Eirik Johnson: Borderlands

After treating you with Erwin Olaf's gorgeously rendered, explosively serene images, I thought I'd offer up some palate cleansing space -- some lime sherbet after the fricasseed chicken, if you will. If the weeks leading up to Christmas, Hannukah, Kwanzaa, insert your holiday here, leave you feeling like you're in limbo, the photographs of Eirik Johnson will appeal to your divided nature. His beautiful landscapes are shot in spaces where man and nature intersect, at the edges of civilization, or in niches of human intervention that are carved out from the wilderness. I first became aware of Johnson's work in the Bay Area, where he exploded on the scene after winning the prestigious Santa Fe Prize. I ain't gonna lie, these are the photographs I wish I had taken while doing my time in da Bay, but I know of no better compliment than envy. Eirik Johnson, you are one bad muthaf- (shut my mouth). But I'm just talking bout Eirik...

I will always have a thing for staged photography -- I love nothing more than tinkering with sets and lights and taking 10 hours to compose one shot. But I also love the realness of these images. The lack of interference and manipulation is refreshing, and I like to think about the wanderlust spent finding these little hidden treasure troves of meaning. Looking at them is like taking a mental walk, a journey of open sight and sense.

See, don't you feel better now? All you needed was a little bit of space to clear all the dancing sugarplums out of your head.

(Is this where I should tell you that you can buy his book for, oh -- I don't know, a gift, if need be? Would that ruin the serenity now?)

Erwin Olaf: No Relation to St. Olaf, Rose From the Golden Girls' Hometown

Holidayitis struck our household this weekend, stealing my motivation and rock hard self-discipline like a thief in the night. Or maybe it's just this damn cold I can't get out from under. Either way, I'm not feeling up to my usual chipper/snarky Jekyll and Hyde routine, so I'm going to attempt some distraction tactics. Namely: look at the pretty pictures and find yourself so bedazzled by eye candy that the thin content and writing for this post completely escapes your attention. Sound like a plan? Let's do it. If you've never seen the photographs of Erwin Olaf, let's just say that he's like David Lachapelle, Pierre et Gilles and Desiree Dolron all rolled into one nifty little package. Does that help? Check out some images from one of his earlier series, Hope.

All the careful lighting, set staging and posing of the models leads to a feeling of aloofness, of disconnectedness. It's as if the entire human emotional experience is learned rather than innate. Instead of displaying vulnerabilty, Olaf's subjects manifest emotion as an icy, carefully constructed veneer of downcast eyes that stand in for real feeling.

His series Rain displays a similar lack of sentiment in sentimental situations. All the subjects exude a mannequin-like blankness that belies the context of the situations they appear in:

Naturally I saved the best of last. Olaf's series Grief again deals with the flattened complexities of the human range of experience, but set against the most fabulous backdrops that any decor junkie would kill for.

Is it odd that the beauty of each shot is heartbreaking while the subjects' playacted emotions leave one cold, or was that Olaf's intention all along?

I find meaning in these images when pondering the tight control and scripted nature of public emotion in Western culture. Monumental events are ritualized and sanitized for your protection, leading either to private breakdowns or an unshakeable numbness.

Olaf's photographs are a reminder to think and feel with authenticity. Something to remember during the holiday season.

Stay tuned for another post on photography later today that I promise will be day to the night of Erwin Olaf's work. It's all about contrast.

Citywide Sunday

Friends, I am pooped. If you ask me, the holidays are all about overeating, undersleeping, and travel overload. My wee little brain needs a chance to recover from a dangerous sugar megadose, which is why I am pumping up today's post with less talk but more pictures. Obviously, it will taste great and be less filling. On Sunday afternoon, Karly, the very fabulous Jennifer Perkins of Naughty Secretary Club fame, and I kicked it frugal style at Austin's bimonthlyish Citywide Garage Sale. There were some definite steals and deals, and also just some weird crap. Check it, yo.

Karly bought this awesome Black Beauty tapestry for $3. Every girl needs a stallion in the bedroom, no?

Cubism and gnomes! They go together like rama lama lama ke ding a de dinga a dong.

She's awfully haughty for a baldie, dontcha think?

This, also, is unfortunate.

I hate to spoil it for you, but this was the best picture I took all day. Sadly, it's all downhill from here.

The dude that ran this booth sold killer vintage backdrops. If you live in Austin, some of them are at Uncommon Objects. He also runs Webb Gallery in Waxahatchie.

Texas = Armadillos

More dead stuff.

This was Alonzo Huxley, beloved security guard of San Antonio. Apparently Alonzo's nephew sold his uncle's 40 pound bronze head to the proprietor of this booth. Note to self: nephews are unsentimental bastards.

Peppers, popes and ponies. What more could you ask for?

Perhaps a phenomenal Peter Max piece...?

Here stands a groovy little screenprint.

Calling all anachronists and lovers of obsolete technologies. Hipsters, come in. There is now an alternative to buying your tech goods at Urban Outfitters. Over and out.

If you pray hard enough, maybe you can get this vintage nativity set for free. Ask and ye shall receive, right?

In case you didn't already know, vintage dresses are freakishly tiny. That fills me with rage.

Cool it now with some shell chair love and capiz on top.

Sunny swagadelic lamp action always makes me happy.

I have a paint by numbers problem. It's inexplicable and stubbornly incurable.

I almost bought this lamp, but didn't. I may live to regret that decision, or the sugar withdrawals may kill me first.

That's it for my Citywide Roundup. All you people who keep threatening to visit and/or move to Austin will surely be dragged by force to the Convention Center to check out the aisles of cheap goodies being offloaded by desperate proprietors. Times is hard, y'all. All the better to buy vintage.