Bringing Light
I'm lucky.
I'm lucky.
Two shows and a magazine launch in the same week. Honored doesn't begin to cover how it feels. Normally I'm shy about promoting such things. I feel uncomfortable with the thought that someone might think I'm bragging.
Like so much these days, that's changed.
My work comes from a place of healing. I use it to bring light into dark places: both internal and in the world around me. Instead of feeling timid, I now feel compelled. In a time when even an act of kindness becomes a political statement, it feels important to bring more light.
It's how I resist.
Not just abusive politics. I resist cynicism. Despair. Unkindness. Anger. Untruth. I bring my truth to the images I create in the hopes that others can do the same. I believe with all my heart that the personal is universal. And that global healing starts with me. And you. Together.
Art heals. I know it from my experience and from the history before me. So here's my drop in the pond. May it join yours in starting a wave of change.
Here's where to find me:
Join me and the other amazing artists of Art Muzeo. Tickets available at Eventbrite.com. The first issue of Art Muzeo now available for download or purchase.
"72 Hour Hold" opens February 1, 2017 at Art Share L.A.
Walk of Fame
Very excited to have my first poem published in LILA magazine.
I'm taking a "creative writing" course this summer, part of the never ending MFA program. Inspired by the city I decided to write my first poem about the streets of Hollywood. One of our course assignments was to find a literary journal and submit our poem.
I found the good folks at LILA, who graciously accepted my poem, and requested an image to boot. How's that for working out fine.
Up next is creative "flash" or short fiction, less than 500-750 words. I finished a few pieces and yes, I need to submit those as well (one thing about the Academy, they force you to put yourself out there.)
Again, the shorts are about Hollywood.
Iconic Image
Hollywood Blvd @ Cherokee
May 10, 2016
"Some places exist beyond the physical confines of their geography. They exist in the mind, in the spirit. They have a soul."
I just passed a pretty significant milestone in my academic career. I presented my Mid Point Review to my thesis committee, and my Hollywood project was approved. That means I can continue working on this project in directed study.
For my final, I need to produce an "iconic image," one that encapsulated my concept for the work, and that would serve as a catalyst to further development. It was a hard task: which Hollywood to capture?
To answer that question, I went back to the beginning. I read the first words I ever wrote about this project, way back in October of last year. I had just started shooting with the Diana. Hollywood was still unfamiliar terrain. Even then I knew I sought something elusive. I knew there was more to this place than the culture of celebrity and the theater of the streets. I was drawn by the soft molding of the light at sunset, and the pockets of transcendent calm amidst the chaos.
I spent the last nine months searching for these things, the elements that communicate the feeling of this place, its light and well as its dark. I managed to show Hollywood’s various faces, from callous to absurd. And shooting this week, I saw them all. Amidst all this, I wondered, is it possible to capture the heart beneath the surface?
Like all great portrait takers, I waited for the right light, the right moment, and the right heart. One of my former professors, himself a renowned portraitist, would say that the secret to his success photographing female models was that in the instant he pressed the shutter, he was in love. And that’s how it was with me.
I love this place. I love how the sun paints the streets like honey. I love the lights that invade the sky. I love the people: their hopes, their crazy, their despair. I love its soul. That is what I saw last week, one quiet afternoon as the sun was slowly making its way into the Pacific. I saw this moment. And in that instant, I was in love.
Hooray for Hollywood
Some places exist beyond the physical confines of their geography. They exist in the mind, in the spirit. They have a soul. There are streets I walk that tell their stories: of the history they experienced. Their heartaches. Their triumphs. Their dreams.
Last month, I started walking around Hollywood. I’ve never spent much time there. I didn’t like the dirt. It’s gritty. The star-studded streets, steam cleaned every morning, reek of humanity and its attended smells. Costumed performers hustle on the sidewalk, rubbing elbows with missionaries and misfits. Buses belch forth hordes of camera toting tourists, who wander bewildered through its streets like survivors of a plague. It’s the place of dreams and nightmares, and on its streets I believe in angels and demons. I love it. I hate it. I record it like an obsession.
The concept for this is Hollywood: The place, the idea, the state of being. Using my Diana camera and the technique of double exposures, I walk the streets of this Oz in search of my own Wizard, and embrace the temporal and psychological distortion that comes with ingesting the heady concoction of promise and despair.
