Documentary filmmaker and photographer Angela Boatwright spent about six months recording the punk-rock scene in East Los Angeles. The series, titled East Los, takes an in-depth look those who are active in it. This not only includes shows, but delves deeper to showcase the individual lives outside of the mosh pits. We see this facet of the Latino community in their homes, with grandparents, and their unique personal styles.
This project uses still images as well as video footage from various events. East Los gives us a glimpse into a probably unfamiliar “backyard” music scene; It champions and explores youth, catharses, and the idea of family. We see love, friendships, injuries, and ice cream. It’s not just something that these people do on the weekends, but is a lifestyle that is a framework for how to view the world. (Via Feature Shoot)
Nowadays, it’s not uncommon to see people with copious amounts of tattoos on their arms, legs, and head. But, it wasn’t that long ago that these permanent adornments were only found on a very specific group of people – prisoners. Tattoos back then were markedly different than their modern counterparts, and some were preserved for posterity in formaldehyde. The tiny pieces of history are an eerie but a fascinating look at the past.
The designs of early tattooing were much simpler than they are today. Instead of the needles we’re familiar with, prisoners would use crude tools like razor blades, broken glass, paper clips, or wires. Ink was substituted for pencil refills, charcoal, watercolor paints, or crayons and mixed with water, fat, or urine.
At the beginning of the 20th century, a study of the prisoners’ tattoos began in the Department of Forensic Medicine at Jagiellonian University, and researchers wanted a way to document their findings. While photography might have been the simpler (and more obvious) solution, prisoners’ tattooed skin was removed and preserved.
The extractions, encased in glass, are small curiosities that don’t really look like tattoos at all. Removed from the context of the body, they are symbols for crimes like burglary, rape, and prostitution. (Via Scribol)
Decadent desserts are paired with sexy legs in Argentinian-based artist Camila Valdez’s series of life and table-sized sculptures. The faceless beings are placed in public and are posed on benches, seen exiting restaurants, and enjoying a picnic in the park. Despite the fact they can’t convey emotion through eyes or a mouth, Valdez has made their legs expressive. They are straight and together if trying to look pensive, or partially open as if trying to suggest something else.
This series literally objectifies women and compares them to a sugary treat that will rot your treat and should be enjoyed only every-so-often. At the same time, they reference outdated objects from the middle of the 20th century, where legs were attached to things like lamps (as seen in the film A Christmas Story). Valdez pokes fun at this absurd and fantastical objectification of the population. (Via HiFructose)
In photographer Randy Scott Slavin’s series, Alternative Perspectives, he takes ordinary landscapes and turns them into topsy-turvy, mind-bending sights. At any moment, these panoramic shots make the world appear like it’s going to fold in on itself. Slavin captures all types of terrain, including the red rocks of the Phoenix desert, the beaches in Miami, and the skyscrapers of New York City. These places are transformed in a surreal and psychedelic way.
Salvin takes approximately 100 photos for each image. While he can shoot a scene in less than 10 minutes, it may him hours or days to edit what you see here. The process is a lot of trial and error for the photographer as he figures out what time of day and season is best.
Salvin’s photos not only play with the orientation of the image, but reference time as well. Their circular motion is reminiscent of a wormhole or water spinning down a drain. Both imply a passage, whether it be in years or minutes. (Via Fast Company)
We’ve recently explored the world of creative dog grooming, and now it’s time to turn an eye towards portraits of ornate fowls. Singapore-based photographer Ernest Goh documented the world of Malaysian Chicken Beauty Pageants. Yes, believe it or not, these events exist (because why not?), and are captured in Goh’s tongue-and-cheek titled publication, Cocks: The Chicken Book.
Goh selected the Ayam Seramas breed of chicken for his series, who are known for their beauty. He sets places each creature against a black background and allows their exquisite coloring and patterned feathers shine. These photographs highlight their outward appearance as well as their quirky personality, as the cock their heads and strut their stuff.
On his website, Goh features a quote that’s some food for thought. It’s taken from the famous novel Animal Farm, and it seems very appropriate for this energetic series: “The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which.” The results of the colorful portraits are akin to what we’d see if a human had the lens turned on them. With this similarity, perhaps chicken beauty pageants aren’t that silly after all. (Via PetaPixel)
We know texting while driving is really dangerous. But, unfortunately, most of us still probably sneak a peek at their phone every once and awhile. Artist Brian Singer, AKA Someguy, got fed up with all of the Bay area commuters he saw on their phones and decided to take action. While sitting the passengers seat, he snapped photos of all of the people that were distracted driving. He then took it one step further and purchased ad space on a few area billboards and posted his findings. He titled the project TWIT Spotting (Texting While in Traffic). Afterwards, he began a website in order to share more photos and include facts about the dangers of being on your phone while driving.
TWIT Spotting has received an overwhelming response and sparked controversy. It confronts those making these errors on the same roads where they occur, and it starts a conversation about this preventable problem. But, at the same time, the project was criticized as public shaming and an invasion of privacy. Singer sees this as a means to an end, and his goal is enact change by starting a dialogue. In an interview with Vice’s The Creators Project, he wants to expand the project, and explains:
What I would love is for one of the organizations who are passionate about this to help me. We’d focus on impacting teenage drivers. How can we expand this beyond what I can do? What if the AdCouncil got involved or a cell phone company or an insurance company? We might lose the localized aspect and diminished the neighborhood-focused nuances, but it could have a greater effect on behavior overall, which is ultimately the end goal. (Via The Creators Project)
Seung Hoon Park’s photographic work is created using strips of 8mm or 16mm film that’s woven together to form larger images. For the series Textus, he depicts well-known and iconic landmarks from all over the world. After the “tapestry” is assembled, Park photographs it using an 8×10 camera to creates a more texturally seamless surface. The result creates cognitive dissonance; We expect it to look tactile, while it only appears flat.
The discolored edges of the film provide a vintage feel to the overall work, as they tinge it in yellows, blues, and generally desaturate all of Park’s landscapes. The smaller images that make up Textus fracture the larger photograph in a way that it appears as a victim of some sort of disaster. They’ve been pieced so that’s almost put back together, but there’s still part of it that’s off and will always remain a little off because of it. (Via Feature Shoot)
Artist Thomas Doyle’s work is done in a miniature scale, at the size of a model train set or smaller. Taking pieces from these types of sets, he alters them as dark depictions of suburban life. We see natural disasters literally tear homes in two and sometimes turn them topsy-turvy. The scenes are set up as a story with the characters trying to make sense of it all. They are kept under a glass shell and feel like they are suspended in time as if they are in a snow globe.
The scale provides a weird feeling that we’re omnipotent and could crush them like a bug. Doyle notes this in his statement about the work, adding:
Conversely, the private intensity of moments rendered in such a small scale draws the viewer in, allowing for the intimacy one might feel peering into a museum display case or dollhouse. Though surrounded by chaos, hazard, and longing, the figures’ faces betray little emotion, inviting viewers to lose themselves in these crucibles—and in the jumble of feelings and memories they elicit.
We feel a connection to Doyle’s figures, which is a testament to his ability to tell a story. You walk away from this work wanting to know more about these tiny lives. (Via Fast Company)