Concrete Alchemy tour members plot their first wall.

Note: In 2008 Albus Cavus invited me to join fifteen, exuberant graffiti writers on an unprece-dented, five-State, eight-day road trip.

That eye-opening experience was later distilled into one chapter of my not-yet published book, “Touching the Hood: A First-Hand Insight into the Secret World of Graffiti Writers and Their Culture.” This interview took place just before the Concrete Alchemy tour was launched, and it is relevant now because my book project is nearly complete.

Albus Cavus: How did you become involved in art and photography?

Ricardo Barros: I wandered into the junior high school darkroom in the 8th grade. For the next five years, photography was a really cool hobby- but my experiences were mostly about technical discovery. Then I went to this museum exhibition by a photographer named Paul Strand. My knees began to shake as I was standing in front of his photographs! At first I didn’t know what was happening, but that is when I first truly appreciated the power of art.

AC: Your knees shook?

RB: It was a physical reaction. It actually happens to a lot of people, although a more common reaction may be to cry. Anyway, that experience changed everything. Instead of photography being the object of my passion, it became the passageway through which I could learn new things.

AC: Like what?

Leon Rainbow in New York.

RB: Well, graffiti, for example. I’ve been involved with art for over forty years. I thought I knew a thing or two about art and about artists. Then I met a very articulate graffiti writer, Leon Rainbow. He spoke of things that were totally new to me, things that I didn’t understand.

AC: You must be referring to more than the graffiti itself …

RB: Even now I am still learning how to decipher graffiti pieces – but what blew me away was the graffiti culture itself. It is an invisible society hiding in plain sight. Leon introduced me to the VS Crew, and as these guys learned to trust me I learned a lot about them. I learned who their girlfriends are, what is important to them, how they relate to the graffiti world. In both direct and indirect ways, these guys taught me that graffiti culture has its own values and rules.

AC: And these values and rules are different for graffiti writers than they are for other artists?

RB: Absolutely. Although only a very small number of traditional artists manage to actually sell their work, virtually all artists aspire to. Selling is an established form of validation. But selling graffiti is an oxymoron. Yes, a number of writers paint canvasses and sell them, but that is only a speck in the overall scene. Selling graffiti is not even on most writers’ radar screens. For most of the guys I know, it wouldn’t occur to them to sell their graffiti, just like it wouldn’t occur to them to sell their strut as they walk down the street. Both are a form of public performance.

AC: So if the validation is different, what is the nature of the reward?

A Concrete Alchemy wall in progress.

RB: That’s different, too.

First, most committed artists will tell you that the work itself is the true reward. I understand that. For me, it is certainly true. As a member of the traditional art world, I go to great lengths to protect my work. I print my photographs using archival materials, I store the prints carefully, and I try to place the images in museum collections. My photographs are my life’s work, my legacy.

But the graffiti writers, they invest just as much sweat and passion into their pieces knowing that the ‘canvas’ they are painting on will be demolished next week. They expect it to not last. Graffiti writers will deliberately paint over each other’s work. In one poignant moment, MEK literally waived bye-bye to his graffiti as another writer wrote over it. And if one of their own pieces runs too long, they’ll come back and destroy it themselves!

AC: That is only your “first” thought?

RB: Second, the reward system in the traditional art world is linear, whereas in the graffiti world it is multi-dimensional. Most people in the traditional art community measure success in the same way. Critical reviews, museum acquisitions, published books, significant exhibitions and outrageous sale prices.

In the graffiti world, sales are out, of course. So are museum acquisitions. There does exist such a thing as critical reviews – but it happens at the grass roots level, among peers. Nobody wields power over the graffiti community like a critic at The New York Times does over the traditional art community. Lots of graffiti books are published, but nobody really makes any money off of them. As for significant exhibitions … well, there is a little overlap there. An example might be when Cornbread tagged the Jackson Five’s airplane. But even that was a unique, unrepeatable event.

In any case, in the art world all of these parameters are aligned. The art world avenue may be broad, but it is still a flat, linear, one-way street. In the graffiti world, side streets, bridges, tunnels and cruise missiles come into play. Things shoot up, down, sideways, all over the place. Entirely different criteria are relevant to people who navigate the graffiti world. That’s what I mean by ‘multi-dimensional’.

AC: Can you be more specific?

RB: Members of the traditional art world would measure the success of a graffiti piece in accordance with its visual aesthetics. The more beautiful it is, the more accomplished the work. Visual beauty also matters to graffiti writers, but it isn’t everything.

