What I thought was most interesting, however, about the great debate a hundred years ago is that Percival Lowell often photographed Mars and—to his eyes—his photographs “proved” that the canals were real. Other people looked at the photographs and told him they saw nothing. When popular magazines and book publishers reproduced Lowell’s photographs, back then, Lowell suggested that he should hire somebody to “enhance” the photographs to “bring out” the linear detail that he could see but which printing had difficulty reproducing. Back then, publishers and editors adamantly refused to create such re-touched photographs because they argued the manipulations would “spoil the autographic value of the photographs themselves.”
Every time I try to start a drawing
I make a few marks, sometimes just guidelines,
and then I stop and look at the paper.
In my mind’s eye I see the piece finished.
And I can’t bring myself to make more marks.
Because in my mind’s eye the piece I see
looks like a copy of a photograph
or a parody of a photograph
or a storyboard for a photograph
and I think, “Why not take a photograph?”
And I don’t know how to answer myself.
I like to draw and I have cool pencils
and I have lots of paper, both free sheets
and sketchbooks, cheap ones and expensive ones.
But I can’t look away from photographs.
Photographs have shapes, values and colors,
all the things marks add up to in drawing.
Photographs, too, have what people once called,
autographic value—reality,
sort of, excerpted, fragmented, but real.
What is a drawing but marks on paper?
When you can have something that is like real
what’s the point of making marks on paper?
I like to draw and I have cool pencils
and I have lots of paper, both free sheets
and sketchbooks, cheap ones and expensive ones.
My hand just stops. It’s like pissing me off.
Photography is like this cool woman
smiling, yawning, not covering her mouth,
and then looking at me watching her yawn
knowing I think she should have raised her hand
to cover her mouth and that makes her laugh
so she laughs still without raising her hand
and sticks out her tongue at what I’m thinking.
She’s so pretty I wish I could draw her.
My hand just stops. It’s like pissing me off.
If I had an articulated doll
I would take fifteen hundred photographs
and assemble a stop-motion movie
of this amused woman and her rude yawn.
I can’t look away. And it’s not the yawn,
it’s this thing, this autographic value.
I’m so tired of not doing a drawing.
And when I yawn this woman laughs harder.
I make a few marks, sometimes just guidelines,
and then I stop and look at the paper.
In my mind’s eye I see the piece finished.
And I can’t bring myself to make more marks.
Because in my mind’s eye the piece I see
looks like a copy of a photograph
or a parody of a photograph
or a storyboard for a photograph
and I think, “Why not take a photograph?”
And I don’t know how to answer myself.
I like to draw and I have cool pencils
and I have lots of paper, both free sheets
and sketchbooks, cheap ones and expensive ones.
But I can’t look away from photographs.
Photographs have shapes, values and colors,
all the things marks add up to in drawing.
Photographs, too, have what people once called,
autographic value—reality,
sort of, excerpted, fragmented, but real.
What is a drawing but marks on paper?
When you can have something that is like real
what’s the point of making marks on paper?
I like to draw and I have cool pencils
and I have lots of paper, both free sheets
and sketchbooks, cheap ones and expensive ones.
My hand just stops. It’s like pissing me off.
Photography is like this cool woman
smiling, yawning, not covering her mouth,
and then looking at me watching her yawn
knowing I think she should have raised her hand
to cover her mouth and that makes her laugh
so she laughs still without raising her hand
and sticks out her tongue at what I’m thinking.
She’s so pretty I wish I could draw her.
My hand just stops. It’s like pissing me off.
If I had an articulated doll
I would take fifteen hundred photographs
and assemble a stop-motion movie
of this amused woman and her rude yawn.
I can’t look away. And it’s not the yawn,
it’s this thing, this autographic value.
I’m so tired of not doing a drawing.
And when I yawn this woman laughs harder.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Red Bull, Hershey’s And A Woman Yawning
A Cartoon Can’t Buy A Yawn
The Best Reason To Study Astrophysics
No comments:
Post a Comment