Reminiscent of another photograph. Click photo for larger image.

Recently, a friend from out of town came to visit. She wanted to go to Arlington Cemetery to visit her father's grave and she invited us to go with her. As I stood looking over the rows and rows of tombstones by her father's grave I turned around and saw a familiar sight. Looking around I discovered it isn't only wives who can be buried next to their military husbands, but husbands of military wives, daughters, sons, grandchildren and even stepchildren.

• [ Photography, Arlington Cemetery ]

My Root Canal on Twitter

It's all Melanie's fault. In March I received an email from her extolling the virtues of twitter, that micro-blogging, naval-gazing, Web 2.0 service. I knew about twitter but was totally uninterested in subscribing to a service that would allow me (force me!) to post short little "tweets" about what I was doing at the moment. More importantly, why on earth would I want to follow others doing the same? But she persevered.

In her email she said: "You're receiving this because you're among those open minded smart people I know who gets that things have changed and we need to understand the future. Right?" Right. And she went on to demonstrate how she was using it in the classroom. Ok, I was intrigued. A former prof, I have always been curious about how to get people interested in new ideas. And, now that I'm a veteran museum professional (ten years last month!) I'm constantly exploring and evangelizing new ways to connect the net to the museum.

So, I opened a twitter account. The artist in me soon found the limitations of the medium interesting: how could I be creative in 140 characters? And, given the flotsam and jetsam of the majority of twitter posts, how could I say something interesting? My posts weren't numerous and those following my every word were minuscule. Not a problem. I could see the creativity in the endeavor so I continued.

Last week, as I sat in my endodontist's office waiting to be evaluated for a possible root canal I tweeted: "Waiting to see root canal doc. Of course, my tooth doesn't hurt today." Suddenly, I got an email notifying me an endodontist from somewhere in Canada was following me. I asked for a consult in a short 140 character burst. My real doctor laid it out: 90% chance I'd need the procedure within six months. So I scheduled my appointment and suddenly I connected the dots. I saw the potential for something more interesting than drilling into my enamel: I would broadcast my root canal via twitter.

My twitter-based endodontist thought that was a great idea and tweeted my plans to his twitter followers. Suddenly, as I sat waiting for the drilling to begin geeky dentists and endodontists from around the continent were following me. It was a smart mob of dental professionals.

With iPhone in hand I called up both my twitter page and my twitter reply page so I could post a play-by-play and see the tweets of those following me. They were asking me questions as the procedure began. My endodontist didn't really understand my groundbreaking attempts to use social media to communicate during this medical procedure. But she was a great sport about it. She explained what she was doing and every now and then would stop so I could inform my audience (PDF of my tweets: read from the bottom up).

And, like any conceptual artist worth his weight in ideas I realized the most important thing was to document what I'd done. Just that very morning Rob Pegoraro, the tech writer for the Washington Post had written an article on Twitter. I wrote him and Marc Fisher, another Post writer who had covered my eBay auction back in 1999 (where I auctioned my personal demographics). Marc wrote a piece about my twittered root canal. I've posted the transcript of my tweets as well as the replies (PDF) from those who followed along during the procedure.

I must admit, I was afraid to tell my more normal friends and coworkers what I'd done. Groundbreaking as it might have been, this was pretty crazy, even for me (and some of my fellow conceptual artists thought I was nuts). But a little idea art always makes me feel alive (and after a root canal, that's a nice place to be). This was a demonstration of how social media could forge some interesting relationships. The best art is about just that. I never thought I'd "connect" with dentists from around North America. But my tooth is much better for it.

Related Post: My Previous Root Canal Experience

• [ Twitter, Social Media, Root Canal, Dentist ]

A series of "still" images from Godfrey Reggio's Koyaanisqatsi (Quicktime, 26 MB). Click to play.

Earlier this month flickr announced that short video clips could now be uploaded to the popular photo site. Some photo purists were skeptical, even spawning a huge "No Video on Flickr" group. After all, the sanctity of the best still images, rich in implied meaning, could be diluted by zillions 90 second video clips of someone's keg party (and we already have other sites, like YouTube for that). Flickr said the ninety-second limit was to encourage "long photos." There are contemporary videographers and filmmakers who have used video or film to create sublime still images: the best long photos. And one of my favorites is Godfrey Reggio.

I will never forget the first time I saw Koyaanisqatsi, Reggio's 1983 film about contemporary "life out of balance." I was mesmerized by his long drawn out shots. It gave me time to study the scene and, in part, that was the point: to stop moving and consider the consequences of going through life at an increasing interstellar speed. Sometimes there was lots of activity in the frame. But there were times when he pointed his camera at a scene that, on first glance, appeared to be a photograph. It was a still image with all the implications connected with still photography: observations of a slice of frozen time and a consideration of the photographer's framing and associations within that frame.

