Some time ago I discovered Alec Soths „blog”.
Here a photographer is thinking about photography.
It is an inside view as opposed to the outside view of an art historian.
He doesn’t have to obey to the rules art historians have to.
He doesn’t have to be scientific.
He doesn’t have to be deep.
He doesn’t have to be profound.
Playing games with pictures and words,his Alec Soth´s blog always takes surprising turns.
It’s a photographer’s fun, and frustration, and love of the medium.
Only his dealing with aspects of his fame, I find sometimes slightly embarrassing.
But the last point mentioned could be a matter of cultural difference.
In Hungary you hug and kiss people, you hardly know as a form of greeting.
At such occasions I felt very embarrassed and very German.
Maybe in the U.S.A, if you are successful, you go out and look for a bum dog.
And try to get groupies.
It was a surprise for me to discover
how easy it is to incorporate different contents in a text with the help of links.
Also the ease to find material of all sorts just searching for it in “google”.
The associative meandering of Mr. Soths essays fit the Internet and is supported by it´s mechanics.
So, why am I writing a blog?
Thinking and pondering, day after day.
The effort to put my thoughts into writing will hopefully help to crystallize those thoughts
and help to develop them. A blog, hopefully,
is something about communication. And contact.
Might be that’s what life is about.
Contact and communication.
Everybody is working in his little cell,
no time to open the door to let somebody in.
I want an exchange of ideas and information;
I want to leave a trace in time,
because time is running and memories are fading.
And of course, I am interested in this new medium called internet.
Here you can publish without battling hierarchies.
Without being dependent on somebody having the keys.
Could be, this blog won’t become visible among all the other stuff.
Learning by doing.
It won’t be a diary.
There once was this diary.
I was reading it over and over again, when I was an adolescent.
A diary, published in a little book. In the beginning a photograph.
The first photograph, that was important for me.
Please feel free to correct my english.