Exhibition: October 21– November 23, 2010
Reception and Booksigning: October 21, 6-8pm

Steven Kasher Gallery is pleased to present an exhibition of limited edition prints from the National Geographic Image Collection. Simply Beautiful will feature thirty-five large-scale color photographs by over 25 National Geographic photographers. For the first time, the Image Collection’s vast archive of over 11 million images has been culled down to a concentrated selection representing the essence of beauty. These singular photographs have been transposed from their original National Geographic documentary narrative context into the realm of fine art.

The exhibition will be accompanied by the release of a new book: National Geographic Simply Beautiful Photographs edited by award- winning National Geographic photographer Annie Griffiths. Griffiths chose remarkable images from the Society’s core mission areas: exploration, wildlife, culture, science, and nature. In her investigation of what creates beauty in a photograph, she has included chapters on light, composition, moment, time, palette and wonder.

This unique collection of images reveals the aesthetic range and depth of National Geographic’s world-renowned photographic staff. Examples are: azure bottlenose dolphins by Annie Griffiths, Stephen Alvarez’s haunting silhouettes of Moai figures on Easter Island, Kenneth Garrett’s verdant juxtaposition of a monkey strolling by an ancient Mayan tomb, Michael Nichols’ woman shrouded by gauze in a dark Trinidadian hotel room, Randy Olson’s candid of an old man lingering before a weathered Mississippi storefront and a sprinting cheetah in Botswana by Chris Johns.

The criterion for selection was visual delight. “We wanted a set of images that would transport the reader to a beautiful place, be that space physical, emotional, or spiritual,” writes Maura Mulvihill, vice president, National Geographic Image Collection in her foreword to the book. “Encouraged by the words of Ralph Waldo Emerson, ‘Beauty is its own excuse for being,’ we decided the book should take us to a world of beautiful dreams, memories, and meditation.”

In 2009, National Geographic embarked on a concerted program to proliferate the treasures of the Image Collection through fine art exhibitions and sales to museums and private collectors. Simply Beautiful is the third of a series of Image Collection exhibitions being mounted at Steven Kasher Gallery in an ongoing collaboration.

The book’s editor Annie Griffiths earned a degree in photojournalism from the University of Minnesota. Since then she has photographed dozens of magazine projects for National Geographic. Her work also has appeared in Life, Geo, Smithsonian, Merian, Paris Match, Stern and many other publications. She devotes a portion of each year to producing fundraising images for aid organizations.

Simply Beautiful will be on view October 21 – November 23.

Steven Kasher Gallery is located at 521 W. 23rd St., New York, NY 10011.

I have been asked by Lou Lesko for my opinion on retouching and its role in photojournalism. I do a lot of work as a retoucher myself, so he thought I might have strong feelings on the subject. But honestly, until he asked, I had not much to say on the topic. Now, under pressure to examine my position on the ethics of retouching in reportage, I find I actually do have thoughts on the matter.
There are probably a number of reasons I had not actively considered this question. Perhaps I can be naive at times, too willing to believe an image is an accurate depiction of an event. Perhaps the insane quantity of news we ingest in a day has numbed me to whether an image is genuine or not. I could just be a bit cocky and think that, since I know my way around Photoshop, I should instinctively be able to spot a hoax. Or I subconsciously don’t trust the media, which would seem to contradict my naivete. Or I just don’t care. I suppose it is a mix of all of the above with the mix varying depending on my mood, the time of day or what I had for breakfast. However on consideration, I do care and I believe it is an important discussion.
The common definition of retouching is anything done to an image after the exposure of film or pixels has occurred. The ability to drastically and believably alter an image is now within reach of anyone with a computer. But before Photoshop and megapixels, there were many ways to treat a piece of film after the moment of exposure. Even before exposure, the photographer has many choices — camera, film, lens, his position relative to the subject, framing, among others. The whole process is subjective in nature. The only objective pieces of the process are the camera, lens and the light sensitive material. They just do what they are told.

For the purpose of this discussion, retouching refers to reworking an image after exposure. Even with a modern digital camera that is still a difficult proposition. All those pixel sites affected by the light become a complex pile of binary information needing serious sorting out. A photographer can choose to shoot in RAW and make processing decisions later, or shoot in JPG and have the camera do all the processing. But the photographer still defines the processing parameters for the image at the outset. Factors such as white balance, contrast, saturation and sharpening levels can all be manipulated and have an effect on the final image’s mood and feel. Then there is extreme retouching, where pixels are changed or moved or removed. This would be akin to airbrushing and/or spot toning a print from film.
I don’t believe there is a way to make a truly objective photographic image with any medium, digital or analog. Even if we set up a camera to rattle off exposures automatically, someone has to choose where to put the camera, what the time intervals are and so on. A human must be involved making subjective choices.

That said, I believe in the case of photojournalism the goal of the photojournalist should be to record as objectively as possible the event they are covering. The only retouching that should take place is the manipulation of the tonal range of the image to fit into the medium that the image will be displayed in, whether it be a newspaper, a magazine or on the web.

