Monday, 9 February 2009

Alan George- Immediate Vicinity

"On March 21st, 2007 my daughter was born. My son had, two months prior, celebrated his second birthday. Anyone in similar circumstances can appreciate that there is little time for anything other than domesticated "bliss" and occasionally, some sleep. Photography seemed out of the question. Determined to pick up the camera again, I set about to make the best use of the only time that I had at my disposal, my commute to work which consisted of a 12 minute walk to the subway and a ten minute ride.

Photography, at least to me, has a direct relationship with the "reality" the photographer experiences, either accidental or contrived. The photographer selects some portion of this "reality," captiures it on a two dimensional plane and presents it as a photograph. The job of a photographer is to manage this "reality" in such a way as to result in interesting photographs. Traveling to exotic destinations, achieving access to the otherwise inaccessible locations/people, constructing film set like concoctions; these are but a few of the many "reality" enhancement techniques. None of which were readily available to me. This series of images is a result of an attempt to make the most of my forced 'reality'."

Alan George was born in Fayetteville, North Carolina in 1968. He received a BS from the University of Tennessee in 1992. Alan began his involvement with photography in 2003 and is currently based in San Francisco, California with his wife and two children.

1 comment:

  1. I enjoy how he talks about how the photographer has to capture his or her own reality, and create that simple concept into an interesting image. The photographs that he creates may seem simple enough, just because they are of ordinary objects, like a chair and a television. But for me, I will probably never see those items myself, being that his location is far away from me and that I would probably never, ever take the same commute that he does. Even though these are items he sees monotonously every day, we as the viewer can appreciate them as artifacts and take in their simple message as desolate, yet somewhat homely, items.