Let’s say that, in reviewing a well-executed piece, a group of graffiti writers unanimously agree that some writer really “crushed” a wall. He produced a great piece. Then, as the group of reviewers walk around the corner, they see a second graffiti piece that is visually inferior. Yet they flip out over this second piece even more than they did the first one.

Why? Because they are measuring the strengths of the two, different works in two different, dimensions. The first piece may have been a wild-style, multi-colored burner, and the second one may have been a simple, white throw-up with a black outline. But let’s say that the second piece had been written on the vandal squad’s police cruiser. The element of risk suddenly pops up as a relevant factor. Whoever tagged that cruiser exposed him or herself to significant danger – - and left an autograph to tell the tale. That risk factor, in this case, trumps the visual beauty of the safer piece.

But there are other dimensions, too, like chutzpah, creativity, bafflement in how it was done, placement, and, most subtly, whose work the graffiti writer went over.

A writer holds a "cap" (nozzle) in gloved hand.

AC: Wait a minute; did you say you were a photo-grapher?

RB: Yes. But this is what I meant when I said that, for me, photography is a passageway to go somewhere else.

AC: So how do you photograph that?

RB: It isn’t easy. To begin with, you have to clear your mind of prior expectations. My wife, Heather, is an art teacher. One of her favorite sayings is “Paint what you see, not what you know.” The idea is to not take shortcuts in understanding. If you really look you might see something that does not conform to your expectations, and you’ll learn a lot by figuring out why what you already know is wrong.

I spend a lot of time with the graffiti guys, listening to them, watching them, and seeing what they do. I like the graffiti, especially the pieces, but I’ve come to appreciate that the graffiti isn’t the most interesting part. The graffiti guys are, along with their sense of world order.

AC: Most other photographers zero in on the graffiti itself.

RB: That is relatively easy. That would be documentation. And it would also be easy to come in real tight with my compositions, photographing segments of their pieces to create colorful abstractions. For me, both of these choices represent low hanging fruit. I want to produce a body of work that captures the multi-dimensional aspect of the graffiti world, and I want to do it from the inside out.

AC: Can that be done only with pictures?

RB: Maybe a really good photographer might get lucky on a few shots, but even then he’d need a fairly sophisticated viewer who could decode the compositions. I certainly aspire to that goal, but I’m using words, too.

Writer with blue umbrella.

AC: A book.

RB: Yes. After I produced my first ton of interesting graffiti pictures, I was frustrated because I still didn’t have enough. I realized, as I tried to structure my thoughts, that photography alone could not convey the depth and the subtleties of my revelations. I’ve shared some incredible experiences with these writers and I have meaningful stories to tell. My project is expanding into different dimensions, and the challenges are growing to occupy that greater space.

AC: So what do you want to get out of Concrete Alchemy?

RB: Fresh insight, new experiences, and to have some fun. But, you know, there is something else, too. My experience with the VS Crew opened something up for me. These writers aren’t just subjects in my photographs; they are people whom I’ve grown to care about. A few members of the VS Crew will be part of the Concrete Alchemy tour. Maybe I’ll get to know the other writers in a similar way.

AC: This will be your second book. Your first, “Facing Sculpture”, landed your own work in four museum collections, including the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Is that one of your goals here, too?

RB: That would be nice, but it’s not the point. I identify with the graffiti writers in this respect. Living the experience is my real motivation. The writers refer to their successes as ‘getting up’. That applies to me, too. Getting up, or, in my case, getting my work out into the world, will allow me to share things they have taught me.

In a certain way I am the graffiti writers’ canvas. I am the freight train they get up on. Eventually I am going to roll down the tracks and carry their message out into the world. Part of that message has to do with their graffiti, but perhaps the most meaningful measure of my success may be if I can also convey the warmth I’ve experienced in these writers’ company.

˜˜˜˜

More on the Concrete Alchemy Tour at: (www.albuscav.us/concretealchemy)

"Muse Collecting Her Thoughts" © Ricardo Barros

A muse, as most people commonly think of one, is a person who inspires creativity in an artist. Muses are stereotypically women. Many artists of legendary stature, including Pablo Picasso, Alfred Stieglitz and Edward Weston, abandoned all other responsibilities in pursuit of their muse.

