Hey, Hot Shot! Entries for Contenders

Rachel and David, by I-Hsuen Chen

"For a knowledge of intimacy, localization in the spaces of our intimacy is more urgent than determination of dates." So wrote French philosopher Gaston Bachelard in The Poetics of Space, his masterpiece that takes a profound look at how we experience intimate places. In the book, Bachelard narrates an exploration of space and place in a poetic voice—something Contender I-Hsuen Chen does much the same with his camera in In Your Place, another body of work he'd submitted after receiving an Honorable Mention and winning the Blurb prize in the Second Edition 2011 round of competition.

Untitled, by I-Hsuen Chen

Chen explores the poetics of everyday life by visiting his friends at their homes, who mostly like himself are foreign students living in New York City. Though careful not to disturb the everday-ness, Chen's presence inevitably changes the dynamics within the confined space. Visually, the bare walls and basic furnishings give a hint of temporariness, but also create a sort of accidental minimalism—perhaps offering a glimpse into the lives of this particular group, although documentation is not Chen's intention. He writes in the statement:

Entering my friends' private spaces, I try to capture their intimate living scenarios in New York. I am a gentle intruder creating different sub-plots that become part of their life. The whole visit becomes a Happening. I document this Happening with my camera.

Untitled, by I-Hsuen Chen

Chen, who abandoned a career in marketing in his hometown, Taipei, to pursue photography in Brooklyn, NY, is also a trained opera singer, and a performance and video artist. In May, he will earn his MFA in photography from Pratt Institute and will be showing his Nowhere in Taiwan series at the New York Photo Festival Invitational Exhibition, opening today at powerHouse Arena in DUMBO, Brooklyn.

Yu-Ping, by I-Hsuen Chen

Posing for a portrait can be, for many (including, sometimes, the photographer), an unnerving situation. Seemingly wary of the photographer, the subjects in Contender Horatio Baltz's submission appear suspicious, stiff and even annoyed. But as he explains, these images tell the story of that awkward moment between photographer and subject when the "thin veil of suspicion," as he describes, is still intact.

Untitled, by Horatio Baltz

Untitled, by Horatio Baltz

Baltz explains:

These are a collection of images I have collected over the years shooting portraits. Like many photographers, it was hard for me at first to overcome my seemingly crippling shyness. Over time I learned that "taking" pictures is less about "taking" and more about "giving" or "sharing." People are flattered to be immortalized on film. If you break through that thin veil of suspicion, I think inside we all cry out for the attention [from] one another. At the very least, a few shared moments with a stranger give all of us a bit more dignity in this world.

Untitled, by Horatio Baltz

Untitled, by Horatio Baltz

Horatio Baltz is a Brooklyn-based graphic artist who likes taking pictures. He was born in Mississippi, was brought up in Eastern Pennsylvania and is a first generation American—the son of a steel worker and a cosmetologist. In 2008, Horatio obtained his BFA in communication design from Parsons School of Design. Aside from being a graphic artist and photographer, Horatio is also a musician. For a more thorough and colorful account of Horatio's life, click here.

Untitled, by Horatio Baltz

The Holderness coast, on the East Coast of England, suffers continual erosion, with nearly seven feet of land per year being eroded. It is estimated that, since Roman times, 32 villages in the area have been lost to the sea. Because the cliffs along the coast are of boulder clay, a soft and crumbly rock, the heavy rains and sea storms make the erosion that much worse. For his submission, Contender Neil A. White shows us these Lost Villages.

Untitled, from the series Lost Villages, 2011 by Neil A. White

Untitled, from the series Lost Villages, 2012 by Neil A. White

White explains:

This project explores the constant battle between the power of the ocean and the mainland, and it documents the irreversible change taking place on the Holderness coast. The speed of the erosion has increased significantly in the past decade, thanks to rising sea levels, which is linked to climate change.

Some of the inspiration and ideas for the project has come from the history surrounding the coast line. I also see this work as a historical record. Today, the village experiencing the severest threat is Skipsea. With a population of around 600, many homes there are set to disappear completely in the next five years. The average annual rate of erosion is around two meters [nearly seven feet] of land per year. What drew me to this coastal area, though, is not just its reputation as one of the fastest eroding coastlines in Europe, but also because it is very close to where I grew up; I visited the area on family trips.

Untitled, from the series Lost Villages, 2011 by Neil A. White

Untitled, from the series Lost Villages, 2011 by Neil A. White

Neil A. White (b. 1972) is an English-born photographer and teacher currently living in London, U.K. His interest in photography began in his early twenties while working and traveling in Australasia and Asia. Perhaps the roots of this interest, though, go back even further than that. As a child, Neil's parents would give him their Kodak Instamatic to take family portraits because they believed he always took the best pictures. Neil never liked posed shots or unnatural smiles; when his parents indicated they were ready to be photographed he had already taken the picture. Growing up in the north of England, Neil would escape to the countryside whenever he could. This fascination with the natural world and contrasting environments is at the heart of his photography and is an infinite source of inspiration. His work explores the relationship between nature and the modern world, and how they co-exist, sometimes harmoniously, more often in conflict with one another. He sees this conflict as one of the key dilemmas of modern day existence. When taking pictures of landscapes, he tries to connect with the land, to feel the air and the light and to bring those feelings into his photographs. Neil's work tends to be reflective and is often quiet and deeply personal. The relationship humans have with the natural world is of great interest to Neil and this is a common thread that runs through much of his work. When he is not photographing or teaching, Neil still takes every opportunity to escape into the countryside. He is also interested in politics and environmental issues and is committed to promoting practical solutions to environmental challenges.

Untitled, from the series Lost Villages, 2012 by Neil A. White

Using her 35mm camera and the installations she creates, Contender Emma Gluckman aims to capture moments resembling hypnagogia, the transitional state between wakefulness and sleep.

band aid, 2010 by Emma Gluckman

sewing lesson, 2010 by Emma Gluckman

Gluckman explains:

Dissociative behavior, repressed memories, insomnia, the aftermath of assault—all things that come and spin like gumballs in my subconscious while the world around me is muted, like my psyche is wearing earmuffs. I second-guess my memories and scrutinize my body. I try to hush my internal clamor by reaching for my camera. I find ritual catharsis when I arrange objects, bodies and bedrooms; paste, stretch and twist; and take a damn picture so I can stop thinking about it already. Sometimes I shoot spontaneously. Sometimes a found moment beckons an emotion I am unable to articulate. Frequently my images are carefully posed, or temporary installations I've documented photographically. I am interested in the notion of a photograph as evidence of a moment, and the moments I'm attempting to transcribe are flashes of my subconscious, the way a hypnogogic brain reassembles images from a wakeful experience to manifest disquieting scenes. Each scene exists in a room in the flesh dollhouse of my body, connected by ethereal hallways. My aim is not to lead a viewer through my specific narrative—rather I wish to evoke an emotional reaction that mirrors my own state. I encourage a viewer to explore that which may be grotesque or melancholy in themselves, and the difficult-to-acknowledge parallel reality of the subconscious.

red phone, 2010 by Emma Gluckman

pelt, 2010 by Emma Gluckman

horse, polaroids and chair, 2009 by Emma Gluckman

Emma Gluckman was born and raised by a painter and a psychiatrist, and she was given her first camera (the one she still uses) at the age of 16. A Brooklyn-based photographer, she is interested in the idea of temporary psychological landscape. She often constructs installations before shoots, and she utilizes discarded objects and distorted bodies to conjure scenes from the subconscious and hypnagogic states.

Taking us from Brazil to Sri Lanka and back to New York, Contender Kevin Tachman's documentary photography captured the frenetic, energetic moments along his journey. His ability to bring viewers into the scenes lends itself to his various assignments, which include entertainment, music and fashion. To see more of his work, check out his photoblog, BackstageAt, which takes the viewer behind the scenes of world-renowned live acts and the backstage buzz of fashion shows.

Colombo Market, 2008 by Kevin Tachman

House of Xtravaganza Ball, 2009 by Kevin Tachman

Kevin says of his submission:

These images come from disparate parts of my experiences documenting different parts of the world, from the epic stillness at one of the busiest places on earth, to the flight of a bird on [the] other side of the world. At [its] core, my work aims to be transportive to a singular moment, [to] give [a] feeling of space and time that will, hopefully, stay with the viewer long after the image is viewed. These are fleeting glimpses of our connected world into the exotic, the tranquil, the forbidden, the foreign, the kinetic—each depending on your place in the world and how you view it.

Ipanema Beach, 2011 by Kevin Tachman

Kevin Tachman is an award-winning documentary photographer who has garnered wide acclaim for his work in the worlds of fashion, entertainment and music. His photos have appeared in print and online publications such as Vogue, NYTimes.com, Marie Claire Russia, The Daily Beast, Elle Decor, and the Wall Street Journal. Tachman's specialty is capturing essential moments that express excitement, beauty and drama. Tachman is also sought after as an on-set photographer, documenting exclusive shoots for Patrick Demarchelier and Norman Jean Roy, among others. Tachman has also been the official photographer for such musical acts as the Scissor Sisters and Coldplay. In 2008, he was accepted to the highly selective Eddie Adams Workshop.

Tachman has won numerous awards for his work, including receiving the 2010 Award of Excellence from Pictures of the Year International, for his photo and first prize in PDN's 2011 The Look Contest, in the Runway/Street Scene category. He also won the 2010 Ultimate Music Moment Contest, sponsored by Billboard and PDN, for his photo of Yeah Yeah Yeahs lead singer Karen O onstage at the Music Hall of Williamsburg; Grand Prize in the Year in Music Moment Contest, also sponsored by Billboard and PDN, for his photo of Coldplay at Wachovia Arena; and First Prize in PDN's 2008 World in Focus contest, for an image from a personal project he shot in Sri Lanka.

In the series Still Life with Book, Contender Juliette Tang bridges the gap between being a bibliophile and also an image-maker, creating still lifes from some of the most beloved literary novels. Whether channeling a character in the book or seeking to capture an ambiance, each of the works visually represents varying elements from the literary masterpieces that resonated with her as a reader. To see if your favorite book got the still life treatment, check out Tang's Flickr set.

Still Life with Charles Dickens's Great Expectations, 2011 by Juliette Tang

Still Life with Albert Camus's The Stranger, 2011 by Juliette Tang

Juliette explains:

First I read a book that inspires me. Next I construct an installation featuring the book in a milieu that is symbolically connected to the text. Then I photograph this in the manner of a still life. The goal is to capture the abstract world of a book as a concrete image, with help from the realism of everyday objects. I focus on a book's narrative rather than physical qualities. My photos are informed by the language, events and details that I notice in the complicated tapestry of word combinations that exist on the written page. In some pictures, I put myself in the place of a character and arrange the composition as if through their eyes. In other pictures, I try to somehow identify with the author or evoke what I think the author's spirit or intention might be, through my own visual interpretations. My literary still life photos are subjective to my private experience as a reader and reflect my own interpretations of themes, meanings and intentions found in the texts. They are images of books taken by and seen through the eyes of a deeply appreciative reader.

Still Life with Jean Rhy's Wide Sargasso Sea, 2011 by Juliette Tang

Still Life with Marcel Proust's Swann's Way, 2011 by Juliette Tang

Juliette Tang is a photographer based in San Francisco, where she lives in a Victorian house the color of an apricot macaroon. She is a recent graduate of Dartmouth College and holds a BA in english. English [is], in fact, her second language, though she only faintly remembers Mandarin, her first. Juliette is inspired by books, Dutch still life paintings and Merchant-Ivory productions. She is also a writer and filmmaker.

Still Life with The Bhagavad Gita, 2011 by Juliette Tang

Let the music play. Contender Ken Brown draws from his cinematic influences and love of photographing cars to create these stylized, sleek shots of jukeboxes. "I was hired by a museum to photograph their collection of jukeboxes. I shot these because I thought it was interesting to isolate the design accents that the creators of these machines took the time and skill to think about," he says of the series, which include Filbens and Wurlitzers among the 37 images.

1937 Wurlitzer Model 24 January 9, 2012, by Ken Brown

1937 Wurlitzer Model 24 January 9, 2012, by Ken Brown

Born and raised in Southern California, in the household of a classic car enthusiast, Ken Brown learned to appreciate the sways of a tailfin and the sparkle of a chrome bumper at an early age. California's film industry influences and attracts its young citizens. And for a while, Ken thought that would be his endeavor. A graduate of UCSC in Film Studies, his career path took a detour when he discovered still photography. Though his first love is the cinema—particularly Film Noir, Chiaroscuro and German Expressionist Cinematography—his still images retain the influences of this cinematic orientation. Ken's work represents the merging of these influences into automotive imagery. He lives and works in New York City.

1946 AMI January 10, 2012, by Ken Brown

Qendrim, Trepça, 2011 by Andrew Querner

Documentary photographers have to get close enough to their subjects to almost become one of them, but also stay just far enough to have a perspective. The intellects of a project are just as important as the aesthetics. Perhaps what's fascinating about documentary photographers is that they are all semi-professional (if not full-on) sociologists. In fact, Lewis Hine, often regarded as "the father of documentary," started his career as a sociologist. His photos of child labor not only helped the National Child Labor Committee's lobbying efforts to end the practice, but they also pioneered the concept that photography could be used as a tool for social change and reform. In today's world of visual overload, it's still captivating to see photographers get interested and involved in situations that are seemingly unrelated to their own backgrounds. Introducing Contender Andrew Querner, a Canadian reporting from Kosovo.

Miners' Change Room, Trepça, 2011 by Andrew Querner

For his project The Bread With Honey, Querner writes in his statement:

The Stan Terg mine located in Trepça, Kosovo, was once the jewel of a giant Yugoslavian mining conglomerate. Two thousand miners supplied factories and smelters throughout the region with lead, zinc and gold, among other metals. Power struggles in the 1990s—which resulted in the break-up of Yugoslavia and culminated in the civil war of 1999—crippled the mining operation. Since the end of the war, Stan Terg has struggled to survive, the victim of fallout from tensions between Kosovo's Serbian and Albanian population, political tensions between Kosovo and Serbia and post-independence growing pains. Over time, Stan Terg has reflected the history of the region's ethno-political strains. Often to the detriment of the operation itself, the forces at the mine's helm also tended to hold regional control. As a photographer, this relationship offered a point of entry to explore this ongoing struggle for power through the experience of the mine's current gatekeepers and the town above. More than a metaphor for the region's complex politics, however, the mine has come to represent the potential for an economic independence, a symbol of hope that, in my experience, embodies the driving sentiment of Kosovo's 1.8 million people.

Engineer, Trepça, 2011 by Andrew Querner

Andrew Querner holds a Bachelor of Commerce from University of British Columbia and is currently based in Canmore, Alberta, working as a portrait and documentary photographer. His editorial work has appeared in such magazines as TIME, Monocle, The Saturday Telegraph and Report on Business.

Untitled, from the series New Work, by Jordan Tate

In photography, new subjects are found everyday; techniques and technologies are updated more frequently than one can keep up with: the rise of digital, the demise of film. As with everything else in life, photography is moving forward all the time. Or is it? The subject and the camera might be new, but the image-making process, the concept behind it, has remained the same. And there's nothing wrong with that. It is the very practice of photography, after all. Wonderful works are still being produced every day; there's no real need to reinvent the wheel. But we didn't get to this point by merely repeating a practice. Someone has always had to do something a little bit differently, a little bit new. We are very glad that Jordan Tate, a 2010 HHS! semi-finalist, is still thinking new.

Untitled, from the series New Work, by Jordan Tate

With his submission, which is part of his previous ongoing project, New Work, Tate continues to ask the question: What is image-making? He writes in his statement:

New Work is an exploration of visual language and process. In a sense it is an examination of how we see, what we see, what merits being seen and how images function in contemporary visual culture. Frequently, the photographic image is still viewed as a mechanical reproduction of reality. In this paradigm, the photograph functions not as an autonomous object loaded with historical and functional contexts, but rather as a conceptually transparent representation of a reproduced reality. New Work represents a shift away from the context of photograph as mechanical reproduction and is an acknowledgement of the image-maker as the mediator of sight, as well as an exploration of process and practice in contemporary image viewing and production. These images are a continuation of ongoing research/meta-photographic critique concerning the visual and conceptual processes of image comprehension.

Untitled, from the series New Work, by Jordan Tate

Jordan Tate, a 2008-2009 Fulbright Fellow, has a Bachelor of Philosophy in interdisciplinary studies from Miami University and a Master of Fine Arts in photography from Indiana University. He is an Assistant Professor of Art at the University of Cincinnati and is the founding editor of the contemporary art blog ilikethisart.net.

Red No. 1, U.S. Vintage Grand Prix, Watkins Glen, 2010 by Daniel Handal

"Auto racing, bull fighting and mountain climbing are the only real sports... All others are games," Ernest Hemingway once rather controversially claimed. While Hemingway might not have been the absolute authority on the subject of sports, he undoubtedly gave new definition to the hard-living, macho-man image that's been so embedded in American culture. As if to prove Hemingway's point on auto racing, silver screen icons such as Steve McQueen and Paul Newman had a deep love for the sport, both having pursued a career as professional drivers. Somewhere between the smell of gasoline and rubber, the noise of hard-revving engines and unrestricted exhaust and the thought of being seriously hurt at high speeds, men (at least some of them) seem to find simple joy. In Contender Daniel Handal's project Rough Stock, he makes the link between machismo and racecars with his camera.

Yellow No. 68, Broome-Tioga, Richford, 2010 by Daniel Handal

In his statement, Handal writes:

In my project Rough Stock, I continue my exploration of American men displaying physical prowess, strength and courage—personality traits that our culture values as implicitly male. I have worked in several different subcultures (boxing, wrestling and hunting). Rough Stock is set in the world of motor sports: vintage cars, demo derby, motorcycles and snowmobiles. I am interested in the unusual, super-human quality that racecar drivers and daredevils possess. Man and machine become one in an alliance that gives my subject the odd quality I seek out in my work. While each image can be seen as its own individual portrait, as a group they portray a modern-day rodeo, where the car has replaced the horse and bull, and the drivers are the new cowboy. [Racecars] are iconic symbols of strength and struggle. Rough Stock captures the role of male heroes—the winning and the losing, the failed attempts and the successes—the bright shiny vintage sports car and the quirky banged up demolished car at the derby.

Burnout (Perfectly Strange), Auto Club Raceway, Fontana, 2011 by Daniel Handal

Daniel Handal was born in Honduras and immigrated to the United States for education. He received his BS in applied sciences from Rutgers University and studied photography at the International Center of Photography. Handal has been awarded with residencies at the Constance Saltonstall Foundation for the Arts and the Center for Photography at Woodstock. He currently lives and works in New York City.

Hood (Cherry & Mint), Auto Club Raceway, Fontana, 2011 by Daniel Handal

Catharsis, 2010 by Domenica de la Torre

Hot on the heels of the closing of HHS! First Edition 2012, we found ourselves in the grand portfolio review room at the FotoFest Meeting Place, where our exposure to the latest photographic works continued (we also ran into quite a few HHS! photographers). A big trend we've been seeing: projects that focus on memories and traces of a diseased person. From immediate family members to distant relatives to complete strangers, photographers around the world have explored what it means to live without someone through and through. Contender Domenica de la Torre's appropriately named series, Closure, deals with the same circumstances but with a twist: De la Torre's brother disappeared.

The serenate of the little bird, 2011 by Domenica de la Torre

Though not mentioned in de la Torre's statement, one can't help but wonder about any correlation between her brother's disappearance and the turmoil in Mexico that is the Mexican drug war. Related incident or not, what de la Torre is going through must be something a lot of families can relate to in a country that has seen too much violence in recent years. In her statement for Closure, de la Torre writes:

This project is an attempt [to find] a symbolic closure for the loss of my brother. After his disappearance in Mexico, my family and I felt the necessity to find a place far from the adverse situation. Hence, our house eventually became inhabited [by] mourning, and this is where I began a constant search for comfort. The images serve as an investigation of a psychological state in which I come to the realization of the nonexistent closure. A study of the attempt to eliminate memories that disrupt the conscience or balance of the nervous system. A battle against my own memories, the memories of having looked for him as if he was a dead dog on the banks of the shrub lands.

The path in which oblivion lies, 2010 by Domenica de la Torre

Domenica de la Torre was born and raised in southern Mexico, where the sense of light and color has influenced her photographic work. She came to the United States to begin her professional studies in photography. She is currently pursuing a BA in photography in Columbia College Chicago after attending school at the Studio Art Centers International of Florence, Italy, on a scholarship.

Contender Patrick Allen's aerial imagery seeks to capture "those patterns that stand out as a real representation of the feeling of flying, and the manipulation of scale and depth that is different from what we see everyday."

Recess, 2009 by Patrick Allen

In his statement, he explains:

Aerial photography is similar to photographing out of a moving car, with a constant stream of imagery rushing by and attempting to capture a fleeting landscape. Beyond the spontaneous images that come from the movement of being in the air is the feeling of an explorer in a world that only machines and birds usually see. Even though anyone can now have this viewpoint from a satellite, I have a desire to show more [than] a map of the land but a feeling of the differences and similarities between the world's natural patterns and the patterns we make.

Untitled, by Patrick Allen

Pollock's Red Raft, 2006 by Patrick Allen

Patrick Allen is a Brooklyn-based photographer with BAs in art history and philosophy from St. Mary's College of Maryland. Originally from Westminster, Maryland, he has exhibited work at the Gallery Gabrichidze in Brussels, Belgium, and he assisted photographers throughout D.C. and NYC. Patrick currently manages Ken Allen Studios, a custom fine art printing studio in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. He works one-on-one with photographers and artists to produce pigment ink prints, while keeping up with the latest developments in photography and digital printing. He is enjoying being on the ground and photographing New York City at street level while planning future aerial photography series. View more of his work on Tumblr.

Untitled, by Patrick Allen

It's been a little over a year since the earthquake and subsequent tsunami that devastated villages, towns and major cities in Japan. And while before-and-after pictures show that the country continues to rebound, the town of Tohoku and, mainly, its schools—which Contender Ayano Hisa visited in December 2011 and again in February 2012—remain a nightmarish sight. Hisa turned her Mamiya 7 and Linhof Technika on to the seemingly irreparable damage the schools endured for her series Schools in Tohoku.

Schools in Tohoku 4, by Ayano Hisa

Hisa explains in her statement:

On March 11, 2011, Ishinomaki City, Miyagi, Japan, where my mother grew up and my uncle still lives, and Sendai City, where my aunt lives, were hit by the tsunami caused by the massive earthquake. I happened to be in Tokyo and was with my family at the time. We couldn't reach [my] uncle's family for about eight days. I went to the area where my uncle lives 11 days after the tsunami with my Mamiya 7. After helping my uncle's family, I photographed the area for a day. Everything I saw there made me sick. The scenes were traumatic. ...In December 2011 and February 2012, I went back to the area and photographed again with my Mamiya 7 and Linhof Technika. I felt that giving up on photographing there... [meant] giving up on my mother's hometown, where I used to visit my grandparents since childhood. After almost one year, although a lot of debris was moved away, the area still looked very close to what I saw right after the tsunami. I was searching for the scenes that showed the worst damages made by the tsunami. I photographed hundreds trying to show how bad it was. However, the photographs did not look like my photographs. Because everything in the area looked like a nightmare and was worse than any "end of the world" kind of Hollywood movies I have ever seen, I lost focus. I got sick by seeing them again and again, and for myself, I needed to change the way I photographed. Gradually, I started to be able to control my feeling and my eyes as a photographer. I looked for what my eyes wanted to see, even in the debris caused by the tsunami. I also decided to focus on schools, to which I could connect the most. These five photographs are from the series of photographs, Schools in Tohoku (tentative title).

Schools in Tohoku 2, by Ayano Hisa

Schools in Tohoku 3, by Ayano Hisa

Ayano Hisa was born and raised in Saitama, Japan. Her parents, who love art, exposed her to various art and music since she was little. Although she did not have any formal art training until she became 21 years old—when she started taking lessons of photography and other art classes—she soon realized that was what she had been looking for in her life. She started photographing on the streets in her home country, Japan, in 2006, and she wishes to photograph there more often and continue the project. She now lives and works as a freelance photographer in New York City.

Schools in Tohoku 5, by Ayano Hisa

Contender Maja Daniels often approaches her photography from a journalistic and sociological stand point; in several of her series, particularly Into Oblivion and today's featured Monette and Mady, the photographer focuses on "the lack of visual representations of issues related to older generations." A sharp contrast to the Alzheimer's-focused Oblivion, Monette and Mady captures the intimacy and bond between two subjects, identical twins, who challenge preconceived notions of aging in their day-to-day lives as actors, models and dancers in Paris.

Mady & Monette, Rue des Partants, Paris, 2010 by Maja Daniels

In her statement, Daniels explains:

Monette and Mady are identical twins. They have lived their whole life closely together and are, as they say, inseparable. I first saw them on the streets of Paris, and I was instantly fascinated by their identical outfits and synchronized corporal language. Quirky and beautiful, they stood out from any crowd. I remember thinking they might not be real. When I approached them I was not surprised to discover that they often finish each other's sentences and that they refer to themselves as "I" instead of "we." Neither have married or had children, and they always eat the same food in identical portions. Monette and Mady do not just share a close relationship as sisters; as a couple they act, model and dance together, and the city of Paris is their main stage. If they go out dressed in different outfits, people stop and ask why they argue. In the playful way they carry themselves and stand out from the crowd, Mady and Monette seem completely indifferent to the many stereotypes that are related to aging. They have, in fact, long stopped celebrating their birthdays, and they defy any preconceived notions related to growing old. This series is an intimate journal of their togetherness.

Mady & Monette, dance rehearsal, Paris, 2011 by Maja Daniels

Mady & Monette, Paris, 2011 by Maja Daniels

Maja Daniels is a Swedish independent photographer currently based in London, U.K. Having studied journalism, photography and sociology, her work focuses on social documentary and portraiture, with an emphasis on human relations in a Western, contemporary environment. By using sociology as a frame of research and approach to her photographic work, she finds it a successful combination when trying to focus on the interaction between man and society. Her work was included in the Taylor Wessing Portrait Prize 2011 and exhibited at the National Portrait Gallery in London. She also won second prize in the 2012 Sony World Photography Awards and was selected as one of the 2011 Magenta Foundation's Flash Forward Emerging Photographers. She was shortlisted for the 2010 PhotoVisura Grant for an outstanding personal photography project, and she has exhibited in Paris, London, New York and Bilbao, Spain. Dividing her time between long-term documentary projects and commercial work, she is regularly commissioned by the weekly and monthly press, including The Guardian Weekend Magazine, Intelligent Life, New Statesman, Monocle, FT Magazine and Le Monde, as well as humanitarian organizations and cultural institutions such as the UNICEF and the European Commission. She also collaborates with social scientists in academic projects, using photography as a tool within sociological and cultural research.

Mady & Monette, Paris 2011, by Maja Daniels

Brenna & Javan, October 2011 by Hana Pesut (click on image to enlarge)

Pioneered by long time New York Times photographer Bill Cunningham in the late '70s, street fashion photography has now become a mainstream form of photography that's viewed by millions on any given day. The "photos of people on the street + blog" formula that evolved from Cunningham's column in print has not only changed the fashion world, but it's also created a new breed of photographers. Perhaps best known of them all is The Sartorialist—with a book published and representation by a major gallery, Scott Schuman really put the emphasis on "street," making his work relevant to the time and space we live in, thus validating his stylish photos as a means of documentation. While not a photographer working in the street fashion blogosphere, Contender Hana Pesut created a series, Switcheroo, that bears aesthetic resemblance to the fashionable photos flooding the internet and, beyond that, plays sartorial tricks with your eyes on the subject of identity.

Leila & Azim, September 2011 by Hana Pesut

Mostly presented in diptych, the portraits in Switcheroo are not of random passers-by, but of volunteer models who have gone through a casting process. Pesut explains her series:

Switcheroo is a dual portrait series where accomplices are photographed twice, once in their own outfits and again wearing each other's outfits against the same background. The magic in this series lies in the similitude of the normal and affected versions that are distanced when their variances become more apparent.

Rico & Fran, July 2011 by Hana Pesut

Hana Pesut is a self-taught photographer currently living in Vancouver, Canada. Her main focus in photography are the "little moments" that people sometimes miss and later wish they had captured. She hopes to inspire others to take more photos in their day-to-day life. For those who want to be part of Switcheroo, Pesut is currently casting for the project in the LA/Palm Springs area, from April 10th through the 20th.

Nevin & Mia, August 2011 by Hana Pesut

Contender Stephen Tamiesie's submission, Promised Land, was influenced by "the relationship Americans hold with the Western landscape and its continual development." The resulting landscapes—quiet, yet visually arresting—are a nod toward yesteryear's Westward expansion and the promises therein.

Untitled, from the series Promised Land, by Stephen Tamiesie

Untitled, from the series Promised Land, by Stephen Tamiesie

Tamiesie explains:

Since I was young, I've been fascinated by the grandeur and history of the American West. In the series Promised Land, I examine the once held American belief of Manifest Destiny—the 19th-century mantra that the United States was predestined to spread over the entire continent, from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific. Motivated by President Jefferson and the Lewis and Clark Expedition, Westward settlers quickly achieved this goal when, in 1912, Arizona joined as the final state in the continental U.S., forming an uninterrupted nation stretching from sea to shining sea. At its origin, Manifest Destiny confronted a territory that was vastly unknown to most Americans. Today, it is apparent to anyone headed out on the interstate that the West—once a great frontier—has become accessible in nearly every corner on its surface. The photographs in this series are appraisals of the American thumbprint on the West, at points where population and a wild landscape intersect. Through these images, Promise Land surveys the idea of Manifest Destiny over 150 years since its conception, and it reveals the results of a once monumental belief now evidenced in the West.

Untitled, from the series Promised Land, by Stephen Tamiesie

Untitled, from the series Promised Land, by Stephen Tamiesie

Stephen Tamiesie lives in Portland, Oregon. He has worked with clients near and far, including advertising agencies, magazines and architects. His work has been published by Esquire, Newsweek and ZARA, and it is included in the permanent collections of Marriott International and Kiyosato Museum of Photographic Arts. Stephen is also a specialty coffee roaster. And a nice guy. Should your path ever cross with his, you would quickly learn of his high regard for Western films and bourbon whiskey, preferably enjoyed together.

Contender Noah David Bau has created a series of portraits of orphaned Thai young males, whose meager livelihoods depend on intensive training and competing in Muay Thai, a combat sport similar to Indochinese kickboxing.

Bau 14, 86 lbs., 2011 by Noah David Bau

Ball 14, 83 lbs., 2011 by Noah David Bau

Bau explains in his artist statement:

The portraits of young Muay Thai fighters depict orphaned Thai boys who are all professional fighters. [Their] sole means of survival depends upon their success in the ring and, more fundamentally, the fitness of their bodies. The boys are subjected to grueling workouts in oppressive heat; their bodies endure unimaginable punishment; and they are trained to be ferocious and unrelenting. Proceeds from winning purses are used to maintain their squalid training camp and provide for meager sustenance. The portraits highlight the subjects' physicality in a constructed hyper-reality in order to question their potential commodification as professional fighters. The images suggest the brutality of the boys' lives, while allowing room for the viewer's likely incompatible conceptions of common adolescent experience.

Kwan 14, 73 lbs., 2011 by Noah David Bau

Noah David Bau is an American photographer who divides his time between Bangkok and Boston. His work, while visually and conceptually diverse, consistently attempts to disrupt the seamlessness of mass-mediated imagery. Operating from social and intellectual margins, the work illuminates paradox and contradiction, offering an unstable, problematic reality.

Mr. Bau graduated Magna cum Laude from Amherst College as an Independent Scholar in photography and sexual politics. He continued his studies at the California Institute of the Arts in Los Angeles and later earned a Master's degree from Stanford University.

Wadi Fuqin, on the outskirts of Bethlehem in the southern West Bank, is known for its traditional farming practices—passed down over the millennia and considered by many to be the finest, most impressive agricultural system in any Palestinian village. But the ongoing conflict over Israeli expansion threatens to endanger, among other things, the village's water supply. In his series Sabras — The story of the Palestinian village of Wadi Fuqin, Contender Leeor Kaufman examines the well-preserved agricultural village. In photographing Wadi Fuqin, its people and its produce, Kaufman paid "close attention to the joy and love the place and produce bring to the villagers." He adds, "It is important for me to document it, before it might change, for them and for myself."

Kaufman also shot a video in the village, focusing on a teenager's perspective of his village, its conditions and his desire to explore the world and attend university. Click here to watch the short video.

Abu Ahmad at his fields in Wadi Fuqin, Jan 2011, by Leeor Kaufman

Of the series, Kaufman says:

Wadi Fuqin, a small Palestinian village, carries the inconceivable complexities of the current Israeli/Palestinian conflict. The village is a well-preserved model of a traditional agricultural way of life, developed thousands of years ago. The community has harnessed the water flowing from the valley's 11 springs to nourish their fields. Kilometers of canals direct the spring water to storage pools and onwards to the many fruit and vegetable fields. Currently, the agricultural way of life and natural landscape is endangered by many threats. To the east, the massive development of the Beitar Ilit Settlement is posing an immediate danger to the springs; to the west, the planned separation wall threatens to harm more springs and close the village in between the wall and the settlement. The villagers are not permitted to cross to Israel, nor are they allowed to cross to the settlement. Some of the villagers, left with no other income possibilities, work in the settlement's construction site (with special permission), building the threat to their village themselves.

Hamad preparing his father's field for a new season beneath the settlement, Aug 2011, by Leeor Kaufman

Of the conflict, Kaufman poignantly notes:

As an Israeli, I approach this story with great passion. A known saying in Hebrew determines that a person is the scenery of his childhood. Wadi Fuqin is part of the scenery of my childhood. The smell of the fresh vegetables and the clear water are a good part of my memories. I grew up in a country mixed with Jews and Arabs and no walls in between. It's true that the atmosphere was not always welcoming on both sides, but it is still part of my memories, part of who I am.

Hamad cleaning radishes in Wadi Fuqin, Jan 2011, by Leeor Kaufman

Leeor Kaufman is a filmmaker and a photographer. He is a graduate of the Tel Aviv University's film department and the International Center of Photography's documentary and photojournalism program. Leeor has worked on independent films and commercial television programs as a cinematographer, film editor and director. His short and feature length films were screened in film festivals and television channels worldwide. Leeor is currently based in New York, working on film, photography and multimedia projects and teaching at the International Center of Photography.

Jamil taking his cabbages to Bethlehem, Oct 2011, by Leeor Kaufman

Untitled, from the series Ash, 2009 by Mu Ge

From roaring rivers to vast oceans, from soaring mountains to barren desserts, the landscape that surrounds us (that many of us love to look at or visit but have otherwise lost touch with) is the thing that we call "nature." When we stare at nature, what are we really looking at? The dazzling beauty of it, one might say. But why just beauty? Is that all there is to see? When we set out to see things, we often do so with too many assumptions and preconceived notions. We tend to only see what we want to see, what we think needs to be seen, as if to prove something, either to ourselves or others. In doing so, we miss out on finding our own relations to the things we are looking at. To Contender Mu Ge's eyes, nature is full of traces of time and history.

Untitled, from the series Ash, 2011 by Mu Ge

In the statement for his latest series Ash, Mu Ge writes:

This time, my inner heart points to nature. Ash holds the nature as the subject of "generalization," striving to find a balance between mankind and nature with some sort of agreement and respect, and to find the spiritual values that we have gradually forgotten: From representation to daily life, from rocks to cloud and water, etc., all beings are constantly changing with time. It allows me to learn to reflect life with awe, and to learn to listen to the demand of nature. Yet the nature is there. The spirit of ancestor Lao Tzu also lies there. We have long been accustomed to accepting all kinds of changes, but we shall not forget the traces and eternity of time. I hope Ash won't only lay eyes on the world of representation, and duplicate images that the eye can see; rather, it will attempt to experience the value of each element in the nature, to give each element their recognition, to speak the truth, and to observe their turnover and eternity in time.

Untitled, from the series Ash, 2010 by Mu Ge

Moving on from his acclaimed and emotional documentary series Going Home, Mu Ge switches to large format to accommodate the scale of his new subject. But the same unique visual style found in Going Home—that slightly washed out, low contrast quality (probably contributed by his Cold War-era Kiev 60 camera)—still lingers in Ash. Lonesome figures, ruins and overlooked corners of nature are often the subject matter, many of them accompanied by fog, adding a touch of drama and timelessness to the understated images. The frequent use of closeups also brings out an extra earthiness—almost a dusty feel, echoing the series' title.

Untitled, from the series Ash, 2010 by Mu Ge

Mu Ge was born in Chongqing, China, and graduated from Sichuan Normal University with a degree in broadcasting and television directing. He currently resides in Chungdu and lectures at the College of Radio and Film at Chengdu University of Technology, while also working as a freelance photographer and photo editor. His Going Home series has been shown internationally, including at Format Festival, Derby; Nofound, in Paris; and Anastasia Photo, in New York. His work is currently part of a group show focusing on Chinese contemporary photography, and will be on view at Katonah Museum of Art in New York from March 25th to September 2nd.

With over 1.21 billion people, India is one of the world's most densely populated countries, on track to surpass China as the most populated nation by 2030. In two-time Contender Candace Feit's submission, the documentary photographer, using her Hasselblad, captured moments of solitude and tranquility by the sea in the southern state of Tamil Nadu.

Untitled, 2011 by Candace Feit

In India, where personal space is often limited, being close to the sea promotes a different set of relationships, as [people] often gather to use this public space—both in groups and by themselves. This work explores the loneliness and isolation that can be the result of the constant stimulation of the world around us—the noise and heat; the demands of family, friends and work—and that isolation in the face of the sea. I watched as people gathered by the seafront; surrounding them was a constant buzz of vendors, cotton candy sellers, fortune tellers—all of which gave it a feeling of a frenzied carnival.

Through these photos I try to explore the idea that while things in these environments are loud and dirty, and almost never tidy, it is still possible to find moments of peace. And as an extension, in these moments of peace there is often a sense [of] separateness or solitude. Using the moments of stillness I find in each of these scenes, I try to bring order to the often overwhelming surroundings.

Untitled, 2011 by Candace Feit

Untitled, 2011 by Candace Feit

Candace Feit has been working as a documentary photographer since 2004. In the past several years, she has‪ moved beyond stories to a deeper narrative‬ of people and their relationship to their environments and the objects within them. For these images, she chose to use 120mm film, as a way to slow down the constant shutter click and more deliberately compose her images. Her clients include the New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, the Chicago Tribune, UNICEF, Save The Children (U.K.), Action Aid (U.K.), AFAR Magazine and The Globe and Mail. Candace recently relocated from New Delhi, India, to Johannesburg, South Africa.

In his series Visible Light, Contender Alexander Harding captures the way (sun)light reacts to his set ups, exploring "the sun's physical presence and quantitative character." Harding explains:

The sun, being the center of our universe, is the source for all that lives on our planet. It keeps us in a specific orbit, and its waves provide us with energy allowing us to thrive. Whether it is acknowledged or not, we all have a strong relationship with the sun. Its light enables our visual perception and, at times, shapes our emotions. Although the sun affects how we feel, its light remains mysterious and ephemeral. We can feel it on our skin and in our eyes, but it seems intangible to us. We cannot hold or preserve it. Through my work... I [aim to] give sunlight an environment to travel within and record its behaviors.

Light Reflecting off Two Mirrors, by Alexander Harding

He continues:

The word "photography" most closely translates to "writing or drawing in light." I think of my photographs in this way; not as only a visual record of a moment in time, but as images created by light. Events in light are unique, organic and fleeting. This being the case, I do not attempt to reproduce these events. I can only shape the environment the sun enters and the amount of light that strikes the film within a period of time. What I hope viewers attain from my work is a sense of the marvel that light is. Through my work I wish to remain grateful to light, which enables our ability to see, reminding us that perception itself is a gift.

Six Suns, by Alexander Harding

Little Dipper, by Alexander Harding

Alexander Harding was born in 1980 in Boston, Massachusetts. He received his BFA in painting from the Massachusetts College of Art and Design in 2002. In 2003, he completed an additional year as a special student in photography. In 2011, Harding received his MFA from MassArt. Using photography and other media, Harding's work explores our physical and emotional connections to sunlight. Since 2007, Harding has been an Adjunct Professor in fine arts at the Boston Architectural College. He lives and works in Wallingford, Connecticut. Work from Visible Light has appeared in Holy Ghost Zine and Fine Line, and his process and inspiration are discussed in this recent interview.

Reflection in Mylar, by Alexander Harding

Contender Caroline Hancox is no stranger to Hey, Hot Shot! Of her former submission, Stacy wrote that Caroline "allows herself a wide variety of tools in order to hit exactly the right note of dream-like, chroma-intense ephemerality." In her series Fringe, that tool is the Polaroid camera and her use of Polaroid emulsion lifts. Dreamy and delicate, Fringe's softness extends to the landscapes photographed therein.

Fringes #3, by Caroline Hancox

Hancox explains:

These are Polaroid emulsion lifts from a recent project exploring what happens in parts of the landscape where nature is creeping back into areas that have been destroyed/built on/neglected by humans. I love areas of landscape that on first glance are not immediately beautiful but on closer inspection reveal a previously hidden attraction. I used Polaroid film for these images because I like the unpredictable nature [of] the medium, in that every pack of film could have a different hue or slight imperfections. These characteristics have been exaggerated by the Polaroid emulsion lift process (removal of the emulsion membrane from the backing paper and transferral onto a different surface), and the delicateness of the end result mirrors the scenes in the images.

Fringes #4, by Caroline Hancox

Caroline Hancox is a photographer based near Cambridge, U.K. She specializes in the relationships between humans and their environment, where she finds the little details and beauty in everyday life that often go unseen and unnoticed. She was short-listed and highly commended for Professional Photography Magazine's "Photographer of the Year" competition two years ago, and she is currently working on personal projects and commissions.

Fringes #5, by Caroline Hancox

In seeking out "eccentrics" from the South, Contender Barnett Cohen met and befriended a man named Oliver, the subject of much of his portfolio. Rather than creating images that focus on his subject's eccentricities and idiosyncrasies, however, the series offers an intimate look at a willing subject, complete with relics and glimpses at a past life.

Oliver #1, 2011 by Barnett Cohen

Postcard, 2011 by Barnett Cohen

Cohen explains:

My photographs are short stories about individuals on the margins of the mainstream, and I weave fact and fiction into cohesive visual narratives. It is this interplay between realism and mystery that intrigues me most and that which I seek to flesh out in my work. Influenced by Southern Gothic writers such as Flannery O'Connor and William Faulkner, I set out two years ago to make portraits of eccentrics in small towns across the American South. That is how I first met and began photographing Oliver, the subject of my portfolio. Though Oliver is unconventional, my photographs of him are not simply a testament to the trope of the Southern Eccentric. They reflect an intimate relationship based on even needs: He wants to be seen and acknowledged, and I want to see him in the starkest of terms. Alone in his life, I have become his sole witness. I listen as he meanders between the past and the present, his existence fragmented by memory. My photographs are therefore glimpses or snippets of Oliver, while the series of images gather these jigsaw pieces into a coherent portrait of the man.

Vitrine, 2011 by Barnett Cohen

Barnett Cohen is a visual artist/photographer who splits his time between Brooklyn and the Deep South. He is currently applying to MFA programs in photography.

Oliver #2, 2011 by Barnett Cohen

In Contender Roger Boulay's Stacks series, the photographer explores the intersection between photography and sculpture, creating and documenting hovering, suspended towers (at 60"x40") of newspapers and magazines.

Taken literally, some of the images in the series could represent the collapse of the print medium, a topic much discussed between 2009 and 2010, when these images were taken. But there's much more to the series.

Sag, 2010 by Roger Boulay

In his artist statement, Boulay explains:

In the series Stacks, I create five-feet-tall photographs of piles of newspapers and magazines that hover impossibly in space, frozen in a tenuous moment right before collapse. I give voice to the growing piles of detritus to allow viewers to consider how quickly "news" becomes old, and how consuming is ultimately unwieldy.

My work expresses some of the shifts of identity within our constantly changing and morphing culture. The sculptures topple and sway, erase and crumble, to articulate this vision of a totem that could stand unassisted. The layers of newspapers within these images—stories within stories we consume and discard—create a timeline of constructed identity, a spectrum of experience we express through our publications and press. Pockets of color create glimpses of advertising and images that draw the viewer in to the image to examine details of recombined text. Pinks and blues and greens make visual breaks in the slabs of gray paper. The larger forms of these structures create corporeal figures out of the residue and remains of our trash. They hang isolated in black, ghosts composed from the ephemeral, disposable media we purchase and throw away. Seen in a group, the stacks become figurative, signifying individuals with lives that are hard-won, bent and struggling to stand up.

Whiteout, 2010 by Roger Boulay

Roger Boulay was born in West Roxbury, Massachusetts, a suburb of Boston. He grew up in Norfolk, a more distant suburb in southeastern Massachusetts. He attended Amherst College, where he majored in Fine Arts and French. Boulay taught art at the Noble and Greenough school in Dedham, MA. In 2008, he moved to Albuquerque to earn his MFA in photography at the University of New Mexico. He also holds an MA in Dutch Art History from the Universiteit van Amsterdam. He currently teaches photography at the University of Kentucky.

Fracture, 2010 by Roger Boulay

With his Ebony 4x5 in tow, Contender Erik Lee Snyder set on a road trip in 2009, looking to escape the impact the financial crisis had on New York City. When he arrived in Shreveport, Louisiana, what he found was, in his words, "a place darker, more intense, and devoid of hope." Staying with a family in the outskirts of town, Snyder got to know his subjects closely, "eating their fried food, doing their drugs and swapping misery."

Baptist Church, 2009 by Erik Lee Snyder

Larry, 2009 by Erik Lee Snyder

In his artist statement, Snyder explains:

The images are not a documentation of pain or suffering, as pain cannot be measured or rated... The photographs of Port City are the sharing of the human condition, and the celebration of humanity in the United States only created by getting to know people, not subjects.

Larry's Trailer, 2009 by Erik Lee Snyder

Aleya's Room, 2009 by Erik Lee Snyder

Erik Lee Snyder (b. 1980, Atlantic City, NJ) is an American photographer. Equal parts honest documentary and strict formalism, Erik's photographs examine the collected ephemera of modern American culture.

Dennis Walks Home, 2009 by Erik Lee Snyder

Contender Heather Cleary explores the notion of reality and perception. Utilizing domestic objects (fruit, magazines, houseplants, etc.) her photographs "explore the relationship between impartial objects and personal perceptions, focusing on the subtleties that produce multiple layers of experience."

Talc, 2010 by Heather Cleary

In her artist statement, she explains:

By selecting, modifying and/or isolating items from their context, I pull objects from utility into abstraction... For me, omitting information is a way to create focus. By choosing subjects that suggest multiple identities—placing originals next to replicas, by deconstructing objects and isolating them—I aim to activate the mind. Pulling back the layers of belief and certainty to reexamine accepted truths is what engages me to create images.

Magazine, 2010 by Heather Cleary

Dot Matrix, 2011 by Heather Cleary

Growing up in Florida, Heather Cleary always marveled at the constant invention and reinvention of the world around her. Witnessing the temporal Florida landscape fueled her curiosity about the construction of reality. In 2003, Heather earned a BFA with a concentration in photography from Massachusetts College of Art. She lives and works in Boston.

Artifact, 2011 by Heather Cleary

At first glance, the objects in the images Contender Graham Barker submitted for consideration might resemble strange and alien-looking deep sea creatures. But the truth quickly bobs to the surface, and the amorphous blobs are revealed for what they actually are: waste Barker found floating in Regent's Canal in London.

Despite the evident environmental message, Barker actually attests that it's been "a challenge not to turn this project into a personal environmental 'crusade' per se, as it was my interest in the forms and the movements of these waste materials that came first—the profundity came second."

Untitled, from the series Out of the loop, 2011 by Graham Barker

Untitled, from the series Out of the loop, 2011 by Graham Barker

Of the series, Barker says:

The title Out of the loop is a reference to waste material that has escaped "closed- or open-loop" recycling, which will neither compost or safely biodegrade into the natural environment. It is waste material that has found its way into our water channels.

What I have developed are a series of images that are inherently ambiguous. In fact, are these images about the urban environment or, indeed, about the natural world we're inadvertently changing?

Untitled, from the series Out of the loop, 2011 by Graham Barker

Untitled, from the series Out of the loop, 2011 by Graham Barker

Graham Barker has been in design and advertising for over 24 years, but he has always been active in personal art projects. He shoots with both digital and analogue film, using high-end professional cameras as well as lo-fi plastic and homemade devices.

The photographer aims to have several of the Out of the loop images super-sized onto billboards or projected into a retail area. He's set up a site with more information on the project, and a link to help raise the necessary funds for billboards.

Happy Valentine's Day! In honor of the holiday that promotes all things love and romanticism, we're featuring a crush-worthy, Cupid-centric Contender compilation. Ahead of your feast for two tonight, here's a feast for the eyes, representing five different Contenders.

Kissing, New York, 2010 by Michael Stepansky

Massachusetts-based Contender Michael Stepansky shoots film, preferring to become part of the history he photographs. "I like the tactility of it, the moving back and forth, the suspense," he adds.

Latent Light, 2012 by Amy Friend

Of the images from her luminous series Daré alla Lucé, Contender Amy Friend (Ontario, Canada) states:

Through small deliberate interventions, I altered [these vintage] images, allowing light to pass through them. (After all, photographs are made possible with light.) In a literal and somewhat playful manner, I aimed to give the photographs back to the light, hence the title of the series, Daré alla Lucé, an Italian phrase used to describe the moment of birth.

Untitled, by Joe Aker

Contender Joe Aker's made a name for himself as a seasoned architectural photographer in Houston. But for his submission, Aker chose a series of serene landscapes, featuring "water and white sand after the sun has set in that magic 10 minutes of beautiful dusk."