My intent is to explore the mundane details, the “slightest of subjects*” that reveal the soul of this place. These images document the hallucination that is Hollywood: the place where the streets have eyes and where the stars are at your feet instead of the sky, the place where people fall prostrate on their knees worshiping idols, the city of silver masks and impenetrable isolation. It’s a place of incredible spirituality, and of incredible beauty. It intoxicates.
These images were captured over a series of weeks at different times of the day. The in-between times, dusk and dawn. The times when the soft Southern California light wraps its velvet smooth arms around me and seems to whisper its siren call. Walking through Hollywood, I believe I have it all. I divorce my senses and surrender to the trip. For a minute, I almost believe. Then I feel the yearning maw of millions of unfulfilled dreams. And I shoot.
*Cotton, Charlotte. "Something and Nothing." The Photograph as Contemporary Art. London: Thames & Hudson, 2004. 114-36. Print
Alternative Processes
This month I started experimenting with different cameras, lenses and <gasp!> actual film. The march towards the elusive MFA continues, my course work this semester centering around experimental contemporary photography. It's pushing me to get out from behind the computer and literally get my hands dirty. Chemicals and plastic cameras, pinholes and processing times. I enjoy it.
Our first project required us to use our camera phone to capture a series of images that would, as Vilem Flusser wrote, "work against the apparatus." That is, bend this thing to my will as the photographer, rather than operating as a slave to its automatic functions. Flusser's work "Towards a Philosophy of Photography" served as the basis of this exploration. It's a great read.
My experiments took me to that strange and disorienting circus known as Santa Monica Blvd. It's my neighborhood, and I walk its streets all the time. I wanted to capture the feeling of the lights, the people, the traffic with nothing more than my iPhone and a few apps.
This is what I got:
Jared Fortunato "Untitled Self-Portrait with Angel Wings" 2015
The apps I used for the project were amazing. If you're at all interested in iPhone photography, be sure to check them out.
Renovation
It's almost the end of summer. Time to spruce things up. Clean stuff out, and get moving on all the goals I had when the year started. Almost 8 months ago. Wow, that was fast.
If you've read this far, you've probably noticed I changed a few things: The "Low Tide" portfolio from my P-town trip showcases some new work in a new format. Out is the scrolling slide show <so 2008>, replaced with a simple grid gallery.
Finally, those of you with keen eyes will notice something very new to this site: data with a dollar sign.
It's almost the end of summer. Time to spruce things up. Clean stuff out, and get moving on all the goals I had when the year started. Almost 8 months ago. Wow, that was fast.
If you've read this far, you've probably noticed I changed a few things: The "Low Tide" portfolio from my P-town trip showcases some new work in a new format. Out is the scrolling slide show <so 2008>, replaced with a simple grid gallery.
This section, and the rest of the site, now follows the "box model." And as those in web design will tell you, it's all about the box. The clean lines are appealing and hopefully foster easier navigation and a more satisfying visual experience.
Finally, those of you with keen eyes will notice something very new to this site: data with a dollar sign.
Two things happened in the last six months to bring this about. First, I found a great printer here in LA. Their work is technically flawless, and they provide an amazing array of museum quality fine art paper, particularly suited to the aesthetic of the work.
Second, several word of mouth sales later, with a solo show looming and a few group exhibitions under my belt I simply realized: It's time.
So, as you're navigating through the site, if you see something you can't possibly live without, let me know. We can talk prices and sizes and the wisdom of investing in the beautification of your world. Or something like that. Even better, we can celebrate.
My shingle is officially and unabashedly out.
Independence
I just got back from an extended trip to the East Coast. It's always a pleasure to take in the gentle quality of Atlantic light after extended stretches in the blasted skies of Southern California. The trip coincided with a momentous week in history--both past and present.
Our trip started with the Supreme Court's decision to grant marriage equality across the United States, and was bookended by Independence Day celebrations in NYC and Provincetown, MA. Incredibly different celebrations, of course. Both equally fun and filled with much-needed connection to family and friends. And yet that word still echoes in my brain:
Independence.
What it means. How it feels. What it costs.
It always seems to follow a declaration. And than a struggle. Or even a war. I see this in the twists and turns that finally resulted in the SCOTUS ruling, as well as the history that defines our own United States.
And I see it in myself.
I've been struggling with the word, the concept of, independence. As an artist, I'm always looking for it. Fighting for it. Declaring it silently when I point my camera one place, and not the other. The struggle how to maintain my artistic vision in the dependent laden world of material concerns like bills, rent, tuition.