Yet given the chance to observe closely there was movement. The characters in this "still" were breathing and blicking and moving. When I saw his scene of Las Vegas waitresses standing still but not still, I was blown away (the vernacular I used in the early 80s when I first saw the film). To this day it is my most favorite scene of any movie I have ever watched. I literally held my breath for its entire duration wondering how long it would go on. The intensity of that shot was immense. It forced me to really look. And that has always been my goal as a photographer: to make people observe what's going on inside my images for as long as I can. That is the mark of a successful photograph. Not so easy in a culture heavy with daily sound and sight bites always vying for our attention and beckoning us to move quickly from one to another.

Life precariously balanced on a fulcrum. Las Vegas Waitresses is the best long photograph I have ever seen. I could watch those women stand still forever.

• [ Flickr, Photography, Koyaanisqatsi, Godfrey Reggio ]

Let My People Go (or you'll get the biggest headache)!

When we were invited to a Passover Sedar this year my children needed to be reminded what it was all about (we don't get invited to a sedar too often). My wife, trying to make it enticing wanted to tell them about the search for the afikomen, the traditional game of hiding of the matzah (ostensibly to keep the children engaged during the pre-dinner service). But in doing so my loving shiksa wife declared: "Girls you'll get to hunt for the ibuprofen!"

Yes, as a child I remember when I thought the long Pesach Sedar was a headache. Well put my dear. but hopefully not this year.

• [ Passover, Sedar, Afikomen, Ibuprofen ]

Theme from Valley of the Dolls
k.d lang

Only by sheer routine can I get myself ready for work and out the door each day. I get up the same time; I eat the same cereal; I exercise the same way and I walk the same path to the subway each and every morning. I could do it with my eyes closed. In fact, my eyes are closed.

It's impossible for me to think on any abstract level until I am comfortably seated on the subway. If I forget my lunch or worse yet my staff ID I won't notice until I am on that train. Only then do my eyes finally open and I can begin my morning observation and critique of the human drama sitting right in front of me. I need these extra two hours of pre-commute somnambulism for these higher level functions to work efficiently the rest of the day.

So it wasn't until I actually sat down this morning that I noticed the man sprawled across two seats snoring loudly. LOUDLY. Really loud. I tried putting myself in "another place" by listening to k.d. lang but her soulful alto was no match for this snorer no matter how much I raised the volume. I didn't move even though seats were available elsewhere. It would have done no good. His atonal a cappella permeated the car.

At the next stop I watched people get on. They too were dreaming until they sat down. And then it was too late. Like me, they were cemented to their seats. One woman sat down right in front of our sleeping beauty. She adjusted to his cacophony by conducting an early morning business call. The rest of us were now regaled by the crescendo counterpoints between snorer and project manager. We were privy to her government contracting in between his nostril intake.

Another commuter sat down across from me and after waking up silently mouthed "Wow, that's really loud." I caught her attention and replied (loudly of course): "yes, QUITE loud." While no one, including myself, was willing to leave our comfort zone to tell either or both to pipe down (no matter how uncomfortable we were), the least we could do was commiserate. This is pro forma on these weekday rails: a nod here, a knowing look there. That's how the rest of us communicate in the morning.

Suddenly, a man came walking down the aisle yelling "Aaron Burr was a degenerate. Aaron Burr was A DEGENERATE!" He seemed very agitated (and obviously not in his own comfort zone for quite some time).

Washington: a city exhausted and overworked. This morning only the marginalized had the guts to voice their opinion.

• [ Commuting, Cellphone, Snoring, Subway, Project Management, Washington, DC ]

Jukebox Photo Gallery Slide Show at In Our Path

If you are familiar with iTunes' Jukebox Cover Flow (the ability to scroll through your playlist album covers) you might get a kick out of the "cover flow" slide show I've just created with my In Our Path photographs. You can use the scrollbar or your cursor to flip through the entire portfolio. And if you double-click on an image it takes you to the photo's object page with a larger image and accompanying text. It's a nice way of presenting the work as a whole and it's techno-kewl!

• [ Photography, iTunes, Cover Flow, Web Design ]

The new and improved In Our Path

In the 1980s and 1990s I photographed a swath of Southern California real estate that was to become the Century Freeway, or as it's more commonly called by commuters, I-105. Running east from LAX, this was to be "the last freeway" to be built as part of the state's master plan for the region (although there were many additional freeways proposed and many where completion was still in limbo).

In Our Path marked a big change in the type of photographs I made and how I approached the intersection of art and culture. Up until this time my images had focused on an internal exploration of myself. But from this point forward my work would always be linked more directly with social issues. And since that time I have tried to find a balance between the social, the personal, and the aesthetic.

