Brian E. Miller Photography

May

2014

La Piñata

Fernando emerges seemingly out of nowhere. He’s been around during the entire birthday party, visiting with this guest or that, greeting each family member, grilling the carne asada. Midway through the party he emerges with her, all blonde and curvy, her papier mâché pasted with a royal smile. All eyes follow him as he strings the rope through the loop on the roof of her head and finds a hanging height.

Quickly the younger children are shepherded into line by mothers and fathers, tios and tias. A stout stick materializes. It is time for the piñata!

[press play for an audio recording of the demise of this princess piñata]

Each child has a go beating the piñata beginning with youngest and progressing to eldest and strongest, each insisting the figure release the hidden candy within.

Styles of attack vary with each child.

Poking at her is an option and might release the candy sooner!

Hitting then from behind when they can’t see you could prove more effective…or at the very least relieve the guilt felt while pummeling a favorite character in favor of candy.

Fernando holds the piñata steady as she prepares for the next assault.

Sebastian gives his best effort to open up the piñata as his Tios and Abuelo look on.

Some piñatas hold on for a time but eventually all surrender to their fate and purpose. The princess is discarded unceremoniously as the children’s attention switches to their candy loot.

Jan

2013

Sketches: Preparation

In New Mexico, in the colder months – though not necessarily so – there continues the Hispano tradition of the Matanza. A pig is raised yearlong with the intention that on a special day, perhaps a birthday or an anniversary or a wedding, it is slaughtered, cooked, and consumed at a gathering of extended family and friends. On the first cold and eventually snowy morning in November Jaime awaits the signal from his Abuelo – his grandfather – to begin.

Jun

2012

Why Make Photographs?

I went to a lecture a few weeks ago at the Art Therapy Department at my Alma Mater that made me chuckle, gave voice to something I’ve been contemplating for a while, and made me think.

I chuckled at the beginning of this lecture because the speaker, Judy Weiser, Ph.D., LPAT, (a psychologist and licensed art therapist) asked the attendees which among them made photos? Everyone raised their hand. She then asked who kept their pictures? Everyone raised their hand once more. Then she asked, “why?”

Silence.

I chuckled.

I get it. That is a difficult question to answer, even for trained therapists highly skilled in introspection. We have difficulty answering that question. It’s a personal question. It is also a universal question. Why do we take pictures? Why do we keep them?

Each of us knows why. We just have difficulty articulating it. It is just that the “why?” is beyond words, and words don’t do much justice to the answer. It is a feeling state that can only be pointed to, suggested, or implied with words. And even then, if using words, we depend on the other – our audience – to have experienced something similar in order to understand, to empathize. Some folks have a gift with words that way and can touch a place within us we didn’t know we had. Gifted photographers do the same with a different medium. But those moments and memories that touch the deepest parts of ourselves are usually created by ourselves – or someone emotionally near to us – and so they arrive in the world, and stay in the world, full of deep, wordless, meaning.

The photographs that illuminate these memories touch us emotionally; they help us remember; they are a crystalized representational moment of the stream of time we experience as life; they help give shape and form to those people, pets, things, events, experiences that might no longer exist (and that we know at some deep unconscious level – at the very least – will cease to exist one day); they keep memories alive; they help provided meaning; they express our inner world of feelings and context; and they are beautiful; and they are ours; and they matter.

Why do you take pictures? Why do you keep them? Who sees them? Who does not see them? What do they mean to you? How do you relate to them? Which pictures make you the happiest? Which did you not care for in the moment but, years later, were you ever so grateful were made? Which pictures do you wish had not been taken? Which are you proud of? Which would you not part with for anything? Which anger you, hurt you, haunt you? Which bring unimaginable joy?

I started photographing in earnest only about 5 or 6 years ago in response to an inner urge to examine the unconscious material that emerges in my images. I also started because it made me happy and I needed some of that feeling at the time. I continue because I choose to not put down something that makes me happy. It turns out I was doing photography as therapy; who knew?

Ms. Weiser mentioned during her presentation that, “…if something inside is going to out, it will out! And if it can’t out through words it will out through photos and art.” (As an aside, part of one psychological theory is that if something wants to out and doesn’t have a generative way to do so, it will do so in degenerative ways, through addictions, compulsions, self injurious behavior, etc.)

Well ok, then. It will out. Best to give it a medium to out, no?

During the past 10 years, and especially the past 5, there has been an absolute boom of photography. Many lament this democratization of the craft. They call it the dumbing down of the art, that so many ships on the waters have resulted in lowering the water level. Hogwash. Sure, the economic opportunities for professional photographers has changed. But this is not what this paradigm shift is all about: it is about people claiming a voice for their experience that does not require words, or cannot be said in words. To my mind, since words are merely representational – they simply point to an idea, they are not the idea itself – giving a visual voice to millions of people is a good thing for those people. It matters. Photos matter.

