the photo.  Kertész utilized their dark color strategically by aligning them parallel to the diagonals associated with the white horse and the woman walking the dog. Such an alignment creates a more effective contrast. The rule of thirds is loosely used here with the white horse occupying a little less than the first third of the picture. The dog is placed in the last third of the picture while the woman is roughly in the center of the photograph.

I will definitely attempt to incorporate the particular elements that André Kertész so successfully employed for an effective display of the photo’s subjects.  It seems that Kertész was able to capture the slightly illuminating effect of the street lamps to convey profiles of the woman and dog walking on the sidewalk. I may be able to capture the effects of street lamps at night. Also, I might be able to create the diagonals effect with the apartment buildings and the sidewalk near my neighborhood. The theme of contrast in Kertész’s photo demonstrated the profound effect of the element in black and white pictures. So, I might try to see if the subjects are more dramatically highlighted in a black and white photo. Contrary to Kertész’s loosely using the third’s rule, I might try to use it more accurately to emphasize the different ends of the photo.  Kertész’s captivating photo will highly influence the composition of my photo.

-Faryal

This is a photograph by Brassai (Gyula Halasz) taken in 1933 called Backstage at the Folies-Bergere. The photo immediately drew me in because of its dynamic composition and contrast. It is rather atypical, not following obvious photographic conventions. The golden ratio doesn’t have an obvious influence over the positioning of the subjects, although the rule of thirds seems to be loosely applied. The women are nicely fit into the left-most third of the photograph, and vertically, the photo can be described in thirds (from top to bottom with negative space, then the five figures, and then the two bottom).

Really though, the picture attracted me because it doesn’t fit neatly into the compositional rules. Brassai’s overhead perspective creates a omniscient viewpoint that makes me feel like I’m looking over a grand scene, but still creates a sense of curiosity because I can’t view the figures fully straight-on. He teases the viewer with a peek at the girls in a mirror, an image which seems almost dream-like and misty, like a painting.

Diagonals lead me into the photograph, pulling me down the axis on the left, and across the axis from the right corner, in towards the back where the girls and men lean against the wall. The wire in the bottom creates yet another diagonal that slices across, isolating the girl. These diagonals cutting across the picture allow us to slide in and catch each detail along the way.

One last component of the picture that I found stimulating was the contrast in tones from light to dark scattered throughout the photograph, from the dark negative space, to the bright lights, to the more muted shades of gray in the mirror’s reflection. Shifts from light to dark make my eyes move across the photograph, and the dull shades of the reflection almost make the mirror’s revealing image the last thing you notice.

This photo makes me want to create a more dynamic image, playing around with diagonals and contrast on Snapshot Day. Sometimes having many objects in a photo can make it chaotic, but in this case, I think it makes the photo more interesting. These are elements I want to incorporate in my photo — especially since the city streets are filled with lines and angles and many points of interest. I may want to capture this.

“Fete Foraine” is a photograph taken by André Kertész. “Fete Foraine”, which means “Carnival” in English, was taken in Paris in 1931. I was especially drawn to this photograph because it depicts an acrobat performing a spectacular feat. The image captures an acrobat doing a handstand while balancing on a stack of chairs. There is a real sense of awe in this photograph as there are dozens of spectators gazing at the peculiar sight. It is evident that Kertész took this photo with certain compositional elements in mind. The balancing acrobat is keenly placed and follows the rule of thirds. There is a tree that lies parallel to the performer and his stack of chairs. The performer’s head is also framed by a metal beam behind him. The slanting overpass provides a stark contrast of black and white color. There is also a single spectator on the overpass. This is also visually pleasing because his dark figure stands out on the white background of sky.

On snapshot day, I will be sure to implement the rule of thirds in my photograph. Placing points of interest on third lines will help make my image more visually striking. I will also try to make heavy use of lines and diagonals while taking the photo because it will create a better image. As Professor Grimaldi noted, diagonals guide viewers’ eyes across the image and will help the composition of my photograph.