But the word “muse” already had a long history before it came to be associated with an inspiring temptress. Scholars in the Renaissance recognized nine Muses. Each of these nine spirits nurtured a particular discipline, ranging from poetry to music to dance, and even to astronomy. Before them, the Greeks identified three Muses. One represented the spirit of voice, another the spirit of practice, and the third represented the spirit of memory.

Early Greeks considered Muses to be the source of knowledge. At that time, knowledge was shared mostly through oral repetition. A host of individual performers recited poetry and songs that they had only heard. They passed on lyrics from one community to another, and from one generation to the next. If a story were to be properly retold, it was essential that the lyrics be properly remembered. Accurate recollection was critical, and the Greeks believed that their Muses were daughters of the goddess of memory.

To this day, both knowledge and memory play an important role in the artist-muse relationship, although not quite in the same way. Today we mortals share information much more easily, and we can archive what we share. The longevity of a creative work need not be an issue. Also, we receive the gifts of a single muse, rather than those from a set of three or nine. But, in other ways, the artist-muse relationship remains unchanged. Care must still be taken to hear when the muse beckons, for she still speaks with a soft, quiet voice.

Many artists find that the muse speaks to them through their dreams. She reveals hidden connections, she dispels enigmas, and she discloses new mysteries. She is a catalyst for insight. She unveils unique visions of beauty. Her gaze sheds light and illuminates new meaning.

Upon awakening, these artists are at first transfixed by brilliance in the muse’s gifts.  Then, suddenly, a gift disappears. When a second one unexpectedly follows, a sense of urgency overtakes all else. The artist rushes to capture the remaining insights. The artist realizes that these gifts, no matter how vivid and palpable the impression they make, have but a momentary presence. It is imperative to make the remaining gifts permanent before they, too, disappear! There is no telling when the muse will return. There is no telling whether she will choose to repeat herself. What is not netted now may be lost forever. Sublime knowledge is in danger of slipping from memory’s mortal grasp.

An artist’s relationship with the muse can be seen, therefore, as a tenuous connection. The stakes are high and risk shadows every exchange. The muse bestows essential gifts, but an artist has no way of calling her when she is needed. Many artists find that, without announcement, their muse will slip away as quietly as she slipped in. Sometimes she is gone for months. There is dryness in her absence, as if it were a drought. Artwork produced without her blessing is plain and uninspired. Artists in this state can only curse their own negligence and swear greater attentiveness upon the muse’s return.

Then, after one night that begins like any other, the artist awakens to a changed world. There is brilliancy in this new day. There is a distinct need as well as the means to fulfill it. There is excitement. There is direction. There is power. There is no holding back.

The muse has roosted on this artist’s bed.

Thread by Ricardo Barros

I recently referred to a certain image as having “integrity” in a workshop discussion. (I can’t remember which photograph; it certainly could have been any number of them.) Evidently some students were unclear as to what I meant in using that word. At a subsequent session, one of them asked me: When does a flower photograph demonstrate integrity?

This was an unexpectedly difficult question to answer.

I am certain that I had used the word meaningfully earlier, but when I originally used it I was looking at the photograph being referred to. This question arrived unattended. The issue of integrity had not been raised, one way or another, by the images we had just seen.

My difficulty, I later realized, arose from an underlying premise in the student’s question. This is the premise that communication can be reduced to some form of a discrete, quantifiable, articulated accumulation of meaning. This premise would approach communication as if it were a science.

If the art of photography were a science, we would be able to articulate all of an image’s properties and establish that image’s definitive meaning. The irreducible set of verbal descriptors we would come up with would be an exact surrogate for the image itself. (I am imagining something akin to the Periodic Table, which empowers scientists to precisely identify and classify all matter in the universe.) Minds more brilliant than mine could identify the rank and file of particular words, as well as how each of these words relate to specific aspects of visual imagery.

This premise suggests an equation, with the photograph on one side of the ‘equals’ sign, and a collection of words on the other. Either side of the equation would be a complete and accurate representation of its counterpart. Once a photograph was thus understood, it would be resolved. All possible interpretations, including the best ones, would be immediately available to us. We could get it, either visually or in words.

Of course this isn’t the case, but why not? And, if we can’t rely on the definitive meaning of words, how can we talk about visual imagery at all?? The entire concept of communication seems to break down when two people associate different meanings with the words they pass back and forth.