May

2012

It’s not for me to know…

“It’s not for me to know; it’s for me to find out (discover).” This thought is what came to me as I browsed through some William Albert Allard images on the National Geographic site online. Allard, a 50 year contributor to the Geographic, is known for his incredible use of color as a compositional tool as well as his intimate stories in light other photographers wouldn’t choose to use.

What struck me as I looked at his images is how close he gets to his subjects. I’m not talking about positional distance, although he does that too. I mean how intimate the images become. It is as if he captures that essence of a moment that shows the subjects in all their three dimensional human depth. It is as if he manages to make an image from inside the subject’s defenses, from beyond the mask.

And even more, what Allard manages to capture in these images is not only the subject, but a piece of himself. And in doing so he captures a piece of me. Repeatedly I’ve found myself looking at an image thinking, “I know that feeling!” There is a piece of me in those images, and I imagine there is a piece of Allard, and of you too. That is good photography!

So why do I share all this? Well, I try to be better and better at photographing. I’m trying to learn what makes a good image and I’m trying to learn how to do it myself. A friend of mine suggested not too subtly that I not collect my own work but rather collect the good works of others. He suggested this mostly to spur along my artistic efforts, I know. And he has succeeded. So, I’ve been perusing the works of others including Allard, Steve McCurry, Larry Towell, Martin Parr, Yousuf Karsh and others. and I keep asking myself, “how did/do they do that?”

That question is not about the technical aspect of an image; I can figure that part out. It’s about the access; it’s about the edit; it’s about the moment; it’s about the intimacy; it’s about recognizing what matters out of all the uncontrollable chaos that exists in the world swirling around us all the time. And I realize, it is not for me to know by looking at others’ work; it is for me to discover – in the world, in front of my camera, in my images. These photographers managed to capture the images they did because they went seeking that intimacy. They let themselves become known and they let themselves discover others.

They got close, really close, and found that reflection of themselves in others and made an image of that. So, the question then arises, is how do I find that reflection of myself in my subjects, in the world? And show it?

Nov

2011

On Being Vulnerable in the Creative Process

I watched a TED.com video a while ago. It was recommended by David duChemin in an article when he was talking about how to stop trying to sell through social media and rather attempt to connect with others. I usually try to follow David’s recommendations because, to me, he feels really connected. He feels connected to his readership and students; he feels connected to the photographic world at large through his social media outlets; he feels connected to the people he photographs for NGO organizations. But mostly I imagine him to be connected with himself, his life, and how life is.

Why do I imagine this? Well, it comes from something Brene Brown mentioned in that TED.com talk (see below for the embeded video). During her talk she mentioned that joy, happiness, contentment, comes from feeling connected with others; feeling as if we matter to another; that we belong and have a place in the world. And, she makes the point that to feel connected with others and with ourselves we need to be able to tolerate being vulnerable.

Now, vulnerability, as I see it, is tied to some very strong emotions, the strongest among them being fear, but also involving anxiety and shame. These are challenging emotions for many and our mental health hospitals and counseling offices are filled with people attempting to come to terms with them. (I know, my day job is in the mental health field and I deal with these emotions in others and in myself on a daily basis.)

What does all this have to do with the creative process? Well, that also comes from something Brene Brown mentioned in the video: Life is messy. Life does not go according to plan; others fail to live up to our expectations; the world betrays us at times; things are unfair; we are crippled by our own fears and doubts. Often times life just lines up according to its own-maddening-set of rules and we are often left feeling as if we weren’t given a playbook-let alone a rule book. As a result, living, and being creative, requires a large measure of courage. Courage to face our creative process in all its messiness. Courage to try things that don’t seem easy and have a high failure rate. We require the courage to be vulnerable in the face of those that would criticize our work and our efforts; the courage to dive into a creative endeavor without the promise of success at any step along the way.

And yet it is necessary, this thing called vulnerability. It is a necessary step in the creative process; it is a necessary step in connecting with others; and it is a necessary step in coming to terms with living this human life contentedly, happily, joyfully. It is a necessary part of the process in creating anything really: from new business venture to creative scrapbook, from professional power-point presentation to your wedding photobook. We throw ourselves headlong into the abyss of the unknown future with little more than a blind faith that we will be alright in the end. This is vulnerability and we are swimming in a sea of it called living. We do not create anything new by playing it safe.

So, what do you want to create? One image? A dozen? A series? A book? A canvas? An ebook perhaps? Some stock images? Do you want to create a photographic business? Do you want to create a notebook to give to others? Or perhaps a calendar? All of these involve risk: the risk of being rejected, hurt, embarrassed. All of these can also include the risk of being successful. And yet, there it is. That is what we must face.