Stay in the Wagon
My older brother is an Eagle Scout. I think he really enjoyed being a Boy Scout. His younger brother did not, which I think disappointed my parents. The adult leaders in the troop who knew my brother seemed surprised that I wasn't like my brother. Before I was a Boy Scout though, my brother and I embarked on an adventure that lives on in our family lore to this day.
I don't know how old I was the day that he and I set out on a hike into the woods, but I was young enough that he was pulling me behind him in a red wagon. In those days, if you were to cross the road in front of our house and start walking into the brush, it would have been a straight 2-mile shot through the woods to where our grandparents lived. I'm not sure what his intent was, but after a while, I felt like we were lost. I think he would say that we were simply late in arriving, but I'm not sure we were even expected at our grandparents. And for a while on that hike, he was pulling me and the wagon through some fairly deep, muddy water, admonishing me to "stay in the wagon!".
Our front yard in the 1970s
I don't know how old I was, and it's quite likely that my memories of that adventure contain more than a few embellishments. I do know that our absence was noticed, causing quite a bit of concern on both sides of that wilderness. Maybe panic is a better word. We eventually popped out of the woods on the other side, only a few yards from our grandparents' house, who by this time were waiting anxiously. The ride home was probably pretty uncomfortable for one of us.
"The lawn was like a hay field" at the ALL's Greenwald Gallery
Exciting news! My project, "The lawn was like a hay field," will be showcased at the Arts League of Lowell's Greenwald Gallery starting on April 24th! Join us for the opening reception on Saturday, April 27th, at 3pm. The reception is of course free and open to the public.
I'm presenting photographs that I created when I was a teenager in the small town in which I was born and raised, juxtaposed with ones that I made there in the last couple of years. It’s a story filled with memories of growing up in that time and place, and how we've both changed and stayed the same.
As I was working on my book, "The lawn was like a hay field", I knew that I would eventually want to show this work in a gallery setting. So when the Greenwald Gallery opportunity presented itself I knew that it would be a perfect fit. The Greenwald, an intimate space within the encompassing Arts League of Lowell's bright and airy coop gallery, allows the viewer to interact with the art on a very personal basis.
At the reception, and for the run of the show, the soft-cover edition of my book, The lawn was like a hay field, will be available from the gallery. It’s also available here.
Where is the Arts League of Lowell?
307 Market Street, Lowell, MA 01852
From Route 3 North or South, or from I-495: Take the Lowell Connector to Thorndike Street. (Exit 5B). Follow Thorndike and continue on Dutton Street. Turn left on Market Street.
The ALL is on the right in the red brick Gates Block building. The gallery is just inside the main entrance.
Parking
There is some on-street, metered parking near the gallery, but the HCID Parking Facility, at 350A Dutton Street is a 6 minute walk. To get to the gallery from there, follow the signs toward, and past the National Park Visitor's Center, then turn left onto Market Street. Cross Dutton Street at the light and the ALL is the second building on the right.
(click here for a map to this garage)
About ALL
ALL was founded in the Fall of 2003 and held its first monthly meeting in January of 2004. With the help of its members, sponsors, and patrons, ALL fosters and celebrates creativity and artistic expression in Lowell and the surrounding areas. Click here to learn more.
It's a sort of (very) good news, (not so) bad news thing...
First the good news: The hand-made, first-edition of my book, "the lawn was like a hay field", sold out on the first day that I announced its availability!
I am extremely grateful for all of the interest!
So the bad news is that they're gone. I am truly sorry if anyone was disappointed because they were not able to snag a copy.
The news may not be SO bad though. I am actively researching commercial printing options for a 2nd edition. I really enjoyed printing and hand-binding each of the books in the 1st edition, but it is really an investment in time and materials, so “limiting” the number is essential. A commercially-printed edition would obviously be more like a mass-produced art book than a hand-made one, but it would not be a limited one.
This idea is currently just that, an idea. A 2nd edition doesn't yet exist, so my ramblings here are not a commitment. Today though I would like to conduct an extremely unscientific survey. As many of you know, my blog posts feature a "like" button at the bottom of each post (it looks like a heart). You don't have to log into anything to register your opinion and I cannot see who presses the button. I only see a number of clicks. (You can always leave a comment for me though) But if you like the idea of more books being available, especially if you think you would like to purchase one, I would ask that you press the "like" button in today’s blog (look for the heart). There would be no commitment on your part either, but the raw numbers would be a fairly useful data point for me.
Thank you again for all of your interest in, and support of my work!!!
Adrien
The Book, Part 4
All 18 copies of my limited edition, hand-made photo book, "the lawn was like a hay field", are finished!
The books are 8.5 x 8.5 inch, 72-page, hand-made, hard-cover books, and the pages are all ink-jet-printed, so the photographs are just that, not reproductions.