There is a simple explanation that dispels this apparent confusion. It applies to virtually all forms of communication, including photography: Communication entails the expression of an idea over multiple channels. Literal content accounts for transmission on just one of these channels. Commentary and other implications may be transmitted in tandem through other conduits. Upon receiving a composite transmission, we weigh the relative importance of each channel, decode the message, and form our overall impression.

How information is presented can have a huge influence on our impression. The mode of presentation can act like a ‘plus’ or ‘minus’ sign in front of any statement, completely reversing the statement’s practical effect. A simple, declarative sentence, for example, can mean the opposite of the words actually spoken if those words are delivered with sarcasm. Or, if delivered deadpan with an appropriate timing, those same words can be uproariously funny.

Context is yet another important consideration. Context can do many things, including amplify or ameliorate the impact of meaning. If we were to say that we ate “the world’s hugest hotdog,” no one would expect that this were literally so. People would understand that we just meant a “really big” hotdog. Context helps calibrate our judgment in prescribing the scope of applicability for a given statement.

Context can also influence the perception of what is being said. Knowing that the author of a character reference is presently divorcing the subject of his or her referral may be highly relevant.  At very least, we should give that recommendation special handling.

With photography, a similar situation arises when viewers bring extraneous information to the photograph they are seeing. Eisenstaedt’s famous picture of a sailor kissing a nurse in Times Square, for example, was only partly about either the sailor or the nurse.  It was also about people’s unbridled exuberance that World War II had just ended, although nowhere in the photograph is there a sign that says exactly this. More subtly, our social conditioning informs us that the couple’s passionate display of affection in such a public setting is irregular. We are cued to apply more resources and figure out why.

Let me be clear: words do have meaning, and it is best to use them appropriately. My point is that to fully enjoy the benefits of communication we must be sensitive to the different channels that carry information, as well as to the nature of messages these channels convey. We must understand, but not be limited by, dictionary definitions. We must be sensitive to the rhythm of the words as well as to the spacing between the lines.

In our particular case, I used the word “integrity” in the midst of a critique. What could I have meant? My dictionary presents three meanings for the word integrity:

1)    Adherence to moral and ethical principles; soundness of moral character; honesty.

2)    The state of being whole, entire, or undiminished.

3)    A sound, unimpaired, or perfect condition.

One student aptly volunteered that, for her, photographic integrity entailed a correspondence between the character of a subject and a photograph made of that subject. It is inappropriate to portray everything as being beautiful, she went on. She found a conspicuous lack of integrity in the work of a photographer who made exquisitely beautiful imagery out of an environmentally horrible subject, pollution.

The morally appropriate response to pollution, she felt, would be to show it in all of its ugliness. Alternatively, one could factually document its occurrence, but pollution’s consequence should not be ignored. This student’s use of the word “integrity” relied upon the word’s first meaning, above, in that it had strong ties to a sense of belief, morality and judgment. I accept that this is a fair use of the word.

Generally speaking, when I use the word “integrity” in association with a photographer’s work I suspect that I lean towards the second definition: the state of being whole, entire, or undiminished. I also like the third meaning, with an emphasis on “unimpaired”.

Photographers of integrity remain whole in the face of tremendous pressure that seeks to diminish them. These are photographers with the courage and conviction to honor their own values. These are photographers who show what they see, regardless of whether or not they receive support for their vision. It is possible that eventually these photographers might win over or educate the public, but their integrity is most visible before that, when they are still alone. I believe that, at their core, these photographers are individuals who truly know themselves.

Many great photographers come to mind in this respect.  In no particular order my list would include Jock Sturges, Edward Weston, Diane Arbus, and Eugene Richards.

Conversely, when I use the term “lack of integrity” I am generally speaking of photographers who may not have grown to know themselves, or who have abdicated their responsibility to do so. These are photographers who conform to the prevailing winds. They reap immediate, short-term benefits while posturing as something they are not. From where I stand, these individuals do not appear to be whole.

Reading a person is no easier than reading a photograph. Both communicate through a multitude of channels, and I have no delusion of being omniscient. Still, we can nurture sensitivity in our perceptions. We can build and refine the vocabulary with which we express ourselves. And we are better served if we think of communication as an art, rather than as a science.

So, when does a flower photograph demonstrate integrity? When it is watered with the photographer’s heart and soul.

By C. Ambiaso

AfterImage No. 2, by Ricardo Barros. (Silhouetted version of full-color photograph. A naked woman faces front in lineup with clothed men.)