This photo was taken by Helen Levitt around 1940. It is titled “New York”, capturing a man who seems to be dancing in the New York City streets. The photo really displays movement by the mans position. He seems to be soulful and happy, even though he is alone and the only subject of the photo. The rule of thirds is used, as the man is on the third line vertically. The curving diagonal lines on the pavement also make the composition of the photograph strong and inviting. They invite the viewer to the back of the photo. There is even more movement in the background of the photo, with different pedestrians walking and cars moving.

This photograph caught my eye because it captured a lot of emotion and a bit of the vast amount of culture which can be found in New York City. It was interesting how this was accomplished without the use of color. Personally, I have always loved the simplistic yet powerful nature of black and white photography. I will use some of the same aspects of this photograph in my own on Snapshot day. It is important that the man is not exactly positioned in the in the middle and the rule of thirds is used. I would also like to capture a more dynamic moment that exhibits movement in some way as Levitt did here. Inspired by this photograph, I hope to portray a taste of NYC, maybe even incorporating the use of black and white.

 This photograph is called Wandering Violinist, Abony, Hungary, taken by André Kertész in 1921. In this picture, there is a young child, a boy, and a man playing the violin. All three are staring in opposite directions, and it makes you wonder what they’re looking it. What drew me in was my curiosity in how these people are related. Are they a family? Are they strangers? The boy and the man seem to have some relationship with each other since they’re standing close together, but the child seems to blend in with the background.

The picture seems to be taken while they were all walking and while the man was playing the violin. The rule of thirds was used, with the boy and the man on one line vertically and the child on the other line vertically. Another use of lines is the curving tire streaks on the dirt road from a vehicle, maybe from something like a car. The boy’s and man’s foot is aligned with one of the tire marks. Other lines include the fence in the background. The man’s head is aligned with the top of the fence, and the boys head seems to be aligned with the line where the house in the background connects with the ground. There is a lot of empty space; there is clearly a foreground and background.

For my picture for snapshot day, I’ll be incorporating the different rules that we learned. I’ll apply the rule of thirds by shifting my camera in relation to the subject that I’m trying to capture. I’ll imagine aligning the image to the gridlines, vertically and horizontally or even diagonally. I’ll also incorporate techniques from the reading – where the angle of the camera causes different perspectives.

This photograph is called Man on girders, mooring mast, Empire State Building.  It was taken around 1931 by Lewis Hine.  I chose this photo for many reasons.  First, the setting is New York City, which is a place we can all relate to.  Next, the man in the image is an everyday construction worker doing his job, which happens to place him atop one of New York’s most famous buildings.  I was drawn to this photo because it evokes a feeling of being high above the city.  Seeing the man on the Empire State Building makes me feel somewhat worried that he will fall off.  The image also makes me think about what it would feel like if I was sitting on the top of the building like that.  Compositionally, this photo is strong because it makes use of many of the elements we discussed in class.  The rule of thirds is exhibited in the photo because many important elements are placed on these lines.  The man himself is on the first third line, and another girder is on the next third.  Horizontally, the man is on the third line at the bottom of the image.  This photograph also plays with lighting.  The man and the Empire State Building are darker, whereas, the background of the city is lighter.  This draws your attention to the man.  The photo also uses curves and diagonals to focus your attention.  The Empire State Building has curves that make you look at the man and then at the background as well.

I plan on utilizing the techniques spoken about by Professor Grimaldi in my photograph on Snapshot Day.  I will use the rule of thirds by visually placing some of the important aspects of my photo on the imaginary gridlines.  I may also try to use diagonals and curves to direct attention to different parts of my image.  I can use other framing techniques to help viewers focus on the main part of the picture.  I can also experiment with lighting techniques and the golden ratio.  Overall, I will try to make my picture intriguing and representative of New York City.