1- Floral Concerto - Releasing the Imagination, 2011.6.18 - 2011.6.28, 2011 by Jun Gao

Contender Jun Gao took long-term exposure photographs of the life span of flowers, leaving the shutter open "from buds to blossom and then to decay." The resulting images remind the viewer to appreciate even the demise of the thing, as beauty still exists there. The NYC-based photographer adds, "A flower's life is a duration including a process. If flowers were performers, the process of decay would be a play, which is dramatic, poetic and sentimental."

SIXTH SENSE | SENSUAL 07, 2011 by Cathrin Schulz

When looking at the images from two-time Contender Cathrin Schulz's SIXTH SENSE series, the German-born, Atlanta-based photographer wants you to feel the bands of color with your mind, perceiving them beyond your vision. The photographs in the series "explore thresholds—line after line that unite and divide, emphasizing the interplay between bands of pure color, stimulating the sixth sense."

The black and white images Contender Philip LePage submitted from his series Edges (Borders, Boundaries and Barriers) reflect the "paths, sidewalks and other byways that limit, as well as give access to, the spaces we live in."

Dichotomy, 2010 by Philip LePage

In his artist statement, LePage explains:

I am especially interested in (in)between spaces, the distance between people, cultures and the spaces we inhabit. Marc Auge "..argues powerfully that we are in transit through non-place for more and more of our time, as if between immense parenthesis..." (John Howe). My personal interest is in how these spaces, subways, paths through parks and underpasses reflect a sense, or lack, of belonging, identity and social relationships; and what these parenthesis say about the way we live. This is a continuing project.

Other People's Windows, 2011 by Philip LePage

Canadian photographer Philip LePage moved to Toronto after having spent 11 years living and working in both Japan and Sweden. He is a 1996 BA (Art History) graduate of the University of British Columbia, and he has a background in studio arts, as well as art theory. LePage's interest in photography grew out of his endless commutes in Tokyo. His choice of imagery is highly personal and reflective of his life experiences and emotions—he works within specific themes, but the images themselves reflect his reactions to the spaces he is in.

Surfacing, 2009 by Philip LePage

Equipped with a specially designed Fuji 617, Contender Chris Faust shoots black and white panoramic "cultural landscapes" on film, documenting "the intersection of human beings with nature." For his series Nocturne—of which you can find the book here—Faust took to the streets in St. Paul, Minnesota (as well as other U.S. and Canadian cities) at night, capturing the stillness and mystery of rapidly changing rural, urban and industrial places.

Car Wash, Fort Road, 2011 by Chris Faust (click on image to enlarge)

Faust explains in his artist statement:

Since [Nocturnes was published], I've been dabbling in various projects, but nothing has been as consistent for me as working with the night landscapes. I keep finding myself going out in the past months even more than ever. It's been very meditative now, and at this point [there is] a completeness that I had not felt before.

Unlike some of my counterparts, I have not turned my way of capture over to digital. I'm not exactly a Luddite, but the use and process of silver yields for me something more "real" than the use of HDR, and it feels more authentic to me. I've shot in raw and used the HDR process and find images too perfect, an illustration if you will. For me, the old silver process has a completely different palette that I haven't been able to get digitally yet, not to say that over time I may. I just find the current "trend" lacking for me in many ways. I imagine it's sort of like a solution looking for a problem.

My work has, in the past, focused on transitional landscapes from commercial archeology to the present-day new development topographic. Everywhere I've been, these landscapes and their innate conflict stand out the most for me. Maybe through the course of time they'll demonstrate our society's "evolution."

Parked Truck, Ortonville, MN, 1996 by Chris Faust (click on image to enlarge)

The White Front Cafe, Lanesboro, MN, 1991 by Chris Faust (click on image to enlarge)

Christopher C. Faust (born 1955 in Fort Riley, Kansas) is a landscape photographer in St. Paul, Minnesota. He holds a degree in biology from Saint Cloud State University and an MS in Educational Media from Saint Cloud State University.

Faust has exhibited works in Minnesota, California and New York, and his honors include a Graham Foundation award and a McKnight Foundation Fellowship for Photography. His photographs are in the collections of the Minneapolis Institute of Arts, the Walker Art Center, the Center for Photography at Woodstock and the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art.

Waiting at the Crossing, Lincoln, NE, 1993 by Chris Faust (click on image to enlarge)

Using mirrors and origami to create illusions in her imagery, Contender Elise Windsor creates photographs that play with two- and three-dimensionality. Referencing trompe l'oeil, the images in trompe l'oeil; petite maison feature geometric, bulging shapes on the picture plane, challenging the viewer to rethink and re-engage with each image.

Bathroom, from the series trompe l'oeil; petite maison, 2010 by Elise Windsor

Fireplace, from the series trompe l'oeil; petite maison, 2010 by Elise Windsor

In her statement, Windsor explains:

The work constructs a sense of ubiquitous space, [which] is made of abstract origami houses that create these optical illusions. The method of building sculptural illusions captures fragments of the physical tangible object within the everyday of the domestic. I hope to shift the viewer's perception by introducing another dimension into the picture plane [to call] attention to the two-dimensionality of photographs.

Cupboard, from the series trompe l'oeil; petite maison, 2010 by Elise Windsor

Elise Victoria Louise Windsor is an emerging visual artist working in Toronto, Ontario. She graduated from OCAD University's BFA program, focusing in photography, printmaking and sculpture. Her work focuses on the use of illusions created by fantasy, mystery and the duplication of reality. Elise recently participated in an XPACE/SPARK Contemporary Art Space Residency in Syracuse, New York; and at the State Hermitage Museum Foundation of Canada Young Artist Program, in St. Petersburg, Russia. She has been the recipient of various awards and has participated in art exhibitions across Canada, the U.S. and Russia.

Fan, from the series trompe l'oeil; petite maison, 2010 by Elise Windsor

Recovery Ward, AJEH Hospital, Mastichak, Bihar, India, by Sophie Gerrard

For her series Protectors of Sight, Contender Sophie Gerrard traveled to the Indian state of Bihar, which is home to half a million people suffering from cataract blindness. To help combat this, the Akhand Jyoti Eye Hospital (AJEH) performs over 100 free cataract operations per day. Over the course of two years, Gerrard traveled to the rural state to visit and photograph at the AJEH and surrounding areas. You can learn more about her project and statistics on global cataract blindness, as well as the charitable organization that helps subsidize these operations, in this video.

Gupta has helped over 1000 blind people to AJEH hospital, Bihar, India, by Sophie Gerrard

In her artist statement, Gerrard explains:

Completed over two years and several visits to the remote and rural Indian state of Bihar, Protectors of Sight presents a social document and objective narrative of the story of cataract blindness in this part of India. The series also explores an extremely personal, metaphorical and reflective response to the lives of those living with this condition in Bihar. The photographs started to become a diary as I worked and traveled in Bihar. I would respond to photographing those in the dark without sight by making images of wide open spaces and long empty views. I found myself drawn to changes in light and atmosphere, photographing dark spaces leading to light. Protectors of Sight documents individuals and their stories, their homes and surroundings. It also captures quieter moments and metaphors of barriers, shadows and isolation.

Eye chart, GEMS, Dehri-On-Sone, Bihar, India, by Sophie Gerrard

The journey home, Siran District, Rural Bihar, India, by Sophie Gerrard

Sophie Gerrard is an award winning documentary photographer from Scotland specializing in contemporary social documentary stories, with a particular emphasis on humanitarian and environmental issues. Sophie was recently invited to exhibit her series Protectors of Sight at the Royal Society of Medicine in London, and the exhibition ran throughout October and November 2011. During that time, the project received some interesting reviews and nominations.

Sophie's work is included in the Firecracker 2012 diary, published by Blurb. In 2007, Sophie's series E-wasteland won a Jerwood Photography Award and was selected as a U.K. winner by the Magenta Foundation for emerging photographers. Sophie's work has been exhibited widely, including at Flowers East and with The Photographers' Gallery in London and at Paris Photo. She has been nominated for the Prix Pictet four years in a row and was also nominated for the World Press Photo Joop Swart Masterclass. Sophie's work has been exhibited internationally and is held in a number of national and private collections. Sophie spent a period of time living and working in India in 2009 and 2010, working for NGOs and on personal photographic projects. Currently based in the U.K., her social and environmental photographic features have been published by The Telegraph Saturday Magazine, Guardian Weekend Magazine, Foto8, Portfolio Magazine and Greenpeace International. Sophie is represented by The Photographers' Gallery in London.

Sona Devi, AJEH hospital, Mastichak, Bihar, India, by Sophie Gerrard

For her series Opera, Contender Iveta Vaivode turned her Mamiya 7 towards the audiences at the Latvian National Opera. Using a 45-minute-long exposure, the resulting images capture the process of watching and observing, turning the spectator into subject.

"While observing the audience during the performances," she says, "I become more and more convinced of the hidden mystery in this process, in art's ability to overwhelm and evoke compassion. The more emotional the performance, the stiller a spectator sits while watching it."

The Fountain of Bakhchisaray 02, 2011 by Iveta Vaivode

In her artist statement, Iveta writes:

Opera was once seen as the exclusive reserve of aristocracy, a polite social occasion or an event to attend to affirm your cultural capital as a member of a social elite. [My] images tell a different story of intense participation by a more heterogeneous audience in a drama unfolding out of the frame. [I watch] the watchers, much as painters like Edgar Degas or Walter Sickert did at the music hall a hundred years ago. The long exposures render the subject in a high-contrast, impressionistic way, like Édouard Manet, but instead of Baudelaire's Flaneurs, [I see] a more stratified contemporary audience.

The Fountain of Bakhchisaray, 2011 by Iveta Vaivode

Iveta Vaivode (b.1979) grew up in Riga, Latvia. Having started her photographic career as a fashion photographer, Iveta has recently turned her sights toward her personal projects. In 2008, she received a BA in photography from the Arts Institute at Bournemouth (England). Her photographs have been exhibited in Latvia, Lithuania, U.K., France, China and Belgium. Iveta is the recipient of the following awards: AOP Student Photographer of the Year (2007); Latvia Photography Award of the Year (2007) in the nomination of Design Photography of the Year; and Nikon Discovery Awards (2008).

Swan Lake, 2011 by Iveta Vaivode

Swan Lake 02, 2011 by Iveta Vaivode

Lady in Her Tent, July 2011 by Amy Lyne

Contender Amy Lyne takes on Coney Island in her submission, capturing the motley crowds that flock to this NYC institution during the blazing summer heat.

Safety First, July 2011 by Amy Lyne

Butts, Butts and More Butts, July 2011 by Amy Lyne

In her artist statement, she writes:

Coney Island has become like a Heritage site: a gathering place of people from all around New York and the world. It's the last un-gentrified place in New York City, offering its visitors a playground where they can share a temporary sense of interconnectedness through collective amusement, cultivating an atmosphere of abandon and extravagance.

Everyone is Here..., July 2011 by Amy Lyne

Amy Lyne is a freelance documentary photographer, whose work focuses on social issues that tend to be overshadowed by the headline news. After attending La Sorbonne in Paris and Bogazici's University in Istanbul, Lyne received her BFA in photography from New York University's Tisch School of the Arts, as well as her BA in art history and French literature. Lyne has exhibited in galleries and festivals throughout the U.S. and abroad, including the Annenberg Space for Photography in Los Angeles, Les Rencontres d'Arles in France and the Sounding Jerusalem Festival, where her work was projected against the Old City's walls.

Lyne has worked on various humanitarian projects, including a collaboration with Michel Comte from 1999-2002, People and Places with No Name, benefiting the International Committee of the Red Cross' activities in Angola, Ethiopia and Afghanistan. Lyne was involved in We are the Future, a joint effort between Quincy Jones' Listen Up Foundation and The Glocal Forum, a coalition committed to giving a voice to children living in the world's most war-ravaged regions. Lyne has also collaborated with Nicolas Hulot, one of Europe's most respected environmentalists, on Ushuaia Nature, a television series about indigenous cultures around the world. Lyne has produced many multi-media pieces, including If I Could Wake Up Tomorrow..., which was commissioned by the Emotion Pictures Festival, and addressed the issue of ability with the participation of Eva Mendes, Danny Boyle and Richard Gere, to name a few.

For his series Homies, Contender Adam Amengual spent time at LA's Homeboy Industries, a non-profit organization that provides counseling, job training and other free services to former gang members (and the formerly incarcerated) looking to re-enter and contribute to society.

Daniel Castillo, 2011 from the series Homies by Adam Amengual

Amengual says of the organization, "It is a place that takes people in and sees the potential in them when others do not." Of the series, he explains:

In shooting this project I hope that people can see the subjects for what they are, humans trying to better themselves. The style in which these people have been photographed begs the comparison to a mug shot. Almost all of these people have been arrested and have had a mug shot taken of them. I feel like I have... made a more beautiful version of an ugly picture from their past—just like what the subjects themselves are doing with their own lives.

Cindy Hernandez, 2011 from the series Homies by Adam Amengual

Carlos Nieto, 2011 from the series Homies by Adam Amengual

Adam Amengual was born in Queens, New York, and was raised on the North Shore of Massachusetts. After studying the basics of photography in high school, he continued his photographic education at both Massachusetts College of Art and Parsons School of Design, in New York. After art school, Adam moved to Brooklyn, NY, and began assisting photographers in advertising, fashion, celebrity and music. Over the past six years he has assisted many well-established photographers. He has worked with Ruven Afanador, Don Flood, Danielle Levitt, Norman Jean Roy, Art Streiber and Ben Watts, to name just a few. Adam is currently located in Brooklyn, NY, with his wife, Kate, and dog, Shug. His recently completed project, entitled Homies, has been featured on several blogs, including TIME LightBox, Prison Photography, this is the what, Conscientious and We Can Shoot Too, and it is in the permanent collection at the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston.

Balloon, 2008 by Evan Lane

Contender Evan Lane is a working photographer and director based out of LA. Already having directed music videos for bands like M83 and Filter, Lane's cinematic eye is evident in this submission, which is evocative of a summer road trip. Of the series, Lane alludes to an effortless approach by writing only, "Keep it simple, silly." You can view more works from the series here. Be sure to check out his blog for more, or follow his tweets.

Untitled, by Evan Lane

After graduating Santa Monica High School in 2003, Evan Lane made the move from Los Angeles to Boston. He studied film-making and photography at Emerson College. After graduating in 2007 with a degree in film and photography, Evan lived in India for three months. When Evan got back to the States, he started working as a creative assistant to various photographers and directors in order to kick start his career. Photography has been Evan's driving force in life and he loves nothing more than being on set, traveling and consistently pushing himself creatively.

Wild Cotton, 2011 by Evan Lane

A Different Viewpoint, Golan Heights, Israel 2010, by Beth A. Gilbert

Contender Beth A. Gilbert spent six months in Israel in 2010 as part of her artist in residency in Jerusalem. During that time, she turned her large-format camera on the war-ravaged lands and ruins. The resulting images in Scarred Land "deal with war, the damage it inflicts upon the terrain and the natural recovery over time," Gilbert explains. She adds, "The battle sites and military training zones depicted have not been memorialized or preserved by human beings, and are now naturally recovering, as well as being reclaimed by the earth."

Debris, IDF Firing Zone, Gamla, Israel 2010, by Beth A. Gilbert

Beth Gilbert lives and works in Boston, Massachusetts. When not photographing, she also works as a digital technician specializing in portfolio and exhibition print production. Her work has been shown at the Boston University Photographic Resource Center, the Danforth Museum of Art and the Hadassah Gallery in Jerusalem, Israel.

Blue Motel, by Matteo Musci

Kicking off our Contender posts for the First Edition 2012 is Matteo Musci, an Italian photographer turned American road tripper. With their washed out colors, his quiet photographs on the road are reminiscent of film stills from yesteryear. Already making the blog rounds, the work was first exhibited in San Francisco's The Garage Sale Project. In introducing the work in Walkin' Solo, Garage Sale's Jack Halloway wrote:

Mostly void of lifeforms, Musci's images allow us a moment alone to gaze in repose amid the often overlooked beauty of an empty truck stop or musty roadside motel suite.

At the Diner, by Matteo Musci

Matteo Musci was born and raised in Milan, Italy. After a couple of years in the late '90s working as an art director in a big ad agency, he began shooting as a professional photographer and founded Zona13 Studio. As a photographer for Zona13, he worked all over Europe for a notable amount of ad agencies. In 2010, he started a new photographic cycle, leaving his ad portfolio behind and focusing on a more personal kind of photography, where neat composition and washy color are the main themes. Now he lives between San Francisco and Milan.

588-Verbenas on the Desert, 2008 by Phil Jung

For those of us who own or have owned a car, you know that beyond the car's transportation purposes and uses it is also an extension of your personal space—a floating consulate of homebase in foreign territories known as public spaces. Inside your parked car, you can read, eat, space out, sleep, cry, dance or just sit in silence, waiting for something to happen. Inside your car, you feel safe, protected; you can just be yourself, because it is a moving castle—your castle.

At the same time, your car also inevitably reflects you, whether you want it to or not. In that sense, the modern personal automobile moved the boundary between "public" and "private" outward. Your mobile personal bubble is exposed, or displayed even, to the public: on the street, in the garage, at the mall, by the beach, etc. It's probably beyond the primary design intentions of any car, but you can't really hide your car when it's parked outside. Contender Phil Jung takes a peek into these mini worlds with his series Windscreen.

Sleeping Mask, 2010 by Phil Jung

In his artist statement, Jung writes:

I see this group of images as a contemporary look at our social landscape through the windshields, or windscreens, of parked cars. I am fascinated by how these unique personal spaces can be rendered in a photographic image. A car's interior defines the line between public and private space. While peering into these spaces I wonder if the interior, often littered with personal articles, can describe the way language, religion, economy, government and other cultural phenomena play a role in the owner's life. The largest challenge of the project is taking something as iconic as the automobile and adding something new to a conversation that his been going on since its inception. The gasoline-powered vehicles that were introduced in 1896 represented freedom, hope, exploration and independence—quintessentially American ideals. By 1947, when the photographer Wright Morris made his image of an aging Model T, those early ideals had already begun to deteriorate. Like Morris's pictures, Windscreen is about a culture that is disappearing. When combing through neighborhoods for cars, I look first for the way light enters a car and renders color. If I find nothing inside its cabin that tells something about its owner, I move on. Above all, the car needs to be drivable or just recently taken off the road. If a car sits for too long uninhabited, it loses something. The composite of this space reflects who we are, where we come from and, possibly, where we are going.

Untitled, from the series Windscreen, by Phil Jung

Born in New York, Phil Jung now calls Boston home, but he has lived and studied photography on both coasts—at San Francisco Art Institute for a BFA, and at Massachusetts College of Art and Design (where he currently teaches undergraduate students) for an MFA.

Untitled, from the series State of the Union, by Gregg Segal

As in everything else in life, a good sense of humor is always welcomed and appreciated in photography. In this day and age when the scene is dominated by either highly emotional personal projects or serious political topics, when a body of work ambitiously combines subjects such as "the significance of the American Civil War" and "how consumerism and commercialism have changed the modern landscape," a humorous approach not only intelligently subtracts the overbearing heaviness, but also makes the images all the more mesmerizing. Contender Gregg Segal achieves that with his series, State of the Union.

Segal's portrait series was photographed using dedicated Civil War re-enactors on the actual battle sites that he traced and identified. The highly saturated images really bring out the contrast, and often times a bit of irony between the past and the present, reminding us that if the land doesn't have a memory or identity, we do.

Untitled, from the series State of the Union, by Gregg Segal

In his statement for the series, Segal writes:

The Civil War still reverberates in the South, its myths potent as ever. Yet much of Civil War history, specifically its battle sites, has been compromised by sprawl—overrun by freeway expansion, housing developments, shopping malls and all the other hastily erected constructs of consumer culture. State of the Union is a juxtaposition of two contrastive eras: an idealized Civil War embodied by period re-enactors vs. the commercialism of contemporary life. The portraits in this series were taken on the actual sites of specific battles in Virginia, Pennsylvania, Kentucky, Georgia and Tennessee. State of the Union is meant to evoke reflection on our past and how we arrived here.

Untitled, from the series State of the Union, by Gregg Segal

Gregg Segal studied photography and film at California Institute of the Arts. After detouring through film and obtaining an MFA from New York University in dramatic writing, he returned to photography in 1994. His work has been featured in a wide range of publications. Be sure to check out this piece with a behind-the-scene video on State of the Union by TIME.

Untitled, from the series State of the Union, by Gregg Segal

Untitled, from the series The Hill, by Dave Wyatt

You know how when you were a kid, the world just seemed a whole lot bigger? A backyard wasn't just a yard—it was the secret garden with a hidden entrance to Narnia only you knew about. An abandoned building wasn't merely that—it was a maze with a mysterious past, where you could spend hours exploring with your friends. And if you were lucky to have a whole countryside as the backdrop for your childhood, the possibilities were endless.

Contender Dave Wyatt's series, The Hill, comes from the rolling hills of the Mendips in Southwest England, where Wyatt calls home. Aside from its natural beauty, bell pits dating back to pre-Roman Britain and 19th-century mineshafts and quarries also quietly abound in the area. It was a space that "fueled our young imaginations and became a place to learn about ourselves as much as about the landscape," says Wyatt, who adds that till this day the area continues to influence his work.

Untitled, from the series The Hill, by Dave Wyatt

With concerns regarding the environment and how we preserve it, Wyatt's work also goes deeper than the childhood dreamland. He writes:

With the return to power of the Conservative party as part of the current coalition government in the U.K., we have already seen the unsuccessful attempt to sell off the remaining public forests. Once again, what remains of rural Britain is facing the same threats as 30 years ago. The desire to monetize the environment and see it as a possession to own and treat as a financial asset, rather than as a legacy for which we have a duty of stewardship, is unfortunately not a new phenomenon. It is, however, a fatally flawed position and one for which future generations will pay dearly, as we [are] already beginning to see through the effects of climate change. This series of images is part of a wider body of work exploring how a small ecosystem attempts to redress the balance of nature when left unmanaged for a significant period of time. This space was part of a working quarry when I was a child and now, 30 years later, is a feral mix of thick woodland and stark stone landscapes.

Untitled, from the series The Hill, by Dave Wyatt

Dave Wyatt, a native of Bristol, England, is a documentary photographer focusing on the landscape and how it relates to the individual and society as a whole. He received a BA in documentary photography from University of Wales Newport, South Wales, and gained an MA in international photojournalism, documentary photography and travel photography from the University of Bolton, undertaken at Dalian Medical University in Dalian, China.

Great news, photographers! You already know about our grand prize: $10K, a solo show and two years of gallery representation. And you already know that each and every submission is reviewed for participation with 20x200, where Hey, Hot Shot! photographers have sold nearly $1 million worth of prints.

Just ahead of our looming deadline, today we're announcing a new prize, eligible to EVERYONE who submits an entry. Jen Bekman and her curatorial team will select five photographers from the Second Edition 2011 round of competition, and each will receive a $200 Blurb credit towards publishing his/her very own photography book. To give you an example of what $200 can get you from the self publishing giant, that's about six landscape-sized, full-color books at 40 pages each. Think of all the opportunities to have your work seen—and held, and revisited. But don't get too lost in thought; you only have FOUR days left to apply. All entries must be submitted by Monday, November 21st, at 11:59 p.m. ET. Enter now!

Blurb truly is an amazing company, putting the bookmaking tools directly in the hands of artists. And they've been a great partner to Hey, Hot Shot! in past rounds, offering $1,000 credits to winning Hot Shots. They've also got a competition of their own: Their annual Photography Book Now competition awards great prizes to the very best in self-published photo books. We were, of course, thrilled to learn three of the winning photographers from 2010's round were all Contenders. In fact, the 2010 PBN grand prize, $25,000, went to Contender Judith Stenneken. With some 30 Hey, Hot Shot! photographers having created their own photo books through Blurb, it was only fitting we created a bookstore for the talented shooters. Will your own photo book be listed among them?

If you'd like more information on publishing a photo book, be sure to check out Blurb, as well as Hey, Hot Shot! panelist Darius Himes' in-depth, insider-written and helpful Publish Your Photography Book, co-written with Mary Virginia Swanson.

Untitled, from the series Nowhere in Taiwan, 2011 by I-Hsuen Chen

One of the less talked about topics in photography is how the evolution of transportation has changed it. The popularization of the automobile and the development of road systems in the post-war era have undoubtedly helped shaped contemporary photography as we know it. The car and the road made everything in between the departure and the arrival a big part of the journey. Jack Kerouac's On the Road defined and captured the imagination of a whole generation, while Robert Frank's The Americans gave new meaning to both its subject and method.

The photo camera helped document humanity in landscapes in a way that was not possible not so long ago. The "in between" on a journey became the purpose of it, the very core and essence of traveling—and, to a greater extend, exploring and seeing—that it was no longer about the destination. This approach, which in theory can be traced back to Laozi, is ever so clear in Contender I-Hsuen Chen's series Nowhere in Taiwan.

Untitled, from the series Nowhere in Taiwan, 2011 by I-Hsuen Chen

Chen writes in his statement:

Nowhere in Taiwan is a personal journey tracing back to my home country: Taiwan. Influenced by American road trip photographers such as Joel Sternfield and Alec Soth, uncharacteristically, I tended to avoid capturing beautiful landscapes or busy cityscapes. I tried to find places ambiguously in between, which I would call them "nowhere." Those places may be halfway urbanized, or even abandoned, but humanly gestural traces still poetically exist. Searching for nowhere, I would like to unveil intimate scenarios in Taiwan.

Untitled, from the series Nowhere in Taiwan, 2011 by I-Hsuen Chen

Chen received a BA in advertising and public relations from Fu Jen Catholic University in his hometown, Taipei. He is currently an MFA photography student at Pratt Institute in New York.

Untitled, from the series Nowhere in Taiwan, 2011 by I-Hsuen Chen

Elizabeth and Ben, by Laura Stevens

Anyone who has been in a long-term relationship knows that every day is not a honeymoon in Barbados or a gondola ride in Venice. HHS! Contender Laura Stevens' series Us Alone depicts exactly those "other sides" of a relationship: the boredom, frustration and disillusionment that happen in a couple's most private moments.

Clare and Mark, by Laura Stevens

"I wanted to explore the disparity between each partner striving for personal freedom and identity, alongside the need to act as part of a whole in creating a shared and unified reality," Stevens says of the work, which she captured with a Canon 5D II. "I photographed real couples within their own homes performing in a collaborative attempt to render visible the twofold existence of a partner."

Alice and John, by Laura Stevens

The results are darkened, household settings with "sombre, theatrical lighting" that highlights the couple. They're moody, melancholy and, most of all, real.

Chiaki and Daniel, by Laura Stevens

British-born, Paris-based Laura Stevens received a master's degree in photography from the University of Brighton, England, in 2007. Her work has recently received an Honorable Mention in the Lens Culture Exposure Awards and won a Julia Margaret Cameron Award. This year she has exhibited in the Foto8 Summer Show, the Peaches and Cream exhibition in London and at The Greenlane Gallery in Paris. Clients include: The Times, the Saturday Telegraph, Reader's Digest, Together and Depaul International.

Untitled, from the series Particle Progress, 2011 by Teo Ormond-Skeaping

When we first wrote of Contender Teo Ormond-Skeaping, blogger Stacy Oborn commented that his then-submission, In the Fulcrum of Our Dreams, reflected "the sensibilities of one that likes to traffic in dreams, archetypes and the shadow-sides of reality."

Ormond-Skeaping's recent submission, Particle Progress, again visits similar sensibilities. The project was intended to be "represented in a 'zine' format containing 21 images... forming a fragmented narrative, [with] diptychs on facing pages preceded and succeeded by two full-bleed images, as well as diagrammatic text." The artist also plans similarly themed installation and video work.

Untitled, from the series Particle Progress, 2011 by Teo Ormond-Skeaping

Ormond-Skeaping says of his latest project:

The particle is responsible for the simplification of the explanation of existence and thought. [It] functions as a fundamental basis for all matter and processes, its finite answer only applicable as long as there is no further manifestation of inexplicable forces. This is equally true of teleology and the finality of existence; knowing that we may only perceive and predict the causality of what will exist between Creation and Infinity during a lifetime—assuming that "life" is defined as a period of conscious existence—we have no means to experience any actuality of finality.

Untitled, from the series Particle Progress, 2011 by Teo Ormond-Skeaping

Teo, a semi-finalist from HHS! 2010, lives and works in the U.K. He received a BA in photography at University College Falmouth, and he has been enrolled at SLADE school of Art in London for an MFA since 2010. His work includes photographic, video and installation-based pieces.

Untitled from the series The Infinitesimal Residual Vibration of an Unknown Sound, by Kaho Yu

The first thing you are likely to notice about Contender Kaho Yu's submission is its title, The Infinitesimal Residual Vibration of an Unknown Sound. It's one of those titles that makes you pause, re-read and then reflect for a moment. It touches a part of your brain that you didn't know existed, cracking the door to a whole new level of awareness, like that film with an equally verbose title did.

The meaning behind the title comes from the notion that air has memories. According to Yu, Charles Babbage, a 19th-century scientist widely considered to be the "father of the computer," opined that "every voice and sound, once imparted on the air particles, does not dissipate but remains in the diffused movements of all the particles in the atmosphere." Following this logic, one day there might come a sound seeker, who'll capture the infinitesimal vibrations and trace them back to their ultimate source. (Be sure to watch this beautiful animation from Yu about said sound seeker.)

Untitled from the series The Infinitesimal Residual Vibration of an Unknown Sound, by Kaho Yu

So how does this relate to photography? To Yu, "taking a long exposure, letting the light slowly accumulate an image on the celluloid surface, is not unlike a sound seeker searching the air particles for the tiny residual movements that have been conveyed through the history of mankind, from the beginning of time." Thus, Yu's a light capturer, if you will.

Untitled from the series The Infinitesimal Residual Vibration of an Unknown Sound, by Kaho Yu

Despite its lengthiness, the title itself and the story behind it both hint at something very minimal and sparse. Yu's minimalist approach removes much of the emotions and injects a heavy dose of silence into the landscapes and objects in his images. Perhaps that's what it takes to capture boredom:

The photographs in this series were taken during a period when I was feeling existentially bored. Instead of distracting myself with activities and accumulating new sensations, I decided to "look" at boredom, to study and perhaps to understand it. The most natural strategy was to observe the immediate environments where my daily activities take place—train stations, cubicles, copy machines room, etc. I carried a medium-format camera on a tripod and spent the odd hours wandering alone through those familiar spaces. My "study" did not lead me to any revelation or answer. Instead, I found myself spending a lot of time waiting in a long silence, between the opening and the closing of the camera shutter.

Untitled, by Kaho Yu

Yu received a BE in computer engineering from the University of New South Wales in 1993 and an MFA in computer art from the School of Visual Arts in New York in 2002. He splits his time between feature animated film productions and personal projects in photography and short films, several of which have been screened in international film festivals. Kaho Yu currently lives and works in Hong Kong.

Monolith, 2010 by Beau Comeaux

On Halloween, it's only appropriate to show a contender whose dark, moody photography has an almost graveyard quality. HHS! Contender Beau Comeaux brings the spooky with his night series of dilapidated architecture and natural decay. Small signs of new life—sprouting weeds or a background of greenery—sprinkle the otherwise cold, stone buildings. But instead of the typical browns and grays of old construction, Comeaux's images—shot with a Canon 7D—are colorful; shades of pink, turquoise and yellow saturate the solitary scenes.

Trench, 2009 by Beau Comeaux

"Each image is composed of multiple captures of sections of the scene before me, blended together seamlessly to subtly reconfigure the space depicted," Comeaux says of the work. "Being an extremely curious and explorative person, the night becomes my photographic playground; a quiet and solitary space in which to operate."

Exit, 2011 by Beau Comeaux

Comeaux was originally a graphic design major at Louisiana State University (from where he graduated in 2000), but would often skip class to spend time in the darkroom. He eventually got his MFA in photography from University of North Texas in 2006 and now shoots completely digitally. Based in Troy, NY, Comeaux's work has shown in various exhibitions in Texas, Colorado and Louisiana; he is a visiting professor at Sage College of Albany.

Dashiki, 2010 by Joann Biondi

Anyone who has ever owned or remotely dealt with a cat knows that the fickle animals like very few things: a filet o' fish, a scratch behind the ears, a string to swat and a room of one's own. Well, photographer and HHS! Contender Joann Biondi challenges these judgements with her portrait series of one special feline, Lorenzo.

Beach Bum Chic, 2008 by Joann Biondi

In Biondi's entry, Lorenzo is outfitted in various scenes: a Hawaiian shirt in Beach Bum Chic, a cozy, woolen poncho in Wisdom and a cut-off denim jacket in Classic Denim.

Classic Denim, 2009 by Joann Biondi

"Like Charles Darwin, I believe the difference between humans and animals is a matter of degree rather than kind, and that sometimes, that difference is indecipherable," says Biondi, who shot the series with a Sony DSLR. "My photography challenges preconceived notions of what a cat will or will not do, and delivers a new perspective on the cliché of cats being stubborn and aloof. It is the juxtaposition of human clothing on a cat's body that renders them startling, and at the same time, compelling."

Wisdom, 2011 by Joann Biondi

Biondi, a journalist, adopted Lorenzo in 2008, and after noticing he liked to wear clothes, started photographing him in different ensembles. Since then, her photos have been exhibited at the Cornell Museum of Art and American Culture in Delray Beach, FL; the Nave Gallery in Somerville, MA; and Aperture Studios in Miami, FL; The series has also been reviewed and featured in publications including the Miami Herald, Chicago Tribune, New York Daily News, Boston Globe and Seattle Times, plus ABC News, MSNBC, Huffington Post, YAHOO! News and the Times of India.

Untitled from the series Afronauts, by Cristina De Middel

Contender Cristina De Middel's series, Afronauts—comprising retro, sci-fi portraits and muted-color landscapes—recalls a different era, when space travel was new and every country wanted in on the action.

In 1964, Zambia had just gained independence from the United Kingdom. What better way to celebrate than to start a space program itself? (True story.) The (unofficial) Director-General of the Zambia National Academy of Space Research guaranteed the country could put the first Africans on the moon, and on a rapid timeline, to boot. Unfortunately, a financial aid request (to the tune of $700 million from the United Nations) er, fell short, and one of the astronauts, a 17-year-old girl, became pregnant and had to return to her village. The Zambian government distanced itself from the project, as his request and methods weren't taken seriously. In Afronauts, De Middel revisits this un-photographed course of events as she imagines it to have looked.

Untitled from the series Afronauts, by Cristina De Middel

"As a photojournalist I have always been attracted by the eccentric lines of storytelling, avoiding the same old subjects told in the same old ways," says Spanish-born De Middel, who is now a freelance photographer based in London. "Afronauts is based on the documentation of an impossible dream that only lives in the pictures. I start from a real fact that took place 50 years ago and rebuild the documents, adapting them to my personal imagery."

Untitled from the series Afronauts, by Cristina De Middel

De Middel's personal and professional work for newspapers and NGOs has been recognized by the National Photojournalism Prize Juan Cancelo (2009), Fnac Photographic Talent (2009) and the Humble Arts Women in Photography Project Grant (2011). She has an MA in fine arts from University of Valencia, Spain (2001), an MA in photography from University of Oklahoma (2000) and a postgraduate degree in photojournalism from Universitat Politécnica de Barcelona, Spain (2002).

Ablution, 2010 by Brendan George Ko

Dreams, imaginations and memories from long ago. What they have in common is that, while they are all so very visual in their presentation, we can't actually see them with our eyes. They are merely formless mental sensations, synapses firing in our brains. However, that's not to say we can't actually "see" them. In fact, sometimes we probably see them better than anything that's in front of our eyes. What we "see" without our eyes is consciousness in its rawest state, stripped of layers of distractions and no longer needing interpretations. Fear, joy, anger, hope and love—emotions are often not seen by eyes.

Sometimes, the lines become blurry—you see something so clearly and vividly, for so long, that you no longer know if it was once real, if you've actually seen it or if you just wished it were real. These eerily stunning photos constructed by Contender Brendan George Ko are just that—images you see when you close your eyes.

Barking Wall, 2011 by Brendan George Ko

Ko describes this ongoing project, The Barking Wall, in his own words:

I remember as a kid I used to cover my face with my hands, and peek at the world through my fingers. I could see the world, but the world couldn't see me. Nowadays, I find myself assimilating with the hybrid, a creature I share a betwixt nature with, for we are both between two worlds—having multiple origins—and demand our own realm, such as a Gothic castle, a tomb or limbo to serve as a haven. I seek to create a peace with a conflict of belonging. The Barking Wall serves as a vault; a collection of visual memories that cross-pollinate with lived experience and extended history (of past generations, oral tradition and cinema), and spawn new hybrid moments. Applied layer after layer, these confused memories let go of specific places and time and drift like phantoms, roaming free through the fields of imagination, meeting the visitor half-way, and letting one create their own narrative.

Aquarius, 2011 by Brendan George Ko

From living amongst "the yuccas and coyotes of New Mexico" to surfing with "the craziest sons of guns" he has ever met in Texas, Toronto-based Brendan George Ko has spent half of his life moving throughout America, taking endless road trips and meeting countless people along the way. He received his BFA in photography from The Ontario College of Art and Design, and he is currently represented by Angell Gallery.

Untitled from the series In the woods, 2011 by Ansel Olson

In Contender Ansel Olson's world, an antique rabbit statuette playing steel drums is more than just a trinket in the back of an estate sale. Olson has carefully curated the type of relics most often found in your grandfather's tool shed and given them weight in sunny spots of the Virginia woods. Shot in medium format with a Mamiya C330 TLR, a timeworn wooden rocking chair or 19th-century magnifying glass has new meaning on a bed of dirt and needles.

Untitled from the series In the woods, 2011 by Ansel Olson

For Olson, a Richmond, Virginia-based photographer and designer, the idea of the woods is somewhat sacred. He explains:

Around the age of four, I lost a toy squirrel in the woods near our home. I searched for it day after day for what seemed like weeks before I finally gave up. I will never know what happened to it—maybe I never found my way back to the exact spot, or maybe a dog picked it up, or maybe something more magical happened. This is a project about man and nature, wonder and nostalgia. It is a series about objects [that] have lost their way in the forest.

Untitled from the series In the woods, 2011 by Ansel Olson

Olson melds his architectural design experience with photography that focuses on found objects and fine art. He earned an MFA in Visual Communication Design in 1999 after obtaining a BFA in Interior Design, in 1996, from Virginia Commonwealth University.

"As a designer I am interested in the way we use things like watches, cars, purses and power saws for far more [than] their functional purpose," he says. "We use them to signify things about our discernment and station in life...to validate our personal narrative and distinguish ourselves from others. We give them a sense of power and wonder and urgency that they simply cannot possess on their own."

Untitled from the series In the woods, 2011 by Ansel Olson

Contender Andrew Zimmermann brings hyper-detailed intrigue, a slightly eerie sensibility and a still beauty to American suburbia, exploring and capturing the suburban landscape (within one mile of his own home in Virginia) for his submission to the competition. Otherwise overlooked yards and vantage points become settings for Zimmermann's mysteriously beautiful narrative. Titled Common Place—which alludes to both a banal, everyday environment and the shared attributes of neighborhood homes—each photograph highlights a balance between nature and the manmade, and forces the viewer to re-engage with and re-think the suburbia-as-subject we've come to know. The photographs were created with a 1970s Calumet C1 8x10 and are gelatin silver prints, which the photographer then manually adjusts in his darkroom. For more on his process, click here.

Common Place #1, 2011 by Andrew Zimmermann

Of the series, Zimmermann explains:

I grew up in suburban Arlington, Virginia. When I was young, the place seemed so familiar to me as to be practically invisible. Only later, when my pursuit of photography introduced me to the visible world, did I begin to notice the beauty and strangeness of the suburban landscape. Common Place explores this sense of strangeness within a strictly limited area—the entire series was photographed within one mile of my home in Arlington. I work with a large-format, 8x10 camera and then contact print the negatives in order to capture the supposedly ordinary spaces that surround us with the greatest attention and care. I hope to address something I see as a negative force in the world today: a feeling of aesthetic disinterest in one's own environment, which seems endemic within the American suburbs. Many artists and intellectuals see the suburbs as debased, a sort of flawed hybrid between the "industry and culture" of the city and the "purity" of the countryside. For me, though, it's that feeling of hybridization, of disparate natural and human elements combined together, that fascinates me. The poet William Carlos Williams wrote that "It is difficult/ to get the news from poems/ yet men die miserably every day/ for lack/ of what is found there." I view photography as having a similar potential—the potential to disassemble our dejection and show the beauty and mystery that permeate the commonest things and the commonest places.

Common Place #5, 2011 by Andrew Zimmermann

Born in Washington, D.C., Andrew Zimmermann became interested in photography after moving to Arizona in 1998, where he made the acquaintance of various artists connected with the photographer Frederick Sommer. Exposure to Sommer's photographs and to the works of his contemporaries and predecessors played a major role in developing his understanding of photography and of visual art in general. Zimmermann then earned a degree from Bennington College in 2002, having continued his work in photography. For the last several years, his work has focused on exploring elements of landscape that go unnoticed, either because they are surrounded by more traditionally picturesque scenery, or are simply considered too banal to be worthy of attention. Zimmermann frequently exhibits his work in the D.C. area and sporadically throughout the United States.

Common Place #4, 2011 by Andrew Zimmermann

Now that the First Edition 2011 Hot Shots have been announced, and we've opened the Second Edition 2011 round of competition, we're looking forward to the new crop of Contenders that we'll be writing about. But in honor of the 70+ Contenders we featured last round, here's a look back at some of the highlights from the First Edition 2011 Contenders. Which one was your favorite?

Hole, 2009 by Walker Pickering

Untitled, 2011 by Lydia Anne McCarthy

Day 47, 2009 by Jennifer Wilkey

Response to Print of Egret Rookery, Louisiana, 2010 by Laura Plageman

Untitled. Khovsgol, Mongolia. 2010 by Andres Gonzalez

Defender #2, 2010 by Sean M. Eno

I am more than my face:), 2010 by Mitsuko Nagone

the other landscape 02, 2010 by Laura Garcia Serventi

HOVERING GROCERY SHOPPING ASSISTANT WITH LEATHER HAND LEAD, 2009
by Patrick Strattner

Julie, by Kristin Skees

Ruin, 2011 by Tamas Dezso

Hardy Dam, Newaygo, MI, United States (1998-2011) by Jay Van Dam

Untitled , 2010 by Thomas Forbes

Untitled 4, from the series A Thousand Little Suns, 2011 by Martina Lindqvist

Meeting on The Shore, 2011 by Barbara Parmet

Stick Figure, 2011 from the series Kallima by Alex Kisilevich

Cara, 2011 by Shelley Calton

Plastic Totem, 2010 by David Welch

In Transit #25, by Diego Kuffer

Accidental Rothko v2.0, 2010 by Chip Litherland

Laundromat, 2010 by Christopher Ernst

Brazil/Vaqueiros. The Vaqueiros wear the handmade leather uniform of protecting clothing necessary to their work of roping cows, amidst lethal thorns throughout the bush caatinga, 2010 by Luis Fabini

Dust_1 Gallery, 2010 by Ujin Lee

Untitled from the series Fight Journal, 2009 by Adam Smith

South Minneapolis, MN, 2007 by Tom Wik

Stepfather, 2011 by Cyrus Karimipour

Wave #3, 2011 by Ryan Rickett

Padre Danzinger, 2011 by Erin Riley

2008.10.13-114, 2008 by Anton Young

Abbatoir #1, 2011 by Moya McAllister

Table, 2010 by Patrick Hogan

Untitled from the series Crashes, by Diego Levy

Catching Fire I, 2011 by Maria Theresa Moerman Ib

Funeral home interior with matching yellow sofas and patterned wallpaper; Montpelier, Vermont, 2010 by Corey Hendrickson

Is there a true memory? Childhood homes are often remembered as having been larger, more expansive. Certain sounds and smells can trigger emotionally-laden memories unique to the individual. And, as is usually the case, seminal events are often remembered distinctly and differently by each of the experiencers present.

In Contender Kristina Williamson's submission, the artist explores memory and the digital age, weaving a photographic journey that calls to mind both memory as a recollection and—through her use of pixelation—memory as a computational means of storing sequences of information or data.

Crystal Gait, 2011 by Kristina Williamson

Of the work, she says, "...The more you recall something, the more you forget it. Each time we revel in something from our past, it mixes with the present experience and becomes less of what it was and more of a mash-up with what currently is. My work addresses memory and the act of recalling."

Conjure, 2011 by Kristina Williamson

Survivor's Guilt, 2011 by Kristina Williamson

Williamson goes to explain:

[The work] explores the relationship between painting and photography, marrying the reproductive elements of photography with the physical act of drawing and mark making. This series of prints was created through a process of transferring layers of printer ink onto paper by hand. Each layer becomes a fragment mimicking a flash of memory. For me, it is a return to the physical process of photography that existed in the traditional B+W darkroom. Small sections of the image are laid down at a time as the digital photograph slowly begins to reveal itself on paper, like a print in a developing bath. At the same time, the fragmentation of the layering process nods to ideas of compression and pixelation of digital imagery. The rectilinear segments that make up these transfers reference the pixel as a unit and the building blocks of our memories. Today, our experiences are pixelated both literally through digitalization as well as figuratively through the process of remembering and forgetting. Almost nothing happens without being digitized in our camera phones and posted on Facebook. This act in itself is an anticipatory tool for recalling our memories in the future.

Chasm, 2011 by Kristina Williamson

Every move feels like a move, 2011 by Kristina Williamson

Kristina Williamson (b. 1980) was born and raised in Pen Argyl, PA. In 2003, Williamson graduated from Parson School of Design with a BFA in photography and, in 2004, was awarded a J. William Fulbright grant to pursue a project photographing life on the island of Kythera, Greece. She spent over a year and a half living and photographing on the remote island. Her work has been presented in solo exhibitions in Greece, New York and Washington D.C., as well as in various group exhibitions in the U.S. and abroad. Williamson currently lives in Brooklyn, NY, where she works as a freelance photographer and regularly posts her new creations on her blog.

Funeral homes bear the burden of being at once comforting (if only temporarily) and austere, a balance necessary to convey a sense of being able to mourn the deceased in a home-like environment. As a place of last respects and deep grief, the funeral home becomes an unwanted but ultimately unavoidable experience. In Contender Corey Hendrickson's submission, the photographer used his 35mm Canon EOS 1Ds Mark III to capture the thought-out, reverent and functional staging of funeral homes across Vermont.

Funeral home interior with matching yellow sofas and patterned wallpaper; Montpelier, Vermont, 2010 by Corey Hendrickson

Funeral home interior with silk flowers, life savers and princess phone; Rutland, Vermont, 2011 by Corey Hendrickson

Hendrickson succinctly explains:

Funeral homes are created as [a] sanctuary for grief and loss. I approached these somber environments as an archaeologist, carefully documenting the wallpaper, drawn curtains, antique couches and air fresheners. I am intrigued by the aesthetics of comfort and found beauty in the careful arrangement of everyday objects.

Casket showroom with men's suit, shirt and tie; Chelsea, Vermont, 2011 by Corey Hendrickson

Funeral home interior with Kleenex; Chelsea, Vermont, 2011 by Corey Hendrickson

Born in 1975 in Cambridge, MA, Corey Hendrickson worked for the U.S. Forest Service in Colorado and Alaska before moving to Jackson, Wyoming, and starting a career as a photographer. Corey then received his MFA in photography from the Academy of Art University in 2009. Corey is a 2011 Photolucida Critical Mass finalist for this same body of work, and one of the prints is now in the permanent collection at the Center for Fine Art Photography in Colorado. Corey photographs environmental portraits, architecture, food and travel. He currently lives in central Vermont with his dog, Jake, and works throughout New England.

Untitled, by Corey Hendrickson

Funeral home interior with organ, podium and Rembrandt; Rutland, Vermont, 2011 by Corey Hendrickson

Catching Fire I, 2011 by Maria Theresa Moerman Ib

In her submission, Contender Maria Theresa Moerman Ib captured the remnants of a fire in her pictures of soot-laden cobwebs. Looking similar to peeling skin, unraveling fabric or disintegrating leaves, the photos serve as a testament to the frailty, yet resilience, of ephemeral structures.

Catching Fire II, 2011 by Maria Theresa Moerman Ib

In her statement, the photographer explains:

My work explores borderlands: between the familiar and the unknown; between the poetic and the grotesque; things that are hidden; things we don't notice, or don't want to notice. My aim is always to recreate a mood or memory that urges us to rediscover the world and ourselves one fragment at a time. A recent fire in the basement of my building inspired me to document and subsequently recreate the atmosphere left after the blaze had been put out. Fire is ephemeral, so it is difficult to capture its essence. In nature, fire is both destructive and life-giving. It destroys the old and encourages new life to take form. The black cobwebs thick with soot, collected in situ, serve as a forensic investigation of unseen things lost and gained. Webs are often associated with fear of spiders, dark corners and time passing, but for the spider they are a temporary dwelling place and a means of survival. This time they have caught an element of fire, allowing a memory that is as fragile as themselves to survive.

Catching Fire III, 2011 by Maria Theresa Moerman Ib

Catching Fire IV, 2011 by Maria Theresa Moerman Ib

Born in The Netherlands, photographer Maria Theresa Moerman Ib currently lives and works in Glasgow, U.K. She is currently working towards obtaining a BA (Hons) in fine art photography from the Glasgow School of Art, and has had her work in exhibitions in Europe and the U.S. To view more of her work, visit her site.

Catching Fire V, 2011 by Maria Theresa Moerman Ib

four corners, 2010 by Jennifer Mason

Two-time Contender Jennifer Mason explores uneasiness in her work, whether in the psychological tension of suburban existence, the near-wilting flowers in her still-lifes or in the empty, digitally altered domestic interiors that she submitted for this round of the competition.

In this series, the photographer "strives to put forth new ways of looking at the four walls that make up a structure... in turn disrupting the normal 'homely' sense associated with suburban homes."