Stories take many forms, including stories told through the human body. Photographer Ricardo Barros’s nudes address narratives of heroic proportions. He uses the body or, more precisely, creative manifestations of women’s bodies, to address larger truths. His recent work, along with that of sculptor Martha Posner, will be on view at the Dalet Gallery in Philadelphia for the month of May in a show entitled Fabricating Truths, Shaping Stories.

Barros plays with viewer’s perceptions by using photographs of beautiful nude women to address issues ranging from voyeurism to moral judgment. This photographer is meticulous in his craft. He amplifies the strengths of photography to tell stories with poetic expressiveness.

“In photography’s early days,” Barros says, “the prevailing maxim was ‘Photographs don’t lie.’ Today, of course, we believe that every photograph is potentially suspect. Even so, photographs can still express truths.” The works in this show are drawn from the photographer’s portfolio, Fabricated Truths. With a wink to Edward Muybridge, who pioneered the scientific use of stop-motion photography and, in 1877, proved that a galloping horse lifts all four hooves off the ground, Barros has painted a grid on his studio wall and conducted his own, pseudo-scientific experiments. He has used the nude as a controlled variable to see what implications it might engender.

“Every one of these photographs has been staged,” Barros says. “Every one targets a different idea. The baldness with which each composition is arranged makes it possible to move beyond the limitations of fact and to reconsider what we already know from a different perspective.”

Take, for example, his explicit, highly detailed color photograph, Lineup, represented here by an alternate version of that same photograph entitled AfterImage No. 2. In it, five clothed men, facing away from the camera, stand in front of a grid-painted wall. This starkly lit image is reminiscent of a police lineup, except that we cannot possibly identify any of the men. One woman stands in their midst, facing forward. She is naked.

What is one to make of such a tilted scenario?

“My instructions to the model were that she be perfectly neutral,” Barros says. “I didn’t want her body language to tip the scale in any direction. Most people will get the ‘unbiased identification’ reference right away, but what matters more are the judgments that immediately follow. Is this woman a criminal? Is she a victim of the men? Is she a slut caught in the net? Is this what she deserves?”

Leda's Revenge, by Ricardo Barros

In another color photograph, a nude woman shakes a feather pillow over her head, spewing a snowstorm of feathers. “That one was inspired by the myth of Leda and the swan,” Barros says. “Zeus was lusting after the beautiful Leda. He turned himself into a swan, descended to earth, and forcibly had his way with her. There are dozens of erotically charged paintings and sculptures depicting The Rape of Leda. William Butler Yeats’s poem of the account is considered to be one of his masterpieces.  In every instance, these renderings relate the story from a sensual, male point of view. I thought I’d revisit that event from Leda’s perspective. That is why she is spilling out all the feathers. The title of this photograph is Leda’s Revenge.”

Barros’s photographs, the viewer eventually realizes, are not really about his nudes at all. The photographer stealthily redirects our attention to a mixture of social observations and comments, as well as to our perfectly natural tendency to be voyeurs.

“After I had made and printed the color photographs,” Barros goes on, “I realized that I was revisiting those images in my mind’s eye at odd moments during the day. These nudes continued to assert their presence. I carried around the impression that they made as an afterimage.

‘Afterimage’ – that word resonated with me – so I returned to the original photographs with the specific intent of reinterpreting them to create a new work of art. In a very literal sense, I was extending the creative process beyond the point of completion. I wanted to travel beyond the terminal station. The new photograph would be an ‘after’ image. I set about giving this notion a tangible form. While I was at it, I thought I’d steal the nude, too.”

Thus were born the AfterImages, a series of Black and White photographs included in this show. There are no nudes in any of these photographs, only black or white holes where the nudes used to be. Yet, especially for people who have seen the original color photograph, the nude figures are there as plain as day.

AfterImage No. 14, by Ricardo Barros

The AfterImages are minimalist in concept and execution. With relatively “so little” to look at, they demand absolute integrity from the content, composition and rendering in each presentation. “A second light bulb seems to go off,” Barros says of viewers taking in these works, “and it illuminates a smile.”

Fabricating Truths, Shaping Stories
Ricardo Barros and Martha Posner at the Dalet Gallery
141 North 2nd Street, Old City, Philadelphia, PA 19106
www.daletart.com              Tel.  215.923.2424
Gallery hours: Tue – Sat 11 am – 6 pm, Sun 12 – 5 pm.
April 30th- June 6, 2010
Opening Reception: Friday, May 7th, 5-9 pm
Gallery Talk: Saturday, May 15th, 3 pm

Caroline Gibson with Rawhide Mask by Ricardo Barros

I believe that, if you make room for them, good things will happen in your life.