One possible way to restore public faith in the authenticity of photo journalism could be through manufacturers making versions of their professional cameras, such as the Canon 1d Mark IV or Nikon D3s, with stripped down software capabilities. The camera would only allow exposure and focus control, essentially a modern day Pentax K1000. There would be no options for processing pixel data. All images would be saved as a 16bit processed TIFF. The image file would be tightly encrypted and would automatically record all actions attempted on the file. News agencies receiving files from these specific ‘journalism cameras’ would have a little more assurance of the authenticity of the images.
I welcome your thoughts on this matter.

Mark Cornellison. cornellison.net

At the age of 12, I had an epiphany on a baseball diamond at a park near my house. I was in the batter’s box and was suddenly keenly aware of the absence of my presence. I could no longer hear the clapping hands of the coach as he belted out orders, or the encouraging hollers of the Saturday morning crowd. Nor did I hear the tinny thud from the bat that launched my ball toward left field. Aside from the fact I hated softball, all I could think of was, “I want to be anywhere else but here.” France was always on the top of my list. Switzerland and Italy sounded pleasant too, and I had had recurring dreams about pin-balling my way along a crowded street in Tokyo. The collective shriek of my teammates telling me to run to first base brought me back into the game. As I rounded second, the ball landed with a slap into the glove of the third baseman. I was caught between second and third base. Pickled. Back and forth I went trying to avoid the tag, until an overthrow allowed me to sprint toward third and with everything I had left, trying to beat the ball being thrown from the infield, I slid ungracefully into home.

Maybe it’s the town where you grew up; maybe it’s where your parents and siblings live; or maybe it’s a five-sided slab of whitened rubber that once tapped with your sliding hands, earns you hugs, high fives, and pats on the butt. Home is, for many, a place you strive to get to, or in some instances, a place you strike out and never leave.

On that day, on that baseball field in suburban Los Angeles, arriving at home plate made me realize I felt happier running between the bases fueled by the thrill of trying to outrun the ball. For me, the journey felt like home much more than the destination

This is a memory I hold close to me wherever I go. A reminder that one needn’t cross an ocean or climb a mountain to undergo a journey. As a person infected with wanderlust since a young age, and as someone who has moved every few years since the age of 18, I am often asked if I miss being home. My response is the same. I am always at home when there’s the possibility to leave. It’s when there are no travel plans on the horizon that I find myself unhappy and with restless legs.

When I was 24 I was offered a promotion that came with a nice salary and coveted title. A no brainer, or so I thought. The job was in Detroit, Michigan. Not exactly the port-of-choice for a native of the golden state. Most Californians would turn the job down. I know, because, they did. Let’s just say I was not the company’s first choice. I of course saw an adventure and took the job.

I packed my suitcases, and my car, and shipped them to the Motor City, arriving during the coldest winter on record. It was a complete climate and culture shock. The only person I knew was my landlady who knitted potholders while chain-smoking Marlboros in her kitchen. Was it home? For three years it was. I knew it wasn’t permanent and that’s what motivated me to take the offer, the adventure.

I learned to drive in the snow and make snowmen. I explored the length of lake Michigan. I sailed. I met people I’ll know my whole life, including my husband, and I have an alarming abundance of hand-knitted potholders.

I also learned I could be at home anywhere. After I left Detroit, I would move three more times in five years.

For many, home is defined by the four walls they live within, and by the tree-lined street full of neighbors and friends on where the four walls can be found. Don’t get me wrong. I like a place to hang my clothes, to invite friends for dinner, and to sloth around on the couch while watching movies with my family. I just want my four walls to move from time to time so I can be surrounded by the friends and neighbors I haven’t yet met.

For the last six years, I’ve lived in Belgium. It is the longest time I have lived anywhere during the last 25 years. It was one of the first times I stayed somewhere and didn’t immediately think of leaving again. Maybe I’m maturing. Or maybe I just felt more at home in a place where I knew that within three hours I could reach 10 different countries. One of my favorite places was the arrivals terminal at the Brussels airport. The final step for passengers at any international airport, after clearing customs and picking up bags, is to pass through a set of opaque doors. I must have watched hundreds of people pass through those doors, and each time I wondered if they were coming home, or running between the bases.

Three weeks ago the customs agent at San Francisco International Airport licked his thumb and forefinger to help spread open two pages of my passport in order to find space to ca-chunk the American immigration stamp. “Welcome home,” he said as he handed my passport back to me. The phrase sounded foreign to me, but it is home. For a little while anyway. “Good to be back,” I replied.

I rounded third, passed through the opaque doors, and slid ungracefully into San Francisco. And just like that day on the Los Angeles baseball diamond, it didn’t matter if I was safe or if I was out. It was, and still is, all about running the bases.

A fabulous interview of Stephan on Comm Arts today.

How do you overcome a creative block? I’ve always been a big fan of working on two or three unrelated projects at a time; if I can’t make headway on one, I turn to the other for a while. Motorcycle rides help out too…

As we reported here a few weeks ago, Stephan was the one of the winners of the Communication Arts Annual Photo Contest this year for best editorial series.