I don't have a personal SCOTUS ruling. Or a formally signed declaration. I do have my dream. My hard fought practice. And my desire to do the work that fuels it. I guess it took years for the 13 colonies to break it off from mother England. And god knows the struggle for equality still isn't over.
I take comfort in that, actually. It's not a destination. It's a process.
And it costs.
/j/
"Electron Salon"
I'm thrilled to have piece in the current "Electron Salon" at the Los Angeles Center for Digital Art. The work is varied and the space allows for emerging talent, and for that, I'm grateful. I've also managed to get myself included among their represented artists, which for me is a real milestone in this grand adventure. One of the things I love about Los Angeles is that it really is a place were crazy ideas and fantastical dreams coexist with the gritty pavement of reality.
People work their dreams here, and what seemed "unrealistic" months ago feels like everyday life here in this city of Angels. It feels nice: to be among fellow denizens of the craft. Those with their must tell stories and their heart pounding hopes. It feels like home.
Come out to the show if you're in the area. Or just come to LA anyway. You'll have a good time.
Los Angeles Center for Digital Art: Electron Salon and Top 40 Juried Competition Winners
Exhibit Dates: June 11-July 3, 2015
Artists' Reception: Saturday, June 13, 6-9pm
104 E. 4th Street, Los Angeles, CA 90013
Mid-Point
More work, this time from my newly renovated mid point project, which I had pretty much abandoned after moving to LA. Back in school, ready to move forward, I’ve been working hard on finding a new vehicle for this project, now literally years in the making. Well, one year, to be exact. For those of you with any interest, the mid point project needs to be presented and approved by committee before undertaking master’s thesis work. Basically, I can’t move forward in my studies until I get this project presented and approved.
It was a challenge to figure out how to adapt this work to the new environment. This series of selfies started out very much a product of San Francisco’s watery coast and foggy bays. Not that here. The landscape here couldn’t be more different. But you know that already. What’s interesting is how it affected my work. It’s more allegorical and less literal. It’s more personal, and has a bit of an edge. And the focus, literally, is what’s inside. Anyway. You’ll see.
Enough of the art-speak. That was really just an excuse to post some new work. And share this, if I can indulge in a little shameless promotion. I’m thrilled to report I got my first commission check in the mail today, from a gallery that sold one of my prints. To you, buyer, who ever you are, I want to say thank you. I’m deeply grateful. And I’ll add: hold on to it. I think you made a very wise investment.
Winter Portraits
Lately my work has taken a decidedly introspective turn.
Maybe its the rain. Or the long nights. Or the cooler weather. Or the silent brooding that overtakes me when I'm trying to figure something out. I'm a master at silent brooding. It makes for some good times around the dinner table. Just ask my husband.
Winter Portrait, 2014. (c) Jared Fortunato | photography
Lately my work has taken a decidedly introspective turn.
Maybe its the rain. Or the long nights. Or the cooler weather. Or the silent brooding that overtakes me when I'm trying to figure something out. I'm a master at silent brooding. It makes for some good times around the dinner table. Just ask my husband.
Whatever the cause, my gaze has turned decidedly inward: to my work, my future, my nagging doubts. And as a result, I've been culling through old images finding new ways to use them. It's become almost ritual.
I call these images winter portraits because I think they reflect what happens in nature this time of year. A long night's rest necessary for the growth of spring.
It's fitting, now that I think about it, this obsession with winter, and growth, and what lies just underneath. One of those things I've been brooding about is what to do about the rest of my MFA.
I decided to return to school next semester. The spring semester.
I'd pretty much abandoned the idea after moving here to LA. An on-line program didn't really sound all that appealing to me--and I wasn't sure if I could commit to another few years of digging in the trenches while I finished up the program. Student life, at my age--it seemed ridiculous--it still does.
And yet. I'm persevering.
Maybe that's what I've been looking for these past few weeks, as I've rattled around the archives of my old work--the confidence to know that growth follows rest, and that even the most barren surface cultivates new life. And that my silent brooding actually does serve a purpose--so the next time Rick asks me what's wrong-- I can honestly answer:
"nothing."
Winter Portrait, 2014 (c) Jared Fortunato | photography
Winter Portrait, 2014 (c) Jared Fortunato | photography
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