Pink room, 2010 by Jennifer Mason

swinging doors 1, 2011 by Jennifer Mason

Mason explains:

The images I digitally create have one of two objectives: I am either trying to create spaces that help evoke feelings of unease, discomfort and anxiety to create a physical space that closer matches my internal experience of reality, or I want to propose and digitally construct new spaces that provide a hiding place, with an eerily, sleepy banality in which one could just disappear.

swinging doors 2, 2010 by Jennifer Mason

Jennifer Mason is an Auckland-born artist working in the medium of photography. She has studied photography in New York (2004); gained a BFA / BA from Elam School of Fine Arts, University of Auckland (2005); and has won numerous art awards for her work, which also features in prominent New Zealand collections.

swinging doors 3, 2010 by Jennifer Mason

Between 7,000 and 8,000 people die each year in Argentina due to traffic accidents, a number that is significantly larger than most other countries in the Americas. The country's notoriously lax laws (and lack thereof) regarding traffic violations—including driving under the influence, speeding, wearing seat belts, etc.—result in an estimated $10 billion in losses each year. Argentina-based Contender Diego Levy, armed with a Hasselblad, took to the streets of Buenos Aires to document various car wrecks.

Untitled from the series Crashes, by Diego Levy

Untitled from the series Crashes, by Diego Levy

Diego explains:

In Argentina, the number of traffic-related deaths is 3 times higher than most countries of Europe and the United States, which have obligatory road safety education at school, high fines for traffic offenders and rigorous exams to obtain a driver's license. The levels of traffic-related deaths in Argentina remain sky-high. Traffic-related accidents are responsible for 35.2% of all deaths, making the traffic-related death rate in Argentina one of the highest in the world. These accidents cause 21 deaths per day (more than 7,000 per year), more than 120,000 injuries per year, and enormous financial losses (estimated at $10 billion dollars per year), according to data from the Argentine NGO Luchemos por la vida. As a photographer, I am interested in working within urban landscapes, and car crashes have been part of this landscape for some time. Like many people, I find myself strangely drawn to the visuals of car accidents. With this in mind, some time ago I decided to photograph car accidents in the city of Buenos Aires. My intention is neither sensationalist nor morbid: I simply want to use these images to portray the violence and intensity of the accidents caused by negligence, lack of education and the lack of respect for one's own life and others. We Argentines take to the streets and highways with an almost suicidal attitude that is undoubtedly one of the most serious problems of recent years. This work aims to explore an issue that is common to many cities around the world. The project will present the harsh reality of the statistics on traffic accidents. These destroyed vehicles, abandoned like metallic sculptures in an inalterable city, are an urban metaphor for the widespread violence in which we are all immersed. The finiteness of life is exposed amidst twisted metal. And on a more personal level, working on my own fears may, in some way, help to exorcise them.

Untitled from the series Crashes, by Diego Levy

Untitled from the series Crashes, by Diego Levy

Diego Levy was born in Buenos Aires in 1973. Since 1991, he has been working as a professional photographer. In 2001, he received the first prize in the New Journalism Contest granted by the Foundation for the New Iberian-American Journalism presided by Gabriel García Márquez. In 2003, the organization FiftyCrows, based in San Francisco, California, selected Levy as a finalist in their annual International Fund for Documentary Photography. In 2005 and 2007 he received grants from the Buenos Aires Cultural Funds. In 2008, he was awarded the Grand Prix of National Chamber of Visual Arts of Argentina. In 2009, his project Crashes received the first prize in the Book Author Fair in the Fotoseptiembre festival 09, Mexico. He is the author of the books Sangre, published in 2006, and Choques, published in 2010. Since 2006, he has been represented by the VU Agency in France. He lives and works in Buenos Aires.

Untitled from the series Crashes, by Diego Levy

Untitled from the series Crashes, by Diego Levy

Prayers, 2010 by Patrick Hogan

One must avoid chance and outside stimuli as much as possible; a kind of walling oneself in belongs among the foremost instinctive precautions of spiritual pregnancy.—Friedrich Nietzsche

It will never be my view that solitude is disturbed by the presence of a friend, but that it is enriched. If I had the choice of doing without one or the other, I should prefer to be deprived of solitude rather than of my friend.—Francesco Petrarch

For his series Solitary, Half Mad, Contender Patrick Hogan created a photographic short story based around his experience of living in isolation, with a very low budget, in the rural countryside of Tipperary, Ireland. Exploring his surroundings, Hogan encountered abandoned homes in the woods and, using his Nikon DSLR and Bronica medium-format film camera, documented the environs largely as he found them. The resulting series borders fiction and reality, and presents a psychological story of poverty and reclusiveness often at odds with the literary and romanticized ideals regarding solitude.

Mustard, 2010 by Patrick Hogan

Hogan explains:

I was interested in people who lived alone. For six months, I took pictures around the area. I photographed the forest at night and I photographed rooms where people lived or died on their own. I became interested in the capacity we have as people for isolation, and how romantic ideals of solitude and escapism are usually more fantastical than reality will present. These images are about living alone and the relationship between reality and fantasy.

Animal In The Dark, 2010 by Patrick Hogan

Behind The Garden Wall, 2010 by Patrick Hogan

Patrick Hogan is an Irish photographic artist currently living and working in southeast Ireland. He won the Gallery Of Photography Artist Award 2011 for his series Solitary, Half Mad. In 2009, he completed two international artist in residence programs in Iceland. Prior to this, he worked as a commercial photographer with a leading Irish agency. He will be exhibiting nationally and internationally throughout 2011.

Spent, 2010 by Patrick Hogan

Table, 2010 by Patrick Hogan

Motel Bien Venido, 2010 by Walker Pickering

Congratulations to Walker Pickering, who is the second Contender from the First Edition 2011 round of competition to release a print with 20x200! Walker's Motel Bien Venido is available for purchase as a limited-edition print and starts at just $20 for an 8"x10".

Of special note is that Walker's submission was also the first Contender post of the season that we featured. Earlier this year, I wrote about the photographer:

Contender Walker Pickering's series Nearly West depicts the still, solitary moments that wanderlusters and Kerouacians long for, the instances of communion between the nomad and that which is encountered. Each setting hints at a narrative describing the deeply personal nature of experiencing a new point on a map, whether planned or not. The muted palette therein reflects the worn and weathered atmosphere endemic to the towns most travelers opt to overlook. These seemingly mundane destinations the Texas-based photographer comes upon are interspersed with beautiful, serene discoveries.

Keep an eye on your inbox and the blog in the coming days, as we will be making BIG announcements regarding the First Edition 2011 Hot Shots, as well as the Second Edition 2011 round of the competition. And sign up for the 20x200 newsletter to see which other Contenders release a limited-edition print!

Untitled, 2011 by Philip Welding

With an estimated 100,000 hours spent at work in one's lifetime, the office is an undeniable part of a person's everyday. In Contender Philip Welding's submission, the photographer examines it at night. Devoid of human figures and interaction, the remnants left behind—personal belongings left by staff; institutional mainstays dictated by management—present the office under a different light.

Untitled, 2011 by Philip Welding

In his artist statement, Welding explains:

The office workplace is a very controlled and restricted interior space. It exists for a function; to help drive forward a collective institutional goal. With the introduction of workers to the space, there is a blurring of boundaries between the workplace and the domestic, as remnants of the outside world are brought in. This domestication of space is one of many tactics employed to survive everyday life; the small resistances, (in)voluntary sculptures, time-wasting, social interaction, community. It is the by-products of these 'quiet' tussles between worker, employer, built environment and technology that become center stage of the work. These observations show physical evidence of the interactions, lives, loves, humor and character of working communities, in the context of a changing work environment where the virtual has quickly become the dominant platform of communication, eclipsing the tangibility of the real world. Where management has cared for the environment using plants, mass-produced prints or positive slogans, you get a sense of homogeneity; that this could be part of any office scene. There is an artifice to their placement, a 'tactic' to influence behavior. Nocturnal prowling in these environments can be thrilling; a sense of intrusion, where familiar scenes seem transformed. Is this how it would appear to an outsider, an alien?

Untitled, 2011 by Philip Welding

Untitled, 2011 by Philip Welding

Philip Welding is a U.K.-based photographer and educator working in Leeds. His photographic style borrows freely from both documentary and advertising photography. He is currently pursuing a postgraduate degree from Leeds Metropolitan University.

Untitled, 2011 by Philip Welding

14.10.2010 Bornstaße, 2010 by Ralph Schulz

The items that make a house a home—furniture, artwork, appliances, etc.—are frequently replaceable by newer, updated models or versions. Once replaced, these items that once provided comfort are discarded, likely left in piles on the street for garbage collection day. Contender Ralph Schulz found in such piles the remnants of interiors, and he hauled the thrown-out objects into his studio, where he created atmospheric sets from the materials.

30.11.2010 Bornstraße, Essen, 2010 by Ralph Schulz

Schulz explains:

In many German cities, bulk trash, such as old sofas, shelves or broken electronics, can be placed in the street to be picked up by the public garbage collection. Most often, one garbage pile contains only objects from one single household. Larger objects are often destroyed or taken apart, whereas small items are often aggregated in boxes or plastic bags. In their original place, the scrapped objects were able to fill an apartment and formed a specific private space and atmosphere. In contrast, heaped up objects in the street only occupy some meters of sidewalk. Space is compressed. For my [series] Reconstruction of unknown Interiors, I carried every single item of one garbage pile to my studio, where the items are stored. Items from one pile are not mixed up with items from other garbage piles. In a time consuming process, I try to reconstruct the destroyed interior represented by one garbage pile. Not knowing the original interior, this reconstruction remains an approximation to something that has vanished already.

24.09.2010 Steeler Straße, Essen, 2010 by Ralph Schulz

02.11.2010 Bornstraße, 2010 by Ralph Schulz

Ralph Schulz studied photography under Jörg Sasse at the Folkwang University of the Arts before attending the Central Academy of Fine Arts in Beijng, China. He returned to Germany and attained his master's from Folkwang with the series Reconstruction of unknown Interiors, which he continues to work on.

24.09.2010 Steeler Straße II, 2010 by Ralph Schulz

10.12.2010 Bornstraße, Essen, 2011 by Ralph Schulz

One of the Six Thousand, 2011 by Moya McAllister

Plenty of films and books have covered the questionable, if not downright deplorable, practices of the mass production of food. High on that totem pole are the pieces written about the livestock industry in America. In Contender Moya McAllister's series, reverse famine, the photographer documents the process in rural Ireland.

Abbatoir #1, 2011 by Moya McAllister

In her artist statement, McAllister explains:

This body of work, reverse famine, was created during an assignment for a farm-to-table cookbook, The Irish Butcher. During my four-week stay in the rural West Counties of Ireland, I lived on a dairy farm with a converted photo studio while visiting different kinds of farms around the area... My admiration for the Farm Security Administration's documentary photographers, especially the work of Dorothea Lange, influenced me greatly during the creation of these images, though my focus was more animal than human.

Queen for a Day, 2011 by Moya McAllister

Abbatoir #2, 2011 by Moya McAllister

She adds:

A city girl at heart, through this project I grew sensitive to the issues of abuse or mistreatment that surround farm animals in the United States; I believe all animals, especially those we are going to consume, deserve our respect and care. In Ireland, I saw firsthand a long held tradition of love intertwined with commerce. While images of meat can evoke death to many, to me they have become a primitive symbol of sustenance and the essence of life... My attention during shooting was naturally turned toward animals as living creatures of warmth and beauty; human beings often attribute human characteristics to animals in order to create an emotional tie. We don't like to be reminded that we eat animals but the reality is they are food, and there can be beauty in that alone.

Richard's Pig, 2011 by Moya McAllister

Moya McAllister's career has spanned multiple media outlets, most notably Time Inc., Harry N. Abrams, Roger Black Studios, Newsweek, Scholastic and Hemispheres. Her involvement in the photography industry includes serving as a panelist, judge and photo reviewer for a variety of reviews and events, most recently at PhotoPlus Expo/PSPF 2010. Moya is also co-founder and administrator of PictureEditors.Org with Rob Haggart of APhotoFolio and APhotoEditor. After more than 15 years as a photo editor, director and producer, McAllister is once again concentrating on full-time photography, shooting food, portrait and travel commissions.

2008.10.13-114, 2008 by Anton Young

The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines taxidermy as the art of preparing, stuffing and mounting the skins of animals and especially vertebrates, though the fact that "art" is included in its definition seems debatable to some groups.

In the First Edition 2011 round of the competition, we received quite a few submissions that, in one way or another, were related to the matter. In his series Menagerie, Contender Anton Young literally takes a close look at the deceased animals.

2008.08.28-075, 2008 by Anton Young

In his statement, Young writes:

This group is from the series Menagerie, which is a series of pictures of taxidermy. I'm a vegetarian and have been told (repeatedly) it's a strange subject to be obsessed with. I find taxidermy simultaneously beautiful, fascinating and a bit horrifying.

2008.07.03-447, 2008 by Anton Young

Young also submitted another, disparate body of work to us, titled Guest:

This group is from Guest, which is a series of pictures of places where I've spent the night. The series covers friends' houses, vacation rentals, hotel rooms, etc. Photographing the spaces is a little ritual; it's sort of a way of marking my territory before sleeping in a new place.

218-1869, by Anton Young

235-3562, by Anton Young

Anton Young grew up in Nashville, TN, but has been calling NYC home for over 20 years. He received his BFA in fine art photography from the School of Visual Arts in 1992, and is now a professional photo retoucher.

290-9002, by Anton Young

The Treasure Hunter, 2010 by Jenny Riffle

The idea of finding buried gold and silver has long been romanticized in literature and film, from Huckleberry Finn's run-ins with danger to Indiana Jones' daring savvy. The allure of finding something of great value seems to be as much about being connected to the past as it is about a larger quest—for riches, for status, for comfort, for security, for fame, for recognition, for love. For the past few years, Contender Jenny Riffle has been following her subject, Riley, on his treasure hunts. Armed with a steadfast resolve and a metal detector, her subject proves that one man's trash is indeed another man's treasure.

The Map, 2011 by Jenny Riffle

In her artist statement, Riffle writes:

Riley grew up in rural eastern Washington. As a child, he read Mark Twain's stories of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn and decided he wanted to be like those mythical boys. He wanted a life full of treasure and adventure. Riley started smoking a corncob pipe, wearing a straw hat and even [attending] school barefoot until he was told not to. He got his first metal detector when he was 11, and to this day he continues to seek treasure in the dirt, in sandy beaches or even looking through a handful of change for wheat pennies and real silver. In my project, Scavenger: Adventures in Treasure Hunting, I have been following Riley out on his hunts and photographing the objects he collects. I explore the line between documentary and fantasy as I look at the objects he finds, what drives him to continue and the mythology and history of the treasure hunting persona.

Tom Sawyer's Gang, 2011 by Jenny Riffle

Riffle adds:

In Scavenger, I don't try to reveal Riley's essence as a traditional portrait would, but build upon it to create a more complicated presence. I express my romantic view of his life and his treasure hunting obsession and choose not to show his daily activities outside of that. By only showing one side of his personality I create a larger than life character. I photograph him in Twain's spirit, as a mythical adventurer, like Huck Finn... Davy Crockett or Peter Pan.

Cowboys and Indians, 2011 by Jenny Riffle

Jenny Riffle received her BA in photography from Bard College in 2001 and her MFA at the School of Visual Arts in 2011. In the last 10 years, she has travelled between New York City and Seattle, photographing and exhibiting her work nationally. She was selected for inclusion in The Collector's Guide to Emerging Art Photography, was published by the Humble Arts Foundation in 2009 and has been featured in the Photo Center Northwest's annual photo book for 2007 through 2009 and numerous publications, including The Stranger and Visionaire.

Humpty Dumpty, 2010 by Jenny Riffle

Chairs, 2010, from the series Jesusita Summerland by Ali Richards

On May 5, 2009, a wildfire broke out in the hills of Santa Barbara, California. Dubbed the Jesusita Fire, it burned nearly 9,000 acres and destroyed 88 homes, causing some $20 million in property damages. Armed with a Wista 4x5 (and a recent Fellowship), Contender Ali Richards documented "the immediate aftermath and the continuing changes to the landscape," focusing on the frequently tenuous relationship between man and nature. On her website, Richards explains, "The fire destroyed the homes of some of America's wealthiest citizens; indifferent to class, the devastation triggered unexpected results. This scorched landscape provides little evidence of the good life of this once gated community..."

Stairs, 2010, from the series Jesusita Summerland by Ali Richards

Of her craft and focus, Richards writes:

My practice is primarily concerned with exploring anthropological shifts and topographical changes within the boundaries of modern life. Of particular interest are social and physical landscapes and the borders within them that are in flux. Often these borders are exposed through some form of [violence] that demonstrates the struggle between two elements. The Environment and Man's place within it is a reccurring theme within my work. I tend to make work with a participatory/performative approach, infiltrating "outsider" groups enough to be granted a privileged perspective. This process has enabled me to execute bodies of work that transcend the obvious voyeuristic possibilities, to explore personal spaces and landscapes, with attention being given to seeking sublime scenes with romantic Gothic colours and textures.

Silverware, 2010, from the series Jesusita Summerland by Ali Richards

Ali Richards has been granted several international and domestic residences and fellowships, many of which have been situated in isolated or vulnerable communities and landscapes. Richards' work has been recognized with several international prizes, including the Emerging Photographer Award from the Magenta Foundation.

No. 295, 2010, from the series Jesusita Summerland by Ali Richards

Shopping Totem, by David Welch

Congratulations to photographer David Welch, who is the first Contender from the First Edition 2011 round of competition to be selected to participate in 20x200.com. A limited-edition print of his photograph, Shopping Totem, is now available.

We first wrote about David back in June, and his series was subsequently picked up around the blogs. Of his series Material World, which includes Shopping Totem, Welch writes:

Material World is my response to our contemporary consumer milieu. By treating artifacts of consumer culture as Duchampian-inspired Assisted Readymades, I photograph assemblages, created by my own hand, that form monuments, or totems, serving as precarious externalizations of culture and social biography... The photographs speak of accumulation and materiality and aim to encourage debate about consumption and the ways in which we feel compelled to consume.

We will continue to release limited-edition prints from the First Edition 2011 round of competition. Be sure to sign up for the 20x200 newsletter to find out which entrants are selected, as well as to discover great art. 20x200 releases at least one drawing or work on paper and one photograph each week.

The panelist review of all the submissions will be happening next week! Sometime afterward, we will be announcing the First Edition 2011 Hot Shots. Will YOU be chosen? Be sure to check out the site and keep an eye on your inbox to find out when the five photographers are chosen.

Speaking of the panelists, Todd Hido recently joined photographer Jim Goldberg to chat about Larry Sultan for a PDN piece about heroes and mentors. You can read the full interview here.

Padre Danzinger, 2011 by Erin Riley

Photography has long been closely associated with wars and conflicts. From the late Robert Capa to Tim Hetherington, whom we recently lost, there is a whole breed of photographers who dedicate their lives to the manmade chaos that is war. Though not a war photographer, Contender Erin Riley's series Vocation focuses on the modern military, documenting the very human side of it.

Padre Demiray, 2011 by Erin Riley

In her statement, Riley writes:

My photographic roots lie in the documentary tradition. And in the last few years, I have become increasingly interested in how the portrait functions as a documentary device. Portraits are intriguing for what they tell us, for how they allow us to stare and to linger. But even more interesting is what they don't show us, and how they often raise more questions than they answer. Vocation is a series of portraits of chaplains in the Canadian Forces. I have asked the padres to allow me to photograph them engaging in the act of prayer. The posture of prayer, the pose—eyes closed, head bowed, hands clasped—is one of contemplation, of turning inward. Upon reflection, I have found many parallels between the act of prayer and the act/ritual of photographing—loading film, head bowed as I look through the viewfinder, looking, searching for light and moments, for answers. Hitting the shutter becomes an act of faith that the photo will materialize, resurrect itself in the developing process. My hope is that these photographs invite the viewer to contemplate, to reflect on the nature of war, on the role of faith and the rhetoric of religion.

Major Michelle Staples, 2011 by Erin Riley

Erin Riley is a photographer based in Toronto, where she has worked as an editorial photographer, with her work appearing in many national newspapers and magazines. In 2010, she completed her MFA in documentary media at Ryerson University. With her roots in the documentary tradition, it is the storytelling aspect of photography that is the driving force in her work. During the spring of 2009, she traveled to the High Arctic with the Canadian Forces as one of five civilian artists chosen to participate in the Canadian Forces Artists Program.

Bible, 2011 by Erin Riley

Untitled, 2011 by Zhenjie Dong (click on image to enlarge)

Ai Weiwei has been the center of attention in art circles (and beyond) in the past couple of months. The Chinese artist and activist was arrested (for no apparent reason at the time) in early Spring, sending shock waves throughout the world—largely because, for years, the Chinese government had left its world-renowned contemporary artists alone. A figure as central and influential as Ai, who was accused of tax evasion and was eventually released in June, was thought to be untouchable. The whole ordeal has now quieted down a bit, but the arrest reminded the world that, despite a booming contemporary art scene, the underlying problems in China are not to be ignored. Contender Zhenjie Dong's series reveals the tip of the iceberg through her carefully composed and constructed images.

Untitled, 2011 by Zhenjie Dong (click on image to enlarge)

In her statement, Dong explains:

China—known as a country with a long history and rich cultural heritages—is now facing lots of issues, including corruption, social injustice, wealth segregation, web censorship, etc. While the media is still [portraying] the happy life of Chinese people under the rule of the government, people ridicule the authority and reveal the reality they see through websites. This series of work intends to address the social issues that China is facing now, which are covered up by the Chinese government. I intend to seduce the viewers by beautiful images—applying traditional Chinese aesthetics—and then reveal the dark and corrupted side of the reality in China by the use of the QR code, which encodes website links and can be read by QR readers and camera phones. I photograph traditional Chinese flowers and plants, which refer to the pursuit of moral spirit in ancient China, and [juxtapose it] with the links that [reveal] corruptions, scholar plagiarism and a list of blocked websites. By doing this, I intend to point a finger at the existing issues that are filtered out by the government.

Untitled, 2011 by Zhenjie Dong (click on image to enlarge)

Dong is a Chinese artist and photographer who is exploring ways to express her social and political concerns through photography. A graduate from the Communication University of China with a BFA in English Language and Literature, she is currently pursuing her MFA in photography at Savannah College of Art and Design in the state of Georgia.

Note: If you are in New York City, be sure to check out Ai Weiwei's photography exhibition at the Asia Society, on view until August 14th.

Untitled, 2011 by Zhenjie Dong

Northern California, 2009 by Chris Bennett

To many photographers, the camera is nothing but a tool. It is simply the device that captures what the photographer wants. A lot of photographers would tell you it doesn't matter who makes the camera or how it looks, and yet, it is absolutely true that if you change your camera, you also change your photos. In Contender Chris Bennett's case, the role of his camera is deeply embedded in Between West and West, a series about landscapes and their associated personal memories.

New Mexico, 2002 by Chris Bennett

In his statement, Bennett explains:

In 2001, while living in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and working at the Santa Fe Photographic Workshops, I acquired an old Kodak No. 2 Brownie camera from a coworker that, to my surprise, accepted modern day 120 film. I began shooting with it almost exclusively and unknowingly started the project that is now Between West and West. Ten years later—lots of miles and now settled in Portland, Oregon—I have finally retired the old Brownie and, with it, this body of work. Growing up in Indiana, I was always fascinated by the history and images of the American West. Once able to venture out on my own, I slowly, over the years, made my way westward. These images document that journey, as many of these places I temporarily called home, and they became part of who I am today. They are now engrained in my past and memory, and the only physical visual evidence left of them is through my photographs. Each image is a poem created for the place it represents, ghosts of American mythology and geography. I remember them dark, mysterious, isolated and seemingly lost in time. They are my private internal response to my external experience, moving across lonely, unpopulated American landscapes, which reverberate melancholy.

Painted Hills, Oregon, 2009 by Chris Bennett

Chris Bennett is a photographer, filmmaker, curator and photo educator living in Portland, Oregon. He graduated with a BFA in photography and minor in art history from Indiana University in 1999. Bennett has worked at major photography organizations such as the George Eastman House, the Santa Fe Photographic Workshops and photo-eye bookstore and Gallery. He has shown his work primarily in the Northwest region, and is the founder and Executive Director of Newspace Center for Photography.

Clackamas River, Oregon, 2010 by Chris Bennett

41st, 2011 by Yojiro Imasaka

One of the words used a lot to describe photography is "texture." Literally speaking, the level of real texture a photograph can offer is quite limited to the type of paper and the finish of the print. And if you are viewing photos on a computer, the only texture you can get is off of your screen. So one might ask, what is texture in photography and does it really exsit? The answer to the latter, I suppose, would be the same to the question, "Does life have a texture?" Contender Yojiro Imasaka seems to be nodding his head with his recent series, Living in Velvet.

676 humboltd, 2011 by Yojiro Imasaka

In the statement for the series, Imasaka writes:

This series of work entitled Living in Velvet is inspired by an old lady who I met last year. It was a day before she turned one hundred and five years. She described her life as "living in velvet." I did not know what she really meant to say, but somehow it [sounded] so beautiful to me. Life and death is [a] common theme [in] art, and I believe photography is [a] medium that describes it well.

julie, 2011 by Yojiro Imasaka

Yojiro Imasaka was born in Hiroshima, Japan, but currently calls New York City home. He received a BFA in photography from Nihon University College of Art in Tokyo in 2007, the same year he won a scholarship from the Fine Arts department of Pratt Institute, where he's currently pursuing an MFA.

magnolia, 2011 by Yojiro Imasaka

Wave #1, 2011 by Ryan Rickett

Contender Ryan Rickett's submission, Dume Gloom (named after the cliffs at Point Dume), bears a striking cinematic characteristic. And that's no coincidence. Originally a director, Rickett captures in the series an ethereal, otherworldly and even painterly quality to this renowned and frequently scouted location. Using long exposure, Rickett transforms the crashing of the waves against the cliffs into a mystical landscape enveloped by a dense, sea foam fog.

Wave #2, 2011 by Ryan Rickett

Ryan explains in his artist statement:

Time is the measure of change. When I was a teenager, I purchased a shutter release cable for my first SLR camera and spent countless hours shooting at night, holding my shutter open for minutes on end, fascinated with the concept of compressing all those minutes into a single shot. From that early experience I developed an obsession with long exposure photography, which eventually led to the discovery of techniques that allowed me to make long exposure shots in the daytime, opening up an endless ocean of opportunity. I have recently moved to Malibu, California, and fell in love with the constantly evolving beach around the cliffs of Point Dume, where I live. Every day is a whole new landscape; you never know what new secrets will be revealed by the ever undulating tide. Using long exposure photography, I have tried to bring a sense of mystery and awe to the landscape. Waves transform rocks into mountain peaks hugged by fog, stirring memories of past lives on strange lands. The beach becomes the ghost of an ocean, cloaked in a gradient of sea foam, saltwater and mist. It is my hope that these images inspire the same evocative emotions in the viewer that I experience every time I walk through this fascinating landscape.

Wave #3, 2011 by Ryan Rickett

Wave #4, 2011 by Ryan Rickett

Ryan Rickett studied film at the Art Center College of Design. Having directed music videos and commercials professionally for over half a decade, he has recently begun a career as a photographer. He lives in Los Angeles, CA, with his wife and creative partner. You can view their work here.

Wave #5, 2011 by Ryan Rickett

Untitled, 2010 by Randy P. Martin

''I have a hard time staying in one place for too long, which is a huge motivation for me to keep shooting... There are just so many moments and faces that would get lost along the way without it,'' writes Contender Randy P. Martin in his bio, and he has the portfolio to back it up.

Untitled, 2010 by Randy P. Martin

Martin explains in his statement:

I shoot photographs that capture my travels, my adventures and the people I meet along the way. I tend to meticulously document my life one way or another and with a camera at my side; my work, rather than being a conscious effort, is something I create because I love it and can't help but to make my experiences timeless—to perpetually live in them and soak up every last bit for as long as possible.

Untitled, 2010 by Randy P. Martin

In honor of his wanderlust ways, we have selected a few images from his Flickr account, so sit back and enjoy this photographic journey.

Untitled, by Randy P. Martin

Untitled, by Randy P. Martin

Untitled, by Randy P. Martin

Untitled, by Randy P. Martin

Untitled, by Randy P. Martin

Untitled, by Randy P. Martin

Untitled, by Randy P. Martin

Untitled, by Randy P. Martin

Untitled, by Randy P. Martin

According to Martin, who is currently based in Chicago, his formal photography training is limited to the "high school dark room." Besides having had his first show at Hibbleton Gallery in Fullerton, CA, last fall, his images have been picked up by several noted blogs such as Booooom. To find out such things like what camera Martin uses or what music he listens to, be sure to check out this revealing interview.

Stepfather, 2011 by Cyrus Karimipour

"There are people in my water." That's the entire statement Contender Cyrus Karimipour submitted to us for his images. In what appear to be photographic prints, Karimipour sees the "people," then outlines them by making cutouts to give us, the viewers, these highly abstract figures with suggestive titles, encouraging us to practice our imagination.

Swarm, 2011 by Cyrus Karimipour

Feeding An Owl, 2011 by Cyrus Karimipour

Karimipour's other series on his website, Invented Memory, also caught our eyes. You can read his statement here (pdf download).

Untitled (Boys Holding Hands), by Cyrus Karimipour

Argument, by Cyrus Karimipour

Wallflower, by Cyrus Karimipour

Karimipour received his MFA in Photography from the Cranbrook Academy of Art. His photographs have been exhibited at the Griffin Museum of Photography, Light Work and ThreeWalls, and internationally in galleries in Germany, Austria, China and Lithuania. His work has been published in Harper's Magazine and Contact Sheet, and can be found in the collections of the Lishui Photography Museum in China, Light Work in New York, the Center for Fine Art Photography in Colorado and the Center for Contemporary Art in New Mexico. Karimipour is a two-time Photolucida Critical Mass Finalist, as well as a nominee for the Baum Award for Emerging American Photographers.

South Minneapolis, MN, 2007 by Tom Wik

What makes a home? As a status symbol and as the first impression of—or first look into—a person's individuality, the home is likely the largest visual representation of identity. Exploring the facades of various homes in different neighborhoods, Contender Tom Wik captures the unique "personality" that home owners imbue onto their property.

South Minneapolis, MN, 2007 by Tom Wik

Untitled, by Tom Wik

Wik explains in his artist statement:

For the past several years, I have been working on documenting residential facades—straight-on front elevations of houses in the neighborhoods of Minneapolis/St. Paul, MN, and Palm Beach County, FL. Through these "just-the-facts" portraits of houses and their immediate surroundings, my focus is on the often subtle and sometimes awkward expression of home ownership. The marks of individuality found within the details of these houses suggest a wealth of experience just outside their frames. My pictures are not meditations on ideas but observations on the economic and aesthetic condition of private ownership. It is the comically and beautifully "off" that reveals each modest house in full character.

South Minneapolis, MN, 2010 by Tom Wik

Tom Wik, a Minneapolis photographer, has spent much of his photographic career recording his native city's neighborhoods. He studied photography at the University of Minnesota, and he has exhibited his work nationally. The recipient of a McKnight Fellowship in Photography in 2007, and Artist Initiative Grants from the Minnesota State Arts Board in 2005 and 2011, he also works as a building contractor.

Untitled, 2010 by Dai Mogi

"Photography enables you to grasp a place first time round," says German auteur Wim Wenders on the little accompanying booklet to the DVD of his 1984 cult film, Paris, Texas. "Photography is a means of exploration, it's a vital part of travel, almost as essential as a car or a plane. The photo camera makes arrival in a place possible," he adds. More than just an auteur, Wenders is also a world-renowned photographer who has exhibited all over the world. Though Contender Dai Mogi comes from a completely different background, he and Wenders seem to share similar notions on photography and the landscape that they are in.

Borneo, 2011 by Dai Mogi

For these stylish images, taken from quite literally everywhere in the world, Mogi writes in his statement:

[I'm] always in search for spaces in landscapes, looking for places where people take themselves to engage with their surroundings. [I have] an insatiable fascination with tourists, nomads and migrators. ...[I look] into the nature of how we shape our surroundings and how our surroundings give us form and direction to an existence. [I'm] still a sculptor at heart, from the days when [I] took pictures of [my] installations and sculptures. Over time, [my] medium has evolved to this contraption [that] happens to be a camera. What [I shoot] is still an extension of [my] notions in sculpture making.

Norway, 2008 by Dai Mogi

Mogi is an English-born Japanese artist who grew up in London, Paris and Toyko. After graduating from the prestigious Central Saint Martins with a BA in sculpture, he worked as a sculptor in London, creating site-specific, large-scale works, which he often had to dismantle due to restrictive studio space. He began using cameras to document his scupltures, but soon moved to Tokyo to work as a freelance photographer and magazine art director. Mogi is currently in the process of relocating to New York City, and is a featured artist on MoMA PS1's Studio Visit.

Untitled, 2010 Julie Hassett Sutton

By 2014, the number of new hires for the long-haul trucking industry is expected to reach a shortage of 111,000. With one of the largest turnover rates, plentiful safety concerns, relative low wages, the long hours and time spent away from home, it becomes clear why younger generations of truckers are fleeing the industry. But goods and materials still need to be transported, so while the future of trucking is anyone's guess, the transportation of products and goods from manufacturing to distribution and retail remains a non-negotiable part of the consumerism cycle. Contender Julie Hassett Sutton photographed a number of trucks on a lonely highway in Montana last winter. In Sutton's photographs, the trucks are dwarfed by imposing, snow-dusted mountains, capturing a cold, solitary atmosphere.

Untitled, 2010 Julie Hassett Sutton

Trucking was once not only a thriving, essential part of transportation and commerce, it also seemed a natural fit for certain personality types. There was an element of independence on the open road, and fraternity, through truck stop chatter, favored haunts and their unique CB radio lingo and slang. Today, this slang is being replaced with standard English phrasing by younger generations of truckers, proving that the blue-collar industry is as subject to modernization and change as other ever-evolving sectors. About the series, Sutton explains in her artist statement:

I am continually interpreting my surroundings and my relationship to it. [This] body of work was shot during a stay at an artist residency in Montana last November. I would go out shooting in the early mornings. Everything was so quiet and the landscape very stark. This stretch of highway was empty except for the passing semi trucks that would come rushing by. What struck me most about them was [their] relative size in comparison to the mountains. They looked tiny next to them. They were also these great flashes of color against the austere landscape.

Untitled, 2010 Julie Hassett Sutton

Julie Hassett Sutton's work strives to reveal the kinetic energy and life in seemingly static spaces. Sutton has explored her vision through various mediums. She relocated from Florida to New York City, where she attended the School of Visual Arts and later co-founded frantic action, a production company specializing in short form video for NGOs.

Untitled from the series Fight Journal, 2009 by Adam Smith

Mixed Martial Arts, commonly known as cage fighting, is one of the fastest growing sports in North America, rivaling in pay-per-view sales even the most popular of boxing matches. With its origins in combat sports from around the world, MMA didn't have an American audience until 1993, when the vale tudo (portuguese for "everything goes") style of fighting was brought over and incorporated into the Ultimate Fighting Championships. Contender Adam Smith spent some time documenting the bloody sport, capturing this seemingly savage, yet regulated—and still illegal in several states, including New York—combat and its fighters.

Untitled from the series Fight Journal, 2009 by Adam Smith

In his artist statement, Smith explains:

There is a moment before [a] fight when the rhythmic sound of warm-up punches and nervous chatter dissolves into a quiet stillness. This moment only lasts a second or two. No one in the room says anything. There is nothing else to say. Everyone knows what is about to happen. Months of intense training, sacrifice, pain and fear will explode in a fury of disciplined aggression: a beautifully brutal storm of ugliness and heart. When it is over, the two fighters will stand in the cage, naked in their victory or defeat. Each [knows] the implication of the outcome: Had it not been for an instrument of mercy that stops the fight—the rules—one could have killed the other. This is Mixed Martial Arts. Fight Journal profiles a group of professional and amateur fighters from the Pacific Northwest. The images explore contradictions inherent in the sport: the loneliness and brotherhood that exists side by side, the fear and the courage and the vulnerability and strength of these men that choose to fight.

Untitled from the series Fight Journal, 2009 by Adam Smith

Adam Smith is a Seattle-based freelance photographer. Before becoming a photographer, Smith worked as an account planner for an advertising agency. A self-taught photographer, Smith states that he is primarily interested in using documentary photography to create anthropological records that show how people work and live today.

Dust_1 Gallery, 2010 by Ujin Lee

Dust, in general, is not a wanted element. We've invented a wide array of cleaning products just so we could get rid of these tiny particles in the air—which, besides not looking good, actually causes illness in some people and even damages electronics. However, as annoying and inconvenient as it is (and besides being associated with uncleanliness), dust is also associated with time, and hence is an important visual symbol. In his series, which is simply named Dust, Contender Ujin Lee explores the possibilities of the fine (but not refined) matter.

Dust_2 Bypass, 2010 by Ujin Lee

Although how the images were created is not revealed, we could only imagine the technical challenges involved in capturing these explosive dust clouds and getting the aesthetics right. Lee writes in his statement:

[I aim] to seek insight to understand the meaning of one's life through [this] work, and [I'm] always questioning whether it can be possible to have an emotive or meaningful visual experience that can sustain our spirit and soul in today's world. Transitioning from commercial work to a more artistic direction, the Dust series is a collaborative project with Tom Edwards, in an ongoing series that has, at its heart, the ephemeral nature of life.

Dust_3 Site, 2010 by Ujin Lee

Born in Seoul, South Korea, Lee attended the New South Wales College of Fine Arts and Design School. Now based in Sydney, Lee has a background in commerical design, media and photography.

Chile/Huasos. In the heart of the Central Andes looking for wild cattle, 2010 by Luis Fabini

Although their cultural relevance has dwindled over the decades—replaced instead by the modern, ambitious city-dwelling business man—the image of the American cowboy remains clearly engrained in popular culture, whether through associations with the myriad Western films and television series old and new, or as represented in art and literature. The cowboy is sturdy, rugged, patriotic and no-nonsense; he is labelled powerful and is romanticized as a hero for his control over (and integration with) the wild. Outside of America, however, that image of the John Wayne/Marlboro type of man is replaced by new customs, cultures and folklore. Contender Luis Fabini has been following and documenting what he calls Horsemen of the Americas for over five years, during which time he learned that while each country in South America gives them different names, their characteristics and adherence to traditions undoubtedly overlap.

Brazil/Vaqueiros. The Vaqueiros wear the handmade leather uniform of protecting clothing necessary to their work of roping cows, amidst lethal thorns throughout the bush caatinga, 2010 by Luis Fabini

In his artist statement, Fabini explains:

Horsemen of the Americas is a personal study of the most formidable working partnership ever forged between two living beings: man and horse. Since I began the Horsemen of the Americas in 2005, I have photographed eight different types of horsemen in eight countries, spanning from the southern tip of Patagonia to the Northern Canadian Plains. In the United States and Canada, these horsemen are called cowboys; in Mexico they are known as charros; in Ecuador as chagras; in Colombia and Venezuela as llaneros; in Peru as chalanes and qorilazos; in Chile they are called the huasos; Brazil has its pantaneiros and vaqueiros; and in Uruguay and Argentina they are the gauchos. Each variety of horsemen posseses a unique, cultural connection to their land and environment... It continues today as it did hundreds of years ago. Though their number has dwindled, these working horsemen are keepers of a historical lineage that commands their entire way of life, its traditions and languages. Their legacy [is] on its way to being lost forever. My aim is to provide a deeper understanding of this disappearing culture through my photographs and interviews, offering a closer and broader look at these remarkable working horsemen.

Ecuador/Chagras. The annual wild horses round up, 2009 by Luis Fabini

A self-taught photographer, Luis Fabini was born in Montevideo, Uruguay in 1965, but spent his formative years in South America, Europe and the United States. His interest in photography was ignited at age seven by his father, who put a camera in his hand just before the two embarked on a memorable road-trip crossing the Andes. During his 20s, Fabini worked as a trekking guide and travel photographer throughout South America, leading to his life-long fascination with the working relationship between man and horse. He later worked in the film industry, first as a location scouting producer and then as a director and producer of documentary films. Since 2005, Fabini has been fully committed to his Horsemen of the Americas project, which has taken him to 10 different countries accross two continents in search of today's working horsemen.

Brazil/Vaqueiros. Handling cattle in the tough Sertao, 2010 by Luis Fabini

fairlane, 2011 by Tyler Kandel

If you live in or are familiar with New York City, you don't want to miss these photos by amateur photographer Charles W. Cushman that have made the rounds here at the office. Actually, even if you don't have a particular interest in the Big Apple, you should still be captivated by these casual, rare color snapshots from seven decades ago. These images have transcended beyond what they once were, simply with the passing of time. The unique insight into what NYC looked like is a true photographic preservation—exactly what Contender Tyler Kandel is trying to achieve with his series, The Sherm.

maxson's drugs, 2011 by Tyler Kandel

Using a large-format camera and instant film, Kandel set out to capture his neighborhood before it becomes unrecognizable:

The Sherm is a photographic series of cultural remnants, found within my daily exploration of Sherman Oaks, California. What started as a simple documentation of my surroundings turned into a careful collection of a seemingly disappearing past. Like most neighborhoods in Los Angeles County, Sherman Oaks is constantly succumbing to the pressures of modernization. This project has given me the opportunity to capture specific architecture, cars, signage and landscape in my quest to preserve the inherent charm of this community nestled in the San Fernando Valley.

casa de cadillac, 2011 by Tyler Kandel

A born and bred Californian, Los Angeles-based Kandel graduated with a degree in history and art history from UCLA, as well as a degree in photography and imaging from the Art Center College of Design. His work has been selected in the 2011 PDN Photo Annual, CMYK magazine's Top 100 New Creatives, Photographer's Forum Best of College Photography 2011 book and International Photography Awards' Top 25 Facing 2010.

Untitled, from the series Sentiment, 2010-2011 by Tereza Vlčková

Writing about Contender Tereza Vlčková's submission is proving to be a bit of a challenge. Her latest series, Sentiment, is packed with photographic and post-production techniques, references and, above all, art "isms." Although essentially a self-portrait series from a photography point of view, perhaps the most prominent aesthetic characteristic about Vlčková's images is the lack of photography in a traditional, recognizable form. Photography here has been stripped of its conventional features, and has been reduced to a mere method. In Vlčková's own words, it is a "depersonalization of photography," and she is "creating a world of its own aesthetics and visual rules," in effect "refusing photography's classic appearance, but at the same time still making use of this medium."

Crossing the Line, from the series Sentiment, 2010-2011 by Tereza Vlčková

And then there is the painterly quality. Vlčková doesn't just stop at removing the photographic aspect. Between the digital manipulation, the circular format, the application of mannerisms and careful composition, the images, according to Vlčková, have become "a tribute to the painters, whose works have (intentionally and not) materialized in my creation." Elements like the bowler hat, which is a clear nod to René Magritte's famous paintings, are subtly embedded in the images as references to surrealism and symbolism.

Absent from Shivering, from the series Sentiment, 2010-2011 by Tereza Vlčková

In her statement, Vlčková writes:

From the beginning, the self-portrait study did not even try so much to mirror my actual disposition, [but] rather [was] a yearning to get closer to a given person, at least for a while—no matter whether heroes from films, literary personae, persons from paintings or people from my own worlds and dreams. The situation tells the story of what I never was, of whom I have ever dreamt of becoming, of what I ever wanted to be— [if even] just for an eyewink... But nevertheless, the images reveal me, solely, and more than I admitted to myself during the photographed moment. The collection arose from the necessity to explore and reevaluate myself, arising from a certain degree of self-centeredness, within life's helplessness, to describe myself whichever way. My work reveals past personal "dramas" (which many times eventually seemed trivial)... The milestone is shown as an imaginary horizon divided by a colored line. It expresses the passing of certain life stages or tests and symbolizes imaginary and abstract borders, life's shifts and situations, which often bring along particular, personal poetics bounded by absurdity and fatalness. It is on the threshold of these circumstances that we stand often, motionless and helpless, waiting for our "deliverance."

Unwanted Connected, from the series Sentiment, 2010-2011 by Tereza Vlčková

Born in Vsetín, Czech Republic, Vlčková has studied at the Institute of Creative Photography at Silesian University in Opava, in her native country. She has shown her works around the world, most recently at the 2010 Paris Photo, gallery Lefebvre in Paris and at the Aperture Foundation in NYC (the exhibition, reGeneration2, is currently on view in Monterrey, Mexico).

Cafeteria, 2011 by Christopher Ernst

One of the increasingly popular subjects in contemporary art today is the human relationship with nature. Here at HHS!, we have received a lot of submissions on this very subject, and have already featured some very different takes by our Contenders. Just when we thought we'd seen just about everything having to do with this subject, Contender Christopher Ernst's images of landscape wallpapers yet again reminded us that, like nature itself, an art subject will always evolve, and there will always be a new and fresh perspective.

Bakery, 2011 by Christopher Ernst

Found in business and public interiors, these large scale, scenic and often vivid wallpapers create an awkward but profound contrast against what is in front of them, usually furniture and appliances that are commonly seen in cafes, waiting rooms, laundromats and diners. The quiet images really bring out the juxtaposition, but what you make of it, according to Ernst, is all up to you:

This group of images are selections from a body of work that spans the past year and a half. I set my focus on the interiors of businesses and public spaces that featured a specific type of mural wallpaper. My goal was to simply show these surreal interiors exactly how they exist, without judgement or comment.

Laundromat, 2010 by Christopher Ernst

Ernst was born "in the same NJ hospital as Irving Penn and Jan Groover." A recent graduate with a BFA in photography from the School of Visual Arts in New York, Ernst received an honorable mention at this year's New York Photo Festival, as well as a PDN Curator Award in the Student Work category. The latter earned him a spread in the PDN magazine and a place in The Curator group show at Milk Gallery.

Accidental Rothko v1.0, 2010 by Chip Litherland

Street art has been a recognized art form for decades, with artists like Swoon, Banksy and Chris Stain getting regular billing in blogs devoted to it. But the myriad gang tags, obscenities and plain old spray paint that abound on city walls (and aren't viewed with an artful slant) are subject to another treatment: more often painted over in quick, half-thought and mismatching colors than revered like their counterpart.

Armed with his Canon 5D Mark II and a self-professed addiction to color, Contender Chip Litherland finds these graffiti cover ups and photographs them in this series of works titled Accidental Rothko. Referring to Abstract Expressionist Mark Rothko's use of color, shape and light, Litherland composes painterly photographs of these former etchings of vandalism, focusing on the scene's inherent color fields and shapes, and melding three different viewpoints and motives.

Accidental Rothko v2.0, 2010 by Chip Litherland

In his artist statement, Litherland explains:

The found art photographed in these pages wasn't meant to be art at all, but served a more conventional purpose—to smother the art of others. In essence, this project reclaims them and shows their transition from one construct to their new, yet temporary form. Most of these paintings were made by an anonymous, annoyed business owner or hastily-dispatched city worker. The splotches of color and random pigment have been lathered with a careless quickness and force meant to simply delete the spontaneous thought and scribble of another human. A gang member tag. A graffiti artist's piece in progress. A bored tween with a can of spray paint that his father won't miss. The canvas is temporary. In fact, most of these walls have been already been repainted themselves. The building spaces, which once played a role of makeshift gallery, have been returned to their even, predictable color. For the time being. Some of the cover-ups have multiple revisions. Some show the passive aggressive war between pre-artist and post-artist. What they all accomplish is a stoppage of time and emotion between two humans who more than likely have no idea who the other is. The resulting images evoke the late works of Mark Rothko's large multiform paintings that were completely filled by somewhat errant, yet strictly composed geometric shapes—shapes allowed to flow from their borders into a more organic representation of space. They were meant to overwhelm and swallow up the viewer. These photographs instead allow the room for the viewer to breathe and see the unintended art in their context. In an alley. On a loading dock. Against a foreclosed home. Along the tracks. Anywhere. Just not on my wall.

Accidental Rothko v3.0, 2011 by Chip Litherland

Chip Litherland describes himself as a self-diagnosed color addict. With 10 years of experience working in photojournalism, he is a regular contributor to the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal, ESPN The Magazine, the New York Times Magazine and TIME. His work has been recognized by Pictures of the Year International, Best of Photojournalism, Atlanta Photojournalism Seminar, Southern Short Course and the National Press Photographer's Association. Litherland self-published a book titled Accidental Rothko in 2010.

ALL THE MORE REAL, 2011 by Mary Ellen Bartley

Of all the different ways to collect photography, photography books are likely the most accessible. Although certain books can become quite the collectible items themselves, photography books generally provide a very affordable alternative to possess the works you love. With publishers like Blurb (with whom a lot of HHS! Contenders have done books with), and the aid of long time HHS! panelist and publishing expert Darius Himes' Publish Your Photography Book (co-authored with Mary Virginia Swanson), it is now easier than ever for a photographer to get a book published, thus giving photography lovers all the more to look forward to. Contender Mary Ellen Bartley, who is no stranger to HHS!, takes a rather different look at her collection of photography books in her newest series Standing Open.

HIROSHI SUGIMOTO, 2011 by Mary Ellen Bartley

Bartley is also no stranger to photographing books. Standing Open, Bartley's fourth book series, is different in that the books in the images are no longer closed. The photographs in these books, be it beautiful portraits or Hiroshi Sugimoto's magnificent Seascapes, along with the physical features of the books, all become part of the abstraction in these images.

Bartley explains in her statement:

While shooting my stacks and rows of tightly closed paperback books, I started seeing some of the standing books loosen up and show bits of the space between their pages. I was drawn into the uniquely beautiful interior space of the books. I began opening all kinds of books and placing them standing open around my space, where sunlight might fall on them. This quickly became a project of looking into my photography books in a new way. This work interests me on many levels. First is the sheer beauty of the physical books and the unique formal discoveries of looking at them close up. Among the repeating formal motifs I've found are the stripes the pages create, the shadowy voids between pages that read like burns or stains and the reflections the photos can make on the pages facing them. On another level, I'm fascinated by conceptual ideas concerning appropriation and reproduction in a mechanical versus digital age, which the work can't help but throw into question. What is the unique aura or presence of a book? Finally, what drives the work for me is the emotional connection I have to the books. I'm trying to evoke the sensuality and intimacy of reading and looking through books, as well as the fleeting inspiration, little jolts of connection found for me in books I love.

