Seydou Keïta

Mr. Seydou Keïta, photographer

Bamako, Mali 1996

©Stella Kalaw

Jörg Colberg featured Malian photographer Seydou Keïta on his blog a few days ago . I am suddenly reminded of our group's visit to his residence in Bamako.We were 17 students travelling in West Africa with our professor, Paul Liebhardt. There was not enough space to hold all of us inside his home so we gathered just outside the entrance while Paul spoke to him. Afterwards, he allowed us to take his portrait and at the same time, we had snapshots taken with him.

From the Deutsche Börse Group Website:

Seydou Keita worked from 1948 to 1962 as a freelance photographer in Bamako, Mali. His studio was one of the most popular in town, just as the one run by the somewhat younger Malick Sidibé. On Saturdays, people actually queued up outside the door, Keita recalls. In the course of his lifetime he produced around 30,000 portraits.

In the 1950s, photography was still a major event in Africa, he recounts. Having your picture taken was something new and exciting for people. Some believed that it involved great dangers, that your soul could be stolen from you and that you might then die. Others believed that the photographer used his camera in order to view the people in front of it naked. Keita let people look through the viewfinder themselves and thus calmed their suspicions.

Keita’s clients loved the photos because they were so sharp and the images so precise, because the light was so sweet, and because they liked the way they looked posing. Everybody wanted to look as good as possible in the photo. Keita considered it his duty to find the best pose and the most favorable profile for each person. He wanted his clients to look beautiful, in the firm belief that art is beauty.

In the 1950s, Western influences started to elbow out the African tradition. The men started to like Western dress and modern accessories such as wristwatches, ballpoint pens, phones and motorcycles, and loved to be photographed with these accoutrements. The women, by contrast, were more traditional in their outlook, wore colorful, patterned clothes and wide sarongs. They attached great value to jewelry such as earrings and bracelets, but also wanted their hands with their fine fingers to be fully visible. All of this was a sign of affluence and elegance.

Keita also chose the fitting background. He initially used a tasseled bedspread as a backdrop, then a sheet with arabesques, and finally simply a piece of gray fabric. Sometimes the background was ideal to point up the person’s clothing, he remembers, and sometimes that was pure coincidence.

At the age of 14, Seydou Keita was given a camera by his uncle and decided that he would be a photographer. He taught himself the tricks of the trade, never went to college, never met foreign photographers, and never saw any of the pictures they took.

...1930s, Part 2

This weekend, T scanned a few more photographs of her grandfather's travels. Both of us are quite fascinated with these found treasures.

The Screamer

"This is appalling!!!!" the woman screamed at the end of the line. I had to pull the headset away from my ear. I haven't gotten such a call in years. I used to deal with very demanding corporate folks with Type A personalities when I worked my first job in Boston. It was always the little things that would send them over the edge.

She continued with her litany of excuses. It was blatantly clear on the computer screen that she was not telling the truth. I tried to put in a word but she kept going off. I offered an alternative solution but she flat out rejected it. "Tell that to the 70 year old woman whose staying with me!" she hit back. Nothing could appease her. She was livid.

"I just had surgery and I am taking Vicodin, etc......" I was close to telling her sarcastically that she needed to take an anti-depressant in addition to the other medications but I held back and bit my tongue. I certainly was not sympathetic to this screamer.

She added, "If it's any consolation to you, I also left an angry message for the President of the society but she hasn't called me back!" Go figure.

For a split second, I envisioned myself screaming back at her and walking off the job for good. At some point, my mind drifted. I had pinned a triptych of postcards with Robert & Shana Parke-Harrison's photographs on the wall next to me. I swung my chair around, put both hands behind my head and stared at his images while she blasted with rage.

Finally, she stopped. It probably dawned on her that I was not the person that could authorize or override any decision to get what she wanted. And, I wasn't arguing with her. I learned early on not to engage in screaming matches. By not reacting, the other person eventually ceases because of exhaustion. I asked for her phone number so my manager could call her back. I pushed the hang up button and threw my headset down on my desk.

I took a deep breath and calmed myself down. I have faith that someday, there will be an end to this. I am working hard towards my goals at the same time, I am cautious not to get myself in a financial hole again. I am putting my personal work out there and shooting whenever possible.

Maybe I just needed a kick in the behind to remind me of what really matters.

Inspiration: Days with my Father by Phillip Toledano

Days with my Father
©Phillip Toledano

Phillip Toledano not only takes the most compelling pictures but he is also a gifted writer. The prose he adds to his photographs further deepens his connection to his viewers. I urge you to take the time to read through his writings while absorbing his images.

Indochine, China and Hong Kong 1930's

T's mother gave her a box of old negatives before she left for Manila last January. We did not get a chance to scan them until today. They are photographs of her grandfather's travels in Indochine (Vietnam), China and Hong Kong in the 1930's.

Somber

His picture was prominently displayed on an easel as I walked into the cafeteria the other day. He looked Filipino so I paused to read the sign. It was a funeral notice with a map of the location in Daly City. I've never seen him before. So, I proceeded to the lunch counter to get food.