Caroline Gibson and I had never met before I photographed her. I had no expectations of the imagery we produced at our first meeting. In fact, I thought it was me who was doing her a favor. My wife, Heather, had seen Linny’s artwork and wanted to help her by arranging for its exhibition at a nearby art center. Heather ‘volunteered’ my services to produce newspaper publicity prints for that show.

Linny knocked on our door after dinner one evening and proceeded to unpack her artwork in our living room. She was employed by a local hardware store. The pieces she laid on our rug blended off-the-shelf, hardware inventory with organic materials such as leather, wax, and sticks. They suggested rituals, perhaps those of a priestess, even though some of it was discomforting for me.

I sensed Linny’s integrity and responded to the intensity of her passion. I found myself unpacking more and more equipment. Soon our living room was cluttered with my photo gear and her artwork. My pictures, which were supposed to depict her artwork, evolved into images of Linny interacting with her sculpture. Ultimately one of these photographs became her portrait, although I didn’t recognize it as such at the time. The next day I simply made Linny’s publicity prints, archived the negatives, and moved on to address other concerns.

Years later, when searching for photographs to include in an exhibit of my own, I rediscovered this image. This time I was able to see this portrait in a different context. It helped me realize that those who follow their passion are on the road to self-discovery. I learned that when people fuse Inspiration with Integrity, they produce an expression of Identity.

Linny had left me a gift. She helped me learn that this is exactly what portraiture is all about. And, quite unexpectedly, my inadvertent, first, sculptor portrait eventually became the cover of my book, FACING SCULPTURE: A Portfolio of Portraits, Sculpture and Related Ideas.

Joseph Acquah is a native of Ghana. Lots of people ask, so let me mention this detail first: he has ritual scars on both cheeks. Joseph works at a sculpture foundry near my studio; we met when he commissioned me to photograph his artwork. I remember two of my observations when he delivered his sculpture. First, nearly all of the sculptures were highly realistic. Second, he was an extremely pious man. As carefully as Joseph might render the detail in one of his sculptures, he is profoundly aware that The Almighty perfected the original and we men cannot improve upon His work.

One of the pieces Joseph brought to my studio was a self-portrait. When I looked at this bronze bust, I didn’t see metal. I saw Joseph.

After I had made all of the photographs of his artwork that Joseph needed, he agreed to let me make a few more pictures for me. I sequentially photographed Joseph and his bronze bust from exactly the same perspective. Later, in the darkroom, I blended the negative of the left side of Joseph’s face with that of the right side of his sculpture. Perceptual agreement within the combined image was almost too convincing. The photograph could easily be mistaken for an Avedon-like tribute – a Black man photographed against a white background – which meant that many viewers might not even notice Joseph’s accomplishment.

I realized that I would need some sort of visual friction to resist too quick a read of this photograph. I found it in the square, a simple form whose four sides reflect a perfect symmetry suggestive of Joseph’s own inspiration. I ran black tape along the surface of a white tabletop and photographed the outline it produced. I returned to my darkroom and optically blended all three negatives into a single image. (The left side of Joseph, the right side of the bronze, and the outlined square.) The resultant, silver print was my completed artwork.

Later, with the advent of digital imaging, I acquired the ability to replicate this blending process on a computer. It is far easier to merge digital images than to optically blend Black and White negatives. But the new technology also presented me with a choice. In evaluating the subsequent ramifications, I stumbled upon new insight into Joseph’s portrait.

The computer afforded me far more control than I previously had in rendering the design element, allowing me to redraw the black lines with utmost digital precision. I was able to lay down lines that did not waver. My corners met at exactly 90 degrees and had clean, orthogonal edges. But these ‘improvements’ did not make the photograph more beautiful! They had the opposite effect – they made the image more sterile.

The digital alternative made me appreciate that a living, breathing soul had passed his hand along the table’s surface, and warmth within that gesture underlay the wavy lines of the original square. I discarded the digitally generated square and scanned my original negative of the taped tabletop, flaws and all, to produce my digital print.

For me, that simple, taped square makes a statement of metaphoric proportions. It is far more powerful in its imperfect state because it reveals the trace of human intervention.