THE EDGE OF VISION, 2010 by Mary Ellen Bartley

A New York City native, Bartley now resides in Wainscott, on the east end of Long Island. She earned her BFA at Purchase College, where she began her fine art studies in painting and drawing. Bartley was a Photolucida Critical Mass 2010 finalist, and she earned a Juror Commendation from Houston Center for Photography's Annual Juried show, where she also exhibited. A combination of her book projects, Books, will be exhibited at Corden Potts Gallery in San Francisco this fall.

In Transit #25, by Diego Kuffer

Around 80 years ago, scientists discovered that in the subatomic world of quantum mechanics, atoms, electrons and photons can exist in more than one place at a time. To some quantum theorists, this would imply that if the building blocks that make up everything around us—including ourselves—occupy more than one place in time and space, then everything around us (including ourselves) could and should exist in multiple, parallel universes.

Heavy stuff, I know, and likely not taken too seriously by those who clearly observe only one reality. But I was reminded of this perplexing possibility in viewing Contender Diego Kuffer's series In Transit. In the images, the pixellated cubes contain different moments from the same scene, lending itself to the possibility of alternate occurrences within a given parameter. However, Kuffer makes no claims to be taking on Hugh Everett III's quantum theories in his series, but rather was inspired by filmmaking techniques, photomontage, cubism and—of most importance to the photographer—a moment in time.

In Transit #12, 2010 by Diego Kuffer

Of the composites, the photographer explains:

Photography only lets you capture instants (even long exposures are only blurred instants). So, I hacked the idea of photography, mixing together many photos of the same scene into a single one, slicing and dicing the images and putting them back together, chronologically. I call the grammar behind it "chrono cubism."

Likely referencing David Hockney's photomontage work, and even Marcel Duchamp's Nude Descending a Staircase, Kuffer's "chrono cubist" works get to the root of the passing of time in a particular space, in effect putting snippets of a time-lapse video in one digitized frame.

In Transit #23, 2010 by Diego Kuffer

Brazilian photographer Diego Kuffer originally majored in business and worked in marketing for 10 years before pursuing a post graduate degree in Psychoanalytic Semiotics. He then "gave all that up to become a photographer," having studied photography at Escola Panamerica de Arte in Sao Paulo. His series In Transit has been making the blogosphere rounds, and he has exhibited works in Brazil.

Serengeti Ibex, 2010 by Bremner Benedict

Just how far removed from nature are city dwellers in this day and age? With the seemingly unstoppable urbanization of mankind, how far do we have to go to reach "real" nature? And if these are the questions we are asking ourselves today, what about our children's future interactions with nature? Contender Bremner Benedict's series Re-imagining Eden, which just earned her an honorable mention for the 17th Griffin Museum Juried Exhibition, is replete with these types of questions. On her website, Benedict writes, "Changes produced by the industrial revolution inspired people to create places where our culture decides what is important to remember from disappearing habitats. Today's technology interrupts our ability to experience the natural world as pristine. Nature no longer serves as a source of our identity. This eroding sense of connection makes the shape of our future unclear."

Bwindi Mountain Gorilla, 2010 by Bremner Benedict

The co-owner of Klompching Gallery, Debra Klomp Ching, who served as the juror for this year's Griffin Museum Juried Exhibition—which includes work by Contender Susan A. Barnett—said Benedict's images of "children's relationship with the natural world are mesmerizing. With so much photography dealing with the environment," she added, "these understated and quiet images are also refreshingly bold and confident in use of metaphor, which extends the image beyond the intimate narratives played out inside the frame."

In her statement, Benedict asks, then explains:

Is nature still a place of enchantment? Is childhood a space of wonder where we learn how to connect to the natural world? Do these questions form a basis of the myths humans created to offset their fall from grace, dating back to their expulsion from the Garden of Eden? Using my daughter as a model, I am exploring enduring concerns of the influence on how we view nature. The inquiry is taken up by the young child we see engaging in habitats she may never experience because they are vanishing into a nostalgic past. Her bond is no longer inseparable with the natural world. It is unraveling. She is growing up in spite of it. The most elemental question—whether critical contemplation of the natural world through framing and representation, which transforms the facts of 'land' into the concept of 'landscape'—is boon or bane in maintaining a relationship with nature.

Pronghorn Antelope and American Bison, 2011 by Bremner Benedict

Benedict is a photographer based in Concord, MA. Her work has been included in over 20 exhibitions and has been collected by many museums and institutions, including the prestigious George Eastman International Museum of Photography and the Fogg Museum at Harvard. Re-imagining Eden was recently shown at the Hess Gallery of Pine Manor College.

Red lighthouse, 2010 by Michael Bodiam

Michael Bodiam is now a very familiar name to those of you who watch this space. After participating in the 2010 HHS! showcase group show at Jen Bekman Gallery and making his 20x200 debut, we interviewed the 2010 Hot Shot for a second time to get some more insight (and advice for prospective Hot Shots). Shortly after the interview, we received a fresh submission from Bodiam, and now we can finally see what he has been up to.

Blue tower, 2010 by Michael Bodiam

Clearly a departure from previous series Dickins & Jones, which exclusively consists of artificially-lit interior shots, this new body of work—shot over six weeks in Chile and Argentina at the end of 2010—is bright and airy by contrast. At first glance, it might just seem like a series of random objects without much connection between images. Look a little more carefully; you might notice that shapes and patterns begin to form. Photography, after all, is often just what the eye can make out in the visual chaos that is the world. Bodiam explains the new series in his statement:

I have always been attracted to blocks of color and geometrical shapes, and so when I come across such a thing, I have a strong desire to record it. For a long time I have taken this kind of picture without really thinking about it. Just before I left for South America, I was experimenting on an edit of some of these types of images and it was at this point that I decided that this was going to be the way that I photographed the places I went to. By pursuing an observational theme over a series of images, a shifting of context occurs, especially when the images are viewed consecutively. Everyday objects take on a new heightened sculptural or graphical relevance. As a result, the images become more abstracted—they now say much less about a place and more about color and composition.

Two cylinders, 2010 by Michael Bodiam

Michael Bodiam is a London-based photographer who travels extensively for his work. He graduated from the Arts Institute at Bournemouth with a honors Bachelor of Arts degree in Fine Art Photography. Bodiam works on both commissioned and self-commissioned photographic projects. His personal work has been featured in publications such as Dazed & Confused, WIRED, Marmalade and DayFour. Prior to becoming a 2010 Hot Shot and exhibiting at Jen Bekman Gallery, he had exhibited at the Royal Academy (London), the Royal West of England Academy and the HOST Gallery.

Cara, 2011 by Shelley Calton

Few things get Americans riled up like talking about gun ownership and rights. Contender Shelley Calton calls attention to female gun ownership in her series Licensed to Carry: Ladies of Caliber. Set against her subjects' everyday scenarios, the guns are prominently featured, a contrast to their otherwise concealed nature. Calton has documented what she calls the "female experience" in previous projects, addressing feminine aggression and empowerment via the Roller Derby, for instance. In Licensed to Carry, the artist again challenges traditional notions of femininity. In the portraits, the metallic object of brute, destructive force is a constant; as much a part of these women's daily lives as playing an instrument, or getting ready to leave the house, or sitting at a dinner table.

Alana, 2011 by Shelley Calton

Calton delves deeper into the series and explains:

Texas and guns go hand-in-hand. As a young girl, I was taught about guns and learned to shoot. My father kept a pistol in his nightstand and rifles for hunting. Until recently I have maintained an apprehensive distance from guns, except for through the lens of my camera... In Licensed to Carry, I decided to explore the private lives of women who arm themselves. Women who carry guns are unassuming; it may be the mother in the line next to you at the grocery checkout counter, the grandmother that is out walking her dog or the woman parking next to you at the shopping mall. This is not an exclusive club and is open to anyone, except a convicted felon. While owning and/or carrying a gun is not always kept a secret, it is seldom boasted or talked about. I have discovered most of the women that I have photographed through word of mouth and they have all agreed to reveal themselves and their guns. In order to be licensed to carry, my subjects have been tested, fingerprinted and schooled to use a firearm effectively. To better understand this process, I have also become a member of the growing trend of women gun owners. These women are licensed concealed handgun carriers and are empowered with a peace of mind that, if needed, they can protect themselves.

Alana II, by Shelley Calton

Houston-based Shelley Calton's latest body of work Licensed to Carry: Ladies of Caliber is an addition to her recognized projects that focus on the female experience. Her first book, Hard Knocks: Rolling with the Derby Girls, was released by Kehrer Verlag, Heidelberg, in 2009. Her work is in the collection of the Museum of Fine Arts Houston, as well as many private collectors. Featured articles and interviews have been written in Texas Monthly, the Houston Chronicle, Silvershotz magazine and Black and White International. Represented by DeSantos Gallery in Houston, she also serves as Vice President of the Board of Directors for Houston Center for Photography.

Stick Figure, 2011 from the series Kallima by Alex Kisilevich

Named after Kallima inachus, the Dead Leaf butterfly, Contender Alex Kisilevich explores camouflage in this series of photographs from his project Kallima. This butterfly gets its name from its camouflage, which makes it appear to be a dried, dead leaf when the species folds its wings together. In Kallima, Kisilevich's use of camouflage and mimicry calls attention to the often unnecessary, but still aesthetically pleasing, nature of this evolutionary trait. Additionally, Kisilevich captures otherwise mundane depictions of that which tricks the eye in his images of the seamless lines in wood paneling joints and the colorful patterns of wall coverings.

Cabinet, 2010 from the series Kallima by Alex Kisilevich

Of the series, Alex writes:

When drawing its wings together, the Kallima butterfly bears an uncanny resemblance to a dried leaf. Originally thought to be a defense tactic, it has also been suggested that this form of camouflage has been an "exaggeration of precautions" and [is] completely unnecessary. What motivates such an evolutionary development if not self-preservation? Perhaps it is a kind of sympathetic sentience, a way to connect with and find meaning in the external world, or is it perhaps the result of a gradual loss of self-identity over time, or a sense of bewilderment in relation to one's surroundings? Kallima explores notions of camouflage within contemporary and social contexts by investigating various theories surrounding the concept of mimesis and human subjectivity, as well as mimicry in the natural world and the ways in which it can be mirrored in human behaviour. The images, full of pathos and absurdity, allude to ideas of illusion and transparency, masking and disguise, assimilation and adaptation, as well as the ways we construct connections between ourselves and others.

Sasquatch, 2011 from the series Kallima by Alex Kisilevich

Alex Kisilevich is a photo-based artist living and working in Toronto. Having recently graduated from an MFA in Visual Arts program at York University, Kisilevich's work has been exhibited in Toronto and published in the Magenta Foundation's Flash Forward 2010. For more photographs from the Kallima series, visit the artist's site.

Mop, 2010 from the series Kallima by Alex Kisilevich

The Loon, 2011 by Chris Anthony

While there is an entire scientific study dedicated to dreams, the other kind of dreaming we do so much seems to be a bit worthless in comparison—there is not even a serious-sounding terminology for daydreams. Perhaps it's because daydreaming has always been deemed so non-productive, scientists don't even want to spend time thinking about it. However, there is a fundamental difference between daydreaming and just plain old spacing out, according to research by Harvard psychologist Deirdre Barrett, and daydreaming can be constructive for creative types. If that conclusion needs any more backing, these dreamy and dramatic images by Contender Chris Anthony are the best proof.

Regina Pelagus, 2011 by Chris Anthony

Anthony draws inspirations from his daydreams for the images he creates, using props and costumes that he makes by hand. To help create the surreal look and unique texture, Anthony mounts 150-year-old French lenses on his large-format camera. In the images, the dressed-up figures are all set against the backdrop of a lifeless sea, giving the series a very theatrical feel with a slight twist. He explains in his statement:

Drawing attention to the bizarre and the banal, the resulting images are portraits within landscapes on the border between documentary and fiction, imagining characters that, much like ourselves, are forever a mystery. Iconic fantasy figures in real landscapes are set in relief against a darker reality, one of absence and longing. The work addresses primal experiences, shaped by desires and fears—solitary paths towards imagined fulfillment. The work has evolved into a series of images involving fictional attributions, narratives, sculpture, mask-making and costumes. Replete with absurdity and hilarity, and doubling as a cautionary tale, [I serve] up color scenarios documenting the species [I see] everyday.

Piscator, 2011 by Chris Anthony

Chris Anthony was born in Stockholm, and was raised both in Sweden and the U.S. Having studied art history in Florence in his teens, he went on to work as a rock photographer, then later a music video and commercial director. His personal work has been exhibited around the world and has been featured in a number of publications, including Los Angeles Times, Photo District News, Eyemazing, ARTnews, American Photo, Paper, Nylon and more. Check out his site to see his other projects and an extensive body of commercial work.

untitled-2, by Nobuo Iida

It is most likely pure coincidence that while Contender Nobuo Iida was shooting these images in Tokyo in the fall of 2008, filming of the equally spetacular and Palme d'Or-winning The Tree of Life, from visionary writer/director Terrence Malick, began in rural Texas, as well. Already a masterpiece filmmaker and a pioneer in visual style (having inspired a young Ryan McGinley with his stunning 1978 picture Days of Heaven), Malick really pushed the boundaries of cinematic and visual art this time with The Tree of Life, which received widely different reactions at its premiere, drawing boos as well as applause. The film features long sequences of the birth of the universe, the beginning of cellular life, prehistoric Earth... Things that are more expected in a National Geographic documentary than in a major Hollywood picture about a Texan boy's life journey, featuring Brad Pitt and Sean Penn.

untitled-3, by Nobuo Iida

What is truly amazing about the film is that many of the scenes that seem likely to be CGI magic were actually done the old fashioned way. "We worked with chemicals, paint, fluorescent dyes, smoke, liquids, CO2, flares, spin dishes, fluid dynamics, lighting and high speed photography to see how effective they might be," said special effects supervisor Douglas Trumbull about the film. "We did things like pour milk through a funnel into a narrow trough and shoot it with a high-speed camera and folded lens, lighting it carefully and using a frame rate that would give the right kind of flow characteristics to look cosmic, galactic, huge and epic," he adds. What, then, does all of this have to do with Iida's work?

Much like Malick's quest for the meaning of life through looking at the origin of our existence and knowledge, Iida employs lighting and photographic techniques to explore and question the universe as we know it, as he explains in his statement:

This body of work consists of [a] combination of enigmatic objects [paired] with lighting application. I took advantage of [the] use of light that makes figures stand out from the background and makes the subject speak to observers. The concept is a search for [the] universe in micro scale, and I attempted to create images based upon [the] 'genesis' of [the] universe and its expansion, or [the] emergence of the living sphere. [The] objects may not [reflect] anything on Earth. However, [the] images are somehow biomorphic... reminiscent of living organisms. I also attempt to emphasize figurations of non-figurative objects.

untitled-4, by Nobuo Iida

untitled-5, by Nobuo Iida

Iida was born in Tokyo, where he still resides. Upon attending Tokyo Polytechnic University, a school with deep photography roots, he received a Bachelor of Science degree in photographic technology. After working for a commercial studio for much of the 1980s, Iida became a freelance photographer and opened his own studio in 1990—the same time when he started working on fine art photography. He has had a number of solo exhibitions in Japan throughout the years. The latest one, Scent, was at Gallery DAZZLE in Tokyo last year.

Shuttling Shakers, 2011 by Christine Chin (click on image to enlarge)

Seems like each new product that hits the shelves is designed to be sleeker, more convenient and more intuitive. So Contender Christine Chin's series, Sentient Kitchen, amps up the engineering factor by melding complex biological processes, such as eyesight and taste, with the mundane kitchen items that we utilize regularly, creating a hybridized line of living kitchenware. Don't you wish that a consoling cup of tea could also really listen to your problems? Or that the parmesan cheese would pass itself to you and keep that fresh cheese scent? In Chin's surrealist, absurdist creations, these animated objects are catalogued and described, highlighting the artist's humor and design aesthetics.

In her artist statement, Chin explains:

Sentient Kitchen examines the convergence between technology and biology. As the machines that assist our lives become smarter and more architecturally complex, they borrow increasingly from the biological realm. Sentient Kitchen takes inspiration from some of nature's most ingenious engineering. What better way to dispense salt than through an organ that is highly developed to taste, and why not take advantage of the mammary gland's unique relationship to milk? While it is the nature of the human ego to cast suspicion on a challenge to human intellect, Sentient Kitchen products offer a non-threatening environment to explore the benefits of smarter, more sensitive solutions to our daily dining needs.

Perceptive Sugar Pot, 2011 by Christine Chin (click on image to enlarge)

Toothed Tongs, 2011 by Christine Chin (click on image to enlarge)

Christine Chin's work makes humorous and ironic commentary on contemporary issues of technology and the environment. Her recent projects have addressed artificial intelligence, genetically modified food and alternative energy. Her work has been shown nationally and internationally at numerous venues, including the New York Hall of Science, Art Basel Miami and Canon Communication Space in Beijing. In 2006-2007, she was granted a Fulbright Fellowship to pursue her project Alternative Alternative Energy in China, and she was the 2008 recipient of the Garry B. Fritz Imagemaker Award from the Society for Photographic Education. Christine Chin has a BA from Princeton University, an MA in Visual Art from Purdue University and an MFA in Photography from the University of New Mexico. She currently resides in Ithaca, New York.

Untitled from the series Somehow Familiar, 2007 by Michael ten Pas

Contender Michael ten Pas' sense of humor and subtle images not only earned him a Contender post last year, but also a 2010 HHS! semi-finalist nod and a book published by Blurb. This year, ten Pas is back with a different body of work&mdashSomehow Familiar, in which he takes a look at finding oneself in a familiar yet strange place called home.

Untitled from the series Somehow Familiar, 2007 by Michael ten Pas

Moving out of and away from home is a natural step in one's development. It could be as far away as half way around the world, or as near as just a couple of blocks down the street; the distance does not matter nearly as much as what the move symbolizes. Thus, going back to where your precious childhood was spent is always something so very special. It is then a bit of an awkward and sentimental moment when, years later, you suddenly realize you hardly recognize the old neighborhood that was so dear to your heart.

As someone who has strongly felt the emotions that the landscape and scenary changes have triggered, ten Pas explains his series in his statement:

I grew up in the suburbs of Atlanta, Georgia. It is one of America's fastest growing regions. After I moved away from my hometown, I made these photographs during my trips back to visit friends and family. Most of them were taken within a 10-minute car ride from my childhood home. Because of the population growth, the old places I had remembered received new faces and the unoccupied space became filled with new things: strip malls, rows of houses, parks and other elements of the vernacular suburban landscape. The photographs are about the development and construction that took place in the time that I was away. They are about being home, but not recognizing home.

Untitled from the series Somehow Familiar, 2007 by Michael ten Pas

Michael ten Pas is a fine art photographer who utilizes a blend of playful and satirical humor to depict the modern vernacular landscape. He received a BFA from the University of Georgia and an MFA from the San Francisco Art Institute. Ten Pas currently lives in San Francisco, where he teaches a variety of photography classes at the Harvey Milk Photo Center. He has shown his work in exhibitions across the United States, and he updates his flickr account frequently with new photographs.

I'm Muslim Don't Panik, 2010 by Susan A. Barnett

Armed with a Leicaflex SL2 and 24mm f/2.8 lens, NYC-based Contender Susan A. Barnett searches the city for a particular object: t-shirts that say something, anything about the subject she's photographing. The series Not in Your Face isn't about the verbiage tees, or the brand/logo tees, however. Instead, Barnett aims to capture a different type of portrait, one that challenges the notion that portraits should show defining characteristics. In shooting only from the back, Barnett tests "whether body type, dress and demeanor can tell us just as much as a facial expression might." The resulting series captures a sense of American culture, individuality and personality, as seen through street photography.

Stop Violence Against Women, 2010 by Susan A. Barnett

In her artist statement, Barnett explains:

These photographs are not about the t-shirt, per se. They are about identity, validation and perception, but are the stories of people who tell their own stories. I look for individuals who stand out in a crowd by their choice of the message on their back. These messages are often combinations of pictures and words that are appropriated from contemporary culture, but have the effect of mixing up meanings and creating new meanings. On the streets, these personalities create their own iconography that explores the cultural, political and social issues that have an impact on our everyday lives. In these photographs we witness a chronicle of American subcultures and vernaculars [that] illustrate the American identity. These photographs demonstrate how these individuals wear a kind of badge of honor or trophy that says, "I belong to this group, not the other." Each one of these people reveal a part of themselves that advertises their hopes, ideals, likes, dislikes, political views and personal mantras.

Viva Avant Garde, 2010 by Susan A. Barnett

Not in Your Face has previously been featured in Lens Culture, Popular Photography, PDN and Lenscratch, and has won awards from Photo Review, IPA and the Photo World Annual Awards. The book Not in Your Face will be published in 2011 by the Silas Finch Foundation.

With a formal education in Art History and Studio Art, Barnett worked at Perls Galleries on Madison Avenue for 12 years as Associate Director, handling Picassos, Braques, Legers and Matisses, as well as preparing exhibitions and catalogues for Alexander Calder. The artist has exhibited at Soho Photo, Center for Fine Art Photography, Griffin Museum of Photography, Pacific Center NW and New York Photo Festival, among others.

Recogne (Belgium), 2010 by Mikel Bastida

For the past two years, Contender Mikel Bastida has been traveling across Europe photographing historical reenactments of World World II, while being a period-correct photographer himself. He has covered several war episodes performed by different groups of reenactors in both historical and fictitious scenarios, and has fittingly named this series of images War Theatre.

Skegness (England), 2010 by Mikel Bastida

Bastida's interest in these reenactments, however, lies beyond just the activities themselves or the associated historical events, as he explains in his statement:

This photographic series is a search for those fields that history has turned into literary landscapes. Scenarios [are] made out of different representations of WWII—from films to vintage photographs—which turn into huge sets where recreation and simulation leave exposed a collective imaginary [event]. The Photographic Naturalism, the definition of reality from behind the camera, does not allow fictitious characters but imaginary [ones]. Real figures [are] transformed into the main character of a false epic representation. Archetypes of a story [have] permeated our popular culture to the point of making reality interesting only when it is mystified by its representation.

Levisham (England), 2010 by Mikel Bastida

Bastida was born in the northern Spanish city of Bilbao in 1982. He first became interested in photography at the age of 19, while studying at the School of Film of Andoain. Throughout the years, he has taken part in a number of workshops, and in 2009 he received a scholarship to attend a workshop in Barcelona with Magnum photographer Carl de Keyzer. In 2010, he moved to China to work on a personal project, for which he was awarded the prestigious Roberto Villagraz scholarship, a breakthrough for his career. Bastida currently lives in Madrid, where he is studying for an MFA at EFTI School of Image and Arts.

Lahti (Finland), 2011 by Mikel Bastida

Nightless 01, 2011 by Yuji Hamada (click on image to enlarge)

When Contender Yuji Hamada submitted to us last time, his images overflowed with light. His Pulsar series of natural light was liked by many, including 2010 HHS! panelist and Esopus magazine editor in chief Tod Lippy, who selected Hamada as an Honorable Mention for his curator's choice award. It is perhaps a bit surprising, then, that Hamada went 180° this time around and gave us these dim and seemingly colorless images of artificial lights.

Nightless 02, 2011 by Yuji Hamada (click on image to enlarge)

Captured by a large-format camera, these images from Hamada's latest series, Nightless, appear to be black and white. Upon closer inspection, however, extremely subtle colors and details start to appear once the eye has adjusted to the dimness (click on the images to see a higher resolution version). This lack of clarity, according to Hamada, is purposeful: "In this project I photographed my surrounding artificial lights. I wanted to direct the eyes of the viewer inside, and not outside. I have made this possible by using something people cannot see clearly. By trying to define the line between what people can and cannot see, I walk the edge of reality and fantasy, the ordinary and the unordinary."

Nightless 03, 2011 by Yuji Hamada (click on image to enlarge)

The unique exposure and lighting give the works a surreal look, making these ordinary city landscapes appear to be mysterious, or even mythical. This is all part of Hamada's attempt to reveal truth in photography, as he further explains in his statement:

We Japanese have a sense of copying or catching the truth in taking photography. When I started to photograph, I really didn't grasp this sense. I kept taking photographs and concluded that photography is the media determined by the position where I stand now and by the idea that I am thinking now. Truth depends much on one's identity. Truth [flows]. It might be white. It could be black. But I think it should be gray tone. I am interested in the borders that are gray tone. Or, I should say, truth has all sorts of mixed and blended colors, like on a painter's pallet. Borders show me the [relationship between] reality and fantasy, between [the] usual and unusual.

Nightless 04, 2011 by Yuji Hamada (click on image to enlarge)

Born in Osaka, Japan, Hamada started to photograph seriously at the age of 18. He went on to graduate from the Department of Photography at the well-established Nihon University's College of Art, and has also studied under master photographers Eikoh Hosoe and Issei Suda. After a two-year stint in fashion photography at a Japanese publishing company, Hamada became a freelance photographer in 2006 and is now based in both London and Tokyo. He has shown his works in Japan, and was recently a finalist and a winner for the Tokyo Frontline Contemporary Photography Award and the Magenta Foundation's Flash Forward 2011 Emerging Photographer (U.K.), respectively.

Aging Wonder, 2010 by Jackson Patterson

Inspired by tales of his family's westward migration, Contender Jackson Patterson's black and white photomontages juxtapose the austere landscapes of the American West with personal photographs from family albums. The resulting images blend time and cultural space, and create a new narrative for the viewer. The photographer melds nature, family history and his artistic vision to create a series—aptly titled Recollected Memories—that encapsulates a personal duality: the old versus the new, the told versus the reinterpreted, the struggle versus the triumph.

Elevator Point, 2010 by Jackson Patterson

In his artist statement, Patterson explains:

Through photomontage I am exploring the stories of my family's migration through time and the cultural influence of our country's journey west. I am inspired by the adventures that were told to me and am recapitulating them in the relationship of images. Each blended piece possesses its own original story, in addition to the one the viewer takes away. In creating this project I have found that they are not only my family's stories, but are stories that exist throughout the West and beyond. They are stories of perseverance, pride, struggle, life and death. They are human stories intertwined in a majestic landscape.

Time Portraits - Dixie and Monument Valley, 2010 by Jackson Patterson

Rugby Quake, 2009 by Jackson Patterson

Jackson Patterson is an MFA recipient from the San Francisco Art Institute and has exhibited works at the Morris Graves Museum of Art, the Pendleton Art Center and the Center for Fine Art Photography. He is represented by the Togonon Gallery in San Francisco and his work is in various private collections and in the Paul Sack Collection at the SFMOMA. When not shooting freelance, Patterson is an instructor at the Art Academy University, the San Francisco Photo Center and the San Francisco Art Institute.

Prop, 2009 by Brandon Juhasz

With the internet, the convenience of digital photography and the increasingly popular photo-sharing platforms, today we can pretty much just sit in front of a computer and literally see whatever image we want to see. It is mind blowing that, 30 years before its invention, Canadian philosopher and scholar Marshall McLuhan, whose work hugely influenced Contender Brandon Juhasz's series Mechanical Brides, predicted the internet and the way we would use it as a medium.

They Don't Suffer This Way, 2010 by Brandon Juhasz

In his statement, Juhasz explains:

Inspired by Marshall McLuhan and The Mechanical Bride's notion of psychological manipulation through images, my work uses images as objects. I set out to deconstruct, manipulate and use found photographs for exploration and discovery, in the hopes to better understand and represent the medium as a fluid, interchangeable and malleable format. Photography is a complex, powerful and influential system of data and symbols. The unbelievably vast world of photographs that are made by people for all types of reasons float in a relative world of shifting contexts. The sheer volume of pictures we encounter and create as a society help formulate our world view, often subconsciously developing our desires and standards of expectations. What we see is engrained and becomes knowledge and baggage that we carry with us.

For his work, Juhasz takes images from the internet, then constructs three-dimensional objects out of printed photographs that he then re-photographs. "Like re-hydrating a raisin to become a grape, these flat pictures are folded and glued to create a simulacrum of our reality. It satisfies visually because of what we have come to expect from a photograph. However, its parts are just symbols pulled from various sources and combined to make meaning," Juhasz says about his work.

When I Grow Up, 2010 by Brandon Juhasz

Brandon Juhasz is an artist living in Cleveland, Ohio. He received his Bachelor of Fine Arts from Bowling Green State University. His work has been included in many regional juried and curated exhibitions, as well as featured on the photography blog Lenscratch. Keep up with Juhasz on his blog, Hello my name is ART.

Beer Can Totem, 2011 by David Welch

The totem pole has long had multiple purposes—to reflect cultural beliefs and storytelling, to portray artistic expression and even to publicly shame debtors. It's likely Contender David Welch was well aware of the layered reading of totem poles when he constructed and photographed a series of his own totems for his current project Material World. In the series, discarded products that are ubiquitous in mass consumerism are stacked tall and made the central focus of the images. The objects that once provided material comfort are now making apparent the excess and waste we often overlook.

Plastic Totem, 2010 by David Welch

In his artist statement, Welch explains:

Material World is my response to our contemporary consumer milieu. By treating these artifacts of consumer culture as Duchampian-inspired Assisted Readymades, I photograph assemblages—both created by my own hand or existing naturally—that form monuments, or totems, serving as precarious externalizations of culture and social biography. The photographs of the totems then serve as symbolic mirrors that serve as points of reflection for my own contemplative gaze and that of society's. The photographs speak of accumulation and materiality and aim to encourage debate about consumption and the ways in which we feel compelled to consume.

Shopping Totem, 2010 by David Welch

Originally an economist, David Welch is a fine art photographer based on the island of Martha's Vineyard. His interests are in large-format photography, art history, theory and the fabricated image. He recently graduated from the Savannah College of Art and Design, where he was awarded his MFA in photography. For more images from the series, including totems made of toilet paper, televisions, satellites and cars, head to the artist's site.

Woman with Umbrella, 2010 by Ximena Etchart

Minimalism is, perhaps, one of the most influential and defining "isms" of our lifetime. So rarely has a visual art and design movement become so embedded in daily lives. From the museum artworks on the wall to the museums that house these works, and from computers designed out of Northern California to trendy household goods from Japan, there is no escaping minimalism—a sentiment that comes to mind when viewing Contender Ximena Etchart's submission.

Group, 2010 by Ximena Etchart

Whether intentional or not, Etchart did not submit a statement to us. The resulting mystery, however, falls in line nicely with this series, titled Storms. Each image has been reduced down to the barest, most fundamental elements and features. All that is presented to the viewer is a sandy ground, barely visible blue skies and figures that are disappearing into what seems like a sand storm. There is no identifiable landscape features, and almost no sense of direction or distance. Without a statement, it's impossible to make out where these images were taken and where the people are going. And yet, the lack of such crucial details creates a visual tension that draws the viewer into the subtle colors and dusty air of each image.

Two, 2010 by Ximena Etchart

Etchart is from Buenos Aires, Argentina, where she started her photography studies almost 10 years ago. After a brief stint at Central Saint Martins and London College of Fashion in England, she is now back in her hometown, studying at the Association of Graphic Reporters of Argentina, while working and developing a career in photojournalism, documentary and fashion photography.

Leap, 2011 by Barbara Parmet

We know what you are thinking. But, no, really, that is not an Animal Locomotion image by Eadweard Muybridge. That is, in fact, an image made this very year by Contender Barbara Parmet. The word "photography" derives from the Greek words phōs, "light", and gráphein, "representation by means of lines." Together they mean "drawing with light," a romantic thought that eventually came true in the early 19th century. Although Parmet's images appear to have that vintage, daguerreotype-like quality to it, she actually utilizes digital photography and a relatively new printmaking process called "solarplate etching."

Meeting on The Shore, 2011 by Barbara Parmet

World-renowned artists Jerry Spagnoli and Chuck Close revitalized and reintroduced the daguerreotype for its unique image quality and process. Parmet finds the same inspiration and satisfaction in solarplate etching. For each image, she starts with casting, then goes through every role there is, from costume design to set design, from photographing to printmaking. She explains her passion in the statement for her The Measure of All Things project:

Ten years as a photojournalist trained me to get the "gestalt" of a situation immediately. My interests in archetypal symbols and gestures led me further to explore image making as a way to get at meanings deeper than the daily news. And after many years working in the darkroom with silver and platinum prints, I realized how much I still like the process of printmaking. Presently, I am working with solarplate etchings that allow me to combine all my interests into a form that weaves human, animal and plant worlds together into photographic illusions. I build the sets, sew the costumes and cast the simple roles to make these lucid dreams appear real. These personas take on a life of their own and suggest further adventures for new images. And finally, I love inking the engraved plates and putting them through the printing press, which satisfies a deep need to make things by hand.

Roundup, 2011 by Barbara Parmet

For 10 years, Parmet worked as a photojournalist shooting for publications like the Baltimore Sun, the LA Times, the Arkansas Democrat and the Santa Barbara News and Review. Since then, she has exhibited her experimental photography at the Santa Barbara Museum of Art, the SB Contemporary Arts Forum, Benham Gallery, Houston Center for Photography, San Francisco Cameraworks and Paris' Galerie Panique. The artist is represented by Wall Space Gallery.

Untitled 3, from the series A Thousand Little Suns, 2011 by Martina Lindqvist

Having grown up in a big city, I rarely experienced the majesty and serenity of forests. Perhaps because of this, I do have an understanding, a respect (one might even call it a healthy fear) for sylvan expanses and what they come to symbolize: the all-surrounding, disorienting unknown. To a child who might've grown up gazing out of country windows, forests (particularly at night) must've seemed like foreboding, mysterious places full of wonders and perils. In Contender Martina Lindqvist's series A Thousand Little Suns, the photographer revisits childhood locations in Ostrobothnia, Finland, to capture the inherent psychological tension forests represent, or "the emotive effects of landscapes and forested [wilderness]." Lindqvist presents landscapes lush with earth hues only to contrast it with the ominous, enveloping black sky. The images convey an almost palpable atmosphere; even the ground resembles fur and hide.

Untitled 4, from the series A Thousand Little Suns, 2011 by Martina Lindqvist

In her artist statement, Lindqvist explains:

Marcault and Thérèse Brosse once wrote that, "forests, especially, with the mystery of their space prolonged indefinitely beyond the veil of tree-trunks and leaves, space that is veiled for our eyes... are veritable psychological transcendents." Forests, in spite of being the most natural of spaces, are truly unnatural for the cultured human being. If we don't know where we are going, we no longer know where we are, and standing on the brink of a forest always represents this possibility of going deeper and deeper into the unknown.

Untitled 5, from the series A Thousand Little Suns, 2011 by Martina Lindqvist

One might assume that a town on the western banks of Finland, in the autumn and winter months, would be "shrouded by an impenetrable darkness," as Lindqvist suggests. Instead, the images in this series are eerily lit "by a thousand glowing lights," hence the series title. With the lights, and their shadow, the photographer creates a sense of borders around the visible, the recognizable, and that which is threatening, inaccessible yet a mere distance away. "The concept of the border, Lindqvist adds, is a reflection of the experience of an inherited yet closed off culture that was always seen through the eyes of a visitor."

Untitled 6, from the series A Thousand Little Suns, 2011 by Martina Lindqvist

Martina Lindqvist is a Swedish/Finnish photographic artist based in London. A University of Westminster graduate (with honors), her work has been shortlisted for the IPG/Terry O'Neill Award and DLA Piper Art Award, and it was selected as one of the winning entries of the Magenta Foundation's Flash Forward Emerging Photographers 2010 award. She has exhibited extensively in the U.K. at the Photographers Gallery and the Jerwood Space in London, and has also exhibited in India, Switzerland, Germany and Wales. Her work has been published in Portfolio magazine, HotShoe, British Journal of Photography, Creative Review, London Evening Standard, the Spectator, The Times, and was recently featured in Zoom Magazine's special issue on emerging international photographers.

Untitled , 2010 by Thomas Forbes

Photographers tend to travel a lot. If you are not someone who shoots exclusively in a studio, chances are being a photographer means the whole world is your studio. We are past the halfway mark now in the competition, and browsing through the submissions we have received so far already feels like a couple of journeys around the world. Photographers go on trips for all kinds of reasons, be it for an assignment, a personal project or just to explore. In Contender Thomas Forbes' case, his series Because You Went We Left, which consists of photographs taken on a year-long trip, was initiated by the death of his mother.

Untitled, by Thomas Forbes

On the 18th of April 2008, my life was irreversibly changed by the sudden death of my mother. The two years that followed were very difficult for me and my family, trying to find a way in a life that no longer featured someone so very important. During this time it occurred to me that if death and illness can ruin everything so swiftly and efficiently, it's far better to do the things you want to do now, rather than give disaster the time and opportunity to fuck things up. We gave ourselves a year, wrote a list of countries, packed our bags and left. Because You Went We Left is [the] series of images made on that year away.

Untitled, 2010 by Thomas Forbes

Untitled, 2010 by Thomas Forbes

Most of us have experienced wanderlust, and all travelers dream of the freedom of being able to go anywhere, anytime they want to go. Besides their photographic value, the images of Forbes' Because You Went We Left are also a great inspiration to those of us who constantly have the urge to see and experience a different corner of the world. If you have been thinking about that trip to Iceland (or Argentina, or India), rather than just thinking about it, maybe now is the time to grab your camera and get on a flight, as the "right" time and opportunity may never come.

Untitled, by Thomas Forbes

Even the greatest journey still comes to an end, but with the help of photography, we could not only look back, literally, at where we have been, but also preserve and share the moments and sentiments we have had along the way that lie beyond the power of words. The end of Forbes' travel is only the start of our visual journey. He concludes his trip with these words:

I am home now and no longer wake up in a new place each day with nothing to do but wander about taking pictures. Bugger. Real life has taken me back and spending so much of my time on photography is now impossible. I look back at these images and realise that maybe I'll never have an opportunity like that again, to focus so completely on something I love, for such a long time. Sad but true, but things have to move on.

Untitled, 2010 by Thomas Forbes

Forbes is a self-taught photographer and television producer based in the U.K. He studied History of Art and English Literature at university, and has worked for TV companies such as MTV and the BBC.

Untitled, 2011 by Cathrin Schulz

By breaking temperature records and forcing schools to close early, Summer has made it clear to us that it is here and in full swing. It is 94°F here in NYC today, with 50% humidity and a "feels like" reading of 101°F. On this scorcher of a day, it is only appropriate that we bring you this set of cool images from Contender Cathrin Schulz.

Untitled, 2011 by Cathrin Schulz

Cool, in its literal meaning, is almost an understatement. The crisp images from Schulz's POOLSIDE series appear to be cold in both aesthetics and method, with little trace of emotions or imperfections. Schulz places the aesthetic qualities of her subject matter in the foreground, and it is best explained in her bio:

Through the formal reduction and accentuation of particular colors in her photographs, [and by] using a reduced visual language, careful choice of motifs and precise cropping of the image, Cathrin Schulz condenses singular moments in their own authenticity. The clarity is intensified further through digital manipulation. By heightening contrasts, colors and saturations, she allows individual details and structures that would otherwise escape our attention to emerge in palpable relief.

Untitled, 2011 by Cathrin Schulz (click on image to enlarge)

The cinematic series is actually part of a long-term project called AUTHENTI(C)ITY of AMERICA, in which the Germany-born, Atlanta-based Schulz documents her vision of America:

Immersing myself in the urban scenery of the United States, I perceive its authenticity and diverseness and embrace it in soul places. With POOLSIDE, I sense a piece of Atlanta's soul, discovering a part of its culture. With my images I underscore a graphic and aesthetic perfection of my motives and its tranquility, without ever staging a setting. Approaching my subjects with a cool objectivity, lack of distortion and emptiness of human presence, my works convey a timelessness, creating a blank screen onto which one can project one's own memories and emotions.

Untitled, 2011 by Cathrin Schulz (click on image to enlarge)

Born in Wiesbaden, Germany, Schulz is a mother of three children and now resides in Atlanta, GA. With an academic background in economics, she started doing photographic work in the late '90s and has exhibited in Europe. Schulz also has a conceptual work portfolio on her website.

Grand Haven Pier, MI, United States (2002-2011) by Jay Van Dam

Memories are a funny thing. You never quite know what will trigger a flood of them rushing through your mind—a gleaming ray of light that catches your eye, a sudden scent that surrounds you, the feel of the air at a certain temperature and density on your skin, tunes that pour out of a car that sits still at an intersection... Often times they are small instances, but are just enough to raise the corners of your mouth or make your eyes water. Sadly, these crucial elements of memory are also seemingly impossible to replicate. Sometimes the harder you try to relive a moment, the further away you end up being from it. Contender Jay Van Dam's in memory of series deals exactly with that—memory, and the re-creation of it.

Hardy Dam, Newaygo, MI, United States (1998-2011) by Jay Van Dam

Whether intentional or not, a photograph captures a unique point in time. By capturing a moment, one also inevitably captures the memory associated with it, and vice versa. With a large-format camera and hand-built mini sets, Van Dam has managed to re-create and photograph past moments in his life, removing reality from the images as much as possible, making them almost timeless in the most literal sense. What remains is memory without "the moment," feelings and emotions in their purest visual form. Van Dam writes in his statement:

These images are manifestations of memory. Each is a testament to an impression of what once was, with the understanding that each individual recollection of a time and place will never be able to be re-presented in its entirety. Mediation is what prevails upon crafting these images, presenting both truth and fantasy to be one and the same.

Fushimi Inari Shrine, Kyoto, Japan (2007-2011) by Jay Van Dam

A recent graduate with a BFA in photography from the Ringling College of Art and Design, Van Dam has been greatly influenced by his photographer father. He has interned at different studios in New York City since last summer, including with the famed photographer Ryan McGinley. Keep up with Van Dam's latest projects on his blog, where he posts updates and behind-the-scenes photos.

Bitter Melon, 2011 by Joyce P. Lopez

As a nation, America has been paying more attention to all things food-related, from its production and eating local, to genetic modification and current bacterial concerns. Contender Joyce P. Lopez investigates the "architectural" and textural forms of fruits and vegetables in this series of "deconstructed still lifes" titled Edible Botanicals. Lopez not only captures the vibrant, verdant coloring and structural details, but she also creates imagery that serves to highlight the symmetry and order inherent in multiple carbon-based biological systems—from a parasite to vital life organs, Lopez's photographed edibles are reminiscent of more than just vegetables.

In her artist statement, Lopez writes:

Some botanicals are awkward; some beautiful, with delicate lines or sweeping forms. Others are amazing, with wartlike skin and amazing seed life in their interior. With a lifelong curiosity that often takes me down a biological path, I use photography as my microscope to enlarge and see what is often not seen or noticed, discovering their architecture, form and texture, both inside and out.

Tomatillos 1, 2011 by Joyce P. Lopez

When HHS! writer Kika first wrote about Lopez's photographs during the 2010 competition, she keenly understood Lopez's inclination to "lending a scientific and anthropological element" to her images. Lopez marries this technique with strong viewpoints to create works that speak to larger concerns than her "microscopic" explorations would indicate upon first glance. With her previous submission, the artist's intent was to focus on climate change and its effect on migratory birds.

Fiddlehead Fern, 2011 by Joyce P. Lopez

Like The Trouble With Birds, Lopez also imbues Edible Botanicals with a heavy-hitting message:

The issues of food, depending on locales in the world, custom, availability and cost, is something that is of great interest at the moment. With rising food costs everywhere, increasing water shortages and draughts, this has resulted in starving environmental refugees. We need to look at availability of food in relationship to soil, water, climate change, distribution and how it threatens or could threaten populations everywhere, even in the U.S.

Christmas Lima Beans, 2011 by Joyce P. Lopez

If we are indeed what we eat, it would behoove us to, much like Lopez does, examine and explore with a closer eye that which we consume.

Century City 2011 by Zander Price

The dramatic angles and domineering force of the buildings in Contender Zander Price's cityscapes could be colored by the fact that he is originally from Burlington, Vermont—a small city perched among the pristine Green Mountains, known for its laid-back demeanor and dog-friendly workplaces. (OK, so perhaps MY interpretation of his work is colored by my having attended school just one hour south in Middlebury.) In his images, the stark skyscrapers that emerge from flat expanses of cement planes could not be more different from the rolling green hills and pastures of tiny Vermont.

Stuy Town 2010 by Zander Price

After moving to New York from Vermont 10 years ago, Price spent nine of those years working on Wall St., having taken his lead from his business exec father. But these days, Price chooses to "devote all his time to the arts, mainly photography." Both Price's change in locale and his change in career seem to account for the overwhelming (intimidating?) presence of urban infrastructure in his series of photographs devoted to place.

In Century City 2011, vertical, industrial shapes mirror the two men that stand among them on a rectangular cement slab in a small courtyard. The small strip of grass surrounding them hints more at the absence of any natural element from this scene than at the inclusion of any living, breathing organism. Instead, metal, steel and glass reign in this finance-driven climate. To the right of the photo, a rather pathetic line of trees stands dwarfed by the larger, sturdier metal pillars on the left; the two men remain the smallest forms within the image.

More cityscapes and other (more tranquil) "places" can be found on Price's portfolio site.

Cloud, 2011 by Laura Monfredini

San Francisco photographer and Contender Laura Monfredini started shooting as a little kid with a Kodak Instamatic. These days, she relies on her digital Nikon d700, but the images she produces still harken back to the days of the inexpensive, "instant" photograph.

With popular instant cameras and film (i.e., Polaroid) nearly having gone extinct, fans of instant photography are more likely to be seen snapping photos on their iPhone, using apps like Instagram and Hipstamatic. And thanks to modern technology, through these hi-tech apps we can still apply those vintage Polaroid and Holga effects produced by the regular old film cameras of yore.

Little Boxes, 2011 by Laura Monfredini

Monfredini's images have the nostalgic, washed-out and overexposed appearance of an old (or "new") Polaroid image—the colors are slightly less-than-real; light leaks and vignetting grace the photos' edges.

Walk, 2011 by Laura Monfredini

What could easily come across as trite or a little too Urban Outfitters-esque, Monfredini presents as nostalgic—a tribute to her childhood, as well as to the city that she "lives in and loves."

Crows, 2009 by Tamas Dezso

Photography has long been used to document social and political changes and movements. Today, when we reflect on such historical events, especially those of the past century, they are often memorized and summarized by one or a series of iconic photographs: Alfred Eisenstaedt's V-J Day in Times Square, Paul Fusco's RFK Train series, Jeff Widener's "Tank Man" photograph, to name but a few. One region of the world that once attracted a lot of documentary photographers for political reasons, and has since gone through a significant transformation, is Eastern Europe—Contender Tamas Dezso's choice of subject.

Night Watchman, 2009 by Tamas Dezso

Ruin, 2011 by Tamas Dezso

Eastern Europe was a term that, up until 20 years ago, not only defined a geographic region and a political standpoint, but also, and more importantly, a way of life. Today, while still in use, this term likely conjures a distant, if not irrelevant, tumultuous time period. However, there is no denying the influence and impact of that era, as evident in images from Here, Anywhere. "The map of Hungary is speckled with capsules of time. During the political transformation 20 years ago, as the country experienced change, it simply forgot about certain places—streets, blocks of flats, vacant sites and whole districts became self-defined enclosures, where today a certain outdated, awkward, longed-to-be-forgotten Eastern Europeanness still lingers," states Dezso on his series, which focuses on the landscape changes in Hungary.

Most countries (if not every) have these corners, streets or sites that are symbolic of a certain era and seem just a bit out of place and time today. They seem to belong to a distant past rather than the present. Yet, they exist, as if to remind us of how far we have come. Dezso explains:

I do not observe these mini-universes in the hope of recording entirety, but rather aim to capture the essence of these worlds by elevating certain arbitrarily chosen details into embodiments of a disappearing existence. The series, begun in 2009, examines the typically transitional period and symbolic locations of post-communist spaces that, due to disinterest or thoughtlessness, are slowly vanishing, fading into images... their inimitable existence may cease to be present by tomorrow. But for the time being, they are still around. Here. Here, anywhere.

Johanna, 2009 by Tamas Dezso

A Hungary native, Dezso is a documentary fine art photographer working on long-term projects focusing on the margins of society in Hungary, Romania and other parts of Eastern Europe. His photographs have been published in the New York Times, National Geographic, GEO magazine, TIME, Le Monde magazine and many others. His work has received a number of awards, including from organizations and institutions like World Press Photo, Pictures of the Year International, NPPA's Best Of Photojournalism and PDN. Dezso's latest accomplishment is winning the 2011 Center Awards project competition.

Betta No.2, 2010 by Huy Lam

The Betta splendens—aka betta, Siamese fighting fish, rumble fish—are a favored pet for many people. They're relatively low-key and can live anywhere from 2 to 9 years. That is, assuming you keep the males (which, like the peacock, have ostentatious, bright colors) apart from one another, and provide the right care, they should live a long time. In Contender Huy Lam's submissions, however, the photographer wanted to capture the immediate tension that arises when two males interact. The display is an innate reaction; often, lone males will flare their richly hued fins at their own reflection. The tenacious, territorial behavior precedes a violent duel to the death for one, if not both, of the betta—it's very fitting that Betta splendens means "beautiful warrior."

Betta No.4, 2010 by Huy Lam

In Lam's submission, the crowntailed beauties' iridescent fins, when photographed against the stark white and black backgrounds, resemble something more akin to exotic flora with silken petals, or lush, billowing organza fabric. Pinks, blues, purples, reds and oranges swirl and sway with the bettas' movements, while confrontation looms. Their beautiful display only serves to draw attention to a moment taut with aggression and danger.

In his artist statement, Lam explains, "I discovered that the only way to get a 'reaction' from them was to let them see each other. They are called 'fighting fish' after all, and it was through this observation that I witnessed their dance like movements."

Betta No.5, 2010 by Huy Lam

The Vietnam-born, Toronto-based photographer specializes in commercial and advertising photography, with a focus on people and their environment, and counts American Express, Mercedes-Benz and Motorola among his clients. And, despite the colorful showdown, Lam points out that, "No bettas were ever harmed, because they were never in the same bowl."