This morning, my colleague VR & I rode the elevator down to the basement to punch in. She wanted to get coffee before heading to the office so I accompanied her to the cafeteria. "Do you know him?" I asked her. She nodded. In fact, she went to view his body at the mortuary last night. He worked the overnight shift for 19 years as a Loss Prevention Officer. He was a smoker and was sick for a long time. He eventually died of heart failure.

"Did you know that he graduated with honors throughout school back in the Philippines?" She asked me. I shook my head. She continued, "Yeah, according to his wife, he was a Math Professor. I remember when we used to turn in our keys to him. There would be a long line at the security desk but he kept it moving because he memorized everyone's ID number."

----

Yesterday, I checked my high school e-group site. It was a bit difficult to get through because of the amount of spam that has invaded the listings. As I plowed through, my eye caught a notice of someone who died. I opened the entry to read the other threads. I saw her name but I have a vague memory of her. There was a blog link so I clicked on the site. It was CZ- she was a year younger than me in school. She had leukemia and she was in Texas for treatment. I don't quite understand the details but it seemed like there were complications. She eventually died of heart failure in February of this year. There were photographs of her in the hospital bed eating, posing with her doctor, a close up of tubes and plastic pouches containing medicine that was probably being fed through her veins and an endearing portrait of her smiling in front of a cake that said "we love you." Ahh, it's that smile. That's what I remember about her. She smiled whenever we passed each other in the hallways. She was always in good spirits. As I stared at her picture in the hospital, she never lost that brightness in her despite enduring those painful treatments. It was getting late so I had to shut down my computer.

Before I went to bed, I said a little prayer for CZ, the sister in law of a good friend who is also undergoing treatment for leukemia and for the gentleman whose photograph I saw at the cafeteria.

Portraits

Kolnes brothers
Norway

Bouzidi brothers
Tunisia

I miss doing portraits. I was exploring this series for a portfolio a few years back but later abandoned the idea. I wanted to photograph siblings from different countries. Unfortunately, I didn't have enough connections to continue the project. I still love the pictures though. Perhaps through this blog, I can find new subjects. I'll just give it a try. So, if any of you know of an interesting set of siblings, please feel free to email or send a comment to me on this blog.

Rynartice

My brother and I had planned to make it back to his apartment before dark but the strong downpour prevented us from taking the two hour trip back to the city. We were hoping the rain would stop but it continued throughout the evening. We decided it was best to stay overnight rather than take the risk of getting lost in the region. We had to drive along a winding road through the woods in complete darkness before reaching the main highway. We were visiting Eva, one of my brother's colleagues from work, who had a family cottage in Rynartice-- a small town in Northern Bohemia close to the German border.

Earlier that afternoon, we sat in her backyard surrounded by lush greenery. We drank white wine and ate local delicacies and desserts. We had Cocoska (similar to coconut macaroons), Korbacik ( Slovakian string cheese) and apple streudel. One of her close friends also brought a bottle of home made Slivovice-- a clear and potent spirit made out of plums from Moravia. She poured some in a shot glass and urged us to try it. I took a small sip and instantly felt a burning sensation as the alcohol made its way down my throat. I was about to gag but I shook my head, closed my eyes and swallowed hard.

The rain disrupted our meal so we quickly moved indoors. Later, a few more of her friends arrived and joined us at the table. As the evening wore on, beer and wine continued to flow and the group of friends spoke more Czech and less English. At that point, my brother and I were lost in translation. We politely excused ourselves, and went upstairs to the bedroom. We slept in the same clothes we wore during the day.

The next morning, I stayed in bed waiting for my brother to wake up. From the window, I could see that the rain had disappeared. The interior of the room was filled with antique furniture. Yesterday, while giving us a quick tour of the house, Eva told us that the Czechs were prohibited to travel outside of the country during the communist era so the cottage served as their weekend retreat. Summer and winter vacations were also spent there. Knowing this bit of personal history made it seemed as if time stood still in the room. Somehow, I felt grateful for the opportunity to be there. I suddenly had the urge to photograph and make a record of it.

Chill in the air

After a full day on the job and a quick dinner, I headed to the Electronic Media Center at Kala Art Institute to do some hi-res scans from my 120 color negatives. The Artist in Residence Program started this week. Somehow, I was bursting with all this energy that I did not mind being in front of the computer monitor for a few more hours. The scanning process went smoothly. I was quite surprised how time flew by and I hardly noticed it.

As I closed the door behind me, I felt a chill in the air. It reminded me of the days I used to print in the darkroom late at night in Santa Barbara. I buttoned up my jacket and walked to the car. Memories continued to flood my mind. I remember leaving the bowling alley with Lek and Haryanto, having a conversation with Jezaira on the steps outside of her apartment, riding Cisco's red Cabriolet after dinner and shopping for groceries close to midnight at Vons. Before I turned the ignition, I sat in my car for a few more minutes. I began to miss my friends and wished we lived closer. I took a deep breath and felt grateful having them in my life and for sharing those wonderful memories with me. I placed both hands on the steering wheel and smiled. I started the engine, shifted gears and drove home.