The content, design, and printing of this piece is something that I have been working on for more than a year; in a way, actually for 55 years. Some of the photographs in the book are ones that I had created when I was a teenager in the small town in which I grew up, sequenced along with ones that I made there in the last couple of years. It’s a story of my growing up in that time and place, and how we both have changed in some ways, and both have stayed the same.
I have a few more logistical details to work out, but in the coming days I will have some of the edition available for purchase through my web site.
I will post the link once the page is live.
Today I am also publishing a new gallery containing some of the images from the project here on the web site. You can view the gallery here: https://adrienbisson.com/the-lawn-was-like-a-hay-field
The Book, Part 3
When I embarked on this project I don't think I was thinking that creating a book would be easy. But I don't think I knew how big this project would end up being either. The process of creating the content of the book, from making the photographs and writing the text, to working with Emily Belz to select and sequence the photos, to working with Doug Sparks to get the text right, to ink-jet printing the entire 72 page book - 16 times, and now to actually making the hand-made books...has taken me about a year to get to this point. I still have a lot of book binding work to do, but the completed work is in sight!
I have one completed "artist proof", which is a prototype book. There are a couple of things that I learned from doing the AP that will help going forward, but the AP is effectively like the final product. I just completed the sewing of the other 15 book bindings and will be gluing the bindings this coming week. Then on to Middlesex Bindery, where Todd Davis has graciously shown me how to use his guillotine, and is allowing me to trim all 15 books. There is still a lot of work to do, specifically "casing in", but I am enjoying the process and the results are pretty gratifying.
In my next post I will include a page-turning video of a finished book, so I hope you'll stick with me!
Breathe
I realized yesterday that I am constantly just this far away (I'm holding up two fingers to show a small amount) from ripping the head off of anything that irritates me. Just this morning I have already cursed out a bar of soap and a box of tissues. Nothing good came of that. I read an article yesterday that described my state as "languishing". In fact, if someone asks me how I am, rather than saying that I'm "fine", or "doing well", I am supposed to say "Honestly, I’m languishing". I'm not sure who that is supposed to help, but there you are.
I need to breathe!
All winter, the Covid Winter, I had been trying to cope and remain creative by just trying to accept where we were and make some art. And remember to breathe through it all.
I have put together a gallery of the work here. I want you to click that now and breathe with me. There's nothing profound there. Nothing challenging. No irritating tissue boxes. Just some images that I made and that I hope will help you breathe with me.
If you missed the link to the gallery, click here.
Alone Together - the show
The Atelier show at the Griffin Museum of Photography, in which I was honored to have my work appear along with the work of some really amazing artists, closes today. I talked about the show in my last post, mentioning the challenges that the Griffin had to deal with because of the pandemic. If you haven’t seen that post, please do. I am truly grateful to the Griffin, and to Meg Birnbaum, who led us through those weeks of on-line sessions and, who together were responsible for making an in-person show at the museum work.
I have created a gallery here on my web site that contains all 20 of my images for the first time. You can see it here: https://adrienbisson.com/alone-together
Please feel free to send a comment to let me know what you think.
Alone Together
Long, long ago, in December of last year, I signed up for a workshop/class at the Griffin Museum of Photography, in Winchester, MA. I have been a member at the museum for a number of years and have taken several short workshops during that time, but I had always wanted to take what is called the Atelier, a 12-week portfolio and project building course. I had decided back in the Fall that I would 'retire' from my commercial photography business either at the end of the coming fiscal year, or the calendar year of 2020, so knowing that I would be cutting back on things in the Spring, I wanted to take the workshop.
Then in March, things changed a bit. The first class was held, in person, on March 10th. I remember there being nervous discussion at the class about 'the virus', but we all pushed forward. After that first meeting it was decided that the next week's class would be cancelled until things were sorted out. We ended up meeting the following week via GoToMeeting, and did so for the remainder of the class. I initially thought that this would not go well, but everyone who was willing to try the on-line meetings, and especially the instructor, Meg Birnbaum, made it work.
Unfortunately, none of us have formally met in person since that first meeting, and while The Griffin will be holding a virtual reception on-line, and a physical show at the museum, it will certainly not be the exhibition that we had hoped for. Anyone can visit the Griffin and see the show, once it is hung, but must make an appointment, and the showing is private.
On a happier note though, the workshop was really inspiring and mind-opening. I especially enjoyed watching the other participants work thought creating a body of work for the show, as well participate in the back and forth critiquing that we did each week of each other's work. Meg does a fantastic job of inspiring, coaxing, and directing the class's efforts. A subset of each body of work will be shown at the museum, as well as on-line (see the links below). After the show, I will create a gallery of my full set of images here on my web site.
Coming back to my 'retirement' story, by the end of the first quarter of 2020, work stopped for photographers. I did have one shoot on June 1st that I had booked back in March, but otherwise things came to a halt. That was when I decided to step back and not worry about returning after the sheltering. In fact, my project for the Atelier is called "Alone Together", and tells a story of those first three months in which Amy and I isolated ourselves back when we were all working through so many unknowns. I have retired from my commercial business, and have let go of my Western Ave Studio, which I will write about at a later date, but I plan to continue working on personal projects that will find their way to the web site.