Captive_01 , 2009 by Gaston Lacombe

Ever stare at a rock chuck and think, "I wonder what is going on in that little head?" Yes? Us too! There are a lot of animal lovers here at the HHS! office, so the series Captive, by Contender Gaston Lacombe, could not have escaped our eyes.

Captive_02 , 2009 by Gaston Lacombe

At first glance, what captures the viewer's imagination is that every animal in the images seems to be having a moment of its own, and it's the kind of moment that us humans can understand, or even relate to. The posture, the attitude and the look in their eyes captured by Lacombe are all suggestive of an isolated state of mind that is very fitting to the backdrop. As Lacombe explains in his statement, the unnatural living environments is exactly what he is trying to address with these images:

In zoos all around the world, visitors go to admire some of the most beautiful, rare or fierce creatures on Earth, but often fail to notice the deplorable habitats in which they are kept. I have been gathering pictures from zoos in North America and Asia for the last two years. I like most zoos—I really do. Some zoos need to be congratulated for making great efforts at conserving endangered species, providing shelter to animals who could not otherwise survive and educating the public on ecological issues. However, even in the best zoos, there are always some animals that are stuck in cement enclosures too small for their needs, or in rooms where the only vegetation they see are the plants painted on the wall... The animals live in cages where they cannot even sit up, [where they] walk in a thick layer of their own feces or have no access to daylight or clean water. At these moments, I feel guilty for supporting a system that treats animals cruelly, and at these moments, I take pictures.

Captive_03 , 2010 by Gaston Lacombe

Lacombe hails from Canada but is based in Washington, D.C. He has a PhD in history, and he has worked in a wide array of professions, from teacher to diplomat and journalist. He has been working as a professional photographer after receiving his diploma in professional photography from the Center for the Digital Imaging Arts at Boston University, Washington, D.C., campus in January 2010. Since then, he has published a number of articles in publications such as the Washington Post, Toronto Star and Islands magazine. He was also a finalist in PDN's World in Focus competition and had his work published in the PDN magazine. His photo of monks in Bhutan just became National Geographic's Photo of the Day yesterday.

The Gannons, by Kristin Skees

Relationships, Contender Kristin Skees opines in her Cozy Portraits series, "can often walk the fine line between loving and smothering." To visually represent this idea, Skees creates custom cozies for her subjects—covering all traces of identifiable characteristics—and photographs them in their everyday settings, capturing "the claustrophobia of relationships." Simply named after the friends or family members in her series, each portrait pairs the subjects with their all-too-consuming milieu: for Mom and Dad, it's the time spent on the road in their aluminum RV; for Julie, it's her antiquated, midcentury vibrating belt machine, an allusion to the subject's relationship with her physical fitness regimen.

Julie, by Kristin Skees

The cozied, with the exception of Bill the Librarian, aren't in enclosed spaces. It's clear the claustrophobia, then, is represented solely by the closeness of the fabric to the skin, and by its restrictive, almost-mummifying design. But the cozies also serve to strip the individuals of any likeness, in effect adding another layer to the artist's theory on love: Relationships aren't just claustrophobic, they're homogenizing. The resulting images are humorous, yet challenging, and convey a sweetness between the paired subjects—even if some of them do seem out of place, if not downright uncomfortable.

Mom and Dad #1, by Kristin Skees

Untitled from the series Mother Goddess, 2009 by Pinar Yolaçan

In contrast, contemporary artist Pinar Yolaçan, in her Mother Goddess series, covers the subjects in head-to-toe creations. With considerable more movement allowed by these costumes, her subjects lie in classical poses, evoking the zaftig deities of ancient cultures. Both works speak of constriction (even a Goddess is bound by her responsibilities). But, whereas Yolaçan's images are carefully controlled—from the environment to the progression throughout the series—Skees' portraits are more outlandish, less deliberate and are a direct statement on the ties that bind, if you will, within our relationships.

Bill the Librarian, by Kristin Skees

HOVERING GROCERY SHOPPING ASSISTANT WITH LEATHER HAND LEAD, 2009
by Patrick Strattner

Part satire on mass consumerism, part would-be shopping catalogue—and entirely amusing—Contender Patrick Strattner's series PROTOTYPES features absurdist inventions for the commercially obsessed. Need a portable armpit dryer? A battery-operated toothbrush that brushes all your teeth at once? Strattner's got you covered. Inspired by in-flight publication SkyMall, Strattner conceived of, designed, created and photographed an array of inventions intended to make life "easier and, thus, more enjoyable."

ZIPPERED OUTER APPAREL WITH ATTACHABLE VELCRO ACCESSORIES, 2009
by Patrick Strattner

The creations are a testament to the artist's understanding of and insight into products that a public would, essentially, want to buy. By highlighting the gadgetry and components necessary to make the products work, however, Strattner is putting on display the seeming impracticableness inherent in satiating our immediate-gratification-consumerist nature. The photographs themselves—bright, colorful and funny—have a deliberate advertising appeal. In Strattner's comical world, what you want, you've got, no matter how cumbersome or outlandish.

BATTERY OPERATED BACK HAIR 2IN1 SHAVING AND GROOMING SYSTEM, 2010
by Patrick Strattner

In his artist statement, Strattner adds:

Like SkyMall products, my PROTOTYPES series encourages the audience to fantasize about a better life, a life made easier, and thus more enjoyable, through the possession of one or more of my inventions... However, like many items found in the SkyMall publication, the fantasy usually proves more gratifying than the actual product. My chosen medium of photography is essential in perpetuating that fantasy. Through photography, the prototype looks full of possibility and promise. The audience can embrace the concept of using this invention to improve their quality of life.

The Berlin-based photographer counts Adidas and Monocle among his clients; you can view more of his work here. However, those of you wanting to purchase any of his inventions are out of luck: The artist dismantles the prototypes after photographing them because "the fantasy exists more in the two-dimensional image and, as a result, the audience can allow themselves to indulge in the fantasy more readily and through that process find hope in possibility."

the other landscape 02, 2010 by Laura Garcia Serventi

Memorial Day weekend is upon us. While some of us will duly fire up the grill, open a couple of cold beers and enjoy a warm and lazy weekend at home, there is no doubt that many Americans will spend the holiday in the great outdoors, welcoming summer by enjoying and celebrating the beauty of nature—likely many people in the northern hemisphere will be doing the same in the coming months. Contender Laura Garcia Serventi's images of seemingly stunning landscapes, then, will give us all something to look forward to while heading out the door.

the other landscape 03, 2010 by Laura Garcia Serventi

From afar, the images in this series look like they were taken at different national parks. As the eerily beautiful images draw you in, however, a painterly quality presents itself, making you second-guess whether they are actually photographs. Well, paintings they are not. Serventi's the other landscape series was shot entirely at various Museums of Natural History, with each image showing just one small detail from a diorama. The confusion these images cause is precisely what Serventi is going after:

My work develops around the theatricality of the photographic medium, its relationship between truth and simulation and the concept of "mise en scène." My images are often created from this oscillation and develops around the concepts of "the natural" against "the artificial," "the real" against "the fake," and the ambiguous relationship that exists between them. The natural world is always present; sometimes it's the center of the image, sometimes it's just a backdrop, but it's always a nature that has been appropriated in some way. It's a nature at human scale, never wild, always under control, harmless. Whether it's a painted representation, or a diorama, or a collage made out of photographs taken at a botanical garden, there's always the intrusion of a human hand and the intention of creating an illusion. The landscape becomes a scenography and the photograph translates into a mise-en-scène. Contrary to the Romantic conception of nature, this natural universe has been intervened [with] and altered to human scale, [has] become submissive and completely still.

the other landscape 04, 2010 by Laura Garcia Serventi

Serventi was in fact trained in painting in her native Argentina, before discovering her love for photography and moving to Italy to study it. Now calling New York home, Serventi's work ranges from traditional photography to paper and tridimensional collage.

I am more than my face:), 2010 by Mitsuko Nagone

As many of you might have heard, the most expensive photograph in the world is currently a self-portrait. Cindy Sherman's Untitled 96, a conceptual portrait of herself from 1981, recently sold for $3.89 million at a Christie's auction in New York. Though best known for photographing herself in a range of makeup and costumes, Ms. Sherman has famously said that she didn't consider her photographs as self-portraits, as she never saw herself in them and she felt anonymous in her work. On the contrary, Contender Mitsuko Nagone's self-portraits are all about herself.

As the most identifiable feature on the human body, the face is usually a key part of any portrait work. Yet in Nagone's I Am More Than My Face:) series, every photograph is faceless. Nagone hopes to take a fresh look at how we define ourselves, and how we identify other people, by eliminating the face:

With this project, I intend to create myself, instead of finding my identity. People often ask themselves, "Who am I?" However, this may take them away from the truth. The definition of who they are could limit their own possibilities and the infinity of their essences. I believe that the self should be created, instead of being found. The self-portraits explore this idea, since the face is obscured. The human face seems to emphasize "who" a person is and gives insight about the individual. This may misinform the audience. I would like to challenge the viewers' misconceptions and stereotypes.

I am more than my face:), 2010 by Mitsuko Nagone

Nagone sets both head and heart aside in her exploration of these "essences."
It was Jacques Lacan who shook the world with his theories on human emotional development, including what he referred to as "the mirror stage." In his seminal essay "Some Reflections on the Ego," he wrote:

"The mirror stage is a phenomenon to which I assign a twofold value. In the first place, it has historical value as it marks a decisive turning-point in the mental development of the child. In the second place, it typifies an essential libidinal relationship with the body image."

According to Lacan, this moment of recognition often comes before the baby's body is fully coordinated, thus leading to a "fragmented" self-image. In seeing his/her own face, the child becomes utterly confused and so by seeing his or herself, actually becomes alienated from his or herself. Whew!

I am more than my face:), 2010 by Mitsuko Nagone

Nagone's work plays off of Lacan's theory, hiding the human face in order to seek truth and wholeness. What results from the process, however, is a series of images that appear more confusing and fragmented to the viewer than would a standard portrait. In the second image, the manner in which she has positioned both her sweatshirt and her body trick the eye. At first look, it is difficult to tell whether she is facing the right or the left. The human form (missing face aside) looks disfigured, but it is unclear as to why.

Nagone's images are at once playful and challenging—as fellow humans we seek recognition; we want, need to see her face, but over and over again she obscures it from our view.

Additional writing by Qian Ma

Untitled, 2011 by Kyla Medina

Every photograph ever captured is tied in some way to the human psyche—whether that tie exists in the artist's intent or only in the viewer's individual perception of that image. Contender Kyla Medina directly relates her images to her background in the study of human psychology, using her subjects to illustrate feelings of self-doubt or the struggle with self-identity, which Medina, especially, can relate to.

"I began a search through my own experiences, as well as for common themes in the experiences of others," she writes in her artist statement. She then staged scenes that would produce "metaphorical images." Images that, according to Medina, "reflect moments of guarded insecurity and self-evaluation of identity."

In this respect, I consider them autobiographical images even though I ask another to act in my place.

The Space Between, 2010 by Kyla Medina

This "near-obsessive awareness of identity" that Medina refers to shines through in her offset portraits, capturing her subjects in moments when they are most vulnerable—falling from a merry-go-round; covering their blemishes and pruning themselves before a mirror; subjecting themselves to ridicule by acting in an unusual manner in a public space.

Untitled, 2011 by Kyla Medina

An undergraduate psychology major and photography minor at the University of Iowa, Medina merges the two disciplines, producing self-effacing photographs that speak to the vulnerability of our species resulting from any and all attacks on our strong sense of self-pride.

Abigail Feels Lost, 2010 by Guia Besana

Consider bedtime stories, video games and animated films featuring talking and singing animals—it seems as though children these days are often immersed in a world of fiction from the very get-go. But what about their mothers? In the spirit of threading together a fictional narrative through images of mothers, both pregnant and experienced, Hey, Hot Shot! Contender and Italian photographer Guia Besana explores the role of mother in her ongoing project BABY BLUES. In describing her efforts, Besana writes:

I try to define the role of the mother, decribing the conflictual world women experience during pregnancy and motherhood, capturing a moment in daily life in which the woman's identity is questioned, with the purpose of preserving the emotional experience that becoming a mother entails.

Mrs. Robinson's Stretching Session, 2010 by Guia Besana

Using a large-format camera and artificial light, Besana stages admittedly fictional representations of moments teased out of an imagined mother's daily life.

Untitled from the series Remote Control, by Guia Besana

In another series, Besana alters her approach and instead captures very real moments of children and adults alike playing on the popular gaming system Nintendo Wii. What may, at first glance, appear to be standard photos of likewise standard families, positioned in front of the television in their living rooms, are actually very telling photographs in their own right. Each image in Remote Control proffers a window into the worlds of these people, these families. Every detail, from the clothes they are wearing down to their couch and carpet selection, lends itself to the telling of their own story.

Untitled from the series Remote Control, by Guia Besana

Untitled from the series Remote Control, by Guia Besana

By taking candid images of families at play in their homes, Besana packs several novels worth of narrative into just one series of modest and non-presumptuous—it is the viewer who makes presumptions based on the visual evidence—photographs of people at play.

Defender #2, 2010 by Sean M. Eno

There's something inherently frightening and uneasy about the world Contender Sean M. Eno created in his series Defenders. The massive, stationary watch posts immediately convey a foreboding sense of militaristic authoritarianism, and the viewer's first questions are likely: What are those things? And what is their purpose? Big Brother is watching you, indeed.

The futuristic structures are intimidating both in their architecture—seemingly impenetrable fortresses—and in their positioning—above you, over you, looking down on you at all times.

Defender #1, 2010 by Sean M. Eno

Scarier still is the unspecified reasoning behind their presence. What led the government to create these "sentinels," as Eno calls them? What kind of societal upheaval or life-altering event prompted their necessity?

Defender #3, 2010 by Sean M. Eno

In his artist statement, Eno explains:

We see the great city in the sky at a distance, across the water. A safe distance? Certain structures, when observed through a telephoto lens and isolated against the Rococo sky, take on the characteristics of enormous spacecraft, hovering. What are these craft? Who built them? Is there anyone inside? This project imagines a series of dormant sentinels, all that remain of a long-dead civilization. Once menacing agents of intimidation and control, they remain among us as dormant guardians of a vanished empire.

Seems like a fitting contender post, given recent fascinations with the apocalypse: zombie, rapture or otherwise. It's a distinctly human pastime, the preoccupation with all things end-of-the-world. In this series, Eno has tapped into one of the plot lines in doomsday scenarios, wherein abuse of power and crowd control manifest themselves as an imposing, menacing armada in the skies.

Untitled. Barents Sea, Norway. 2010 by Andres Gonzalez

"Traveling, it makes you lonely, then gives you a friend; it leaves you speechless, then turns you into a storyteller; it gives you a home in a thousand strange places, then leaves you a stranger in your own land." Ibn Battuta, the great 14th-century Moroccan scholar and traveler, said these words about traveling. 700 years later, despite the vast social changes and technological advancements, traveling, at least the essence of it, remains much the same to us. Unlike 700 years ago, however, the invention of the camera has completely changed the documentation of traveling. It was far away from his Californian hometown, out in the Namibian desert, where contender Andres Gonzalez found his love for photography over a decade ago.

Untitled. Tsagaan Nuur, Mongolia. 2010 by Andres Gonzalez

Many trips and photographs later, Gonzalez has been named one of PDN's 30 to watch, was granted a Fulbright Fellowship, was shortlisted for a New York Photo Award and has shot for publications such as Newsweek, Monocle, W and Wallpaper. Although he now calls the incredibly multicultural Istanbul home, the fascination with traveling to far away places and the desire to hit the road have not faded for Gonzalez, as evident in his statement for the series Somewhere:

The passenger steps onto the overcast deck and remembers a line. "Soft was the sun." The wind to his back, he is facing the stern and an endless trail of thoughts drifting away from him towards the horizon. He wants no words, only to enjoy the delicate anticipation of a moment waiting to reveal itself. What are the limits of language? This is the mind, felt, not spoken. He makes a photograph of a seagull, and does not resist the emotion that brings. There is a town passing by on the starboard side of the ship, the mind-boggling, awe-inspiring, crazy-making, world of people. He is happy for the distance, but knows that any idea of separation is only an illusion. Everything exists according to the laws of nature. There is a core, it seems. The sea turns grey for a moment, the lights from the town slowly dimming, overtaken by fog. He makes another photograph of the fading light, the soft presence of time. The ship begins to slow, ahead a port, and another journey.

Untitled. Khovsgol, Mongolia. 2010 by Andres Gonzalez

The images in the series are just as poetic as Gonzalez's words. Like Gonzalez's partner Carolyn Drake said about the "Boy with Axe" image, the mystery in these images is captivating. As with all mysteries, there is something very interpretive about Gonzalez's images. At the same time, there is a very quiet quality to them, as if each image is a secret that is being whispered into the viewer's ears, and no exchange of words is necessary.

Keep up with Gonzalez on his blog, where he posts news and his latest photos.

Response to Print of Egret Rookery, Louisiana, 2010 by Laura Plageman

Contender Laura Plageman's landscapes are constructed creations where lush, verdant lands and surreal, white skies buckle, bend, tear and fold. The resulting dreamworld she's created is at times stark and isolated, but imbued with wonderment and resplendency. To create the work, Plageman re-photographs enlarged prints with a large-format camera, manipulating and interacting with the original. A fold in the print, when re-photographed, serves as a tool to deflect and distribute light, for instance. The crisp details accentuate and enhance the evident artist's touches.

Response to Print of Kudzu, Texas, 2010 by Laura Plageman

Taken from her Response series, the images, like Plageman, "explore the relationships between the process of image making, photographic truth and distortion and the representation of landscape." From her artist statement:

In this series I am responding to photographs both as representations and tangible objects... I create works that oscillate between image and object, photography and sculpture, landscape and still life. While they may appear illusory, the resulting pictures are documents of actual events and are thus as authentic as the original representational images contained within. My process unfolds through observation and experimentation—I let the image and its materiality dictate its direction. Playing with paper and with light in unplanned and organic ways, I look for new ways to perceive the space, form and context of my subjects.

Response to Print of Green Hill, Washington, 2010 by Laura Plageman

The images in Plageman's series touch upon nature and "the hand of man" in both a literal and figurative sense, while simultaneously making the elements within the picture—the documented, the fabricated, the manipulated—meld and interact with one another to create an entirely new landscape, an entirely new creation.

Liquor and Lotto, 2009 by Baldomero Fernandez

Middle America: the backdrop of Contender Baldomero Fernandez's Middletown series. "I portray the situations and objects that I encounter in my travels through middle America honestly and the viewer is left to endow them with a much deeper meaning," writes Fernandez in his artist statement. But, where is middle America exactly, then? Interestingly, Wikipedia lists it as an American region and a societal class. In strict geographical terms, it's an area known as the Midwest. However, in the context of Middletown, defining the precise boundaries of "Mid-America" is almost pointless, as Fernandez's work is simply about the part of America that's often overlooked and ignored.

Burning Down the House, 2009 by Baldomero Fernandez

To some, the places and people that appear in Fernandez's images might very well be familiar territories; to others, they probably fall in the "familiar yet strange" category. We have all been there: the small towns, towns you pass by (probably on your way to somewhere bigger), towns you might have spent some time in, but left for somewhere "better" years ago. They are places you rarely take any interest in because, on the surface, they are just unexciting, uninteresting; depressing, even. Yet, just like the boring, sad or unremarkable moments that make up the empty spaces in an album full of happy and exciting photos, these places and their people are not to be ignored or forgotten. They live in the vast land between the more bustling cities and towns of America that most of us are so familiar with. Fernandez explains his interest:

I am tied up in a love-hate relationship with the American landscape and civilization. Middletown represents a country where Wal-mart is the institution that best symbolizes its identity. Middletown is the coal-dusted faces, which are smoking cigarettes as they look at me and ask if I work for the government as they burn down their house so they don't have to pay taxes on it any longer. Middletown is the Grandma who puts the delicate imported Ecuadorian rose in the fridge next to the half and half so it lasts just a few days longer. Middletown is small town America under the cold florescent tubes of the box store that keeps the myth of the five and dime alive while at the same time co-opting it. Middletown is sweet and it is sour. This work is a mix of melancholy and desperate hope. The work aims to capture an abstraction in close proximity to a reality... Middletown is a continuation of my exploration into the cracks on the surface of the American dream.

Conversation, 2009 by Baldomero Fernandez

Fernandez's photographs give those of us who are outsiders an insight into the daily lives in "Middletown." Exclusively black and white, the subtle contrast takes a layer of drama away from the images. At the same time, the mellowness draws the viewers into each image, inviting them to discover and imagine the stories hidden beneath the surface. Fernandez was a finalist in the 2011 Center Awards Project Competition for Middletown. He has worked on projects in different corners of the world, and his commercial photographs have appeared in magazines such as Vanity Fair, W and The New Yorker. Check out his website for more of his work.

Day 47, 2009 by Jennifer Wilkey

Cold. Sterile. Isolating. For many, a stay in a hospital can be a trying experience, a constant memento mori: the routine blood draws; the IV drip; the confining cots; the intrusive X-rays and medical tests. For Contender Jennifer Wilkey, whose mother and brother have long been affected by illness, visiting hospitals has been an inextricable part of her life. In her series of images, the photographer examines illness from the perspectives of the patient, the visitor, the doctor, the hospital and the treatments.

Take Two, Three Times Daily, 2009 by Jennifer Wilkey

Though the subject of this series is likely the artist's mother, Wilkey doesn't focus on the disease but, rather, the longevity of illness and of the necessary hospital stay, and the emotional and psychological toll it takes. Wilkey, in her artist statement, explains:

Long-term illness is diagnosed through the medical institution, but it is also interpreted in the personal and emotional realms. While enclosed in a hospital room, life in the outside world continues and, in a sense, passes the patient by. Time becomes an element of duality; one that exists in slow motion within the hospital, while it simultaneously hurries by beyond the hospital doors.

Redline, 2009 by Jennifer Wilkey

The resulting body of work is a personal statement on long-term illness and healing, and humanizes the otherwise staid experience by adding the artist's creative touch. Hospital robes and medical receipt paper become tools with which the photographer further weaves a story: fashioning blue pills out of former robes, knitting vital signs onto paper with with red wool or embroidering floral patterns onto an IV bag all serve to indicate a personal acceptance of sorts, while providing a distinct relief from the mundane and often monochromatic setting. "Through the use of monotony, repetition and duration," Wilkey adds, "unusual narratives are constructed that walk a space between reality and the surreal." For more of the artist's multidisciplinary works—including a study on scars and stitches constructed from fabric, wax and thread—head to her site.

Untitled, 2011 by Lydia Anne McCarthy

Like a fading or obstructed memory as it bubbles to the surface, the images in Contender Lydia Anne McCarthy's series Shadows and Reflections are murky and a little mysterious. Important details disappear into the void, replaced by the sensation of the event or memory. Awash with the glow of refracted light, these haunting portraits are moments frozen in time awaiting each viewer's own interpretation, and are symbolic of the photographer's inclination to meander between the real and the imagined, the actual and the remembered.

Untitled, 2011 by Lydia Anne McCarthy

The artist is most concerned with—as her statement and Website reiterate—her "intense longing to experience a reality" that is not her own. Using a reconstructed 8x10 camera with the lens replaced by a fresnel, these portraits take on a blurred, abstracted quality. "The resulting images," she explains on her site, "are impressions of refracted light, with the highlights rendered as spectrum and the darker areas as undefined lines and shapes." The viewer is unable to see clearly the identifying trademarks and characteristics of the subject and is, instead, asked to project their own perceptions unto them:

I find myself obsessed with how we perceive and experience reality. These photographs are visions, flashes and hallucinations of moments from the past. Each image vibrates with the thin traces of memory and attempts to gain access to the archive of the unconscious. The lens of this camera has the ability to simultaneously mutate and beautify; it creates a flickering vortex of darkness and light. I am asking both the viewer and myself: What do you at once desire and fear? And how does this alter your perception of the world?

Untitled, 2011 by Lydia Anne McCarthy

Fans of her work will also be pleased to know she'll be exhibiting at Daniel Cooney in July 2011.

Town and Country Days, 2010 by Aaron Blum

Appalachia. A mysterious, mountainous pocket of the United States widely known for its Trail, its legendary feuds and its coal, thanks to countless historical fiction novels and, of course, Hollywood. But fewer of us actually know what it is to reside in this sliver of land, sidled up to either side of the mountain chain that stretches from southern New York state to northern Alabama and Mississippi. Contender Aaron Blum, however, knows it well.

A West Virginia native, Blum grew up in the heart of Appalachia, privy to a world that is rarely captured accurately in books and on the screen. "Outsiders have long since fictionalized the narrative surrounding Appalachia," he writes in the introduction to his series, Born and Raised: Reflections of a World Set Aside. He continues:

As a resident of West Virginia I have always been aware of the views others hold of my home, and they have guided me to create my own version of life in the hills. My Appalachia is a granulated depiction based on the false impressions of others, my idealizations and personal experiences.

Through his play with light and with subjects loosely based around his family and friends, Blum creates a window into a slightly exaggerated, slightly fictionalized version of his homeland. But for Blum, it has become difficult to tease apart the "real" Appalachia from the imagined. Perhaps, his images seem to suggest, in this very rare case, the dream has actually informed reality, rather than the other way around.

Living Room, 2010 by Aaron Blum

Blum's images, with their thoughtful use of light and setting, infuse both the hilly landscapes and modest living rooms of Appalachia with an almost enchanted quality. County fairs become glowing, elvish cities hidden deep among the trees, and what are initially unassuming parlors become the eerie backdrops of science-fiction thrillers upon second glance.

Lerato and Haley, 2010 by Ellen Jacob

Contender Ellen Jacob's series, Substitutes, is about the relationships forged between immigrant nannies and their charges. Rife with possibilities to incite ire or spark controversy—the nation continually clashes over immigration policy; hiring help to raise children still carries a negative stigma—the topic of whether or not to hire immigrant nannies is not universal and not indicative of American culture at large. Rather, these images reflect a slice of life more common with celebrities and the wealthy than with the average American. Still, that hasn't stopped the touchy subject matter from receiving ample media attention and getting the lit treatment.

Rita and Jacob, 2010 by Ellen Jacob

In addition to visual contrast, the images in this series capture the loving bond that often forms between caregivers and the little ones they look after, feed, play with and help raise. Outsiders (much like, arguably, the working parents themselves) are not privy to the intimate, personal nature that exists between nanny and charge—from nap and bath time to emotional support and the minute details inherent in child rearing. Instead, Jacob focuses on the quotidian: Whether taking the kids out to the park or grabbing a bite at kid-favorite McDonald's, these are the immediate scenes most often witnessed throughout New York City.

Lerato and Haley 2, 2010 by Ellen Jacob

As for the title of the series and the issues she's presenting, Jacob cites:

The women in these photographs perform parenting duties. They are substitute parents. This fact leads to questions about how we as a society raise children. Being a nanny is a low-paying job where love between the nanny and child is one of the anticipated but universally unspoken duties. This is an unusual expectation in a financial transaction. For me, the situation raised issues of racism and the exploitation of inexpensive labor. But what I found was something different. I was surprised by the warmth and honesty of both the employed and their employers. Most of the nannies were primarily interested in having a job and paying their bills; most moms had grappled with uncomfortable issues of parenting, race and economics. Most say race doesn't matter. But if race doesn't matter, why these persistent racial divides?

Jacob brings to this project a personal viewpoint: She, too, had an immigrant nanny.
"Substitutes," she says, "is about the indelible impressions these women leave, and the persistent questions they raise."

Motel Bien Venido, 2010 by Walker Pickering

There's something deeply American about the desire to hit the paved road with nothing but good tunes, a camera and enough money to afford the basics: the motels, the fast food joints and ice cold beers. Inherent in this road trip fantasy is the romanticized notion that because you're (likely) traveling alone, it's nothing but you and the road.

Meal, 2009 by Walker Pickering

Contender Walker Pickering's series Nearly West depicts the still, solitary moments that wanderlusters and Kerouacians long for, the instances of communion between the nomad and that which is encountered. Each setting hints at a narrative describing the deeply personal nature of experiencing a new point on a map, whether planned or not. The muted palette therein reflects the worn and weathered atmosphere endemic to the towns most travelers opt to overlook. These seemingly mundane destinations the Texas-based photographer comes upon are interspersed with beautiful, serene discoveries.

Hole, 2009 by Walker Pickering

In a recent interview, Pickering discussed his often nomadic lifestyle and admitted that the naming of the series also hints at the idea of the grass being greener anywhere but where one is. It would seem, then, that Pickering's road trip is an ongoing one.

From his artist statement:

From Dorothea Lange in the Great-Depression 1930s and Robert Frank in the Cold-War 1950s, to Stephen Shore in the Vietnam-era 1970s, Walker Pickering continues the grand tradition of socially engaged photographic road trips across the United States. With his medium-format film camera, he discovers and documents a panoply of American places in square-format photographs that remind us of who we are as individuals and members of a society. Urban parking lots, rural roads, monuments, motel rooms, and roadside attractions receive Pickering's equal, loving attention. Often infused with golden sunlight and blending beauty with apparent ugliness, his landscapes are both physical and psychic spaces.

Learn more about the artist, his other series and his upcoming exhibitions.

Rainbow, 2008 by Walker Pickering

It's been a hectic and amazing 2010 for all of us at JBP, and as the year comes to a close it seems fitting to take a retrospective look at all that has happened here on the HHS! blog over the past months. Although HHS! has officially wrapped up for this year—the five stupendous 2010 Hot Shots were announced just this past October —we can't help but keep looking back over the really, really sensational group of contenders from this year's competition.

There are a whole bunch of submissions that we haven't been able to shake from our collective consciousnesses, and we thought we'd take the opportunity (in the downtime between competitions) to look back at some of the images that we featured in (the more than 100!) contender posts over the course of this just-past round.

Have a look at just a few of our favorite images that came in this season, (and click on each artist's name to read a little more about his or her work!)

Cat, by James Luckett

Untitled, from the series Liminal Points: The Woods by Nick Rochowski

Boy playing in his grandfathers WWII tunic, Artemare, France, 2010 from The French by Nick Turpin

Lemonade Stand, Rhinebeck, NY, 2009, from the series Stand Alone, by Robert Forlini

Pink Pillows, 2007/2010 by Dorthe Alstrup

llness, Female, 60 years old, 2010, by Sarah Sudhoff

Untitled #1 (from Future Cities: Lima), 2010 by Noah Addis

Untitled, July 2010 from the series Maho Beach by Thomas Prior

Untitled from the series Pulsar, 2009 by Yuji Hamada

Minute Owl. (Day 61, Camera Trap No.168, Madura Forest), 2009 by Renhui Zhao

Untitled, from the series In the Fulcrum of Our Dreams by Teo Ormond-Skeaping

The Punishment Buzzcut, from the series Exposure in Vivo by Selena Salfen

AF 3231, 2008 by Judith Stenneken

Flowers and Workers I, November 2009 from the series Far Chang by Taylor R. Glenn

The Dollar Room, from the series Roma/Gypsy Interiors by Carlo Gianferro

Untitled by Jennifer Garza-Cuen

Morning of 30th Birthday, 2004 by Melissa Rene Kaseman

Untitled, by Uygur Yilmaz

Untitled, 2010 by Danielle Aseff

Untitled, 2010 by Kate Hutchinson

Untitled, from the series Uncanny Places by Virgílio Ferreira

Jose on Chapulín in Lost Hills, CA. Jose Saldaña wears the traditional dress of the Charreada, or Mexican rodeo while astride his colt Chapulín in the front yard of his home in Lost Hills. Jose, 25, works in the oil fields outside of town and supports his aunt, uncle, sister, and two nieces. On his days off Jose practices the equestrian and lariat events and regularly competes with a team at Charreadas in the Central Valley and Los Angeles., March 28, 2009, from Lost Hills, by Sam Comen

Underneath, from the series Subconscious Pink by Nik Mirus

Untitled, April 2010, from Kabul, Afghanistan, by Lauren Lancaster

Oranges, 2010 by Jennifer Mason

Dr. Wilk D.D.S., Exam Room 1, Instrument Tray, 2010 by Mark Lyon

New Work #43, 2010 by Jordan Tate

The striking thing about the images from his series, Morphology, by HHS! semi-finalist Eric White, is that he shows us a new way of looking at landscape. That new way involves looking at photographs of landscapes that do not necessarily read to the eye as photographs. Stripped of any indication that we are viewing traditional color or black-and-white photographic images, we are instead left to read visual elements whose variables might be more easily found in the field of drawing and painting: line, weight and value.

Plate #56, from the series Morphology by Eric T. White

Through a reverse-printing method, White extracts from his large-format negatives nearly pure form, and the inversion of tonal values in the process cuts out what might normally be extraneous to the eye or total composition, leaving us with strong lines that make up the trunks or branches of trees and delicate, barely-there tones indicating grasses and brush. Foregrounds are a delicate wash of white-ish and light gray hues, while central elements contain the greatest variation of tonal value and dark lines. The horizon is a pure, unvarying nearly-white uninterrupted canvas. If this weren't a photo competition, you might think you were looking at an etching, an ink or a silverpoint drawing.

An emphasis on vulnerability is a principle element in this body of work: literally, the vulnerability of nature to the elements, as evidenced by the bending and yielding that trees have adapted in order to survive open and exposed conditions. But vulnerable, too, is the choice by White to render landscapes as something other than landscapes—to bring the viewer back to an ordered history of neatly rendered, but oddly intimate and formal views of the natural world, one that more closely resembles 19th century botanic drawings than a composition seen and made in the last year.

Plate #19 from the series Morphology by Eric T. White

Poetic and elegiac at once, I could not help but be reminded of the images that Harry Callahan made throughout his life of the natural world. Inspired by a workshop taken with Ansel Adams in 1941, Callahan enthusiastically set about making images that were the precise inverse of Adams' grandiose and dramatic landscapes. Training his camera on the unexceptional—but well-known to him—home landscape of Detroit, his close-in views of grasses and abstractions of open spaces became beautiful visual meditations on what and how to see something for what else it might be.

Weeds Against the Sky, Detroit, 1948 by Harry Callahan

Multiple Exposure Tree, Chicago, 1956 by Harry Callahan

Morphology, the name White gives to this series, has a couple of meanings that are relevant to viewing and considering his work. First, there is the scientific definition: morphology is the study dealing with the form and structure of organisms apart from their inherent functions. Linguistically, morphology is the study of the structures and implied content of words. To my reading of White's images, he both succeeds in isolating and redefining a commonly seen genre, i.e. "landscape," and also calls into question what constitutes the flavor and meaning of those forms in our visual habits, i.e. what do we see when we see a tree against sky? Is it just and only tree and sky? And if not, what else are we seeing, and what do we call that?

The whole Morphology series, which I highly encourage you to view, can be seen on Eric White's website.

Crags and a Crescent Moon, 2008 by Laura Bell

Contender—and semi-finalist—Laura Bell's bewitching HHS! submission represents a rapturous and reverent exploration of a rich and (to her) unfamiliar culture. Taken over a two-year period when Bell—a U.S. native—lived in Edinburgh, Scotland, the larger project from which her submitted photos were gleaned is fittingly titled The Alba Series, undoubtedly inspired by the ancient Scottish Gaelic name for the country. In her artist statement, Bell writes:

This body of work was created between the years 2008 and 2010, during a prolonged stay in Edinburgh, Scotland, UK. In December 2008 I moved from the United States to Edinburgh, Scotland to accompany my husband while he worked towards his MFA. This was the first time I had ever left the USA. The work I produced during this two-year stay is a reflection of my experiences and psychological reactions to this new environment. Combining portraiture, still life and landscape works, this series is heavily influenced by the incredibly rich historical presence in Scotland. Taking cues from the traditions of old master paintings; I photographed the people, places and objects of daily life in a way that both reflected my personal day-to-day experience of living in Edinburgh, and my fascination with the differences I found in Scottish culture to my American culture.

Bell's absorption in her adopted country's rich history is palpable in her work; the series reads as a celebration and perhaps even romanticization of a country with a much older past than her own homeland, with its own distinct sense of mythology and magic—something that could be perceived as lacking within American culture.

Her attraction to the ancient roots of Scotland is at the forefront of her photographs, as is a simultaneous sense of remove—Bell seems to view (and subsequently present) the country as deeply mysterious, perhaps unknowable to outsiders, with stark, static and impenetrable photographs of a craggy moonlit hilltop, or a misty, rather ominous forest at dusk.

Blackford Forest, 2009 by Laura Bell

It warrants consideration that the two aforementioned (and above-pictured) photographs have both been cropped into an oval and a circle, respectively. This serves as a further nod to the Old Master painting that Bell cites as inspiration, in their formal mimicry of tondo pieces, which date back to ancient Greece, but are perhaps best known for their Renaissance revival.

Mood-wise, though, these two images for me recall the allegorical landscapes of 19th century German Romantic painters (such as Caspar David Friedrich). Here, too, Bell's landscapes take on a heightened meaning, a deep sense of symbolism and subsequently imply the dwarfing of petty human concerns.

Gust of Wind, 2009 by Laura Bell

Each of Bell's photographs is meticulously composed and highly formal, with a striking contrast between light and shadow. There is an overwhelming feeling of stillness in her work—each piece seems to exist outside of time, and conveys a sense of the ancient, the magical, the otherworldly. This is true too of her interiors—I never imagined that a photograph of a just-extinguished candle, (complete with dissipating smoke) could appear so static, so serene, so eerily devoid of any discernible human presence.

Bell's work continually exhibits a serious influence of and affinity to the medium of painting - at times it rather unexpectedly resembles painting more closely than it does photography. And just as Romantic artists, poets and composers often looked to Middle Ages for inspiration, and Renaissance artists looked to Antiquity, here too we see an artist looking backwards, mining cultural production from long ago in an attempt to say something new. More of Bell's work can be seen on her website.

An increasingly rare and inspiring mark of a strong art project is that it has the capacity to teach you something, widen the current view, expand or start a dialogue that wasn't there previous to you spending moments with the artwork. We've featured dozens of photographers whose work fits this bill recently: photographers that may come from the outside of something and then look in; or those who are instead working from deep within themselves offering enigmatic visions of what's inside, and still others that describe prevailing cultural and circumstantial conditions particular to a people and/or a social issue that the artist feels needs greater awareness and hopes to change through exposure of those issues.

Today's contender and semifinalist in this year's HHS! competition, Jill Peters, falls into this latter category. Originally working in the world of fashion photography and then switching to editorial, Peters found both sub-genres of photography an ill-suiting fit. She has since been working in a documentary vein, and the submitted images submitted fare part of a larger project that will ultimately become a full-length film, He/She/He.

A Sworn Virgin of Albania #1, from the project He/She/He by Jill Peters

A Sworn Virgin of Albania #3, from the project He/She/He by Jill Peters

Peters, long interested in issues related to gender and identity, is committed to showing Western audiences how choice in gender and identity is not exclusive to modern society, and is in fact something that has been integrated and appreciated by other non-Western cultures for decades or even centuries. On the Kickstarter site for her film, Peters writes: "Over the past decade, transsexuality and gender dysphoria have become hot topics, but what few Westerners realize is that in many parts of the world, a woman living as a man or a man living as a woman isn't boundary busting—it's tradition."

And a little more context on these particular images from her artist's statement:

These portraits are of the "sworn virgins" of northern Albania... so called because they are women who take a vow of celibacy and live as men in a strident patriarchal society, remnants of a social order rooted in the past. They are not sexual anomalies, but the product of this resolutely patriarchal society. A society that, through violent blood feuds, has frequently decimated all of a given family's male heirs. They are some of the last to remain of a dying tradition dating back hundreds of years. The virgins remain humble, resilient, self-sacrificing icons of a proud and curious social legacy.

Strong faces, strong body language, somewhat defiant and wholly poker-faced, Peters' portraits in this series make for tempting cultural voyeurism, but to leave it there would be to miss the point. If we take Peters at her word, then the desire to find and photograph the Albanian virgins, or the Samoan Fa'afafine, is not just an exercise in cultural anthropology, or an attempt to record a vanishing culture for posterity. Rather, by giving voice and face to traditions the world over that have and do exist for choosing gender and choosing a life less ordinary, Peters (and her co-documentarian Alix Lambert) is adding to the Western perspective and the ever-changing conversation about these same issues and their many-tiered attendant concerns over precedent, acceptance (or prejudices against), widening or shrinking populations, and what it means for children, adolescents or adults that may identify as something other than accepted conventions. Due to her efforts to broaden and enliven that dialogue, all of us benefit—even those of us who may or may not know that these choices and the conversations about those choices exist.

More of Peters' work on this project can be seen at both the website for the film-in-progress, as well as her Kickstarter site, which is still accepting donations for the realization of the film He/She/He.

Pejantan Black Geyser. (Day 131, Western end, Madura Forest), 2009 by Renhui Zhao

London and Singapore-based photographer Renhui Zhao's HHS! submission consists of five stark, otherworldly and often gorgeous images of animals, plants and various other natural phenomena, all taken on Pulau Pejantan, a remote island in the South China Sea. In his statement, Zhao writes of the location:

An uninhabited island in the Indonesian archipelago first visited by scientists only in 2005, Pulau Pejantan (also known as Sand Forest island) has recently drawn increasing attention from researchers for its extremely unusual geological features and remarkable biodiversity. Two distinct environmental regions--a central semi-tropical forest, ringed by pale white sand dunes dotted with geothermal oddities like the extraordinary Black Geyser--harbor some six hundred species of fauna, roughly seventy percent of which exist only on the island.

Iriamondi Cat. (Day 60, 6km off Madura Forest), 2009 by Renhui Zhao

Each animal or phenomenon is photographed alone, a small figure against a large, barren, often featureless landscape. This is an effective (and I'm sure intentional) strategy: the form of Zhao's photographs parallels his subject - a distant, isolated location with rare and unfamiliar features and animals. Both the land and its inhabitants are presented as as unapproachable, perhaps unknowable.

Considering how it appears in Zhao's series, it also seems remarkable that this rather unfriendly-looking island could support such biodiversity, that such an enormous range of flora and fauna could survive (and flourish) on what often seems a wasteland of sand and dust.

Some of the photographs look as though they were taken after dark, and even in those clearly shot during daylight hours, color is drained, muted - animals for the most part are lightly-hued, and set against backgrounds that are nearly black-and-white. It would appear that this quality is again closely linked to the island's unique circumstances. Zhao continues:

Pulau Pejantan provides scientists with an extraordinary opportunity to study what is essentially a closed ecological system. Conditions are difficult for observation on the remote island. Its peculiar hydrological activity and location in the doldrums of the equatorial region along the Java trench combine to produce a thick blanket of fog that covers its landmass essentially from sunrise to late afternoon, 365 days a year; as a result, much of the work must be done in poor light.

Minute Owl. (Day 61, Camera Trap No.168, Madura Forest), 2009 by Renhui Zhao

Although Zhao describes himself as an "almost Zoologist", his extremely atmospheric work can in no way be classified as straightforward "Nature Photography"; his photographs are haunting, disorienting, at times almost frightening. Pulau Pejantan emerges in Zhao's work as a sort of alien landscape: a wild, remote and mysterious environment, and one as of yet virtually untouched by humans. His striking images make an excellent case for its preservation as such; they simultaneously both introduce viewers to a remarkable and fascinating place, while warning us to keep a safe distance - for its sake, but perhaps for ours as well.

You can see more of Renhui Zhao's work on his website.

Untitled, from the series Erasure by Ben Alper

Things get lost in the shuffle towards progress, often a by-product of the embrace of new technologies that, while improving one function or manifestation of a given thing, can also herald unintended consequences to its peripheral aspects. Take, for example, the humble family photo album. Growing up in my household, there were not only multiple albums that carefully documented major rites of passage (my parents' wedding album, a baby book for both myself and my sister), but there were also boxes upon boxes of unsorted family photos, whose non-linear trajectory I loved picking through piecemeal. Color-shifted, with hand-written notations on the back (sometimes providing not-so-witty commentary, others providing necessary names and contexts for persons unknown to future generations), the photos pasted onto black crepe paper, or the various sized print formats found in disparate boxes really were the containers of a genealogy of memory, and a connection to the lived memories of some of those pictured, but not known to us who might later touch their images of that time.

Fast forward to the now. Is it at all unsettling to anyone who remembers growing up with albums and boxes of photos like I do that while we have a surplus, an avalanche, even, of visual documentation of our lives, that we very rarely have any actual objects that we can hold which express our documents the way our old photo albums did? Right now I worry about the external harddrive that I have certain images on failing before I can back my digital images up on a second external harddrive, and everything lives on screen and in little bits and bytes of data. Nothing on a shelf, nothing in a box.

Ben Alper's project Erasure is very interested in this phenomena. For the past two years he has been thinking about and visualizing what it means to have these tactile threads to our collective past disappear, or to find evidence of them literally discarded. What interests me in his work is not that his project focuses on old images of his or of strangers' lives, but instead of the pentimenti of that recorded—and then removed—vernacular photography.

Untitled, from the series Erasure by Ben Alper

Untitled, from the series Erasure by Ben Alper

Alper writes of his project:

Among the many transformations that have taken place at the hand of the digital revolution is the relatively sudden disappearance of the traditional family photo album. More and more often these days, photographic images are stored and organized on personal computers. This shift away from tactility toward a more ephemeral experience of the photograph marks a pronounced negation of tradition and signals the loss of both cultural and familial memory. This trend has only been further exacerbated by our access to, and consumption of, a nearly infinite flow of cultural imagery. With these ideas in mind, Erasure examines the physical impressions and deterioration left behind by photographs that have been removed from family albums.

Ben Alper is a co-founder of the collective The Exposure Project. He lives and works in Brooklyn. The entire Erasure series can be seen, among other bodies of work, on his website.

Untitled, 2010 by Kate Hutchinson

Kate Hutchinson's HHS! submission, a selection of photographs from a larger series, is one with a lofty literary history. Her project is an adaptation of an adaptation: her starting point is James Joyce's Ulysses, and Joyce's, in turn, was Homer's epic The Odyssey.

The series, and the two literary works upon which it is based, tell the tale of travels and adventures; thus it's very fitting that the title of Hutchinson's series is Ulysses, a personal journey. There is a strong sense in Hutchinson's photographs of the artist moving around, searching for her roots, her origins—both in the chosen geographic location of her series (the city where her parents were born), and in her attempt to connect with a work of literature that has specific personal meaning (her father's love of Joyce's iconic book, and Ulysses's actual link to her ancestry). She explains the back-story in her artist's statement:

This work, all shot in and around Dublin, Ireland, deals with my connection to the city of my parents' birth, as well as my father and our relationship. James Joyce's book Ulysses, which features two characters and their travels and encounters during a day in Dublin, has always felt very personal to me. My great-great grandfather Joseph Hutchinson was Lord Mayor of Dublin on the day in question and he is therefore mentioned more than once in Ulysses. As well, my father has always been fascinated with this masterwork and on any of our many family trips to Dublin we would often stop and do readings from the book at the appropriate places.

Untitled, 2010 by Kate Hutchinson

I find it fascinating that Hutchinson uses as the basis of her work a piece of literature that is an overt appropriation of an epic poem that was itself an adaptation, an amalgamation of tales passed down through the oral tradition in ancient times. (It is worth noting that it is widely believed that Homer is a literary and historic construct—not a single, incredibly prolific poet—but rather a name assigned to ground and solidify a huge collection of stories with disparate and unknowable origins). This idea of tales passed down, maintained and reinterpreted through generations and over centuries seems to mirror Hutchinson's description of the lore and legend passed down within her own family. As in The Odyssey, where readers follow King Odysseus on his tumultuous 10-year journey to return to his wife and son in Ithaca after the Trojan War, we sense in Hutchinson's photographs an attempt to connect with where she came from, a longing for her true home.

There is an antiquated look to these photographs; an uneven, mossy, seaside wall calls to mind an ancient construction. Even a telephone pole takes on the appearance of something abandoned and obsolete, nearly overwhelmed by vines like a column from some ruined temple. This visual quality serves as a further link to the series' roots in ancient Greece.

Untitled, 2010 by Kate Hutchinson

Hutchinson's photographs are all untitled; at first I found this a little frustrating and longed for locations, identifiers and ways to concretely link her story to its literary predecessors. However, this might ultimately serve as a way for the artist to make this journey, this mining of family history and mythology truly her own—an individual and private story.

A single figure appears in these photographs, her back turned towards the camera as she strides purposefully towards the ocean, and we can only guess at her identity and mission: Perhaps this is the artist, figuratively embarking on her own, personal odyssey? You can see more of Kate's work on her website.

Boy playing in his grandfathers WWII tunic, Artemare, France, 2010 from The French by Nick Turpin

Second only to sunsets, The Eiffel Tower comes in near the top of the list of Cliché Things to Photograph. Paris in general has such a specific photographic image to it, that it seems to set up a rift in those capturing the city: you are either for or against these predefined romantic notions.

"These are not travel pictures," writes contender Nick Turpin, who describes his photographic relationship with the country as "love/hate,"

...it's not the geographic but the social and cultural landscape that interests me. France is straddling tradition and modernity whilst under siege from the Anglo Amercian world, the Croque Monsieur is slowly being replaced by the Big Mac.

Nick's series The French exists between the old and the new Paris and documents the shift between them.

Country and Western Fair, Contrevoz, France, 2010 from The French by Nick Turpin

Nick also intends to use the images to make a stand against French privacy laws. As it turns out, the country's laws regarding street photography are extremely conservative:

In 1995, the right to privacy was declared a constitutional right by the French Constitutional Court.

Under article 9 of the Civil Code, the right to privacy includes not only the disclosure of a person's private life but also the unauthorized taking of photographs and their publication.

That means that, legally speaking, to take a photograph of a stranger in a public place (and then publish it) is unconstitutional. Nick hopes to publish The French as a book and make it available everywhere except France, to highlight this photographic prohibition.

You can view more of Nick's work, including the whole series The French, at his website.