-Lisa

(9/12) Berger presents the idea in Ways of Seeing that “[a]n image is a sight which has been reproduced. It is an appearance, or a set of appearances, which has been detached from the place and time in which it first made its appearance and preserved.” However, dance is not an image, and I propose that it is not detached from its source. Dance is not a reproduction of a sight, it is the live reiteration of a feeling, sentiment, thought, or idea. Because dance is performed, because a human being must retrace the actions of the choreographer every time he or she rehearsed and performs, dance is alive, not a reproduction that, in Deborah Jowitt’s words, “hang about on walls to be revisited or wait by your bed with a bookmark in it.” Each time a dance is performed, the dancers feel a link to the choreographer, and because it is nearly impossible to understand a dance without knowing the context in which it was conceived, the dancers also learn about the history of the time during which the piece was created. In this sense, art in the form of dance (indeed, all performance) is never a reproduction in the way that paintings or sculpture is; the performers relive the thoughts and movements of the original performer of the piece, thereby crating a strong link between themselves (the present) and the choreographer (the past).

Many of Berger’s ideas about viewing art are applicable to dance and performance, like his proposition that the way people view is affected by a “whole series of learnt assumptions about art,” but by and large his excellent observations on the way art is viewed, interpreted, and felt by its audience is slightly inaccurate. For example, Berger describes a scenario in which a viewer of the “Virgin on the Rocks,” by Leonardo da Vinci, lists his or her assumptions about the painting as he or she views it: “‘. . . This painting by Leonardo is unlike any other in the world. The National Gallery has the real one. If I look at this painting hard enough, I should be able to feel its  authenticity. . . .'” When one views a dance performance, he or she may have had ideas similar to those of the viewer of “Virgin on the Rocks,” but a performance demands the viewer to be completely immersed in it, therefore leaving little time or mental space for the viewers to run an inner monologue as they watch dancers perform. The live aspect of dance prevents it from being a reproduction in the sense that a picture of a painting is a reproduction, and it immerses viewers so much so that their assumptions and preconceptions about the piece are put on a shelf as the performance takes place.

At Fall for Dance, one piece in particular reinforced my belief that dance is not a reproduction the way many other art forms are. “Chronicle,” by Martha Graham, was so powerful and exact in its portrayal of the feeling that, judging by recordings of Graham herself performing pieces she choreographed, it was less a reproduction than a reliving. The acute focus and exact movements of the dancers looked like they indeed belonged in 1936, the year “Chronicle” premiered. Though I am not particularly fond of the piece (the style itself is not one that I personally enjoy), I immensely appreciate that the movements of the dance are extraordinarily precise and difficult, and the thought that went into the telling of the anti-war message that “Chronicle” is. Like the playbill for this performance states, “The shock of Graham’s early movements is still evident in this vibrant choreography.” Though I was not fond of it, as I watched the performance I became completely immersed in it, and I could almost taste the atmosphere of 1936. Berger claims that if a piece is not the original, it loses some meaning and power. Graham’s “Chronicle” loses none of its great power as it is brought into the future.

Roseanne Spradlin presented four women boldly and wildly roaming a square stage located in the vicinity of the audience seated on all four sides of it.

The audience was introduced to a deep, low humdrum of a bass played by the naked Rebecca Serrell Cyr.  These low notes gave way to the gloomy mood that encompassed the performance.  Cyr, later, started to walk in solitude wearing a silver-beaded headdress, occasionally observing her reflection in the mirrors hung on three sides of the stage. Her confusion consumes the three other women who join her in the repetitive act of staring in the various mirrors.  In contrast to Cyr, Natalie Green, Rebecca Wender and Rebecca Warner came dressed in costumes; after stomping back and forth in unison and screeching while scurrying in rambles across stage, they strip themselves of the garment one-by-one.  Roseanne Spradlin exuded the “emotional depths and extremity” characteristic of her style. Indeed, the women infused raw, powerful emotion in explosive bits (Elizabeth Zimmer, New York Live Arts).

Spradlin explored the tension that transformed the seemingly innocent women into confident beings through the presentation of simple, bold forms and fitting music compositions. The four women repetitively bounce on one leg while pointing the other upward.  At times when they gather together, pleading for help amidst the rampant confusion, two of them lend one some support as she attempts a quick lift in the air.  Seemingly, they try to fight a threshold that continually suppresses them. The force of gravity, for one, is often emphasized; the battles they rage against it may be metaphoric of their struggle in becoming strong women. Furthermore, there was live performance of the song, “Don’t Take Me Over” that perfectly fit the dancer’s casting off their costumes and strutting their bare selves; Spradlin draws the audience to the appreciation of natural beauty that need not be “refined” by the artificiality of fancy clothes or makeup.