I hope you look at all of the images of the other participants, as well as possibly go to the Griffin to see the work in person.
Showing: September 5 – September 27, 2020
Virtual Reception: September 13, 2020 4-6 PM
Don't We All Hate Those End-of-Year Lists? Me too. So here is mine.
The endless, end-of-year lists, all structured to be click-bait, are in full swing. I've been doing such a blog post for 4 of the last 5 years. I'm not sure why I missed 2016, but here is my contribution for this past year, 2018.
There were three magazine covers, two for Merrimack Valley Magazine, and one for Commercial Integrator, a trade magazine. There were several features for these and other magazines that I am proud of, as well as a very un-typical-for-me architectural shoot that was actually fun.
Finally, there were my artistic efforts. I was really happy to have had showings at two Curated Fridge shows (click for more on that), one photograph shown at the Whistler Museum of Art in Lowell, Massachusetts, and two photographs that made the 'on-line annexes' of gallery shows, one at the Photo Place Gallery, in Middlebury, Vermont, and the other at the Black Box Gallery, in Portland Oregon.
Thank you, as always, for your support this year and have a great 2019!
From the July-August 2018 issue of the Merrimack Valley Magazine
From the September-October 2018 issue of the Merrimack Valley Magazine
From the May-June 2018 issue of the Merrimack Valley Magazine
From the March-April 2018 issue of the Merrimack Valley Magazine
From the September-October 2018 issue of the Merrimack Valley Magazine
This One is About Me
This one is about me. This winter, in fact since mid-summer, I have been experiencing a sort of existential crisis concerning myself as an artist. I attended a workshop in July that was a pretty negative experience, a disaster really, mostly having to do with the instructor. I partially blame myself as well for the careless way in which I chose the workshop. Not surprisingly, I did meet several very talented and creative photographers at the workshop, but I found the dynamic fostered by the instructor pretty much sucked the life out of most of us. Possibly because of this experience, I realized in the early winter that, with the exception of one studio shoot, I felt completely blocked artistically. I think the experience of that summer workshop was a kind of message from my subconscious that I needed to take this more seriously.
So now as I slowly come out into the light in fits and starts, I am realizing that there is a reason that the phrase 'personal work' contains that adjective; it needs to be personal. It can't be done FOR someone else; that's client work. Nor can it be LIKE someone else's work.
Selfie - probably around 1968
I started my photographic journey before I was even in high school. I was enamored with the work of Penn, Avedon, Ansel Adams, and others of that era. But I was also attracted to 'the process' of making photographs. I was sloppy and careless with my process then, as I was with everything else as a kid, including my schoolwork. But I also recall the enthusiasm and abandon with which I set out to make photographs. I thought that Penn and Adams were about the process too, which to an extent they clearly were. But over time I have come to realize of late that the photographs that they made were about themselves as well. I think the idea that Ansel Adams' work is thought to have been simply about technical perfection of its day, and nothing more, engenders replication that is technically accurate, but lacks the artist himself.
My Father - late 1970s
My Mother and Father - late 1970s
My life as a photographer was on hiatus for much of my life as I pursued two other careers. I don't regret any of it. In fact, sometimes I wonder what kind of photographer I would be now had I been a commercial photographer for those 30-plus years. Re-creating my photographer 'self' as digital photography became real caused me to lose sight of my old 'self' and that old process for a while. I immersed myself in the new technology, including learning to use lighting, much of which either didn't exist or was far beyond my abilities to afford in the early 70s. Once again, it became all about the process. A couple of years ago I started to use film again, first sending my film to a lab, then buying a couple of larger format cameras and developing the film myself. It was still about the process. The process of shooting film though came with a lot of deja vu moments, causing me to think a lot about what my 15-year-old-self was thinking, and feeling.
New Hampshire, probably around 1970
Somewhere near my house - probably around 1970
Over the last year or so though this process-based photography has been feeling pretty hollow. I need to do more than just make technically good photographs. Probably not surprisingly, over this time I have been trying to make them less so; low-light, grainy images, paper negatives; maybe as a way to shake things up.
Double exposed paper negative - January 2018
If you are my client, the good news is that I am basically a "pleaser". I am sure that it has something to do with my upbringing in a conservative Catholic family and 12 years of parochial school. Layer that on top of an inherently introverted personality and that makes for someone who does not like to disappoint. I will always strive to give my clients what they are looking for. But my personal work has to say something about myself. It's an ongoing project and definitely has it's ups and downs, good days and bad (ask my wife), but I need to feel that the work that I make has substance and meaning for me and that it says what I want it to say.
A few more of my photographs, probably from the early 1970s