Untitled from The French by Nick Turpin

Hope, 2010 from the series Heartland, by Aaron Nutter

A Pennsylvania native, Aaron Nutter took note when then-Senator Obama made his famous "clinging to guns and religion" comment while campaign stumping there in 2008. Curious to ascertain whether this was true or not, Nutter set out exploring the de-populated, rural Pennsylvania towns that comprise what politicos meant whenever they intoned anything having to do with people from "the Heartland." Traveling with his camera through what he describes as the "T" of the state, through cities such as Johnstown, Tower City and Colver, he discovered that despite their bristling at the President's characterization of them, natives of these towns did, indeed, "cling." From his artist's statement:

I found this atmosphere, condensed by the depopulation brought on by hard times, as I photographed in the small towns of central Pennsylvania. This area includes the rural communities located between Philadelphia, and Pittsburgh, and along the northern part of the state. What I discovered in such towns were many similarities. Most towns I explored did in fact have a failing industry. I found yards and homes filled with flags, banners and signs supporting faith and country. I found people holding on to this ideal. I found people who expressed fear and mistrust of the world outside of their community. I am interested in what has been ignored, and what has been left behind. I am interested in the loss of hope and the struggle to survive.

Fear, 2010 from the series Heartland, by Aaron Nutter

Coal plant, 2010 from the series Heartland, by Aaron Nutter

Images from this portfolio include individuals caught in moments of seeming reprieve—having a smoke on their porch, sitting cuddled together on a stoop—but their eyes are fraught with fatigue and anxiety, and a tension exists on all of the edges of the frame. While the gallery of images on his site is a little thin, what I do find notable and compelling about the images is that they do not seem to evince any judgment or bias, that they are depicting what is there and what the people in front of his camera are offering him. What's telling to me is that Aaron Nutter could have gone out and approached this documentary project with a pronounced expectation of finding guns, bitterness and religion. But it doesn't appear that he went on a hunting expedition for confirmations of a previously held opinion or prejudice. If he had, the distrust and disconnect would have shown in the photos. Instead what we have are an incomplete, but promising set of images that show people in a time and a place where people are tired and suspicious of what for them has amounted to empty promises, where their homes are in eternal need of repairs, where even jobs that most people wouldn't want are in short or no supply. This is a place where hope is a catch-phrase of politicians, and not a sentiment that has any tangible value.

The images from the entire Heartland series can be seen on Aaron Nutter's website. He also maintains a blog.

Sisters, Amsterdam, NY, 2010 by Eve Morgenstern

My fast-receding teenage years have been much on my mind of late. I'm currently reading a book called Eating the Dinosaur, the latest from the always-fun champion of pop culture, Chuck Klosterman, and in one of his essays (on time travel, no less) he poses a hypothetical question: if you were somehow granted the ability to telephone your fifteen-year-old self, what advice would you give him or her? (The catch is that the entire conversation could only last fifteen seconds, so providing some sort of explanation or context would be impossible—as Klosterman puts it: "You will only be able to give the younger version of yourself a fleeting, abstract message of unclear origin.") This idea has consumed my thoughts over the last few days, and although I haven't come up with a satisfactory answer to this (admittedly slightly silly question), Eve Morgenstern's HHS! submission made me think of those very strange and memorable years, yet again.

Morgenstern's photographs are part of a larger ongoing series, titled Of A Certain Age, for which she photographs women between the approximate ages of 13 and 40, as a response to, and means by which to examine her own aging. Her five photographs for HHS!, however, deal exclusively with adolescent and teenage girls; girls on the brink of womanhood. From her artist's statement:

I was in my late thirties when I started taking these images and now at 40, I am acutely aware of the closing door on this stage of life for a woman and all that it signifies. I am attracted to each one of my subjects for the hold their impressions have on me at this moment in their lives and in mine. Through this process of portrait taking I am working through my own feelings about entering 'middle age' and the ever-growing distance from my youth. These few images were taken recently on the streets of Brooklyn and in Amsterdam in Upstate NY. The prom girls were trying dresses on the street in Bedford Stuyvesant and the girls in Amsterdam were on their way home from school before the summer began. All of them appeared to me like young goddesses, very young yet hinting at their futures ahead.

Pink Prom Dress, Brooklyn, NY, 2010 by Eve Morgenstern

While Morgenstern's titles seem at first to have been chosen in the interest of maintaining the girls' anonymity and privacy—though it's also possible that she just never found out their names, as they were strangers she encountered on the street—I find it fascinating that she (with a single exception) identifies her subjects solely by the the clothes they wear. During a time where how one looks and presents themselves to others can seem so important, so critical, it feels telling that Morgenstern chose to emphasize, to draw our attention to this interest in appearance. (That she chose also to photograph girls trying on prom dresses seems similarly pointed).

The choice to photograph these girls in their own neighborhoods while spending time with friends and going about the business of their youth also seems important. They are not removed from their normal contexts for awkward, staged, studio portraits, but rather encouraged to pose in an environment where they feel at ease, and presumably more powerful. This aspect of the work, in combination with the emphasis on style and appearance suggested by the titles, succeeds in alluding to both the exciting new freedom and the inevitable insecurities that so often accompany one's teenage years.

Girl in Plaid Jacket, Amsterdam, NY , 2010 by Eve Morgenstern

These girls look for the most part a little guarded, defiant and uncertain, but I can see how they represent hope and expectation for Morgenstern. Ultimately, these photographs pretty accurately capture what I remember being a bizarre, sometimes difficult, and yet incredibly exciting age—one full of change and of seemingly limitless potential and possibility.

More of Morgenstern's work, from this series and from others, can be viewed on her website.

In my town and my neighborhood, as I'm sure in yours as well, visible and melancholy artifacts of an economy and a way of life in decline are in abundance. Maybe there are blocks and blocks of previously well-looked after, lived-in and loved homes on streets and in subdivisions that are now dotted with For Sale or Foreclosure signs. Maybe your downtown strip has as many empty buildings for lease as ones that still have independent businesses running. Maybe it's evident even on a drive from Point A to Point B where large tracts of commercial real estate that previously held box stores and strip malls are denuded of their corporate logos and left abandoned like some postmodern ghost town.

Danielle Aseff takes notice of these changes, and is interested in documenting this stripping away and transformation of a way of life that has characterized America for so long.

Untitled, 2010 by Danielle Aseff

Untitled, 2010 by Danielle Aseff

In the series of work Danielle submitted, she takes a recently shuttered fast food joint as a point of departure. All of our common visual cues are confused when looking faded carpets, stripped interiors—at the shell of something that we had otherwise become so conditioned to recognize, whether we were patrons of these establishments or not. Commercial culture stripped of its iconography and branding is disorienting to our senses and, when shown plainly as Aseff has done in this portfolio, is oddly unsettling to look at. It's as if we're living in a dystopia or post-apocalyptic view, where our markers for commerce and economic vitality have been replaced with...what was it David Byrne sang about? "Nothing but flowers."

Untitled, 2010 by Danielle Aseff

Aseff's work, in this series and beyond, is focused upon the observance of consumerism in our culture, how our habits of consumerism have and continue to change, and how our actions as corporations, individuals and as a collective are informed by this fact of American life. Her portfolio tackles everything from the emotionally strained environments of everyday estate sales to what's left on the curb of suburban America on December 26th. Through photographing scenes and acts that are so ubiquitous and predictable in their nature and their manifestation, Aseff hopes to invoke a dialogue about the effects of hyper-consumerism on the environment, on the quality of life of the people who produce these products, and on a society focused more on the acquisition of things rather than on relationships, meaningful experiences and exchange of ideas. From her statement:

I attempt to capture the clash between human life and the natural world, revealing its impact in a not-so-pretty-but-you-can't-stop-looking kind of way. These images revolve around structures that are physical representations of an optimistic time now passed, yet these buildings still remain, despite the economic decline, left to rot and taking up land.

Between the short-term planning, lack of environmental impact studies performed and an overriding concern for profit above all else, it becomes clear why "disposable" architecture seems so prevalent in American culture. In some cases, it is the "short selling" of our land to businesses that are only temporary, yet have long term effects on our natural resources, which cannot be quickly or easily reclaimed. When these businesses close, they are broken down to just a shell, an empty hull devoid of life. Despite the inherent wastefulness of it all, I still consider these places intensely beautiful and mesmerizing displays of obsolescence.

While there are numerous sympatico photographers working in this vein (Brian Ulrich's Dark Stores project comes readily to mind), the different voices and conclusions made by more artists pursuing similar themes and questions will serve to make this visual field of inquiry richer and more complex.

More projects of Danielle Aseff's can be viewed on her website.

If you are a frequent reader of this blog, you're certain to have heard about our partnership with Blurb books by now: not only do we have a new bookstore featuring the Blurb-published books of our Hot Shots past and present, but Blurb also added a serious sweetener to our prize pot. Each of the five 2010 Hot Shots will receive a $1,000 Blurb credit to go towards the creation of their own book. Ms. Jen Bekman will also select one of the five Hot Shots to receive the invaluable services of professional book editor Darius Himes and a TBD professional designer to help guides them through the process.

In addition to being a HHS! panelist and book editor, Darius served as the lead juror of Blurb's Photography Book Now competition this year. They recently announced the the winning books and three of the photographers in this year's category awards from have been featured contenders in the 2010 HHS! competition, including Judith Stenneken, who took away Blurb's Grand Prize of $25,000 for her book project on the closing of Berlin's Tempelhof airport, entitled Last Call. 20x200 artist Emily Shur placed as a 1st runner-up for her book The Woods and she received an honorable mention for her other book project Shizenkan. The winner of our 1st Curator's Choice award, Phil Underdown, also won an honorable mention for his now sold-out book Grassland.

Honorable Mention, Fine Art Category, Phil Underdown, Grassland

Pink Pillows, 2007/2010 by Dorthe Alstrup

If you think you know the artist behind these photographs, you're probably not mistaken. Five years ago (has it really been that long?!) we selected contender Dorthe Alstrup as one of our Fall 2005 Hot Shots. Since then she has appeared regularly on our blogs, released two popular 20x200 editions, and shown at JBG. It's exciting, today, to come full circle and share completely new work from Dorthe in the place where we first discovered her images.

Dorthe describes her latest work as such:

What interests me are the nuances and subtleties of human relationships. I stage photographs that depict the ways in which individuals interact. What captures my attention are moments of pausing, examining what happens in between action and conversation, because of either contemplation or overlapping of events. I investigate connections between the architectural environment and the people who inhabit it, such as ways in which space has an effect on the individual.

What brought me to these images was exactly that: the powerful geometry and formal composition of the spaces Dorthe photographs. In the subdued image above, a couch uncannily extends the ornate textures of the tapestry behind it, but two flat blocks of color—(the Pink Pillows from which the image gets its name)—draw the composition back to the wall. Though there is an abstract study of color and pattern in the image, the push and pull of space leads not to further abstraction, but to wondering: what exactly goes on here?

Fair #9, 2007/2010 by Dorthe Alstrup

I'm reminded of contender Mark Lyon, whose surreal juxtaposition of doctor's offices and nature murals lead to a questioning of whether or not the environments we design for ourselves are sense or nonsense. Dorthe's images are less jarring, but when stared at they slowly reveal themselves. In Fair #9 the curves of a roller coaster and overlaid with and the straight angles of the power-lines

LJ and Chris, 2007/2010 by Dorthe Alstrup

When people are thrown into the mix (or, rather deliberately set up) they introduce a whole new element of space and interaction—in addition to the environment. Always looking away from the camera, their gazes create angles which extend backwards in space and move your eye through the frame. Drawing your eye and strongly sustaining that interest, these are images worthy of contemplation.

You can see more of Dorthe's work at her website, her Fall 2005 HHS! Profile and 20x200.

Catherine, After Treatment, 2008 by Melissa Rene Kaseman

The bulk of Melissa Kaseman's submission addresses momentous events in her life, although this may not be immediately obvious to the viewer. Her photographs, made with skill and precision, appear—for the most part—serene and beautiful. Their titles, however, speak of aging, disease and of death, where the images do not communicate so bluntly.

This series is both strikingly intimate, and yet manages to maintain a distance, never becoming invasive or voyeuristic. Kaseman allows the people that she portrays to retain some privacy and independence. In her only direct portrait, Catherine, After Treatment, her subject faces the camera, yet keeps her eyes closed. The title, and the woman's closely shorn hair indicate illness; we as viewers have been allowed into this private space to witness her vulnerability. Still, we are denied full access to Catherine, because her eyes are concealed and we can't see the one thing that (one might argue) makes her really her.

Morning of 30th Birthday, 2004 by Melissa Rene Kaseman

Likewise, in Morning of 30th Birthday we are provided with a fragmented, incomplete portrait: we see a tender close-up of just part of the torso and arm of a figure in bed, (perhaps the artist's significant other, still asleep?) We are given the faintest impression of a cozy, domestic scene, and a the title conveys a sense of the artist taking stock of her life on an important day.

Kaseman writes of her work:

At a young age my home became divided, my memories fragmented, my recollections organized by season. Photography became a way for me to ground myself, and explore themes concerning loss, illness, nostalgia, intimacy, and hope. Interested in photography's capability to suspend moments, which are often over looked or forgotten, left only to be sensed when a memory is triggered, I use photography as a language to visually describe the moments that are significant to my life experience...Although the work is a direct reflection of myself, and my life experience, I aim to tell a poetic, open narrative. The photographs are meant to be quiet and contemplative, evoking a mood within the viewer, rather than revealing everything.

The Eve of Her Death, 2009 by Melissa Rene Kaseman

To some extent, Melissa's work recalls that of Félix González-Torres. Though Kaseman's approach and artistic vehicle is admittedly quite different, the manner in which she poetically addresses and evokes deeply personal experiences reminds me of Gonzalez-Torres' work addressing the death of his partner, Ross. (For example, in an untitled candy "spill" piece, produced immediately after Ross' death due to AIDS, the initial, ideal weight of the work is 175lbs—Ross' own ideal weight. As viewers remove candies, the pile diminishes, mimicking and reflecting his loss of weight due to illness.)

It is Kaseman's ability to gracefully and respectfully address change, sickness, pain and loss in a manner that can resonate with a wider audience, that I feel links her to González-Torres. This drive to create something that is simultaneously both private yet undeniably inclusive, represents the potential for art to connect people and to transform suffering into something beautiful and perhaps ultimately redemptive.

More of Kaseman's work from this same series, and from others can be viewed on her website.

We've all heard the assertion that to be alone is not the same thing as being lonely. In the photographs of Ryan Carver this is mostly if not always a truism. Using the city of San Francisco as a staging area, Carver hits the streets looking for the right combination of self-determined, stubborn isolationism. Oftentimes these images take the form of juxtaposed place and space, say: an airstream parked in the far corner of an otherwise totally empty lot; or the interior uppermost view of a botanical skylight, flanked on all sides by reaching greenery save for one.

Untitled, March 2010 by Ryan Carver

Untitled by Ryan Carver

Carver finds corners, angles, vistas and individuals that are all shown in moments of being-unto-themselves; unguarded, quiet and empty. Oftentimes the light in his photographs evoke a near-nostalgic sense of longing or canned sentimentality, but only nearly: they just manage to skirt the edges of saccharine sentimentality while still drawing a line in the sand declaring that no siree, that is not what this light is about. Having a facility to be able to name and describe such a nuanced brand of lonely made Carver's images a fitting partner to the equally defiantly un-pigeonhole-able text-based art of Mike Monteiro, with whom he collaborated on a book project they self-published this summer on Blurb.

As we wrote last month, Firecracker is the modern day Everyman's journey through the emotional minefields of a non-amicable breakup. Images from this submission to HHS! as well as many others are paired with Monteiro's heartbroken and searching narrative. As Youngna wrote, Carver's images, "...of the delightfully mundane—jugs of milk, shrubbery, parking lots, cars and empty roads—riff on photographic stereotypes of the forlorn wayfarer, but are worthwhile and stand-alone depictions of each."

page from Firecracker, by Ryan Carver and Mike Monteiro

page from Firecracker, by Ryan Carver and Mike Monteiro

As in acting, so too in life: it can be easy to do (or in this case, show), one flat wash of emotion. But it's a far harder trick to evoke the gray emotional in-between spaces of lonely-but-dealing-with-it, or happy-to-be-the-only-one-experiencing-this-right-now. In his rare moments where he gives us a person in the frame, the solitary experience of that individual performing alone in that space is the subject. Even more often what we're given in Carver's images is a sense of what places feel like when you take out all of the people, when they are filled with light and air and with the vantage point at which they are taken, as though by you, the viewer.

Ryan Carver and Mike Monteiro's book Firecracker is available for view and purchase on Blurb and more of Ryan Carver's work can be seen on his website.

"Uncanny" is one of those words that I think I know, but then it turns out that I don't. On the first flush of grasping for definition, it seems synonymous with a sense of disbelief; the uncanny is the inconceivable. But it turns out that this is not right. Its roots are actually psychoanalytic philosophy, from the German Das Unheimliche, literally, that which is "unhomely." Freud's essay on the subject in 1919 summarizes the uncanny as that which is both familiar and foreign at the same time, resulting in a feeling of uncomfortable strangeness.

My reason for sussing out exactness in meaning and phrase is due to the work of Portuguese photographer Virgílio Ferreira, whose project Uncanny Places seeks to evoke this very sense in the viewer as they move through spaces that are common yet distorted, creating a feeling that Raul Gutierrez described once as being inside "the memory of a memory."

Untitled, from the series Uncanny Places by Virgílio Ferreira

Untitled, from the series Uncanny Places by Virgílio Ferreira

Using a medium-format camera and double-exposures made in a very short time span of one another, Ferreira seeks to create a sensation of overlapping chronologies, discordant narratives, and the feeling that your psyche might be playing tricks on you. From his artist's statement:

There is therefore in my photographs a permanent process of interpreting my view of reality, fictionalizing it and a natural predisposition to create mystery images. In a dialogue between me and the external world, driven by an inquiry on the complexity of the world, this project moves towards introspection. It is between opposite poles - logic and magic, the rationality and irrationality - that I intend to work. Uncanny Places enhances different trajectories, which correlate practical and symbolic actions with several frameworks and signifiers—awe, fear, memory, myth, fantasy—which I try to recreate visually. It is in a casual but intuitive way that I move through apparently common places, with no compass; this deliberate aimlessness paves the way for moments of serendipity. A double-exposure is intentionally used, in a very short time-span, in the same image, for the same occurrence. This is to create a notion of continuity between "there" and "here", where two points in time overlap in the same place.

Untitled, from the series Uncanny Places by Virgílio Ferreira

There is a long-standing association between the making of photographs and their relation to memory and to creating memories, and perhaps an equally long history of manipulating the camera by use of blur and double-exposures to further enhance these associations. But what Ferreira does is not to neatly refer to the process of our own memory-making brains, or to create a gimmick out of what he thinks that this might mean by making chroma-intense blurry renderings of environments that we can just make out. In Uncanny Places, Ferreira is deliberately calling out the slippery edges of what we take to be personal versus collective memory, and what he is blurring is not the focal plane of an image, but our own ability to know which is which.

I see the work of Virgílio Ferreira as an alchemy of image making—that which causes the intensely personal to bubble up to the surface of consciousness in the viewer, making them question how that happened simply by looking at a picture. We've made mention recently of how some photographers as modern-day flâneurs, roving the city as a stranger to better explain it to the inhabitants. Ferreira is a flâneur too, but of a more interior, and less easily explainable sort. Instead of being a "botanist of the sidewalk", his laboratory is that of a collective unconscious, a realm of associative feeling and sense of having been somewhere that blends fiction and fact, drive and wish-fulfillment. In his multi-layered chronologies and narratives, I am reminded of the work of another Portuguese artist that was also fond of mixing up streams of being, the poet Fernando Pessoa:

Each of us is various, many people, a proxclivity of selves. Which is why the person who disdains his world is not the same as the person who rejoices or suffers because of this world. In the vast colony of our being there are many species of people, thinking and feeling differently...

Everything around me is evaporating. My whole life, my memories, my imagination and its contents, my personality—it's all evaporating. I continuously feel that I was someone else, that I felt something else, that I thought something else. What I'm attending here is a show with another set. And the show I'm attending is myself. —excerpt from The Book of Disquiet by Fernando Pessoa

Virgílio Ferreira was an honorable mention in the 2008 First Edition HHS! and his work has been exhibited on a wide and international scale. An interview with him and his working process can be viewed here, and his website, which I highly recommend an extended sit with, can be seen here.

Teton Nosebleed, 2010 by Tyler Mast

There is something eerie, something sinister about Tyler Mast's photographs; his subjects seem stuck, immobile and—for the most part—miserable. Teton Nosebleed is the most obvious example of this: the girl depicted sits (or stands), entirely passive, allowing blood to trickle over her lips, into her mouth, and then down her chin. She is seemingly unable—or unwilling—to do anything to staunch its flow. The photograph is cropped closely around the girl's face (although her gaze won't meet the camera, giving it a somewhat voyeuristic feel). We as viewers are allowed no background, no context—nothing, save her pain, and her powerlessness to improve her circumstances.

Similarly, Richards Neighbor shows someone in another uncomfortable position. Here, an elderly man is crouched awkwardly on the small, barren strip of brownish grass between suburban sidewalk and road. Again, this figure's situation seems far from desirable, and yet somehow fixed; he appears almost rooted to the ground. I can't imagine why or how he found himself there, but also can't envision him ever being able to stand up and walk back into the house behind him.

Richards Neighbor, 2010 by Tyler Mast

Mast's palette is very much in keeping with these subjects; the colors are muted; bland blues, greens, browns and grays prevail. He writes of his submission:

These photos are about the people and places of my past, present, and future, and they are also inevitably about myself. I took them throughout the summer of 2010 as I visited my hometown of Camarillo, CA and then took a road trip with my girlfriend that ended in Montana. To me, these photos document the stillness of the people and places of my past as if they are nothing more than a memory because so little there has changed. And they also speak to the contrast between past and future, familiar and new.

The bulk of Mast's characters seem trapped in a sort of limbo; they are like ghosts, doomed to repeat mistakes and to endure discomfort indefinitely.

It is in his last submitted photograph that this idea of the future, of transformation and escape is most fully realized. This image shows Tyler and his girlfriend (or so I assume - the piece is titled Rhianna and I), with their backs to the camera, racing, rushing into a vast, expansive and stunning landscape. It is in this photograph that a hint of vivid color also finds its way in by way of the bright sunlight reflecting off of the rocks and in the bold floral pattern on Rhianna's sundress.

Rhianna and I, 2010 by Tyler Mast

These two figures are distinctly set apart from the other subjects in the series in their dynamism and, most importantly, their seeming control and freedom. That the couple has their faces turned from the camera makes it seem as though they've managed to escape the fate of the others that Mast portrays—they aren't compliant subjects of Mast's lens, but rather free agents, with the whole world spread out before them.

Though the landscape that the couple charges towards could perhaps be viewed as desolate (though undeniably beautiful), and the darkening clouds overhead appear just-a-little threatening, this shot appears as an ultimate glimmer of hope in an otherwise insular, claustrophobic and troubling series: as symbolic of the artist's ability through his work to confront, and finally escape his past, and to boldly embrace whatever his future has in store.

More work from this series and from others can be viewed on Tyler's website.

Almond polers near Lost Hills, CA. A crew of workers stands among almond trees during the annual harvest outside of Lost Hills. Every fall for six to eight weeks fleets of tractors harvest almonds by shaking the trees so vigorously that all but a few nuts fall instantly to the ground. Those that remain are knocked out of the trees manually by men and women using bamboo pikes., September 16, 2009, from Lost Hills, by Sam Comen

Inspired by Walker Evans' and James Agee's collaborative book on 1930's sharecroppers, contender Sam Comen and writer/filmmaker Alex Sherman set out for Lost Hills, California to document what they call, "the emblematic frontier town of the 21st Century." Nearly 75 years after Dorothea Lange photographed her iconic Migrant Mother—not too far off from this town—the fragile local economy continues to revolve around migrant workers and agriculture. Depending on how you look at it, the community reveals itself to be "fraught with the ambitions and anxieties of [these] pioneers."

The story of each photograph overflows from the frame in the form of longwinded captions that follow each image. What's unusual is that Sam's photographs are shot in bright daylight, but they're augmented with seemingly brighter artificial lights. Incongruous with the subject matter, the light casts a banal glamour over the scenes, reminiscent of Philip-Lorca diCorcia's street photography.

Saturday morning in Lost Hills, CA. Neighbors lend a hand to pave a new driveway. With only 175 registered voters out of approximately 2,000 residents, Lost Hills has little political pull at the county level, and residents there must take it upon themselves to make their own community improvements., March 28, 2009, from Lost Hills, by Sam Comen

Sam writes:

On first glance it might appear Lost Hills' residents are living the American Dream. They work hard to improve their economic lot, and come together on their own time to elevate their community. I think of the photo of neighbors pouring a new driveway as a version of an all-American barn raising. But because many of the residents in Lost Hills are undocumented, they may be cut out of the benefits of the Dream they're working toward. It's just as much an American nightmare as it is American dream. Just as troubling is the ecological unsustainability of the farming that support Lost Hills: the vast fruit and nut orchards are wholly dependent on water imported from Northern California, and the state is in its fourth year of drought. I'm interested in depicting how Lost Hills' residents negotiate the instability of their position while attempting to create a better life for themselves and their families.

Perhaps the best part of the project is it's comprehensive website, where the two continue to post new photographs, videos and writing from the field.

Jose on Chapulín in Lost Hills, CA. Jose Saldaña wears the traditional dress of the Charreada, or Mexican rodeo while astride his colt Chapulín in the front yard of his home in Lost Hills. Jose, 25, works in the oil fields outside of town and supports his aunt, uncle, sister, and two nieces. On his days off Jose practices the equestrian and lariat events and regularly competes with a team at Charreadas in the Central Valley and Los Angeles., March 28, 2009, from Lost Hills, by Sam Comen

The video excerpts posted by Alex, part of a larger documentary titled Harvest, are reminiscent of Jennifer Baichwal's 2006 film Manufactured Landscapes, about documentary photographer Edward Burtynsky. The two excerpts on the website incorporate Sam's still photographs, shots of the photographer at work, and documentary-style interviews with workers from the community.

After taking in all that has come out of the project so far, I can hardly wait for the next chapter from Lost Hills. You can stay tuned to The Lost Hills Project at it's official website and check out more work from Sam and Alex at their respective portfolios.

Oftentimes in the practice of art one project feeds into the next. Sometimes this migration between bodies of work is graceful and intuitive, as when Japanese photographer Nobuyoshi Araki, after photographing his wife for many years, photographed only the skyline for an entire year after her death; at other times the shift may only be a subconscious thread from one study to the next, from one set of questions to the next. Part of the visual puzzle to solve then becomes intertwined with the psychological maze of motivations, drives, attractions and repulsions.

In an earlier body of work shown on her website, Come Home, Sophie Barbasch embarked on a brave distillation of the classically dysfunctional family, using her own as the point of reference. The spare images show portraits of her parents either defiantly staring down the photographer, or actively avoiding eye or emotional contact with her. Even without knowing that she and her father had stopped speaking to one another, the images are uncomfortably emotionally charged.

Untitled, from the series Come Home by Sophie Barbasch

In her statement for this body of work, Barbasch wrote:

I started this project to understand how three people could share the same emotional narratives and never see or speak to each other. Coming to terms with our separation has meant normalizing an inexplicable void... I hope to show that the idea of togetherness is hard to dismiss.

Sophie Barbasch's new images, submitted here, are compelling fragments of a tale that has yet to be told; in fact one that may be indefinitely withheld from being spoken or fully shown. My choosing of the phrasing "fragment" is deliberate, because Barbasch's intention is to provide us fragments of stories without the context for more; a point in a narrative that, by nature of her investigation, the whole of which is to remain obscured.

Pig by Sophie Barbasch

Driving Lesson by Sophie Barbasch

In viewing these images, I'm uncertain whether they are personal in the autobiographical sense that Come Home is personal to Barbasch, or whether they are slices of the impersonal personal, seen and taken from the lives of those who are strangers to the photographer. I suppose that ultimately it doesn't matter which is which, but it is my suspicion that the new images are related to the older body of work by virtue of what is left unsaid both literally and in the frame; that the story we are being shown is only part of larger whole, and the privilege of omniscience is not granted to us, or even perhaps to the photographer wielding the camera, either.

Wall by Sophie Barbasch

From her statement on these more recent photographs:

These images track an ongoing sense of being without an owner, a context, or a map. They are about inscrutable communication and disrupted stories. I explore my failure to graft my experience onto a linear, predictable template, expressing my feelings by photographing shifting spaces and unpredictable, unprotected scenarios.

Barbasch has a gift for piecing out the startling or the unseen disquiet that, were we as attuned to it as she, we would probably find on the peripheries of all of our lives. It will be interesting and instructive to see whether and how far she can take disjointed splice narratives.

More images from this ongoing series, as well as older bodies of work, can be seen on Sophie Barbasch's website.

Mongolian Village, 2010 by Shawn Records

Like the recently featured contender Noah Addis, who we discovered years ago from his previous and winning submission to HHS!, Shawn Records first came into our purview when he was selected as a Hot Shot in the fall of 2005. You may also be familiar with his work from from We Love You So, the website of Spike Jonze and his film Where the Wild Things Are, where Shawn's son Max played the lead character and he documented the set during the filming of the movie.

Shawn's latest HHS! submission is comprised of personal photos that he took while on a two-week trip to China, and at first glimpse it appears as a pretty rosy view of the country: his colors are bright and cheerful, his images crisp and meticulously composed, and the scenes depicted are static and serene, ever-pleasant and—at times—rather romantic.

The rainbow—an immediately identifiable symbol of hope, prosperity and innocence—recurs three times as a motif in five submitted photographs, a move that seems intentionally uniting. Although what initially drew me to Records' photos is their apparent sunny disposition and their undeniable aesthetic appeal, closer inspection detects a hint of irony; I'm forced to acknowledge that these photos must be intended as a specific comment, and perhaps even criticism.

This leads us to the back-story to Records' project: the Chinese Government in fact sponsored his trip. Records, along with five other American photographers (who were at all times escorted by government officials), traveled to predetermined locations, which included wetlands, oil fields, a coal mine, and oil and coal museums. Their assignment was to take photographs that would be used to promote tourism in China. The photographs submitted to HHS! are ones he took in an attempt to document this (I imagine incredibly bizarre) experience. The question that most concerns me from seeing his work: how on earth does one tackle the challenge of presenting a coal mine as appealing to potential visitors to China?

Oil Museum, Daqing, 2010 by Shawn Records

Records provides a canny explanation of his submitted works in his artist's statement, and one that confirms my initial, (visual) suspicions regarding the complex, and certainly to some extent critical intentions of these photographs:

There's a Chinese saying, zuijing guantian, "like looking at the sky from the bottom of a well." These photographs were made from the bottom of that well. Ultimately, this work is wrapped up in the complexity of global economics and its web of politics, propaganda, environmental whitewashing, and good-old romanticism. But in the end, my limited knowledge and opportunity show just a sliver of this sky. I'm not sure what I can say, conclusively, other than people all over the world really, really want to be happy; and advertising, whether it's created by Western corporations or Eastern governments, uses that. We want to believe that everything's going to be alright. We want to believe that there's something special at the end of that rainbow.

Record's experience of China calls to my mind a book that I read more than a decade ago: Red China Blues, by Chinese-Canadian journalist Jan Wong. The book is a very honest, and often self-deprecating account of her experience moving to Beijing in 1972 (having grown up in Montreal, and not speaking the language) to study at Beijing University, and then going on to actively participate in the Chinese Cultural Revolution. Although the political circumstances, and involvement of Records and Wong with the Chinese government are certainly vastly different, I draw a link between the experience of two outsiders attempting to navigate, and becoming intimately acquainted with ideas and goals of an unfamiliar and reputedly very complex administration.

Ultimately, Records' submission represents a thoroughly intriguing meditation on the nature of advertising, on cultural pride, on propaganda, and on how we choose to view and represent the world that surrounds us. More of his work (although not from this series) can be seen on his website.

The photographer is an armed version of the solitary walker reconnoitering, stalking, cruising the urban inferno, the voyeuristic stroller who discovers the city as a landscape of voluptuous extremes. Adept of the joys of watching, connoisseur of empathy, the flâneur finds the world 'picturesque.'—Susan Sontag, On Photography, 1977

For five years, James Luckett lived in Tokyo: trying alternately to adjust to the city, to adjust his own expectations of himself, and, ultimately, to create for himself something of the experience of living so outside and somewhat alienated from that self. In the beginning, he thought he'd become a chef, and taught himself how to create elaborate Japanese meals. Then he came to the realization that he'd hit a wall unless he made a major investment in mastering the language, and that at his core, while being a more than competent cook, that he was no prodigy. So in his last year in Tokyo, he returned to what he knew, teaching himself something again this time, but something he had already known but discarded: the act of seeing photographically.

#27, from the series Suginami, by James Luckett

#05, from the series Suginami, by James Luckett

Everyday then, for an hour or a few hours a day, he'd take long walks with his camera and his dog throughout Tokyo's wards, or, ku, which is just another way to say that he wandered through the vast interconnected maze of backyards, alleys and sidewalks that make up the city's neighborhoods. From his artist's statement:

Houses and apartments there are sited tightly together; narrow streets and even narrower paths wind in around themselves in a maze of walls, fences, gates and plants that carefully delimit private space from public. In, around and through the margins of this place I walked hours every day. Suginami is an exploration of the ways this landscape layers into the edges of a frame, the transformation of light inside the dark box of the camera, and the space of discovery between the viewfinder and the eye.

I think of two things about these photos when I look at and consider the images that make up Suginami: the first is of Luckett as the quintessential flâneur, someone who, in Charles Baudelaire's words, is, "a gentleman stroller of city streets," someone who, though a detached observer, plays a key role in understanding and portraying the city, a kind of "botanist of the sidewalk." The second is rather related to the first, but maybe a bit more spiritually leaning: still the sidewalk walker or stroller, but more in line with one that participates in walking meditations (which in Buddhist literature, one is instructed to, "Notice the beauty of your surroundings, both externally and internally. Smile with every cell in your body"), which is what I believe these walks eventually became.

#11, from the series Suginami, by James Luckett

The images on view in Suginami are at odds with my imagined vision of a bustling, crowded and intense city. It's as if on these walks the city has become a ghost, a place of emptying-out. The light seems bright, midday in character, and the neighborhood homes and apartments are silent, except for the occasional cat. The intimate yet detached view speaks of someone that is familiar with where they are and what they are looking at, but true to both concepts of flâneur and walking meditations, they are somewhat lonely as well—liminal and solitary. I bet when Luckett happened upon that feline shown above, both were equally startled. Deluze and Guattari describe the act of the flâneur's walks (and specifically in reference to the walks that Virigina Woolfe's Mrs. Dalloway took) as a "haecceity," defined simply as a "thisness", the essence or particularity of a thing itself. They finish off with an observation I find entirely appropriate to Suginami, saying, "...A haecceity has neither beginning nor end, origin nor destination; it is always in the middle. It is not made of points, only of lines. It is a rhizome."

The images in Luckett's portfolio for this HHS! entry period are part of a larger and carefully edited sequence that James created for Suginami to exist in book form. You can view the entire series here. When taken as a whole, there's a sense of not only a quiet walking through, but a working through, going on as well. I'm uncertain whether he knew it or not at the time, but this would be the last year of James' life in Tokyo. So lastly, the photographs serve in a personal function: they are a farewell to the dissimilar familiar that had made up that epoch of Luckett's experiences there, and they are simultaneously a prodigal return to self, as these images mark his return and commitment to the practice of photography, which has since been ongoing.

Luckett is currently having an exhibition of Suginami at Ann Miller Gallery at Wittenberg University, Springfield, Ohio. The photographs will be on view from August 23—September 24th, an artist's lecture and reception will be Wednesday, September 8th at 5 p.m. More images and an accumulation of Luckett's writings and interests can be found on his website. The book Suginami can be viewed and purchased here, through Blurb's bookstore.

A drawing exercise that I've remembered for years consisted of choosing a palette of two colors that you would normally always avoid in the pastels box, and then making a composition of that day's still life. A large part of foundational visual studies is learning effectively to distrust what you think you hate, as well as what you think you love. I found that in being forced into the problem of using colors that I disliked, I made different kinds of decisions than I normally would, and that I was less attached to the outcome. And then surprised that I enjoyed the final result more than many other daily exercises when I was not color-restricted.

While Montreal-based Nik Mirus might not hate the color pink, he's certainly made an interesting decision in allowing the color to become a sort of character or entity in his recent series Subconscious Pink. Taking inspiration from surreal influences and impressions, his images revel in vaguely unsettling, meta-archetypal associations: an elevator pad that appears to be dripping (or weeping?) pink puddles in its edges; a layer of grassy earth peeled back to reveal a too-merry pink descent into something else; a dark room filled with a desk where a pink portfolio binder is prominently and assiduously placed.

Underneath, from the series Subconscious Pink by Nik Mirus

Untitled, from the series Subconscious Pink by Nik Mirus

In his artist's statement, Mirus explains that:

Very rarely do I find myself with a camera, hunting, searching and capturing the events and things around me. Rather, I prefer to use the camera as a tool with which to build a moment, create a narrative or evoke a feeling...The results of such an approach are photographs that often share an atmosphere with cinema and blur the line between fiction and reality. In the series, Subconscious Pink, ambiguous pink elements within the frame are used as means to represent the internal forces that drive and motivate our behavior. Our fears, desires and ambitions are an integral part of who we are. Lurking with in us, just beneath the surface, they're always present. This series has been a way for me to try and understand some of these ideas, who I am and what motivates me.

A trend has been developing for the past several years in editorial and fashion photography of creating images that seem like the viewer has just walked in on a moment in someone else's life, and/or is getting a privileged, fly-on-the-wall experience into something that they should not otherwise be privy to: an attractive couple in the midst of an argument on a couch might serve as an advertisement for designer jeans; a quick, one-frame still of a woman leaving her abode distraught and in a hurry might be the mental fodder for a haughty and distraught new fragrance on the market. Narratives with only a middle, where you are left to fill in the beginning and end are a compelling way to give viewers a moment, or to sell them something. Similar strands of this thinking has been in the artistic arsenal of fine art photographers for decades (think Cindy Sherman, Gregory Crewdson). Where Subconscious Pink succeeds the most is in the middle moments where Mirus concocts a scenario of a place both of our imagining and one we think we've seen before: in a dream, a Salvador Dalí painting, or a David Lynch film. Very rarely is there someone in the frame, and if there is, there is still room enough to insert ourselves into the space of the narrative.

Untitled, from the series Subconscious Pink by Nik Mirus

This body of work is a relatively new one for Mirus. Begun last fall, he introduced it on his blog by saying:

When ever I try to explain these pictures/ideas to inquisitive minds I always find myself sounding kind of vague, hazy and stoned. "Yeah man...I'm really into like...hot pink...these pictures with pink elements...odd, out of place pink. You know..."

It's really allowed me to veer off into a variety of different directions and do things that I don't normally do.

I'll be interested to see where his subconscious takes a picture next.

The entire series Subconscious Pink, as well as several other bodies of work, can be seen on Nik Mirus' website. Mirus also maintains a blog.

I first learned of the work of Noah Addis after the HHS! panel selected him as a Hot Shot in the Winter of 2006. He had submitted a series of abstract images dealing with issues of mass-consumption and technology, photographing the hazy clouds of light and amorphous energy that surround our modern day tools and the places so many of us go perpetually consume: shopping malls, factories and airports.

Untitled #1 (from Future Cities: Lima), 2010 by Noah Addis

In the time since then, Noah's traveled the world as a photojournalist and documentary photographer. His work has taken him to Africa and Iraq, into homes during times of tragedy, and on the news trail of scandals and terrorist attacks. His current project, Future Cities, which is informed by his documentary background, is a series of quiet portraits and macro and micro views of squatters in major cities around the world. They are studious ruminations on how people survive in these transformative spaces, and how cities have failed to adapt to their own rate of growth.

Of the project, he writes:

By photographing contemporary city dwellers as well as the built environment in which they live, I hope to gain a greater understanding of the issues facing these cities as they continue to evolve and grow....My current project, Future Cities, focuses on squatter communities and informal settlements within the world's major cities. According to United Nations estimates there are more than a billion squatters living today--one out of every six people on earth. This number is expected to double to two billion by 2030. And by the middle of the century there will be three billion squatters.

Untitled #2 (from Future Cities: Lima), 2010 by Noah Addis

Untitled #5 (from Future Cities: Lima), 2010 by Noah Addis

Addis photographs the multitudes who often go unseen by visitors or tourists, their shacks and homes built of the materials often discarded by others, far from the city center.The homes, and the makeshift spaces used for recreation, cooking, dining and sleeping are deeply entrenched into the existing environment. In Lima, this is the backdrop of arid mountains; in Sao Paulo and Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, the favelas Addis documents exist more evidently within city bounds. Plywood homes are squeezed between the giant rocks of a mountain, and propped up by piles of tires and rocks, each moved there one by one.

On his website, Noah writes more extensively about Future Cities, noting there are more than 400 urban areas in the world with over a million inhabitants—and many of them have failed to acknowledge the need for, and implement, the infrastructure to support their growing populations. Industrial jobs have moved out of cities and the influx of migrants who arrive in these places every day are faced with few options, than to sleep where they can with the little they have. As a result, migrants who initially headed to cities in search for brighter futures, end up in crowded, crime-ridden and impoverished communities, making just enough in low-wage just to survive. Their futures are uncertain and the homes that were once a transitional solution necessarily evolve into places of greater permanence.

You can see more images from Future Cities on Noah's website.

If I ever want to know what Chilean sea bass tastes like, I'll have to do it on the sly, without my significant other's knowledge and dine with someone that doesn't know about the Monterrey Seafood Watch guides. The part of me that's curious to experience all things, though, will generally lose out to the part that doesn't want to add to the world's woes. And who wants to be the person that ate the last Chilean sea bass?

Turbot (Psetta Maxima), from the series One Fish Two Fish by Mark Dimov

In his project One Fish Two Fish, contender Mark Dimov hopes to create a conversation about the fish that we see at the supermarket and on our restaurants' specials list. From his artist's statement:

Created in response to the April 2007 National Geographic special report, "Saving The Sea's Bounty" regarding the global fish crisis, these images of commonly consumed fish are individually photographed in silhouette. The resulting photographs punctuate the colors and textures of the animal's contours while disguising 90% of its central details. I believe this obscurity sparks curiosity and I hope to evoke a sense of beauty for these creatures in addition to open up a dialogue about sustainable fishing practices.

Shot with back-lighting, the contoured forms of these creatures are often shown with mouths agape or with splendidly illuminated displaying gills. This provokes me into a state of idealized projection concerning the nobility, grace of the creatures, and also solicits a general empathy with what is potentially my dinner's right to exist and not become, for example, an IUCN red-list species of Great Concern.

The son of a painter, Dimov's treatment of his subjects for this project creates strong associations for me of another artist that traffics in silhouetted forms and negative space, the painter Donald Sultan:

Apples and eggs 2000 by Donald Sultan

Black Flowers September 26 by Donald Sultan

Golden Tilefish (Lopholatilus Chamaeleonticeps), from the series One Fish Two Fish by Mark Dimov

In focusing upon form instead of centralized detail, and in creating compositions that force the minimalist treatment of those forms into our consideration, both Sultan and Dimov create something that is both beautiful to regard and effectively raises their most artistic concerns and problems to the front of our consciousness. How does negative space and silhouettes transform our understanding of subject and context? How much of context is content? What kind of content is there when you remove or obfuscate the context? How does this treatment effect how we look at, consider and/or care about what we are being shown?

There are over 50 species of sea creatures depicted in One Fish Two Fish, which can be viewed in its entirety on his website.

The world of well-conceived collage (or assemblage) has long been of interest to me. The act of dismantling, disordering, cutting out, displacing and out of this creating new order holds a certain clever appeal; familiar objects or faces assume and assert new meaning when taken out of familiar context, re-informed with changed meaning when the canvas shifts under knife and glue.

Laurie Blakeslee, who was originally trained as a painter, continues in the tradition of subversion of meaning through her photo-based collage work in the body of work Styled Life. Recalling catalogs and fashion magazines of her childhood, Blakeslee alters and re-photographs these excerpted images "...with the intention of interrogating the original purpose these images present—the myth that consumer goods hold the promise of happiness, self-worth and most importantly, social status."

Charm Curl, from the series Styled Life by Laurie Blakeslee

All Combed Cotton, from the series Styled Life by Laurie Blakeslee

While the history of contemporary art records the names of famous male artists as the most well known practitioners of collage (Max Ernst and Joseph Cornell come to mind), the usually intimate small size and introspective nature of the process make it ripe for the double-entendres and Feminist critique that occur when a woman is wielding the cutters and storyboarding the montage. While Hannah Höch created famous political satires in the Dadaist tradition, and Bauhaus artist Marianne Brandt would specifically address the evils of fascism through hers, it is the work of relatively unknown Japanese artist Toshiko Okanoue whose tone and output most closely aligns with what Blakeslee is working with today.

Untitled, from Toshiko Okanoue's Drop of Dreams by Nazraeli Press

As a young, unmarried woman living through the reconstruction period in postwar Japan, Okanoue began making photo collages. From Nazraeli press:

She cut out the photographs that - in her own words -"fit my dreams" and arranged them on black flocked paper. "Those scraps of my fantasies turned into strangely interesting things," she said, "things I would not have thought of. Emboldened and delighted by the results, I made one collage after another."

Much like Okanoue's investigations with the same form (and some of the same types of original period materials), Blakeslee uses glamorized and idealized representations of the feminine to call out inherent contradictions within what is projected and expected of women and their role in traditional society versus what that same woman's experience and fantasies of that life might actually be. In Charm Curl (the first image above), the perfect ringlet curls on a daughter's head mimic both the tighter, more controlled hairstyle of her mother (pictured in background) as well as the long curled tail of the colorful horse in foreground, itself a popular icon of what passes for the acceptable girlhood extracurricular. In B. Rayon Romaine (pictured below), a typical catalog shot of a post-war era housewife wearing clothes both feminine and proper is interrupted by a superimposed loud, red feather, intimating something that is both burlesque and meant to be hidden from sight.

B. Rayon Romaine, from the series Styled Life by Laurie Blakeslee

As a large swath of America is currently obsessed with the stylings and fast-changing cultural mores depicted in Mad Men, it seems a ripe time for Blakelee to push this visual investigation further, weaving a more complex theme and methodology in the wake of her montages.

More from the ongoing series Styled Life can be seen at Blakeslee's website, as well as other bodies of work.

Untitled, from El Salvador, by Lauren Lancaster

If you've never listened to 9 Beet Stretch by sound artist Leif Inge, which slows down Beethoven's 9th Symphony to 24 full hours, I suggest you start now. It's the perfect accompaniment to these photos by contender Lauren Lancaster, in which time  s l o w s    t o    a      c   r   a   w   l.

Time isn't standing still, but it's stretched out to infinity—where moments that Lauren describes as "fragile, surreal, and normal," become scintillating. The photographer herself is conspicuously absent—the subjects make eye-contact only with each other, and seem not to notice the presence of a camera. The resulting images are cinematic and microcosmic.

A woman's scarf is caught in mid-swirl...
Untitled, April 2010, from Kabul, Afghanistan, by Lauren Lancaster

...a fallen child is hoisted from the floor...
Untitled, from Kabul, Afghanistan, by Lauren Lancaster

...and the sound of a can opening echoes in slow motion:
Untitled, from Westfjords, by Lauren Lancaster

I'm tempted to think that in her past life, Lauren was a fly on the wall, but—truth being stranger than fiction—she was actually a shipwreck archaeologist. Lauren started out studying History and Archaeology, then pursued a master's degree in Shipwreck Archaeology at the Institute of Nautical Archaeology in Texas, and even worked on excavations in Kenya, Turkey, the United States and Bulgaria.

Then she switched gears, and in 2005 graduated from the ICP's program in Documentary Photography and Photojournalism. Since then she's been traveling around the word taking photos in places like Iceland, Russia, Africa, Afghanistan and El Salvador.

"I am fascinated with the way a story develops when you build it backwards, piece by piece," writes Lauren. I'm looking forward to watching these wordless stories develop as new images are created.

Lauren is currently based in Dubai, where she is working on completing the series she entered to Hey, Hot Shot! You can see more work on her website.

The concept of liminality is a seductive and slippery one in the fields of aesthetics and philosophy. Known largely as a term describing a psychological state, its origins were actually from the field of anthropology, and are related to rite-of-passage rituals of a three-part structure consisting of: 1) separation; 2) a liminal or in-between period; and 3) reassimilation. The OED describes liminality specifically as, "Of or pertaining to the threshold or initial stage of a process," and as the author of the site liminality.org writes, liminality is a state of being "betwixt and between." Not necessarily outside the social or a given mode or environment but not from within it either, liminal is the state of existing in between states/modes-of-being/environments. It is to be in but not of; it is literally the in-between space.

UK-based photographer Nick Rochowski visually investigates what he takes to be the liminal places through a study of constructed landscapes and boundary areas in dark forests and woodlands, both literal and imagined.

Untitled, from the series Liminal Points: The Woods by Nick Rochowski

Untitled, from the series Liminal Points: The Woods by Nick Rochowski

Nick's photos in this series are all situated at a time that is not-quite night and not-quite day, the air and light themselves taking on that betwixt-and-between time and coloring. Pardoxically, where an image may seem to have been taken at the darkest of hours, a slice of light—is it moonlight? is it supernatural?—will it illuminate a path of blue wildflowers against the inky stumps and trunks of trees? In several images from this body of work, an arc of undulating currents weaves its way into the middle ground, conjuring up associations of spirits, the unknown or of raw energy itself hovering in the ether. Rochowski's imaginings of what and where these boundary spaces are reflect back on his definition of these liminal spaces, as well as on the viewer's own childhood conceits of such places.

Untitled, from the series Liminal Points: The Woods by Nick Rochowski

Taking his inspiration from cinematography and traditional landscape photography, Rochowski writes that his aim with this series is to address:

...the relationship between thoughts, the senses and the environment [that] are manifested in vivid isolated scenes. Each location has a story ingrained that has been passed down through historical fact, village myth and family tales. Although these are the personal experiences of nature, solitude and youth resonates in all people.