Spradlin effectively conveyed a meaningful message through the choreography of definitive forms that spewed emotional extremes. The intimate atmosphere of the audience seated a few feet from the stage contributed to the touching effect of the performance. Music definitely played to the mellow, profound and fiery movements enacted by the dancers. All in all, I was greatly moved by a performance I was initially nervous about seeing, considering the nudity content.

-Faryal

When I heard that we would be up close and personal to the dancers for this performance, I figured, “Hey, front row seats! Awesome.” And then I heard that there would be a lot of nudity. I will not lie – I’m not prude by any means, but watching naked people a few feet from my face for some two hours? Yeah, really not my ideal way to spend Friday night.

As for the front row seats – well, we got them! And so did everyone else, it turns out. The stage – simple, unadorned – was set in the middle of the performance space a few feet off the floor, with chairs and additional floor seats on all four sides. The first thing I saw after stepping into the theater was a lone, nude woman sitting on one end of the platform, plucking on a bass guitar. Her notes were slow, deliberate, seemingly filler background music as the audience filed into the theater. But the longer I watched her, the longer I listened – notes were repeated, little phrases were played over and over again as the seats filled. In retrospect, it was clear that her notes were setting the atmosphere for the performance: melancholy, defiant, thematic. And with a dash of chaotic thrown in for good measure.

I had no reaction to what was happening on stage for at least the first fifteen minutes. The nudity turned out to be the least of my concerns – I honestly had no idea what to even think of the performance itself. What I was watching and what I normally imagine when I think of “dance” did not match up. In various states of undress, four women twirled and jumped and stomped their way across the stage. There was no fluidity in their movement, no unison; it seemed as though each woman was in her own world, dancing on her own platform. But between spins, the women would walk up to the edge of the platform, staring directly into the eyes of someone in the audience, arm reaching out… and once, twice, an audience member would meet that hand, before the woman would turn her body away and dance across the stage again. It was during these moments that meaning finally came to me. These women were not simply lost in their minds; they wanted their performance to be seen by the audience. They wanted their message to be heard, to be recognized.

And recognized they were. All four women eventually stripped themselves bare and danced with more passion than before, while the live band played in the background – “Accept me for what I am, accept me for what I do.” And their faces – the biggest change to me – were now smiling and joyful. Instead of avoiding each other’s eyes when they crossed paths, the women would now give each reassuring expressions before dashing away. I realized then that the nudity in this piece served a particularly powerful purpose in exposing the dancers in their purest, most basic form, and it was the best medium in which to spread their message. Spradlin’s statement was clear: people – and especially today’s women in particular – want to be accepted and loved just as who they are, instead of conforming to what society deems attractive and desirable.

This, at least, was the first part. The second was similar in ways, but also entirely different. The mood was much more somber, the choreography more chaotic. There were repeated elements, such as each women throwing her head back while being lifted by two others – but the feeling that this move evoked was much different than when it was done in the first part. Instead of being a release of passion and joy, it was an expression of anguish and despair. And this anguish was further explored by Spradlin; her dancers convulsed and twisted and shook on the floor. The women had all changed into dresses, which they again stripped themselves of – but this time, they were shaking on their feet, and not exactly dancing, while undressing.

It was as though the women’s clothes were shackles that they were itching to be free of. But even after they stood completely nude in front of the audience once more, they backtracked and dressed themselves once again. These women wanted to be bare, but something had stopped them – perhaps, society’s expectations to keep its women modest in appearance and subservient in nature.

The performance ended as abruptly as it had begun, and it left an odd taste in my mouth. There was no definitive conclusion, and I was left wanting more. But perhaps Spradlin had done this deliberately; instead of providing her audience with closure, she wished for each individual to find it for themselves. From beginning to end, RoseAnne Spradlin’s “beginning of something“ was certainly different and non-traditional – and for sure, it was the beginning of something new in the ever-evolving world of dance.