49 Geary

Robert Koch Gallery
5th Floor, 49 Geary
Photograph courtesy of KQED Spark

The building is a block away from where I work. I consider this my sanctuary from the daily grind. Not only does the place inspire me, it also serves as a constant reinforcement to continue pursuing personal work. I used to spend most of my lunch breaks here so that I could study the photographs by both emerging and established artists. I love viewing the large prints. I get to experience images I've only seen on a computer monitor in an entirely different way. When I moved jobs, I made sure I stayed in the same area. A bad day at work is forgotten once I enter the elevator that takes me to the galleries. It makes me smile as soon as I see those framed photographs lined up against the white walls. Sadly, my lunch break at my new job is not long enough to get me back in the office on time. Nonetheless, I try to get there after work and stay long enough before they close at 5:30pm.

Stephen Wirtz Gallery, 3rd Floor
Fraenkel Gallery, 4th Floor
Scott Nicholson Gallery, 4th Floor
Robert Koch Gallery, 5th Floor

Map

Frankie Callaghan

Vulcanizing Shop
Benguet, Philippines
©2006 Frankie Callaghan

It is wonderful to discover Frankie Callaghan's work from the Silverlens Gallery monthly email newsletter. His night photographs are hauntingly peaceful and refreshing to view. He has a distinct eye for capturing geometry in the urban landscape particularly the shanty dwellings in the city. As I looked through his website, I am taken to familiar places I have seen millions of times while living in Manila and yet I feel as if he has transported me to a different world. This is one show I wish I could see.

Inspiration: The Roma Journeys by Joakim Eskildsen

The Roma Journeys by Joakim Eskildsen
Publisher: Steidl

Publisher's Description:

Roma, Sinti, Cale-whatever they'd prefer to be called, the scattered members of the largest minority in Europe are most widely known as Gypsies. Throughout their history, the Roma have been subjected to persecution, expulsion, slavery, prohibitions on the use of the Romany language and other creative attempts to assimilate, misuse or extinguish their peoples. Throughout Europe, attitudes towards them remain at least suspicious, and many still face direct discrimination. Cia Rinne and Joakim Eskildsen have visited Roma in seven different countries between 2000 and 2006, often staying with families in order to photograph and write about their lives, their culture and their situation. In The Roma Journeys they document these encounters with Eskildsen's moody color images and Rinne's sympathetic essays, and offer a rare view into a little-known life. With a foreword from Gunter Grass and an enclosed CD with field recordings and music recorded on the authors' journeys.

Beginnings

When I used to live in Boston, our get togethers were simple. We did not earn much as new immigrants working on minimum wage jobs. We shared home cooked meals and felt content with each others company. We played board games, sang broadway and pop tunes, exchanged stories, re-told memories from back home and cracked jokes that made us laugh so hard until our stomachs hurt, our eyes filled with tears. Our treats were regular trips to the nearby movie theatre to catch the latest Hollywood films.

Our first vehicle was a red two door Subaru Justy. My dad took us to the car dealership and could only afford the smallest one. He made all five of us including my mother pile up inside the car to make sure we would fit. The salesman probably thought we were crazy. He told him he would buy the car but only at a set price. He was very firm. We stayed until the dealership was about to close. At that point, the salesman relented.

One summer, we headed downtown with our friends Mariza and Doc Tins to watch the fireworks during a 4th of July weekend. The crowds gathered along the riverbank to listen to the Boston Pops Orchestra at the Esplanade. We were not so keen on staying outdoors because of the humid weather. Instead, my older sister took us up to the top floor of the office building where she worked. Large windows filled the room and we had front and center view of the display. We brought with us a portable cassette recorder and tuned in to the radio station that carried a live broadcast of the Pops concert. Around 10:00pm, the Stars and Stripes filled the airwaves followed by the famous 1812 Overture by Tchaikovsky. The fireworks were spectacular. We watched in awe as every burst grew larger and more colorful. For several minutes, no one spoke except for a few praises here and there. No one knew what the future held for us in America. We were simply happy to be together at that moment.

Tonight, as I watch the annual 4th of July Boston celebration on TV, I am reminded of our humble beginnings.

Happy July 4th

From the series, The House Remembered

Personal work

From Art and Fear by David Bayles and Ted Orland:

"Today, artwork does not emerge from a secure common ground... Making art now means working in the face of uncertainty; it means living with doubt and contradiction, doing something no one much cares whether you do, and for which there may be neither audience or reward. Making the work you want to make means setting aside these doubts so that you may see clearly what you have done, and thereby see where to go next. Making the work you want to make means finding nourishment within the work itself."

One

A great comment from staff photographer Melissa Lyttle of the St. Petersburg Times. She was recently interviewed at Shoot the Blog:

"One camera, one lens, one film." On vacation, even working ones, there's nothing like buying a brick of chrome and dusting the Leica off. It does something to slow me down, make me more aware and concentrate more on the image than the technology.