I find Nick's images to be psychologically rich spaces that I am invited to enter alone, as if happening upon these clearings and vistas without quarter or concern. These are not necessarily the places where bad things will happen, but they might be the sort where anything on a weirdness scale of 1-10 just might.

You can see all of the images in this series, as well as other related bodies of work, on Nick's website.

Liz Kuball just might be the long-distance runner throughout the history of our Hey, Hot Shot! competition. We first saw her work in the Summer 2007 HHS! entry period, wherein she claimed an honorable mention; she then cast her lot with us again in the Fall 2007 entry period, then once again during the 2009 First Edition competition period (where she merited another Honorable Mention). In the interim between her HHS! entries, she's remained extraordinarily productive, appearing in Fraction magazine, as well my recent favorite zine, Get Off My Lawn; she's been in two group shows at Jen Bekman Gallery, released two editions on 20x200 (just goes to show you that good things come to those who are contenders!). Here in the last week of this year's only HHS! competition period, we were delighted to see Liz's entry come through our upload tool. Her images are from her ongoing series California Vernacular.

Untitled (Hollywood Hills), from the series California Vernacular by Liz Kuball

Untitled (Santa Barbara), from the series California Vernacular by Liz Kuball

Kuball's work from this series is a great example of my favorite kind of extended portraiture: that of place and space. Sometimes this portrait might have people in it, but more often it's an ongoing narrative told on different days, perhaps with different voices. But what's consistent is the open-ended wonder and allowance to let place speak for and by itself.

California Vernacular shows you how California itself is astonished by light and color; how the incongruous and whimsical can become personal totems and how danger can lurch out at you from unexpected corners (the first photo shown above is a truly great animal photo in a pantheon of great animal images; Daido Moriyama's Stray Dog comes to mind as a point of comparison with Kuball's pit bull). I also am drawn to the veracity of what it is that Kuball is photographing here: the vernacular, the everyday, the ephemeral. Some might look at this body of work and say that what we have on view is street photography, but I would disagree with that. To my eye, Liz's work has more in common with someone like Zoe Strauss's I-95 project than the likes of a classic street photographer like Garry Winogrand. Both Kuball and Strauss have channeled place to such a degree that the panoply of human experience is brought to bear, even when (or perhaps more precisely especially when) no human face is filling the frame.

Untitled (Hollywood), from the series California Vernacular by Liz Kuball

We often cite excerpts from an artist's statement in these contender posts, but what struck me in Liz's entry was what she had to say about her education and formative experiences:

As a photographer, I'm what is considered "self-taught," but I hate that term because it minimizes (and even negates) the profound impact that other photographers and writers have had on me...it was when I quit taking classes and started reading blogs that my education as a photographer really gained momentum. I formed friendships with photographers around the world, and through many long e-mail conversations, I learned about myself, what I care about, and what I want to photograph. I read and looked at books by people I admired and people I couldn't stand, and I learned equally from both. I entered contests (including this one) before I was ready, and learned from my subsequent rejections. I took pictures--lots of pictures--and tried to understand why some of them worked and so many more of them didn't. I wrote my own blog and, through writing, figured out what I thought. And so it continues.

Liz is someone that reads, interacts and engages with the world widely, who challenges herself both by what she's drawn to and inspired by as well as by what is counter to her nature or difficult, and she puts herself out there in the best of all possible ways. She understands that the process of learning and emerging is never ending, and that cultivating a love for both is the secret to success.

"I love black and white, have no interest in manipulation and I already have all the stuff," writes contender Robert Forlini. Call it old fashioned, but Robert goes out with two solid cameras and photographs the people around him.

Lemonade Stand, Rhinebeck, NY, 2009, from Stand Alone, by Robert Forlini

Of his series Stand Alone, Robert writes:

As a photographer working alone I am always aware of people in isolation. I choose my tools for their simplicity and directness: black and white film, Leica camera, and few lenses. The location can be anywhere and everywhere. In the midst of a massive crowd or waiting for a city bus I see most people separate from the world around them. I have discovered this seclusion in the tourist on a bleak Hollywood Boulevard, the teenager mixing lemonade on a late summer night at the fair or a family moving through an historic sight together but detached by headsets. I am sensitive to an inner sadness that encapsulates their spirit. It's not difficult to track and document that pervasive loneliness but this question keeps haunting me: Why are humans who exist in an over populated and technologically connected world destined to stand alone?

Andrew Jackson's Tomb, Nashville, TN, 2009 from Stand Alone by Robert Forlini

Robert's images (and there are many, with at least thirty years of work on his website) remind me of what drew me into photography in the first place. I first held a real camera when I was about 12. Shortly after, I came across of book of Diane Arbus photographs for the first time and was taken by her narrative portraits. Though Robert's work has less of a narrative arc, each image seems to contain a story. Some series, like Stand Alone (which the two images above are from) are somber and introspective. Others, like Classic Images are more light-hearted.

Expired dog, New York City, 1983 from Classic Images, by Robert Forlini

When my father was an officer in the Army, he used to carefully watch the movements of crows in order to determine if there were spies or hidden troops in the area he was surveying. Still, to this day, he can tell if it is going to rain based on the actions and patterns of these birds. Once I told him that crows really scared me; their jet black color, their intense, marble eyes and their loud, bleating call. He told me to rethink my relationship with the animal since they once saved his life from an attack. Though humans cannot generally tell individual crows apart, crows have been shown to have the ability to visually recognize individual humans, and to transmit information about "bad" humans by squawking.

Crow & Hand, 2006 by Andre Ruesch

Using a clever play on words, photographer Andre Ruesch calls his series of images containing his feathered friends, A Murder of Crows. A murder here means the group of crows (dubbed this eerily because a group of crows is known to kill a dying family member).

Crows can be seen in almost every country in the world and are an ancient species. In fact, they have seen more incarnations and epochs of history than humans. Crows have lived among, and will consume the flesh of just about any animal. Aesop writes about the keen wit and observations skills of the crow in his fable, The Crow and the Pitcher. In the story, a crow attempts to drink water from a vase but realizes the vase neck is too slim and the water too low for its beak. Realizing the solution, and using ingenuity and determination, the crow drops pebbles, one by one, into the vessel until the water rises to the top of the pitcher. Intelligent crows to this day exhibit the same behavior. In classic Greek mythology, the crow is the observer of cheaters and teller of secrets. In Buddhism, the Dalai Lama is often associated with crows because of an old story of the foretelling of his birth. In the Bible, during the flood, before Noah released a dove from the ark in order to find land, he first released a crow.

Crows & Cat, 2007 by Andre Ruesch

According to an article published by the BBC News, crows top the avian IQ scale. Dr. Louis Lefebvre says, "People tend not to like crows, because they have this fiendish look to them and they're black and they like dead prey" But, there are many inventive and observant tactics once can learn from the crow! We all know taking the road "as the crow flies" is always the shortest and most direct way to success.

Ruesch explains:

In these photographs, crows lead viewers as co-conspirators and protagonists, where in their guidance they are both faithful and not.....Crows or ravens have lived in close proximity to people on five continents for thousands of years and intersect cultures in stories and myth around the world. They have been among our constant companions and as such remind us of who we are. They are highly intelligent and undoubtedly will continue to play on our consciousness as mysterious and beautiful agitators.

Crows & Spider, 2007 by Andre Ruesch

So as often as we find these feathered friends eerie, ominous or bothersome, they have lived amongst us humans and amongst our things for years and years, quietly crafting their own stories within a shared environment.

Quoth the raven, or crow, nevermore.

Migratory Mexican field worker's home on the edge of a frozen pea field. Imperial Valley, California., 2009 by Julia Curtin

The old adage goes: "A picture is worth a thousand words.," but in the instance of contender Julia Curtin, it's the many pictures that are combined with very telling titles to form rich stories about history and prompt questions about the legacy photos can leave. In her series Resettlement, Curtin creates models of vernacular structures used as temporary housing by migratory victims of The Great Depression. Her houses are constructed out of sampled components of the photographs from Farm Security Administration photographers, including Walker Evans and Dorothea Lange, whose images of displaced farm families, immigrants, sharecroppers and migrant workers have defined the visual legacy of the 30s.

Tulare County, California. Cheap auto camp housing for citrus workers, 1930s by Dorothea Lange

The structures are barely shacks, some with windows and doors and some without any defining features of house-ness other than the shape of a pitched roof. The paper models are photographed like still, inanimate objects, removed from the fields and roadsides where they would have once existed. Yet, they are rife with life, history—woven of a storied fabric.

One home, shown in side profile with a ragged side that is clamored together from various newspaper postings is titled, Migratory Mexican field worker's home on the edge of a frozen pea field. Imperial Valley, California. Through this abbreviated narrative, Curtin embodies the empty, tiny, constructed home with both ownership and place, suggesting that however diminutive, the storied lives of the people who occupied these homes were were instrumental to our history and ought to not to be forgotten.

House without windows, home of sharecropper cut-over farmers of Mississippi Bottoms, Missouri., 2009 by Julia Curtin

Several years ago I made a trip (as a photographer) to a sugar plantation called Batey Caraballo in the Dominican Republic. There, I came across the homes of Haitian and Dominican sugar cane cutters and their families, who labored in the fields for many months of the year. When I arrived it happened to be their time off, and they would sit outside their shacks, made of tin, scrap metal, and the cobbled-together packaging of various food products, whiling away the hot summer days in the dirt-filled "lawns" that separated each structure. These were homes they took comfort in, but also homes they seemed to assume were temporal—places to stay en route to a better life.

Batey Caraballo, 2006 by Youngna Park

The homes in Resettlement are fragile and temporary, existing to be photographed, a medium that enables them a legacy of their own. Curtin, through her own labored means of building a structure that exists longer due to documentation than because of its physical and structural integrity, pays homage to these homes that once were as well as the WPA photographers who first captured them.

With just 12 days left in this round of the competition, I'm feeling all nostalgic for the great work we've seen* (and continue to see!) come in. I've also been wondering how we can continue, in these last days, to showcase the breadth of submissions we receive. I've seen a lot of amazing photographs this year that are visually lush and conceptually irresistible, but today I want to celebrate the snapshot.

Kissing & Exercise, 2008 by Bruce Cunningham

"Every time I'm really down on this city, I find someone singing beautifully in the subway," tweeted my coworker Sara yesterday. Her words came to mind when I saw these photos by contender Bruce Cunningham because living in New York, I too find myself in serendipitous (and often strangely beautiful or hilarious) situations on a day-to-day basis. Bruce's photographs, like Kissing & Exercise (above), show that he does too.

Bruce writes, "I consider myself an urban prospector panning for gold." His images are neither lush nor conceptual, but like a singer in the subway when I'm feeling down, they make me smile. I'm reminded of Jason Polan, an artist who has set out to draw Every Person in New York, and comes across these nuggets of gold left and right.

Dad and son in the sculpture garden at The Museum of Modern Art, August 7, 2010 by Jason Polan

But what makes certain snapshots golden? I recently read a short essay titled After the Amateur by Ed Halter, in which he explicates the history of the snapshot and suggests that a camera doesn't just capture these moments, it creates them:

In "Diana and Nikon," [Janet] Malcolm finds it necessary to use another classification, distinct from "amateur," to describe a new trend in art photography of the 1970s. Now, she writes, a generation of photographers takes as its "starting point, model, and guide...the most inartistic (and presumably most purely photographic) form of all--the home snapshot."

The attributes previously sought by photographers--strong design, orderly composition, control over tonal values, lucidity of content, good print quality--have been stood on their heads, and the qualities now courted are formlessness, rawness, clutter, accident, and other manifestations of the camera's formidable capacity for imposing disorder on reality--for transforming, say, a serene gathering of nice-looking people in pleasant surroundings (as one had perceived it) into a chaotic mess of lamp cords, rumpled Kleenexes, ugly food, ill-fitting clothes, grotesque gestures, and vapid expressions.

Bench Sitters, 2009 by Bruce Cunningham

What I love about Malcom's explanation of a camera condensing three-dimensional space into two-dimensional chaos is that it lends credibility and intention to images which might otherwise be dismissed as amateur. I often find myself in an endless meta-cognizant loop: is this or is this not a good photo? But the magic of these photos isn't in the perfect tones, it's in the "disorder imposed on reality". What Bruce and Jason and Sara and I are all sharing is a particular kind of awareness.

Snapshots are beautiful to me because they flatten and package morsels of beauty, humor and hope for later. I'm tempted to look at Bruce's pictures and say "only in New York," but a camera can capture (or create) these golden moments for us to take everywhere.

* In fact, we've already seen images we love so much that we want to edition them. Yes, that is a hint! Get on the 20x200 newsletter today to see which contender we will be releasing an edition from on 20x200 tomorrow.

Before you ask and before I have to put you into the awkward position of guessing my age based on any wrinkles, creases, smile lines, and under eye bags, let me tell you: I am twenty three years old (younger, I know, than many of you readers may be). I do not wear sunscreen every day, admittedly sometimes I forget to wash my face before bed, and I certainly do not wear night cream. Per the glossy pages of Cosmopolitan Magazine, I should have started using wrinkle cream a few years ago at age eighteen, a mild solution when I hit my twenties, and can look forward to (god-forbid) an intensive, glycolic formula when I reach the big 3-0. One article even suggested not smiling too often or rubbing my eyes too harshly when I am tired, so I don't get any more of those creases. Sheesh. Like Benjamin Button, women today are trying to perfect the science of rapidly aging backwards, through the use of creams, makeups, serums, and miracle poultices.

Naomi from the series Popfaces by Joshua Scott

It's a cop-out but I blame the media. I am talking about magazines, tabloids, and more specifically print ads. According to Body Image and Advertising:

The average woman sees 400 to 600 advertisements per day, and by the time she is 17 years old, she has received over 250,000 commercial messages through the media. Only 9% of commercials have a direct statement about beauty, but many more implicitly emphasize the importance of beauty--particularly those that target women and girls.

Contender Joshua Scott, who has photographed ads for Marc Jacobs perfumes and Exuviance purifying creams, understands the print-ad beauty industry well. He uses this experience as the departure point for his series Popfaces, where he crinkles, manipulates, deconstructs and crumples otherwise meticulously crafted magazine imagery of women's beautiful faces—at least by advertising standards—and photographs it in a new context.

Once, during the week of my sister's wedding, I was getting my makeup done by a professional makeup artist. After two hours of sitting in a chair, I commented how extraordinarily long and trying my whole day of beautification had become: 1 hour for an updo, 2 hours for makeup application, 1 hour for manicure and pedicure, 1 hour for waxing. Sure, I looked airbrushed and dewy in the wedding album that my sister would keep for a lifetime, however the whole process of getting ready for a few short photographs seemed absurd. It showed me that beauty is not unattainable—it is actually highly attainable—if you have plenty of time and money to dedicate to the hobby of perfection.

Marilyn from the series Popfaces by Joshua Scott

Social and personal commentary aside, I think the visual message of Joshua's images inspires you to pay less heed to the ephemeral and often very repetitive imagery of magazine ads run during the four-season trending cycle. Scott explains, "For the past couple years I have been shooting many cosmetics images for commercial application. After shooting so many fragrance products they began to all blend into each other one after another. They were all a liquid in a bottle. Although the bottles changed shape and the scent changed smell, visually the basic concept was becoming stale." With his images he asks us to reexamine product, presentation and the entire industry of beautification, which takes whole new shape off the printed page.

Twiggy from the series Popfaces by Joshua Scott

So go ahead, rip out a page of your favorite magazine and pucker, then rumple the weak paper. Now look at what you have done; maybe like Scott's work, you'll find these newly creased objects even more appealing.

Illness, Female, 60 years old, 2010, by Sarah Sudhoff

It's not uncommon for photographs of starving children, LOLcats, and New Yorker Cartoons to appear unpunctuated in the same glance at my Tumblr dashboard. As internet users, we are bombarded with images in a way that is hyper-stimulating, contextless, and constant. Discussions about desensitization to powerful images of war or violence come as no surprise. What does take me by surprise is when an image makes me flinch.

I hadn't even had my morning coffee when, reviewing recent entries, I came across this dark and visceral series by contender Sarah Sudhoff. The images—closeups of stains from gun shots, illness and other lingering forms of death—are abstract, but I found myself needing to look away more than once as I browsed through.

Suicide with Gun, Male, 40 years old, 2010 by Sarah Sudhoff

I'm not necessarily a believer that provoking a strong reaction necessarily makes an artwork good (it's a really tricky question), but it does reveal something unqiue about how the viewer deals with difficult images. Sarah's series, At the Hour of Our Death, tells each viewer something about their own attitudes towards death.

Sarah writes:

Death, like birth, is part of a process. However, the processes of death are often shielded from view. Today in Western society most families leave to a complete stranger the responsibility of preparing a loved one's body for its final resting place. Traditional mourning practices, which allowed for the creation of Victorian hair jewelry or other memento mori items, have fallen out of fashion. Now the stain of death is quickly removed and the scene is cleaned and normalized. As Phillipe Aries writes, "Society no longer observes a pause; the disappearance of an individual no longer affects its continuity".

From a purely visual standpoint, the images from are beautiful—and colorful.

I'm reminded of Jason Lazarus's Heinecken Studies, a series of colorful photograms made from scattering the cremated remains of Robert Heinecken over photo paper.

To be affected by Sarah's images while simultaneously questioning their authenticity is inescapable. Famous photographers like Taryn Simon seem to slip into private—or highly guarded—spaces time-and-time-again, but how does someone like Sarah access these ephemeral spaces and their undoubtedly sensitive information? In her statement, she addresses some (but not all) of these personal and technical details.

Sarah writes:

At the age of seventeen, I lost a friend to suicide. While visiting his home the day after the event, I witnessed a clean-up crew steam cleaning the carpet in his bedroom. All physical traces of the past 24 hours had vanished.

These large-scale color photographs capture and fully illuminate swatches of bedding, carpet and upholstery marked with the signs of the passing of human life. The fabrics which are first removed by a trauma scene clean up crew, are relocated to a warehouse before being incinerated. I tack each swatch to the wall and use the crew's floodlights to illuminate the scene. The images are my attempt to slow the moments before and after death to a single frame, to allow what is generally invisible to become visible, and to engage with a process from which we have become disconnected.

I believe in Sudhoff's images, just like I believe in Simon's images and Lazarus's images, but in this case it's not the story, but the sickly stained photographs themselves that I responded to. You can visit Sarah's website to view several more intense bodies of work focusing on "making visible what societal conventions render invisible."

The Slow Food movement has many fast and hard proponents, who come from far and wide. There are those born and bred on farms, who've always seen where their food comes from and eaten it from the source. There are those raised on fast food and preservative-laden microwaveable meals, who've discovered the flavors of real tomatoes, beans, peaches and plums in their later life, and embraced the lifestyle and labors of the farmers who cultivate such treasures. And, there are all of those people in between, for whom there is a great understanding of food as the fundamental source of energy and life in our communities and a means of forming community. They are people who watch in despair as sugary, plant-processed foods take over our grocery stores and who subsequently and constantly feel a great need to call attention to "real food" that sustains and nourishes us.

Scales, Abundance Co-op CSA Distribution, 2010 by Christin Boggs

This attitude towards food has gained traction in more popular media with proponents like Michael Pollan, Jamie Oliver and Alice Waters, who each approach the idea of putting the Western world back on the track to better eating as equal parts education and action. We must first understand where our food is coming from, and how far it travels between field and mouth, to understand why it's so necessary to embrace a return to the land and return to the craft of producing food.

Slow & Steady, a series of images by contender Christin Boggs, documents this "movement away from mass-produced foods in a return to traditional modes of food production and preparation." Boggs visits community gardens, farms and farmers' markets in the Rochester area, where she is completing her MFA in photography, documenting the fruits of hard labor, and the lifestyle and relationships that exist in these spaces. The scenes are pastoral, but also portray a hard scrabble and unglamorous life: high fashion and clean fingernails have no place here.

Brussel Sprouts, Blue Heron Farm, 2010 by Christin Boggs

Instead, one sees the shiny treasures of devotion and energy enjoyed in the form of beautiful green leeks, loaves of bread, browned and ready for the farmers' market and beets, ready to be lifted out of a water bath. The food is only one component of a greater lifestyle; this is a family, a community, a place of like-minds and of like-principles.

Additional images from Slow & Steady are available on Christin's site, where she also features numerous other projects that ask questions about our society's relationship food.

Yuji Hamada toys with ordinary spaces by defining them through the elemental components of the photograph: light and shadow. By using a smoke machine to exacerbate the stringy, effervescent rays of natural (and only natural) light, he breaths new life into sunshine, suggesting it is alive, powerful, directed and defining. What he aims to define is the extraordinary in otherwise dismissed sites, through these two coexistent and dependent ideas: without light their cannot be shadows and shadows often define the boundaries of light.

Untitled from the series Pulsar, 2009 by Yuji Hamada

His series, Pulsar, presumably takes its name from the highly magnetized, rotating neutron stars of the same name whose beams of electromagnetic radiation can only be observed when they have rotated towards the Earth. Like these intergalactic forms, the beams of light that disperse through Hamada's images emit from a pointed source: the sun—the star at the center of it all. The sun, which here on planet Earth controls the climate, dictates seasons, and is the reason for most life, is articulated and further dispersed through the leaves and branches it has enabled to exist. It is occasionally interrupted by man-made forms—a fence, automobile or cement wall—where the light cannot pass and must find a new direction.

Untitled from the series Pulsar, 2009 by Yuji Hamada

Pulsar is grounded in one strict rule Hamada made for himself: no strobe lights or artificial lights; only natural light may be used. Using the aforementioned smoke machine and a series of filters to disperse the particles of light, Hamada captures each of these frames on a large format Linhof Master Technika camera.

Despite Hamada's rigorous, technical process, his images evoke a feeling of lightness (no pun intended) and the great serendipity photographers often feel to catch rays of sun coursing through the trees at just the right time of day. His manufactured pulsars seem like fantastical versions of the blocks we walk down each day, each a tiny capsule of magic in its transformative moment.

You can see more work from this series on Yuji's website.

I will not disclose the name of the town in which I grew up, however, I will admit that one summer the local high school had an adult education class entitled: "Making the Most of Your Road Kill." Topics within the seminar included; "How to Tell if the Meat is Fresh" and "The Secret to The Perfect 'Possum Patty." But here, here, there are some major perks to "catching" road kill. First of all, you can call yourself the ultimate go-green enthusiast, wasting no food, or spare parts. Secondly, the meat is free! There are no government issued taxes or fees for collecting roadkill. Finally, wild game is said to be very high in vitamins, drug-free, and the meat is lean with little saturated fats. Talk about healthy!

Subterfuge aside, HHS! contender Nigel Grimmer is also a roadkill enthusiast.

(Jo, Hull, 2000), September 2000 UK by Nigel Grimmer

The series, Roadkill Family Album, began in 2000 to highlight the constructed nature of a family portrait. Fooling with the iconic portrait image, each photograph in the series depicts a member of Grimmer's family, or a close friend, lying, apparently dead, by the side of a road wearing the mask of an animal. According to Grimmer, "The photographs have been taken on many holidays with friends and family. Locations include America, France, Japan, Ireland and throughout England".

Oh yeah, one of the other highlights of roadkill? It's utilitarian and universal, not just relegated to one place.

(Pasminda, Donegal, 2002), September 2002 Ireland by Nigel Grimmer

When I pass a dead animal on the side of the road, a few feelings course through my veins—namely: revulsion, sadness and curiosity. Never do I ever think of the animal as part of a family, a larger picture. Grimmer's images force me to anthropomorphize nature and to give animals personal identities. Playing on Grimmer's want to show the audience the meticulous construction of a portrait, roadkill must have interacted with a force or invention of man at one point, e.g. a deer hit by a truck, a squirrel sidelined by a sedan, a bird flying into a sliding glass door. Though it's not so pretty to think about, ultimately roadkill falls on, ahem, the road, another construction of man. Grimmer's visual, alternate realities lead me to this realization and I find myself feeling uncomfortably responsible for the death of every family member in the album.

Imagine someone from your family hit by a cadre of geese going for a Sunday drive; Grimmer probably knows what it would look like.

(Jayne, Hackney, 2007),16 April 2007 UK by Nigel Grimmer

Now, act like a good human and learn to "play dead"!

Lithuanian-born Darius Kuzmickas is a master of the pinhole camera. Remember 3rd grade science experiments dealing with the sun and optics wherein one would only need a cardboard box or a coffee can to record an image? A pinhole camera, which has no lenses and only one aperture, consists essentially of a light-tight object with a small hole in one side, so that an inverted image of outside objects is projected on the opposite side where it is then recorded on film.

camera obscura: outside in(n) 19, 2009 by Darius Kuzmickas

There are records of naturally occurring pinhole cameras as far back in history as the 4th century B.C. where Aristotole and Euclid would record and discuss the shadows left by wicker baskets, or the reverse reflection of leaf slits on trees. Chinese philosopher and theologian Mo-Ti, during the same epoch, would refer to something known as "the collecting plate" that he also observed through gaps in leaves. Of course, the human eye is another naturally occurring pinhole camera, so you have technically tried and succeeding in constructing one without even knowing it!

camera obscura: outside in(n) 29, 2009 by Darius Kuzmickas

The portfolio Kuzmickas submitted for HHS! is entitled Camera Obscura: Outside In(n) and is a technical carnival of Escher-esque images that leave the audience wondering whether a subject of the photograph is the main focus or the infinitely patterned background, and whether or not the room is impossibly constructed or highly manipulated. Kuzmickas showcases the blank, barren walls of a lonely human's living space upon which an image is reborn within a new location in soft focus. Each image features a subject flooded with the accoutrements of the outside world; a woman stamped with the pattern of an apartment complex, a man floating through a city sky.

Kuzmickas toys with our mind's eye and our perception of our own optical reality. The camera obscura technique literally means a dark, vaulted chamber. Kuzmickas images are a play on this wording and feature emotionally dark, small chambers both in the image, and outside the image for the camera obscura capture.

camera obscura: outside in(n) 55, 2009 by Darius Kuzmickas

Perhaps M.C. Escher said it best when he asked, "Are you really sure that a floor can't also be a ceiling?"

It used to be a trend in the medium of photography that some practicing artists, dissatisfied with the static, frozen-in-time image would abandon the single-frame format camera for the moving pictures kind; essentially making a trade for the fourth dimension— that of time.

These days it would seem that a trade has been made again, but the trade is not of the either/or variety. It's a trade up for more skill sets. No longer does it seem that one has to identify or confine oneself to one set criteria of artistic representation or media. Photographers can begat filmmakers which can begat performance work which can begat installation ad infinitum. It's as if there is only one artistic medium anymore, and its name is versatility.

Untitled, from the series In the Fulcrum of Our Dreams by Teo Ormond-Skeaping

Today's contender, Teo Ormond-Skeaping is one such practioner, working in photography, video and installation within the same project concept. His current body of work, In the Fulcrum of Our Dreams, reflects the sensibilities of one that likes to traffic in dreams, archetypes and the shadow-sides of reality. Colors are muted yet singularly and selectively intense at the same time; some moments are blurred and softly vignetted on the edges, others feel as if you can almost smell them. By utilizing still images, moving images and installation to evoke a rich emotional palette of experience, what I am most moved by in Fulcrum of Dreams is how many and how acutely each of my senses are engaged.

Untitled, from the series In the Fulcrum of Our Dreams by Teo Ormond-Skeaping

IN THE FULCRUM OF OUR DREAMS from teo ormond-skeaping on Vimeo.

In Ormond-Skeaping's multi-layered canvas the more bewildering aspects of dreamscape are invoked: sensations of symbolic import paired with faces that may have no relevance in daily life but in dream logic summon up powerful archetypal associations, creating wave of skin-prickling wave of weird emotional resonance. Is the figure below a harrowing relation? A stranger in decline? Someone with menacing and supernatural powers? A reflection of super ego?

Untitled, from the series In the Fulcrum of Our Dreams by Teo Ormond-Skeaping

The open-ended, free-association and stream-of-consciousness that runs thickly throughout this work brings to my mind the work of Bill Viola, who works masterfully at themes which combine spirit, rites of passage, Jungian psychology and the uncomfortable, seemingly unending spaces of dream life.

While it may seem initially intimidating to learn the language of a new medium and/or incorporate into an existing practice the threads of an entirely new one (or two or three), artists that are unafraid of the learning curve and forgiving of self-created messes and mistakes are eventually rewarded with a much larger tool chest and language set by which to communicate their visions.

The full photographic sequence, as well as video and installation portions of In the Fulcrum of Our Dreams can be experienced at Teo Ormond-Skeaping's website.

There are some artist's projects which require a little background information in order to appreciate fully. As the art-making world becomes larger and encompasses greater numbers of practitioners from increasingly varied backgrounds, intersecting cultures and geographic locations, so too grows the need to provide necessary context for work whose meaning might be completely obfuscated without it.

Jinkyun Ahn, based in Seoul, Korea, first conceived of his project En Cave while fulfilling a task of familial duty. He writes:

When I returned to Korea four years ago to begin compulsory military service, one of my first responsibilities as the eldest grandson was to visit my grandparents' burial sites as a sign of respect. Nearby their burial sites is an empty plot where my parents will also one day be buried. As I stood in front of the plot, my parents walked into my line of vision. Suddenly I realized that I would stand at that very spot at my parents' funerals some day. I could not stop the inevitable transformation of the view—from living parents to graves—nor could I turn away from the view where my parents' deaths will be evident. Like the chained slaves forced to watch illusions in Plato's cave, I am bound to observe a scene of my parents' death in the graveyard.

En Cave #15 by Jinkyun Ahn

En Cave #14 by Jinkyun Ahn

Ahn constructed his own "Cave" where this performance could be enacted and shared by himself and his parents without any actual funeral having to occur. Much like his concept of living through his parents' funeral by conducting an artful preemptive rehearsal of it, his artistic method is equally transparent, which I favor for its no-nonsense emotional pragmatism:

The view not only includes me and my parents but photographic equipment such as light stands and electric wires. The apparatus is exposed rather than hidden; my photographic process is photographed explicitly.

En Cave #17 by Jinkyun Ahn

Through his project En Cave, Ahn is reconciling the fact of his personal ties and history being inextricably bound up in the person he is trying to carve himself out to be apart from those familial ties and that culturally inscribed history. The act of reconciliation is necessary because, in the end he recognizes his to be an, "...experience of helplessness not only in creating highly conceptualized art in the early 21st century but also in performing as a son according to Confucian tradition in a Korean family."

The act of honoring and paying tribute to the ancestral dead is a rich subject that many contemporary Asian artists are visiting with an eye towards contemporary critique and commentary of culture-jamming. Ahn's work brought to my mind the recent project In Case It Rains in Heaven, by Hot Shot and 2009 Ultra Kurt Tong. Focusing upon the ritual burning of Joss paper as offerings to ancestors and the recently departed, Tong recreates the complicated narrative that exists in developing these offerings—a narrative being increasingly tailored to reflect material goods and status symbols that the dead perhaps were never able to attain. Or, goods that current cultural standards hold to be a meaningful and valuable tribute: joss-molded ipods, designer shoes, household appliances and automatic rifles.

Both Jinkyun Ahn's and Kurt Tong's work shows that even while centuries-old customs are still respected and observed, that the intersection of those traditions with other cultures and value systems is inevitable. Reflecting on these changes through art is an important and meaningful task as an artist so that one can fully understand and communicate those differences in their work.

Astoria, where Eliza Lamb has lived for the past five years, is located in the northwestern corner of Queens, New York City. A testament to the ephemeral nature of any neighborhood in NYC, Astoria was first settled by the Dutch (Nieuw-Amsterdam anyone?), then populated by the Germans in the 1800s, the Italians in the early 1900s, Greeks in the 1960s (giving Astoria the largest Greek population outside of Greece itself) and Lebanese and Moroccans in the 1970s. This proverbial melting pot, or now salad bowl, is a bric-a-brac of religious totems, symbols and beliefs. It is no wonder that Lamb was able to get such contrasting sacrosanct imagery within a 10-block radius of her home in Astoria. She is interested in the ideas of boundaries, of religion, of small shared spaces, of personal interaction, especially in New York City. She shoots almost all her images from the public space of the sidewalk and often includes protecting fences.

Marble Reflection from Astoria Series: Streetside Religion by Eliza Lamb

Lamb writes:

I shoot exclusively found objects, in natural light, on medium format film. I do not crop the images - I believe in creating the image in the camera... Sometimes people are interested to know that I was also raised a Catholic but am not currently. My great grandmother had a small 'Bathtub Mary' in her backyard growing up, that we all used to take turn praying at as young children. This is a familiar object and one that provides an odd sense of alienation but also comfort.

Playing on the intergenerational theme of one neighborhood in Queens, Lamb admits that she became interested in photography first through her grandfather who was an engineer. An engineer must apply science, math, ingenuity, creativity and some elbow grease in order to develop solutions to technical problems. How apropos then that the word engineer is derived from the Latin root ingenium, meaning "cleverness" (Oxford Concise Dictionary, 1995). Lamb applies the curiosity of engineering to the tenets of photography, often shooting an image without its person. Because of this capture of personality without a body, Lamb considers herself "a portrait photographer who doesn't shoot people."

Seahorse from Astoria Series: Streetside Religion by Eliza Lamb

The images from the Astoria Series: Streetside Religion were shot over a three-year period. Originally, Lamb would shoot alone during long walks through the neighborhood. However, she says that defensive neighbors would come out to question her intentions, their privacy, and ask her to leave.

Lamb explains:

This again presented the question to me as to why these statues were there in the first place. Were they there to share, to protect, to include or to exclude? So I started taking Maddie (Lamb's 8-year-old daughter) with me, with her little camera, and suddenly I was no longer something to be removed, trying to take something from them - instead people would come out smiling and include us. I was the same person but it was a huge shift.

Piqued your interest? Check our more here!

Yankees from Astoria Series: Streetside Religion by Eliza Lamb

Can't get enough of Queens, NYC? Check out past HHS! Contender and blog focus, Alexander Segreti, who also photographs within yards of Lamb.

The sixteenth century practice of Dutch still-life painting has long placed living objects—flora, fauna and food, primarily—alongside inanimate but significant tokens like skulls, porcelain, candles and books. Rich, velvety backgrounds, usually black, were awash with a matte natural light, and the artist's task was to paint petals most intricate and fruit most delicately nuanced to demonstrate their deft with a brush.

Oranges, 2010 by Jennifer Mason

New Zealand-based contender Jennifer Mason approaches this centuries old tradition with a modern twist, adding bold backgrounds to her compositions. In Oranges, red berries and a handful of the title-fruit are part of a vibrant palette that also incorporates aqua and yellow, recalling the bright colors popular to the 1950s. Magnolia also takes a modern twist; Jennifer has constructed and suspended a still-life mobile of branches and magnolia flower petals that appear to be floating in space. Although the objects are uncharacteristically raised-from-table, Mason maintains the even halo of light and rich color that are constant variables of the still-life style, while diverting from the accepted posture of items, front and center on the table surface.

Magnolia, 2010 by Jennifer Mason

Still Life With Fish & Orange Slices from the series Vanitas by Justine Reyes

Mason is one of a handful of photographers who have adopted this tradition of still-life painting, partaking in their own battle with form, function, position and color. Justine Reyes, in her series Vanitas, composes still-lifes that incorporate elements of family and memory, featuring photographs of relatives past and teacups and dishware that belong to unnamed family members. Both photographers walk the trickle of a line between life and death, placing symbols of life—succulent, fresh fruit—next to symbols of death: an extinguished candle, remnant fish bones, broken egg shells. In doing so, they insist that these images, while void of people, are very human portraits, comprised of the same fragile tension that exists in our life and inevitability of entering the world thereafter.

Dima, 2010, from Stunt Bikers by Luis Belmonte Diaz

Something I often find myself thinking about is the difference between a practice and a project.

A practice is a daily routine; it's showing up to do creative work...even when nothing happens; it's never leaving the house without a camera; it's writing things down in a notebook; it's posting photos (even your weaker ones) on a blog; it's literally anything you do day-to-day to move your work forward--or sometimes just take in what surrounds you.

A project is something else entirely. Visit any photographer's portfolio website (too many to pick from, but literally try any) and you will find projects in a list on the lefthand side, or front and center in a slideshow. A project is hard to define because, as we've seen throughout the competition, there are so many different ways to make work. Distinct from looking, thinking and recording day-to-day, a project means action.

Scrolling through contenders, I think about what each photographer set out to do, or what irresistible possibilities they could not ignore. For contender Luis Belmonte Diaz that possibility is knowing more about things that catch his eye by getting right up close and taking photos.

Oil, 2010, from Stunt Bikers by Luis Belmonte Diaz

Luis writes:

Passing by the Ermitage in St. Petersburg, I saw a couple of boys riding what looked like very weird motorbikes. The vision of these drivers and their machines fascinated me immediately.

I spent a few days in the square waiting for the rain to stop and photograph the drivers, their machines, as well as the asphalt, looking for the unstable equilibrium that had attracted me the first time I saw them, that same tension I also found between machines and asphalt.

The best way to view Stunt Bikers is how Luis has sequenced it on his website. Scrolling from left to right, tightly cropped shots of faces in helmets and stripped down motorbikes are punctuated by traces of burned rubber and swirls of oil. The images amplify each other and create an unconventionally close-up portrait of this sport.

A project like this can be a catalyst for something--like interaction with a random group of people. But what made me think of practice and projects in the first place is how this series is a step beyond spontaneous, but not overly conceived. In practice, one might pass by the very weird motorbikes, snap a photograph, and keep on walking. To spend days getting to know something that catches your eye seems to lie somewhere in between.

You can view more projects at Luis's website, including the full Stunt Bikers series and the similar In Transit.

I was once in a relationship with a Man of Adventure. His bookshelves were filled with what I came to refer to as Men! Who Did! Great Things! His heroes were explorers, extreme athletes and a long list of bon vivants of varying health and alcohol tolerances. In the course of our time together, I came to know the names of each of the seven summits, that the Himalayan sherpa Tenzing Norgay probably was the first to ascend Mt. Everest over Edmund Hillary (but the secret of who did what first died with them), that the arguably most grueling one-person race in the world is the Véndee Globe. While not romantic in the most traditional sense, his quite literal lust for life underscored for me what the idea of romance was in the most far-reaching sense.

Thomas Prior is also a non-traditional romantic that follows the foolish and courageous. Prior's most recent visual investigations have been photographing people engaged in recreational activities in places or circumstances that are both beautiful and dangerous. The images he has given us to consider in this edition of HHS! were all taken on Maho Beach, which is an area situated on the Caribbean Island of St. Maarten. If you're not an adrenaline junkie or in a relationship with one that might advise you on such things, what's unique about Maho Beach is that it is situated directly adjacent to an airport, and the approaching jets fly oh-so-close to the beach such that it makes for anything between a dramatic horizon line, at the very least, to a life-threatening case of jet blast at the very worst.

Untitled, July 2010 from the series Maho Beach by Thomas Prior

Untitled, July 2010 from the series Maho Beach by Thomas Prior

In images from Prior's Maho Beach, people are shown in postures of alarm, excited agitation and fear, running across the picture plane with their bodies shown at harrowing (or harried) angles, hair standing straight up on end, blasts of sand shooting vertically in a wall in front of covered faces. My immediate associations are cult b&w Japanese monster films, where entire populations are scurrying for cover while under attack from the likes of mutant villians Mothra or Godzilla. Such shenanigans are exactly the kind of canvas that Prior goes looking for in his projects. Recently featured as a PDN 30 Photographers to Watch, Jacqueline Tobin interviewed him for the accolade, writing:

The "mixture of the super dedicated people and beautiful open landscapes" drew him to these subjects, he says. "The locations are simple, yet not at all boring. They're visually incredible, but made more amazing by humans."

In many of his images, Prior seems to catch people in somewhat awkward moments. "That kind of awkwardness is what I naturally react to," he says. "I like people awkward and landscapes ordered. This style runs through all of my photos and it's how I've always made pictures."

Untitled, July 2010 from the series Maho Beach by Thomas Prior

A 2009 HHS! Honorable Mention, we loved Prior's work so much that we made editions of two of his images from his series Blackrock Tower (check out our recent post on the 20x200 blog on extreme weather as artistic fodder). This latest body of work, made this summer, even, is perhaps even more impressive. I can't wait to see what he turns up next (and for those savvy among you, we all might get to find out what that next is if you're on the 20x200 newsletter mailing list for next week, hint hint).

You can view all of Thomas Prior's bodies of work on his website. He also maintains a blog.

Ambiguity may be the clue: there is the material, and there am I intruding my private intent. I know the imminence of the world and experience it with full sensuality; at the same time I am involved with the projection of myself as idea. Strong tensions are inevitable, pleasurable and disturbing. Is not the esthetic optimum order with the tensions continuing? —

Aaron Siskind, Creative Camera, May 1970

Today's contender, Jaap E. Helder, has a few things in common with someone that I consider one of the great photo-art gods, Aaron Siskind. Both of them find photographic inspiration in the landscape and environments of coastal Maine, and both of them have a painterly sensibility as regards texture, marks, depth and formal composition in the frame of an image.

Franklin 9, 2010 by Jaap E. Helder

Maine 1, 1949 by Aaron Siskind

Hailing from the Netherlands and originally trained as a painter, Helder has found in his residence in Maine many echoes of a childhood past spent in a busy, industrial harbor town. His images speak to a love of color and line interrupted by the element of a time which causes decay, and in its overlap with a seen subject, completes it. From Helder's artist statement:

Living in coastal Maine, I am inspired by the raw beauty of the landscape and the Atlantic Ocean, the worn surfaces I see around me, especially the ships in the harbors with their many layers of industrial paint, scratched and marked and worn down by the elements.

Through the relationship of colors, forms, and marks, through rhythm and balance, and the physical and psychological work... I draw the viewer into an imagined landscape, into a colorful, dynamic world that hovers between the abstract and the representational.

Trenton I, 2010 by Jaap E. Helder

There is in Helder's work a large playground for sensual visual pleasure: forms interrupt forms, overlap, elements that in painting would require many built-up layers and scraping away with a palette knife here only require the passage of time and the caprices of wind and sun. Like Siskind, his is a very formal eye, and there is nothing arbitrary about what constitutes the edges of a frame, or its interior. What we are given to look at as a final photographic vision is the product of a situation where the artist has looked and looked and looked again at this same scene dozens of times. Like a painter before a blank canvas summoning up the composition hours or days before a mark is ever made, that is the process by which these images have been realized.

A complete catalog of Helder's photographs as well as paintings are nicely laid out on his website.

When I am having a nightmare, my unwelcome dreamscape usually involves familiar people and situations, where things occur in a strange logic and stream of events that never actually happened in real life, but makes acute emotional sense upon waking. For individuals to whom real and persistent trauma or abuse have occurred, I've been told that their nightmares are actually the stuff of a remembered reality: a continual re-staging of abusive power dynamics, senseless and horrible events, and a crude feeling of emptying out that is realized when the dream has ended.

4024 Locke Ave, from the series Exposure in Vivo by Selena Salfen

The work of Selena Salfen is both the stuff of art and art therapy, for the story she is compelled to tell and work through is that of a trauma suffered by three generations of her family, and by telling it and re-orienting the past, she hopes to purge its menacing hold and power on those still around to feel its grip. From her spare and haunting artist's statement:

My grandfather has been a consistently frightening figure in my family. He returned severely damaged from his nine months as a starved and violently interrogated German prisoner of war in World War II. Functioning through the remnants of his untreated traumatic experiences, he raised a family in a physically and psychologically abusive household, governed by his alcoholism and nonsensical rules. He worked as a mortician, stealing from those he embalmed and bringing a desensitized relationship with death home to his six children. This traumatic environment cultivated self-destruction and dysfunction amongst the children, leading to suicide, addiction, and many life-long struggles. The legacy of my grandfather's experience in war and resultant abuse of his family has mutated and transmitted itself through three generations. For this project, I use the camera to disrupt the pattern of silence that has guarded our family's dysfunction, while reconnecting the family and redefining their experience within my grandfather's environment.

Extracting the Gold (from the Teeth), from the series Exposure in Vivo by Selena Salfen

The Punishment Buzzcut, from the series Exposure in Vivo by Selena Salfen

Putting the Cat Down, from the series Exposure in Vivo by Selena Salfen

How does you begin healing from a bogeyman that's still around? How do you begin to tell the past so that in the re-telling, you don't actually re-live its potent and toxic emotions as well? How to let go of the past; or maybe more precisely how to lessen its effects on the present? Salfen goes on to describe the psychological underpinnings to her artistic practice for this series:

To make this body of work, I flew members of my family back from their scattered locations to the house in Missouri where my grandfather still lives. This process mimics the treatment for post-traumatic stress disorder, referred to exposure in vivo, in which subjects are directed to return to the physical location of a trauma and confront their fears in order to heal. The photographs I make in these locations are reconstructions of stories from the past, as well as observations of each descendant's reimmersion into this historically traumatic location. In addition, I excavate the space, searching for evidence of past and present dysfunction amongst my grandfather's neglected animals, rotting food, and sixty years of hoarding.

The images from Selena Salfen's Exposure in Vivo project stun and confuse me, and leave me with the feeling that I have witnessed something powerful. Sifting through the series on her website, going through the narrative once, twice, several times in a hypnotic, compulsive repetition, I feel as if I have been experiencing a tilted, muted dream life of someone's waking nightmare. Would these images seem menacing without the backstory? I believe they would, if taken in their careful sequencing that Salfen demonstrates on her site. Can they bring any peace or closure or better coping to the actual family members affected and depicted in them? I sure hope so.

Images from this series are currently on view at the The Camera Club of New York, where Salfen received second place in their national photography competition, alongside 2008 Hot Shot Juliane Eirich.

Salfen's entire series Exposure in Vivo is viewable on her website.

SBD Runways, 2009 by Mary Kathleen Shafer

Contender Mary Kathleen Shafer references artist Robert Smithson in her documentation of airfields, over 100 of which she has photographed from both the ground and from up in the air. She writes of Smithson, "he identified the airport as the quintessential earthwork, a stunning example of leaving a longer mark on the land," an idea which made had a great impact on the issues of temporariness that surrounded his own work. Schafer also describes her fascination with "Le Corbusier's ideas about the drama with which the empty horizontal space of airfields meets the verticality of airport facilities and surrounding urbanity". In discussing this, her photographs start to reveal an interesting tension—that between the natural progression of the land and the impact left by man versus the drama and invisible energy of the space not occupied.

Smithson's Spiral Jetty, an meticulously crafted outdoor installation made of mud, salt crystals, basalt rocks, earth and water in 1970, was vulnerable to the forces of weather and simple unpredictability. Built in a lake that was going through a drought at the time of construction, the Jetty found itself submerged once the water rose for almost three decades until 2005. The longevity of earthworks demonstrated that they were threatened by the environment, as well as by human-generated industrialization.

Airports, like Smithson's installation, are highly calculated places that must pay heed to the environment as well as to human impact. Thinking about these images in a present day context, we can also see a certain tension being revealed in what is physically present and the drama of the invisible space. Since 2001, airports have been a point of uneasiness for both the government and citizens. Despite the impressive landscaping and coordination of machinery, airports are seen as sites of national weakness and risk, a vulnerable access point to the safety of the country. Looking at Mary Kathleen's work, we see airfields and their horizons from afar, where all appears to be peaceful and serene, a never ending web of tarmac surrounded by mountains, absent from any this unpleasantness. However, the potential for havoc can always be assumed at airports; the calm and often grandiose landscape cannot stay that way forever.

Miramar #2, 2009 by Mary Kathleen Shafer

View more of Mary Kathleen's work on her website.

Several recent contenders have also featured planes, transportation and airports in their work: Ozant Kamaci and Judith Stenneken.

What does it mean to be in a place but not of it? What are the associations and connotations of the American South if you are from there? What about if you are not? Whatever your orientation is, the deep South truly is its own zip code, and its own zip codes within zip codes if you spend enough time there or in conversation with those native to that place. Romantic decay, vast tracts of unpopulated and lonely-looking land, fierce pride and loyalty mixed with problematic politics and provincialism are but a few things that come to my mind as someone who lived for many years in Tennessee and Georgia. And then left. And then returned. And then left again.

This push-pull/pull-push relationship of place and personhood is an important element in the work of Kathleen R. Robbins, originally a native of the Mississippi Delta. Like many that inhabit rural areas with dreams of something larger than the family farm, Robbins transplanted herself away from the homestead, seeking education and opportunities in other parts of the country. In the fall of 2001, she and her brother decided to return, and both inhabited family properties that had been unoccupied for decades.

Skinning House, from the series Into the Flatland by Kathleen Robbins

Untitled, from the series Into the Flatland by Kathleen Robbins

Of the experience of re-inhabiting these spaces, Robbins writes that:

...They had begun to settle into the earth, and we felt we were doing something important by re-inhabiting them. I ate from my great-grandmother's china, drank from her crystal and slept in her bed. At dusk I rocked on the porch and watched the blackbirds descend on the canebrake planted by my great-grandfather. Living on the farm I existed in a strange continuum. My family's history and their connection to this place were markedly present in my everyday experience.

The entire Into the Flatland series has been shot over a period of five years, and explores, comments upon and documents Robbins' relationship to land, her family, to memory, shared histories and legacies. Her images are infused with a sense of both the familiar and the foreign, as seen from the filter of one who is sometimes in a place but not of it. In the full project statement on her site, she writes eloquently of negotiating this conflict:

Into the Flatfland explores familial obligation and our conflicted relationship with "home" and combines a sense of personal history with a broader visual concept of the American South. The photographs in this series... are the people I love most in a place that I am deeply connected to. I chose to leave the Delta for many of the same reasons anyone ever chooses to leave a rural area, and there will always be a certain amount of guilt associated with that choice. This is land that my family has inhabited for generations, and I am pulled to this place in a way that I am not able to fully articulate. It is not my nostalgia alone that creates this longing; it is that of my mother and my mother's mother.

Kathleen R. Robbins has been creating images her connections to the Delta for some time, and we've written about her earlier work in previous HHS! entry periods. With Into the Flatland, her vision seems strong and completely realized, and that despite her statement to the contrary, one that she has gracefully articulated.

The complete series can be viewed on her website.

For many of us city-dwellers, even though we live packed on-top-of and next-to one another like sardines, we hardly see how our neighbors live. In my own particular building, the across-the-hall neighbors are keen on audibly locking their doors, never letting us even get a peek at their curtain color or choice of wall paint. So, I fulfill my curiosities by looking into people's homes by way of blogs and projects like The Selby and design*sponge's "Sneak Peeks," keen on capturing how it is that people live. These two sites venture into the homes of creatives: musicians, museum directors, writers, fashion and graphic designers and artists of all ilks. They are the spaces of those already partial to making the kinds of aesthetic decisions that might inform a beautiful home and so we lust over their choice of bar stools, the textiles on their beds, ponder how they accumulated such beautiful mid-century teak furniture, and wish our own apartments had the same kinds of crown moldings and built-in bookcases as theirs. The homes are real, but also aspirational; we look and we covet, but know we're looking at the exception.

Apartment Kitchen with Clean Dishes, Moving Out, 2006 by Sarah Szwajkos

In her statement, contender Sarah Szwajkos quotes author John Updike: ""My only duty was to describe reality as it had come to me -- to give the mundane its beautiful due." She photographs homes as well, but unlike the aforementioned projects who cultivate highly curated living spaces, Sarah is more interested in photographing personal spaces whose beauty isn't so apparent in visible objects.

She goes on to ask: "how do such everyday objects in our homes unveil the order and the disorder of modern life?" Sarah sees personal space as a Rorschach Test for inferring "basic creative urges," an open canvas for reading into someone's proclivities towards neatness or clutter, and an accumulation of tiny decisions made over time. She consciously leaves the inhabitants out of the frame, so instead we focus on what little we have to identify who they are, by observing the glint of the light and mysteries that lurk behind open cupboards and on the other side of bedroom walls. In this mundanity, we give life to the inanimate, and pause a second, to absorb the quietude of the places we call home.

Shower Stall, Scrub Brush, Two Hooks, 2008 by Sarah Szwajkos

See more of Sarah's work on personal spaces on her website, Damn Rabbit Studios.

Oh, He's My Brother, 2009 from At the Seams, by Kate Stone

One of my favorite parts of looking through Hey, Hot Shot! entries—and looking at art in genera—is that each viewing stirs up the strangest of memories and forms an untidy web of visual and conceptual associations. When I came across the work of contender Kate Stone this morning, I suddenly remembered a documentary I watched on Discovery Channel when I was eight. What drew me into the program back then was choppy footage of the Loch Ness Monster and recorded spottings of UFOs. Today it finally hit me that the what I was watching was actually a history of photo-manipulation.

It's easy to assume that photography is fact, but even before Adobe Photoshop made it dangerously effortless to alter images, tricksters were skillfully cutting and pasting away to (ostensibly) fake photographs of sea monsters, alien encounters, and all manners of the supernatural. Kate's series At the Seams employs these same lo-fi methods of manipulation to create images that pass for normal at first glance, but quickly reveal themselves to be crude, yet complex illusions.

Kate writes:

I used photographs of domestic interiors and common architecture to construct impossible, uncanny spaces that evoke a feeling of hesitant curiosity, a nervous desire to explore the room, to peek around the bend or to see what lies behind the door at the end of the hall. Our acceptance of photography as reality makes these images hard to understand, especially for those who know the original place. At first glance the rooms and buildings in these photographs appear real. Upon closer examination, however, something is clearly wrong. Doorways are misplaced and once rigid walls are twisted and torn. Distorted perspective creates incongruent angles and improbable shadows. These spaces are literally falling apart at the seams.

What's interesting about photo-manipulation is that it always carries with it the question of motive—why, and for whom was this reality changed or constructed? The Loch Ness fakers were most certainly chasing money and fame, but Kate's images are in pursuit of narrative. Each image is titled with a phrase reminiscent of lyrics from a song or a line from a book but they appear to be made up entirely. At the Seams draws me irresistibly into the mind-bending constructs of perspective and narrative, but the photograph's logic is ultimately impenetrable. Once you've looked twice, it´s almost certain that you'll look again, and again, and again.

Debbie Downstairs, 2009 from At the Seams by Kate Stone

Kate's fascination with questioning authority and altering truth continues into her series The Pinchbeck Habitats, which cuts up and reconstructs natural history museum dioramas.

Kate writes:

The museum's air of authenticity persuades viewers to animate the scene with their imaginations, to ignore the artifice and believe what they see. The Pinchbeck Habitats, like the dioramas, combine three dimensions with two and blend the real with the constructed, creating an illusion of reality. But in these habitats the manipulation and distortion are brought to the foreground, pushing the limits of the imagination and trust of their viewers.

Untitled from The Pinchbeck Habitats by Kate Stone

Ultimately, Kate describes the motive behind her work best when she writes, "the power of photography forces the viewer to suspend disbelief for the sake of wonder." You can view more work, including full sets of work from both of the series mentioned above, at Kate's website.

Pause III, 2009 by Ozant Kamaci

Contender Ozant Kamaci photographs airplanes as they fly behind trees, collaging the natural and man-made objects into flat, striking images. It's the "juxtaposition of powerful machines, which are symbols of advancement and technology, against nature, which is widely accepted as precious and untouched" that interests him. But the images are also studies in composition and layering, and a slight inquiry into the ability of photography to "move the viewer to a new space," through these specific points-of-view which are repeated throughout the series Pause.

Untitled images from Concorde by Wolfgang Tillmans

I am reminded of German photographer Wolfgang Tillmans' Concorde, a document that looks at the power—and simultaneous hope and possible destruction—that comes with a machine as powerful as plane. The concorde leaves streaks in the air, zooms past farmland, rips past trees, and pulses through the sky, tiny in relation to the world, ominous nonetheless. Tillmans warns us to be weary of what awes us; the beautiful and the grotesque can be almost indistinguishable.

Ozant's own fascination with airplanes extends to several of his bodies of work, which depict people—in awe—watching planes in a field and, on the front page of his site, a plane passing behind a cow. Throughout, he insists again and again that nature and the man-made are increasingly intertwined, and that our fascination with the roar and whoosh that comes with these once-futuristic machines that we're now dependent upon is a double-edged sword, that must be continually acknowledged.

Untitled, from Pause M, by Ozant Kamaci

You can view more of Ozant's work on his website.

In two weeks, I'll board a red-eye to Tegel airport in Berlin, Germany, a flight I hope is occupied by a restful night's sleep and a few decent movies. But, because a flight replete with such serenity has evaded me my entire life, I'm fully prepared for the onslaught of stress and exhaustion that usually comes with travel. The hassle starts with packing (What do I bring? How much can I bring without being charged that extra baggage fee? And which shoes do I wear to the airport that are easiest to get through security?) Next, I'll prepare myself for the hullaballoo of the airport: fellow anxious passengers clumsily re-packing their suitcases, long, fidgety lines navigating security, and harried travelers double checking their pockets and purses for their passports. As I sit here thinking about this impending departure, I can already feel myself tensing up.

AF 3231, 2008 by Judith Stenneken

Berlin-based contender Judith Stenneken visits airports too, but as a photographer seeking places in the status of the in-between. Her series Last Call takes a look at another Berlin airport, Tempelhof Central, during its final days in decline, and records a quietude foreign to most people's experiences in places like these. A woman with a loose ponytail looks lazily at a x-ray machine, but the security lines are empty and there's nothing to be scanned. The bathroom lights have been shut off, the plants filling the main entrance hall are yellowed and dry, and an airplane in waiting is wrapped in plastic—rather corpse-like. One knows they're looking at the eerie aftermath of a once lively party—a place at some point prized for its functionality and as an important junction for connection and innovation. It feels mournful to see it now, and to imagine what it will become in its fully closed state.

Of Tempelhof's final days, and her project, Judith writes:

Although the airport was still operating, it felt as if the building was deserted, and the only people who were there acted like extras in a movie: a man reading the newspaper and waiting for his flight, a woman from the ground crew standing behind at the check-in counter waiting for passengers to come, the cleaning lady playing with her feather duster. Nobody speaking, no announcements from the loudspeakers. It was a place where time did not seem to matter.

VG 117, 2008 by Judith Stenneken

Tempelhof, built in 1923, stood for over 80 years as one of Europe's three iconic pre-World War II airports, and was often thought to be the most advantageous of the city's airports because of its central location. The airport's closing was first proposed in 1996 in conjunction with the mayor's proposal for the expansion of another Berlin airport, and many, until it closed for good in October 2008, rallied for the location to stay open. Its 12 year decline and slow motion close lend a cinematic element, as Stenneken notes in her statement and one imagines it must been awfully eerie to have been one of the airport's last passengers, nervously wondering if the the lackluster pace was matched by lazy operations. In her documentation of this dying place, Stenneken hones in on objects once used by employees and travelers that are now abandoned, capturing an echoing ripple of quiet that extends beyonds airport walls.

Untitled by Jennifer Garza-Cuen

There's something delightfully creepy about the interiors and portraits by photographer Jennifer Garza-Cuen. The characters in her photos, while bordering on the far end of the David Lynch-ian scale of producing feelings of weird uncomfortability, are not who the portraits are actually of. The portraits are all a collective portrait of a place—a place immortalized in lyrics and film (both the moving and the still variety), that place being Reno, Nevada.

While I've never been to the desert west, or the strange man-made city of Reno, my projected mythology of what I imagine that place to be and mean is entirely satisfied in this theatrically produced series of images. Is Reno a place of heartaches and hard-sells? Is it a place where improbable things happen? Where weird is normal? Where time and space mean something different, and where people behave differently because of it? Looking at the series of images that Jennifer Garza-Cuen has submitted for consideration in this edition of HHS!, I am left with the bewildering thought: What, exactly, happens in rooms like these?

Untitled by Jennifer Garza-Cuen

Untitled by Jennifer Garza-Cuen

I'm uncertain whether the accompanying artist statement elucidates the answer to this question, or maybe, elaborates more on the sense of trippy displacement that these images evoke. Garza-Cuen's stream-of-conscious explication certainly adds to the je ne sais quois-ness of the project:

By staging my narrative in a real place I can reveal the unreal qualities of the everyday. History is stretched out in front of us and Reno is the stage for an anti-epic, an opera of futility, a specific in the generality of life. I use heavy light, large landscapes interspersed with characters and props taken from mythology and life, layers that physically slow down the reading of the photograph. I tread the line between the staged and the real. My characters appear and disappear, swallowed by the landscapes. The interiors that surround them take on their lost personality. Reno becomes the central character. Repetition, rhythm, place, symbols, all leads us through a story that takes us nowhere. It is the rehearsal of a performance that never takes place, a rehearsal of a life that culminates not in the performance but in the insignificant day-to-day wanderings and confusion more emblematic of actual lived life. Reno is my metaphor for life. In Reno, life is the gamble we all lose, but play anyway. Reno is every time, every place, everyman.

The daughter of, "an ex-bullfighter and a defrocked minister," and a current MFA candidate at the Rhode Island School of Design, Jennifer Garza-Cuen's work has been shown both in the states and abroad, and her participation in the NadaDada show in Reno, Nevada might be the most mindfully apt venue for this body of work.

Super Fund, 2009 by Remy Steiner

When I first moved to New York two years ago, I both lived and worked in my favorite borough: Brooklyn. Everyday, I would bike between Park Slope and Carroll Gardens, passing over the 3rd street bridge over the Gowanus Canal. The smell emanating from the canal was horrible, and on most days, broken glass and garbage crunched beneath my tires. Though it wasn't the prettiest route to take, it was the easiest path, and I tried to find solace in the fact that after a few blocks of cringing, I would once again ride past lovely brownstones and tree-lined streets. Though I'm not particularly nostalgic for these rides, when I look at the work of today's contender, Remy Steiner, I look back on those early morning rides with fondness. Born in Vienna, raised in Northern California, and now living in New York, I think Remy brings a sense of wonder and fresh pair of eyes to a city that seems to be downright overwhelming on some days. The photos, taken on the fly, capture private moments of things we see everyday that are easy to overlook.

Gowanus, 2009 by Remy Steiner

Through the use of her iPhone Remy has photographed all of these place and writes that she "invites her viewers to reclaim a slice of time they lost, to experience the story and to see the world as picturesque". This new genre of cameraphone point and shoot photography is an interesting one to consider because it replaces the traditional pointing and shooting done on film of Walker Evans' era. Though images from a cameraphone are usually low quality and not reproducible in a large format, they can capture many unseen moments and be virally shared over the internet. For Remy, it appears that this mode of sharing, and the quick feedback loop that comes with it, allows her to communicate with her viewers. This insta-connection provides her with valuable commentary about the photos themselves, and represents a young life in love with a city, excited to share it with whomever will look. She ends her statement by writing, Posting her captured images on Facebook, what started out as a love letter to her adopted city evolved into something else: a public invitation for friends and acquaintances alike to share in and comment on ideas she had been kicking around her whole life.

To view more of Remy's work visit her website.

Related: See the work of contender Catherine Vermeland, who also makes images using the camera on her phone.

Untitled, 2010 by Chuck Koosmann

I have had awful, dismal eyesight since I was seven years old. For this reason, the images from Chuck Koosmann's submission seem very familiar to me: his blurry, impressionistic and rather painterly photographs from a series titled Almost Real... resemble quite precisely my own bewildering, vulnerable visual experience of the world on the (very, very, very rare) occasions that I find myself without a visual aid.

This association is obviously very specific to me (and potentially, I suppose, to the other, unlucky, near-blind folks out there). An individual response to these images is, in part, Koosmann's intention in this series. He writes of his work:

Recently, I have been working to find new ways to make images that are less objective, less literal, images that open themselves to interpretation, imagination and memory, where the viewer plays a role in creating what is to be known.

However, there is more to these photographs. While they do remain open to such personal readings, they simultaneously hint at something that both specifically concerns Koosmann himself, and to which virtually anyone can relate: the limitations, the incompleteness and the inaccuracy of memory. Koosmann continues in his statement:

As I get older I'm finding that memory is not a constant. It is a process, an exercise, an ever-changing creation and re-creation of what we think we know. I am not at a place where memory is a problem now, but as I age I can imagine that it may become an issue. This project helps me to see how those who struggle with memory may feel and cope, and what it may mean to me.

The viewer is not given much concrete visual information to work with in Almost Real...;we are left with no option but to project, to infer and to flesh these pictures out ourselves. I feel like I can—with some degree of confidence—guess at what these out-of-focus and often-gorgeous images depict: one seems to be the bottom edge of a set of blinds against a hardwood floor, (or maybe the slats of the railing surrounding a deck) while another hints at a domestic interior at dusk. The images are just barely representational, although Koosmann's three photographs with human figures are slightly easier to make out: one is almost definitely a seated female nude; one shows several figures against a shoreline in gray, gloomy weather, and the final is of a man in a suit, outdoors on a sunny day. His hand is at his neck; it looks as though he could be loosening his tie at the end of a long workday.

Untitled, 2010 by Chuck Koosmann

Still, I will never be certain if my interpretations are correct. This lack of clarity is enforced by the fact that each photo is "untitled," and while this is certainly not unusual in art, in this case such vagueness seems intentional, and very much in keeping with Koosmann's project.

Attempting to interpret and define these images is in this way akin to the act of remembering, and resembles trying to spontaneously picture the face of someone you haven't seen in some time. The works in this series turn the traditional idea of the photograph as a record or an aid for recollection on its head, acting as a visual equivalent to memory. The picture is full of blurry edges and fuzzy details, ultimately becoming a a hazy outline of something that we can never be quite sure of.

As viewers, we grasp at clues as to what and whom these photographs represent, just as we grasp to recall events, people, or feelings we've encountered or experienced, which escape us almost as quickly as they appear. In both, there is a distinct, inescapable component of invention. Koosmann's images are hugely evocative and at the same time quite frustrating: they can inspire very personal associations and emotions, while simultaneously mirroring and highlighting just how subjective, how unreliable, how mercurial our memories in fact are.

More of Koosmann's work (although no images from the Almost Real... series) can be viewed on his website.

What I most appreciate about the work of today's contender, Taylor R. Glenn, is his ability to visually communicate a subversion of a popularly held and regularly reinforced set of cultural stereotypes about what it means to be a factory worker in China today. As recently as this week I was listening to an NPR story about a writer living in Beijing that was hired, just on the basis of his being male and white, to pose as a quality control expert touring a factory—lending the aura of Western credibility to the factory and its practices to unassuming outsiders— in exchange for $1000 a week. This story, along with an endless stream concerning product recalls, poisoned petfood, and even tales of entire villages of enslaved children working in brick factories, is what passes for cover stories about the contemporary industrial age in China.

Invited to photograph a family-run artificial flower making factory in Huidong, Taylor Glenn was treated to an entirely different narrative, remarkable in its serene normalcy and culture of fairness and dignity.

Flowers and Workers I, November 2009 from the series Far Chang by Taylor R. Glenn

A self-taught photographer hailing from Jackson, WY, Glenn writes:

This family-owned company, like many Chinese businesses, exports their products to Western markets. So many of the goods we purchase today are manufactured in China but we rarely give thought to how these products are made and the individuals who are responsible. The story of this factory and its people is very positive which is a departure from the largely negative associations the West implies upon Chinese producers. The facility is clean and the workers are treated well. The Miao family, who operates this business do so with integrity and compassion. This is an important story that is not being told in mainstream media. These images should encourage a more well rounded dialogue about our relationship with China and its people who manufacture many of the goods we buy.

Untitled, November 2009 from the series Far Chang by Taylor R. Glenn

The entire series gives a holistic sense of place and what people's working lives are like: there are expected long shots of rows of workers assembling plastic flower arrangements, but there are also many quiet portraits that are unique for their apparent lack of agenda, and other notable moments like a scene of a break room containing old school upright arcade games, where presumably the monotony of dealing in fake flowers can be replaced with the relative pleasure of spacing out a virtual, electronic world.

Glenn's project, Far Chang, by virtue of its open-ended and non-exploitative view of factory workers in China, recalled for me the work of another remarkable body of work on the same subject, Cao Fei's video piece Whose Utopia, filmed in a lightbulb factory in the Pearl River Delta. Conceived over a six month stay in the factory, Cao Fei relays the imagined dreams for a better future and livelihood of the people who work and live at the factory. What is similar to me about Glenn's work and Cao Fei's is that the tone of each is neither pitying or cloying; they both seem to impart something of what it means and feels to inhabit these spaces without relying on cheap sentimentalism or playing on our already well-played upon cultural (in)sensitivities. The focus is on Individuals instead of a collective cultural projection, and on content that is personal in place of that which is culturally premeditated. In my view, having that view widened and subverted from what I thought I knew is always a good thing.

To view the entire series as well as other bodies of Taylor Glenn's work, visit his website.

Untitled, from Continental Drift: Iceland/California by Marion Belanger

Buckminster Fuller, the architect, inventor and futurist, frequently coined his own words. He referred to our planet as "Spaceship Earth" and he invented new terms for upstairs and downstairs:

The words "down" and "up", according to Fuller, are awkward in that they refer to a planar concept of direction inconsistent with human experience. The words "in" and "out" should be used instead, he argued, because they better describe an object's relation to a gravitational center, the Earth. "I suggest to audiences that they say, "I'm going 'outstairs' and 'instairs.'" At first that sounds strange to them; They all laugh about it. But if they try saying in and out for a few days in fun, they find themselves beginning to realize that they are indeed going inward and outward in respect to the center of Earth, which is our Spaceship Earth. And for the first time they begin to feel real "reality."

While his terminology may sound reminiscent of a certain theme park attraction, I believe that in rethinking his vocabulary Bucky was onto something: a more authentic connection with the place we call home.

It was the appearance of a Geodesic-like dome, but also the idea of understanding the world through redefinition, that brought Bucky to mind when I saw the work of contender (and previous HHS! Honorable Mention) Marion Belanger. For Marion's series Continental Drift she traveled along fault lines in the earth photographing the locations above, then brought together photographs of Iceland and California, pairing their slowly shifting landscapes. At some point we all learned about fault lines from a textbook, but they tell us nothing about what these most active places actually feel like.

The images of Iceland are sweeping and dramatic. Marion writes:

In Iceland, the North American Plate is moving westward, creating new crust as magma pushes up from the mantle. Geologically, this place marks a divergent boundary, characterized by splitting earth, steaming hot water and a young lava landscape almost devoid of trees. The land is unstable and raw.

Rift #26 (Heimaey Houses), 2007, from Continental Drift: Iceland/California by Marion Belanger

Fault #1 (Displaced Fence), 2008, from Continental Drift: Iceland/California by Marion Belanger

The California landscape, though still on a fault-line, is dramatically different:

In California, the Pacific plate is sliding north relative to the North American plate, which means that eventually, in many millions of years, Los Angeles will be where San Francisco is now. While this transformative plate boundary is characterized by earthquake activity, it lacks the spectacular drama of a divergent boundary such as what is found in Iceland...The monotone housing developments built on top of the fault seem to deny the existence of the unstable earth below the surface.

What's so exciting about the project (aside from the beauty of the photos themselves) is the spirit of exploration and learning things for yourself which the work embodies. Marion's images reveal the lesser-seen facets of this scientific story, and convey things I once learned in school in a richer way than any textbook could dream of. Looking at these photos, I begin to feel reality.

You can view more work on Marion's website.

Untitled, from the series Mum by Nancy A. Newberry

For eighteen brief months at one of the most impressionable of impressionable ages, I lived in North Texas. I moved there with my family when I was 13, and spent most of junior high school there. Fraught as that age is with confusion, insecurity and boundless wonder, longing and mystery, I remember quite vividly the pretty, preening girls of my Dallas/Ft. Worth suburb, and wanting and trying very much to fit in.

One particular adolescent detail came careening fast into my adult consciousness when I first saw the work of contender Nancy A. Newberry. Like one would imagine, football is big in Texas, and what is equally a rite of passage repeated through junior and then high school is homecoming. Many of us are familiar with the codified ritual of the formal dress, dance, and choosing of a homecoming queen and king, as has been immortalized from all ends of the spectrum in John Hughes' and Stephen King's films. There's a Texan home-spun accent to the whole thing that's just a little bit different, and a whole lot, um, shiny. It's the Homecoming Mum.

Untitled, from the series Mum by Nancy A. Newberry

From her artist's statement:

MUM is centered around a gift-giving ritual virtually unknown outside of Texas, the Homecoming Mum. Exchanged between friends the Mum is an elaborate corsage decorated to indicate the wearer's interests, social standing, and allegiances to loved ones. Homecoming mums are proudly worn for all activities on Homecoming Friday, and then immortalized as trophies on bedroom walls all over Texas. Each year the collection grows with a more elaborate Mum, marking progress and personal history. As both adornment and insignia, the Mum offers its wearer the opportunity to promote self-image, while identifying their status as an integral member of their particular community. At a time when many American high schoolers seem actively disengaged from the world around them, the Homecoming Mum constitutes a unique act of cultural immersion, and specific brand of folk art.

Newberry goes on to say that the impetus for this project came when, recovering in her childhood home from an injury, she came across these exact mum mementos from her high school days, and wrote that she was, "..immediately confronted by the ritual trappings of collective history," with the discovery.

Reminiscent to me of the compositionally taut (and not say psychologically fraught) images from Sally Mann's body of work At Twelve, or even Lauren Greenfield's long study of Girl Culture, these strange portraits that Nancy Newberry gives to us in Mum skillfully evoke many of these same themes that I never seem to grow tired of looking at: visual descriptions of what it is like to be yearning towards a very defined social status, obsession with body image, a waxing appreciation of a dawning and powerful sexuality and maybe most striking—the deep desire to create distinctions of individuality while adhering to a tightly controlled, ritualized and recognized social code of sameness.

Plus, Homecoming Mums are just morbidly fascinating. Like an exploded Christmas ornament, the Mums can grow to defy all expectations of mum-ness, appearing to dwarf the wearer's features, or even conceal one's basic features.

Untitled, from the series Mum by Nancy A. Newberry

Newberry's entire Mum series can be viewed on her website. An exhibition this fall at the Museum of Fine Arts Houston will show images from this project.

We all do it. That is: peer inside other people's windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of the storied lives that may be hiding inside. My own stolen glances are guided by a visual hunt for elaborate chandeliers, gorgeous floor-to-ceiling built-in bookcases, or the hope that I'll happen to see a Van Gogh or Picasso hanging on a living room wall from where I'm standing on the sidewalk. From there I make up intricate tales about the people who live in these mysterious homes, imagining from whom they inherited their belongings and how they must spend their days.

Window of Split Devotion, 2009 by Ben Golik

In many cases, however, it's what's on and in the window—flower boxes, statuettes, lacy curtains, crosses, signs, stickers or flags, that are telling of who the people who live inside. Relics are collected, then placed—sometimes delicately and other times haphazardly—on sills, offering tiny hints of personal proclivities and other subconscious habits. These are the geometric frames that contender Ben Golik documents for his project Other People's Windows as he walks around a succinct grid of streets in the London suburbs, offering interpretive interjections and loose analysis of the residents he imagines live behind these windows with the titles he attaches to each image.

A map to navigate Other People's Windows

On Church Lane, there is the Window of Quiet Contemplation, Window of Unkempt Promises and the Window of Forgotten Childhood. Turn a corner onto Station Road and you'll find the Window of Misplaced Affection, Window of Tangled Emotions, and Window of Romantic Ideals. Golik presents his windows street by street, navigable on a map, so one can visually follow the path he may have taken on foot as he observed, captured and annotated each of his stops.

Golik writes of his project:

Some windows are carefully stage-managed, filled with consciously chosen cues. Other less considered arrangements can be even more revealing. Some build barriers against the world outside. Others engage with passers-by, telling a story - fact or fiction - about the people living there. Whether contrived or carefree, each of these windows says something about its owners. The observant passer-by might catch a moment of self-expression. For some, the sill is an outdoor mantelpiece on which to celebrate prized possessions. For others, it's a place to discard the unwanted; objects unworthy of display inside that will ironically garner more attention outside.

Window of Fleeting Glances, 2010 by Ben Golik

If Golik knows, or speculates further about these windows, their contents, and the homes they're attached to, he restrains himself from sharing this information in the presentation of his images. He instead saves his more extemporaneous observations for the blog attached to the project, where he writes snippets like, "A WWF sticker. An RSPB sticker. The pretty lace swans. The people behind this window clearly love animals. Plants... not so much. I almost called this the Window of the Lapsed Environmentalist." Ben invites one to look at—and into—these images as though nobody is home, and even if they are, to take joy in not knowing what lays beyond their choice of window decor.

You can see additional images from Other People's Windows on the project website as well as more from Ben's portfolio.

Successful work abounds in the storied narratives of prodigal photographers. Following the kinds of life-changing crossroads or traumas that beset all of us from time to time, some compelling imagery can and has been made by artists retreating into their geographic/psycho-biographies for release, reprieve and answers. Often at the threshold of these adult moments, we realize, even if we're not willing to concede that we know very much, that at least we know where we came from. And in instances where we have renounced the past, a return to what and where we were at one time can provide important clues about which direction to go next.

Untitled, from the series Off Route by Gary G. Breece

Photographer Gary G. Breece had reason to have this dialog with himself, which ultimately led to Off Route, the body of work he's submitted for this round of HHS!. From his artist statement:

Five years ago, after experiencing numerous endings and unexpected losses, I found myself off track and at a psychic crossroads of sorts. Feeling directionless, I became drawn to, but at the same time reluctant, to revisit my Southern rural roots. I eventually decided to get a place on the coast of North Carolina and began spending bits of time there, taking rides on my '76 Moto Guzzi motorcycle, through the meandering back roads, allowing myself to just see what I'd see. These rides acted as a form of therapy for me. And the more I took these little journeys, the more I fell in love with the beauty of these out-of-the-way places. So I sought them out more, connecting with the landscape and locals, immersing myself in a place that I'd left years before and was now seeing with new perspective. I consider many of the color photographs from this series to be self-portraits...each image depicts landscapes or subjects that are themselves perhaps off route, just as I was during that time.

Untitled, from the series Off Route by Gary G. Breece

Untitled, from the series Off Route by Gary G. Breece

Untitled, from the series Off Route by Gary G. Breece

I highly recommend taking a moment to view the Off Route series in its entirety on Gary's website. Seen as a complete body of work, the images offer a sense of private revelation and a glimpse at experiences that are infused with contradictory sensations of alienation mixed with a near meditative transcendence. It is well worth the viewing time. Breece's eyes see both the beauty and sadness in encroaching nature, barren vistas and broken-down motels. And, he steals strange, private moments off the side of the road that are generously given back to an audience of strangers.

I love my dog and he loves me. When I'm bored he's ready to play, when I'm tired he's there to snuggle, and when I'm feeling stressed he comes running over to lick my face. I know it's kind of silly, but I sometimes wonder what our relationship would be like if he could talk. I think he loves me, at least. Since we can't communicate through language, our bond—as simple and wonderful as it is—is based almost entirely on inference and projection.

It's this gap of understanding between pet and owner (as well as the widespread phenomenon of household pets, in general) that fascinates contender Alex Arzt.

Debbie and Peanut, Chico, CA 2009, by Alex Arzt

Alex's series Human-Animal documents household pets and the people who love them a little too much.

Alex writes:

I continually wondered how adaptable the human home is for other species, whether that species lives in its own bedroom or in a cage in the backyard. The animals in these pictures often occupy the home space as fixtures much like the trinkets and framed pictures that display the animal lover's identity. Various objects, including empty grocery store food packets, tchotchkes, stuffed animals, animal clothes, car decals, drawings, memorialized gravesites and photographs identify the human owners as animal-lovers, even when the object of their affection is not captured in the frame. As many of my photographs make clear, some human identities are carved through the creation of a familiar human-pet dynamic involving both affection and dominance, captivity and care. My photographs record this man-made symbiosis as it occurs in and around the American home.

Another series, Ailurophilia (another word for "cat fancier") more narrowly investigates obsessive pet owners of the feline persuasion. The photographs are hilarious (especially as a full series), but I'll let them speak for themselves:

Untitled from Ailurophilia by Alex Arzt

Untitled from Ailurophilia by Alex Arzt

Untitled from Ailurophilia by Alex Arzt

All I have to say is that aside from taking fine photographs, It takes someone pretty brave to venture into a cat convention. You can see more work at Alex's website.

Long before there were cameras as we know them today, or film or a photographic print, there was the camera obscura. Literally from the Latin, "room" and "darkened," camera obscuras were first put into wide use as a tool for perfecting perspective in Renaissance painting. Utilizing a large boxlike space (or sometimes an entire darkened room itself), an image of what is outside the box is projected onto an opposing wall via a carefully placed pinhole that would then admit light into the space, projecting an upside-down view of what the focal length of aperture size allowed. It is said that Vermeer used a camera obscura, as did Johannes Kepler, who coined the phrase and brought a portable tent camera with him while he surveyed for astronomical observations.

Originally trained as an architect, contender Johnathan Wong has used the camera obscura to transform Las Vegas hotel rooms in an attempt to, "to disclose subtle and invisible details about a place or object unavailable to the naked eye" in his series Unseen Las Vegas.

Paris, Las Vegas 2009 from Unseen Las Vegas by Johnathan Wong

In his starkly contrasted black-and-white images that recall Bill Brandt's inky blacks, a room otherwise under cover of night is blasted with an odd inverted light from the view outside the windows. A busy city and jagged architecture invade an otherwise serene sleeping space, creating the illusion that a city is falling upon you while you sleep. Even though there are no humans physically present in these photos, when viewing them I automatically cast myself into dream space where I imagine myself laying on the beds in these rooms experiencing the upside-down reality of the outside world coming in.

Circus Circus 2010 from Unseen Las Vegas by Johnathan Wong

Wong's images and disconcerting architectural reveries recalls the work of another photographer (who was also not originally trained as a photographer, but as a sculptor) working in the same vein. Vera Lutter has been creating negative images created with a camera obscura that is literally a 1:1 size of the room she is in, and has trained the tiny pinhole to relay super-sized images of cityscapes, industrial sites, airport hangers and most recently—the city of Venice.

Zeppelin Friedrichshafer I, August 10-13,1999 by Vera Lutter

Campo Santa Sofia, Venice, XXIII, December 17, 2007 by Vera Lutter

Of the process of working over long periods of time (many of her exposures are made over multiple days; one exposure took three-and-a-half months), she has said:

I never know what is going to happen. My way of working is very hands-off. I install the apparatus of observation, the camera, and then endure the process of observation and record whatever happens. The work is essentially about the passage of time, not about ideas of representation.

The first time I created a camera obscura, after I had realized how long I had to sit in there to adjust my eyes to the darkness, to see the projection, which is about 20 or 30 minutes—I thought I'd seen God. When I saw the first projection, it was an epiphany. It was probably one of the most overwhelming moments of my life.

Whether the Vegas Strip or the Veneto, whether shown as a positive or as a negative, both Wong and Lutter's images succeed in showing us images that themselves become documents of time, and show us far more than we could ever see looking at the same view right-side up.

You can view the entire Unseen Las Vegas series at Johnathan's website.

In the past week, I have just signed and dated nearly a ream of paper in the closing documents for my first home. As is also customary in such transactions, I also handed over the largest cashier's check I've ever personally had withdrawn from my bank account, to fulfill my end of the closing settlement costs. So it is with a finely honed sense of chagrin that I encounter the images of Monia Lippi, who has been documenting what might be one of the last vestiges of a homesteading movement in the lower forty-eight today.

Untitled, July 2008 from series Floating Winona by Monia Lippi

The Latsch Island Boathouse Community on the Mississippi River in Minnesota is home to just under 100 floating domiciles, of which a quarter of the residents live in year round. The community's lineage spans 100 years, and the inhabitants have endured unappealing epithets such as "river rats" and "boat people" throughout dark periods during the 1970s and 80s when loud parties and drugs were the norm. In the past two decades, however, The Winona Boathouse Association has become a legal entity and the inhabitants have been granted the right to live and remain in their community on the river.

Untitled, July 2008 from series Floating Winona by Monia Lippi

In the process of documenting the residents of this determined, outlying area that exists proudly beyond more conventional suburban spaces, Lippia has been struck by the inventiveness, resourcefulness and mindfulness of those that live year round in seasons both harsh and calm (in differing ways; in the summer there is the threat of flooding, and in the winter that of frozen ice) on these banks of the Mississippi. In her statement, Monia writes that:

The fighting past and the captivating natural beauty gave me reasons to persist in this project and return many more times. I appreciated the life philosophy of the island inhabitants, an example of an American style of freedom and dreams that doesn't happen everywhere. These floating houses are rooted in American self-sufficiency and historical ecological models, with a lineage to Thoreau's construction of his own house from recycled wood. They exist outside the usual economic systems dictated by commercial real estate interests, a turning away from suburban developments toward communal lifestyles.

In this entry period for HHS! in 2010 we've seen a fair amount of work dealing with people's private domestic spaces, or shared living arrangements when embarking on a new life, or their conceptions of a shifting or encroaching suburbia. Now we have Monia's voice to reflect and inform upon this theme, images of a subset of individuals that prefer to live truly off-the-grid, beholdin' only to nature and one another for support, sustenance and mercy.

See the entire series as shot in both the summer and winter on Monia Lippi's website.

drive, 2008 by Katherine March Driscoll

Each one of Katherine March Driscoll's photographs is presented as a diptych; each comes with a partner, a sort of fraternal twin. In all of her submitted works, one exceedingly similar image follows another, both seeming to depict the same scene, only a few minutes (or even seconds) apart.

These sets of images establish a sense of narrative; they create the feel of progression and chronology. They are not single, discrete, or "decisive" moments in time, but rather sequential details from an encounter or experience. (The most overt example of this is in stop, where we see a city traffic light, red in the first frame, change to green in the next). Each image, however, is drastically cropped and can be disorienting, since no faces or discernible locations are ever provided to ground the viewer. At first, this effect can make the work look haphazard and impromptu, but it becomes evident, when viewed in tandem that the images' orderly presentation is a reflection that the work is calculated, and their effect decidedly intentional.

stop, 2010 by Katherine March Driscoll

In each one, I sense conversations, interactions and the beginnings of compelling stories, that Driscoll chooses to abandon, leaving me both frustrated and curious to know more. Each of Driscoll's photographic pairs also bears an abrupt, rather reticent title (all are single, one-syllable words). Though they seem to describe the depicted actions: wait, drive, climb, they are also cropped and enigmatic, much like the images that they accompany.

Driscoll's series highlights both photography's ability to tell stories, to build narratives, as well as its shortcomings in this regard: we never get the full picture, there is always action excluded, existing just outside the frame, and just beyond our reach. She emphasizes both photography's narrative potential and, simultaneously, its existence as something constructed, selective and subjective, with the photographer including only what he or she wishes to present.

wait, 2010 by Katherine March Driscoll

Still, somehow, the images manage to convey a sense of intimacy. Each photo is a fragment, cropped to omit unfamiliar faces, or specific, identifiable places. Thus, we can insert our own memories and experiences onto these images. In keeping with this idea, Driscoll writes of her work:

A photograph can be enlightening and frustrating; a still representation of the kinetic life that surrounds us. Through the movement of pairs, we are provided with a more well-rounded understanding of what's pictured and granted access to these scenes. We can then enter and contribute to the depicted experiences based on the influences of our personal history.

As a New Yorker of seven years, any discussion of moving out of the city is often met with a grimace and retort, "you're moving to the suburbs?," as though a move of complete and utter resignation. Much in the way we like to disparage New Jersey based on a handful of stereotypes and (perhaps a few realities), the 'burbs have become synonymous with repetitive and too-large houses, big box stores, gas-guzzling cars, and lack of individuality. On top of that, popular culture hasn't done much to bolster the suburbs' reputation: a housewife sells drugs in the suburbs in Weeds, women-become-robots in suburban-based The Stepford Wives, neighbors reveal dark secrets and strange obsessions in Desperate Housewives and Betty Draper goes mad with boredom in the upper-class suburbs of Westchester in Mad Men.

Carpets, 2009 by Tom M. Johnson

Given this, it's easy to forget that the suburbs were part of the post-World War II American dream—that they provided respite, jobs, security and space to millions of families. Homogeneity wasn't a prevalent concern— families were trying to affordably restart life after years of being uprooted, and being in homes just outside cities seemed the sensible way to do this. And for many, it's still the best place to raise a family, attend high quality schools, and live a better quality of life than they could imagine elsewhere.

Contender Tom M. Johnson photographs Lakewood, a development outside of Los Angeles, where he grew up and has since returned to live with his own family. He writes of the town:

"The founders of Lakewood designated their suburb "Tomorrow's City Today," because it was modern and unique in its conception. Lakewood offered a utopia for the post war middle class: affordable housing, new schools and parks, good jobs in the aerospace-defense industry, and a new commercial concept, the shopping mall. Then the nineties came and suburban paradise began to fade. The aerospace-defense industry abandoned California, and what made tomorrow's city today had become yesterday. Yet Lakewood adapted to the new economic climate and endured, and its new motto, "Times Change Values Don't," accurately demonstrates that the hopes and dreams of Lakewood's citizens today are not that different from those of the folks who came to Lakewood during its genesis."

Garden Woman, 2010 by Tom M. Johnson

Tom depicts the city from his knowledge of what it once was—and is able to identify where much of the suburbs' idealism dissipated into a point of defense rather than a point of destination. He sees where facades have been altered, new neighbors have moved in, and town signs have changed to reflect a new reality. In his images, Tom expresses nostalgia for the streets he explored as a kid, and looks at the same places with his adult eyes, searching for remnants of that past while existing in a very different present. His images depict some expected scenes—low-slung homes (modest ones), four blonde-haired sisters leaning against a truck, men and women watering their yards and gardens, and teens playing around a tiny plastic pool out in the yard. However, he also captures a surprising heterogeneity that may challenge what we urbanites think, among the people who live and work in Lakewood. These people are, very likely, not thinking about themselves as part of the suburban masses, but simply living their individual lives and trying to full their own hopes and dreams.

You can see additional images from this series on Tom's website.

No!, 2010 by Alex Leme

It is always very exciting to see how an artist evolves between two bodies of work while at the same time revealing deeper questions he or she has about the world they are trying to explore. When we first saw contender Alex Leme's project Literary Ghosts in the 2009 HHS! Second Edition, not only did we fall for the subject matter (being lovers of books here at JBP), but as Sara wrote, we were intrigued that his photographs "elevate the drama of untold stories that might otherwise be considered mundane." It is here where I see the connection with Alex's new project COTTON PLANT, ARKANSAS. Alex is concerned with what is left behind in spaces—secrets, mysteries and ghosts that feed these places with haunted energy, and a legacy.

Tyler, Trace, Austin And Adam, 2009 by Alex Leme

America's industrial revolution left behind many small rural towns like Cotton Plant, Arkansas, towns that are struggling after a past cultural and industrial boom. Alex writes about the town, and series:

Despite its rich history and "promising" past, Cotton Plant has suffered the same challenges and consequences as any other small rural city in America. What once was a thriving economic and cultural center and one of the fastest growing communities in Eastern Arkansas is now littered with ghost factories, abandoned schools and the carcasses of crumbling buildings while the handful of the remaining local stores struggle to survive. The sense of purpose that once accompanied steady work has long since vanished.

Alex aims to expose a town that once had a rich history by focusing predominantly on stereotypically male-dominated spaces of industry and business. Many of the images are made where men tend to congregate: the playing field, the hunting club. Other, domestic spaces like a backyard or former home have fallen into utter disarray, suggesting there's nobody there—men or women—who care to do the upkeep. All of the figures photographed in this series are also men, often looking deflated by their work and carrying the burden of being the bastions of labor that will regenerate their town. The look on their faces is uneasy but not unpleasant. Photographed in front of buildings and schools, Leme suggests that they have stories to tell, the loss of industry is their weight to carry and finding a solution is their responsibility.

See more images from this series on Alex's site.

Dr. Wilk D.D.S., Exam Room 1, Instrument Tray, 2010 by Mark Lyon

There is nothing pleasant about the doctor's office. In fact, it seems as if the designers and architects responsible for these spaces routinely go out of their way to create dingy or sterile environments. But what if the fluorescent view from the dentist's chair wasn't of crumbling ceiling tiles, but instead a mountain vista? Somewhere along the line, somebody proposed this improvement upon the institutional aesthetic and giant photographic murals were pasted up in waiting rooms around the world.

While this ridiculous decorating trend has since fallen out of favor, institutional vistas still exist—I know this for a fact because in his series Landscapes for the People contender Mark Lyon hunts down and photographs these interiors and the laughably absurd juxtapositions that they create.

Mark writes:

These wall sized photographic murals seem to serve a psychological function, given their potentially intimidating or banal locations like dental room and laundromats. These landscape murals allow the viewer an alternate mindset to nerve racking procedures or the mundane activities of everyday life. Photographs from "Landscapes for the People" use the peculiar relationship between found images and operative items. The resulting photographs of these locations document the strange play of the functional environment and the idealized psychological landscape.

Dr. Carpenter D.M.D., Exam Room, Dental Implants, 2010 by Mark Lyon

In viewing Mark's images the eye is immediately drawn to the landscape, but it doesn't stay there for long. The feeling of serenity is replaced with a moment of confusion as the eye and the mind try to reconcile the appearance of electrical outlets, flat-screen televisions, and other non-descript objects of industrial design within the frame. The entire image is flattened into a kind of surreal, hilarious collage of the ideal and the decidedly less-than-ideal.

Previously, Mark was one of the runners-up for the 2009 Aperture Portfolio Prize (along with Alejandro Cartagena) and his work is also being exhibited alongside Hot Shots Curtis Mann and Cara Phillips in American ReConstruction, on view through June 12th at Winkleman Gallery. You can see more work at Mark's website.

p.s. Aperture is accepting 2010 Portfolio Prize submissions through July 14th!

Ariel Kirk-Gushowaty contends that in order to make an evocative portrait of someone, it could be more compelling to make a portrait that makes references to that subject, without the actual subject ever having to make an appearance. Her submission to HHS! consists of a portrait series that is conceptually about her grandmother, who passed away in 2007. None of the images, however, include any direct picture of her.

Abbie, 2007 by Ariel Kirk-Gushowaty

From her artist's statement:

There are no actual images of my grandmother in the series, instead the portraits are comprised of 3 generations of her female descendants. This decision was very much intentional. A single photograph shows a person at an exact time and place, and though it may seem to imply a lifetime, there are few specific details of that lifetime offered. Rather, drawing on the Renaissance tradition of portraiture, my strategy was to subtly suggest aspects of her person through the inclusion of her clothing, glasses, personal items, and most importantly, a part of the human legacy she left behind. My intention was to acknowledge how incomplete any portrait must be, and at the same time invite the viewer to engage with the work across multiple levels of meaning.

Kirk-Gushowaty's series and her thinking through on what it means to make a portrait is reminiscent to me of a pivotal moment in reading Roland Barthes' Camera Lucida, where Barthes provides an intimately contextualized argument on the experience of looking at photographs while all the while contemplating an image of his recently deceased mother. Throughout the slim but densely thoughtful volume, Barthes describes this childhood photograph of his mother in great detail, but the conceptual hook of all the thinking guiding him through this writing is that ultimately he will never show you, the reader, this photograph of her. It is, he writes, an image "that is not meant for you." Relative to Barthes, in Kirk-Gushowaty's series is a notion that a true portrait of a person goes far beyond summoning up their physical likeness; it is also about the relationships of those who both knew you and and those who will come to know you through the recollection of those same individuals. A portrait is ultimately one person's subjective memory of you, collected and disseminated through coincident and contradictory memories of all the others that realize a connection as well.

Megan, 2007 by Ariel Kirk-Gushowaty

The entirety of this series, as well as several other bodies of Ariel Kirk-Gushowaty's work, can be viewed on her website.

Toy House by Andrew D. Musson

If you have ever had to pull up stakes and start over somewhere completely new, then you might share the same kind of temporary sight that Andrew D. Musson displays in his body of work New, Familiar. Having displaced himself from a southern city to "the" city in New York, the first three months were a period of sublime displacement, where senses are overstimulated, a gaze is directed in uncommon and uncommoner places, and where the process of taking things in never seems to cease. It's a fleeting jolt of a way to experience and mediate new existence in a new place, and scenes stay startling and new to your eye for an indeterminate but finite amount of time.

Communal Coat Rack by Andrew D. Musson

Roof with a View by Andrew D. Musson

Whether it's a keyhole view of a bedroom while walking through the neighborhood, or in succinctly encapsulating the experience of shared space among strangers in a shot of the apartment coat rack, or just getting used to the notion of the roof vista as experienced by nearly every new yorker in the summer, Musson's vision is snappy, eager and amused. Settling in quickly with an internship with Ryan McGinley's studio, and assisting for Luis Sanchis under Thomas Prior, it would appear that Musson's future is busy, bright and surrounded with charismatic compatriots, and fellow lovers of a world that's film-based.

See the full portfolio of images from New, Familiar on Musson's site, or get a better sense of his sensibility by tooling around his tumblr site centris, which focuses on showcasing the work of many early career photographers.

Basketball Board, 2010 by Kendall L. McMinimy

The photographs of contender Kendall McMinimy depict symbols—vestiges of summer. However, he encounters them in the dead of winter: a driveway basketball hoop, a motel swimming pool, a row of deck chairs, a jungle-gym—snow-covered, static, abandoned and deprived of their usual and intended respective functions.

A cool palette, relentlessly chilly setting, and feeling of profound isolation unites these photos, and stands in sharp contrast with the warm, sweaty, thoroughly communal usual use of these items or locations—an evening basketball game in the driveway on a July evening, or a cool lemonade (or beer!) with friends on a poolside lounge chair in the sweltering heat.

In McMinimy's work, everyday objects are rendered useless by the shift of seasons, becoming almost wholly aesthetic. Recognizable items now teeter on the verge of abstraction, almost pure patterns against a snowy backdrop. This feature of McMinimy's photographs, as well as their meticulous composition and strong graphic quality calls to my mind the work of 20x200 artist James Deavin, whose cropped, linear photographs of uninhabited and almost unrecognizable athletics venues convey—for me—a very similar feeling.

A complete, utter absence of human life is pervasive, inescapable and overwhelming. There are no people, no footprints—literally nothing to indicate that anyone still inhabits this landscape. The scenes take on an almost post-apocalyptic feel, filled with remnants of human life, interrupted.

Motel Pool, 2010 by Kendall L. McMinimy

McMinimy conceives of the series as an open meditation on the nature of winter, and our relationship with the season. He sees the pieces as subject to the various interpretations, impressions and associations of a vast and varied audience; there is no one, specific, intended meaning. He states of his work:

These images are intended to draw the viewer into the snowy isolation - to feel the effect of a long winter, and to place a high value on what summer will bring. However chilling the landscape, some viewers will see hope in the vestiges of summer. Others may feel the jeer of summer relics left out by insensitive procrastinators, caught off-guard by an early onslaught. Some may see garish summer monuments demanding our unseasonable attention, tainting the pristine landscape...My course through the snow and ice became my passage through inertia, isolation and confinement I had previously succumbed to in winter. In finding this path, I also found a glimpse of the true character of the region: that winter's fury strengthens resolve and winter's stillness affords introspection.

My immediate, gut reaction to this series is that its images are lonely and mournful. And yet upon further consideration, in creeps a glimmer of hope, some potential for positivity: In McMinimy's compositions, things that are traditionally almost aggressively mundane—things that are intended specifically and exclusively for use, and as a result so often just fade into the background—are transformed into objects that inspire deep reflection, and ones that might now be seen as beautiful.

You can see more work from this series, Summer Eclipsed, on his website.

In Gregory Krum's exhibition ...Practice..., currently on view at JBG, there are two images—one of a peony and the other of a Cherifa tree—created with the camera on Greg's Blackberry. Their sharpness is muted, and a light emanates from mysterious source, creating a halo around the plants' branches. In print, the two works' slight muddiness is observed as painterly, evoking the qualities of Dutch still lifes of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. While the tradition of still-lives, combining intricate flora and fauna alongside other temporal and significant objects (the vanitas) was originally a means to show one's deft as a painter, Greg borrows the textural and effulgent qualities of the paintings and creates them with his very modern device.