After the completion of this work I created a Web site for this documentary. But, designed in the "Jurassic Web Design Period" of the mid 1990s, it was starting to show its age. And with The Huntington Library's recent acquisition of the series, along with an exhibition that this work will be a part of this coming June, This Side of Paradise: Body and Landscape in L.A. Photographs, I thought it was time for a site facelift.

You can read about the complexity of this large public project (a court injunction filed by homeowners, the NAACP, and the Sierra Club stopped construction for seven years) and the genesis of my images starting on the site's Introduction page. But most of all, I hope you enjoy the photographs.

• [ Photography, Freeways, Los Angeles, Southern California ]

Jeff Gates, From a Series of One Acts... #7, 1987. Click on image for larger view.

I've been digitizing many of my film-based photographs from the last century. And using Photoshop to place text on an image is soooo much easier than doing it the old fashioned way, entirely in the darkroom.

Looking at this older work I pause to reflect on my younger days. When I was thirty-five I was impetuous. I don't hate late Abstract Expressionism. But with the world as it is now, the power of the image is too important and powerful not use it to for social and political change.

Ok, I'm still a little impetuous, but more realistic and apprehensive about the global state of affairs these days. I can't wait for spring.

• [ Photography, Abstract Expressionism, News and Politics ]

Jeff Gates, From a Series of One Acts... #2, 1986. Click on image for larger view.

One of my photographs is part of an exhibition opening this week at the Baltimore Museum of Art entitled Notes on Monumentality. The show "...reconsiders historic and contemporary conceptions of the monument and monumentality..." Through the work curator Mark Alice Durant asks "Can the idea of the monument continue in an era when social consensus no longer exists?"

The photograph above was taken in the national cemetery at Gettysburg. I was walking along the rows of soldiers' tombstones when I turned and looked the other way to see this inscription on the back of a headstone. I thought it was a telling example of the way women are often conveyed in our society: as an appendage to their husbands. My wife and I were shocked a few years ago when at a reception after a museum talk I gave at another institution she was handed a name tag that said "Susie Krasnican Wife of Jeff Gates." (The name tag still is pinned to our kitchen bulletin board.)

I didn't realize my photograph was to be part of the show until I got an email from the museum's rights and reproduction staff asking me to sign a non-exclusive license to use the image both on the show's brochure cover as well as represent the exhibit as one of its key images. A key image is one that is used when the media requests a photo to accompany reviews or articles about the show. Working in an art museum myself I participate in meetings to pick key images for each of our exhibitions. So it was an added surprise to have my photograph used in this way.

If you're in the Baltimore vicinity stop by and see the show. It's up until May 25, 2008. And bring your husband.

• [ Photography, Monuments, Baltimore Museum of Art ]

From the Good Folks at NotMyShower.com

Dinnertime at our house is a family affair. And evening meal is the time when we talk about our day. As father of the brood I am eager to hear the news. When I ask my daughters "How was your day?" they uniformly answer in the typical "youngspeak" of the early twenty-first century: "Goood." (Think slight Swedish intonation with the end of the word rising a bit in pitch.) How's school? "Goood." How's your teacher? "Goood." What did your class think of Jimmy's bloody nose? "Goood."

We never answer the phone during dinner. It's never anyone we want to talk with and besides, we're busy finding out just how good our day has been. We've been on the Fed's National Do Not Call Registry from Day One. But that doesn't stop some from calling. And political calls are, ahem, exempt. Generally, they simply hang up when no live person answers. But the other night we got a dinnertime call and they left a message which we all heard loud and clear. Listen:

Did we need to hear that during dinner? When the message said to press "8" to be removed from their calling list I tried but, because we were listening over the speaker the keypad didn't work (of course, that meant I got this wonderful recording as a souvenir). And then came the questions. Naturally, the girls wanted to know what they were talking about. Sex education and gender identity politics with salmon and a salad.

How was the rest of our dinner? Not so goood.

• [ Gender Identity, Family Dinner, Voicemail, Political Phone Calls, Do Not Call List ]

Get a better look at our bathroom vision!

Six months ago we renovated our bathrooms. That fifty year old retro look we loved when we bought the house was really getting old. Our green tub, along with its matching sink and toilet had lost their luster. And a complete bathroom redo was in order.

Suddenly, this weekend, when I opened our beautiful new wood veneer medicine cabinet I spied an apparition --a vision-- but from who or what? A controversy is brewing as to who is trying to contact us.

Who was trying to contact us? What do you think? Click each image to get a better look.

I immediately thought it was E.T. But when I showed my wife, she started to laugh. "That's ridiculous. THAT is a nude woman," she said. "Definitely." Expert museum curators concurred. "Look closely at the German Expressionsts," they said. Maybe it's a message from Edvard Munch. Or better yet, a long-lost woodcut from the master of angst (we could use the money for our upcoming kitchen renovation). Net cognoscenti vehemently disagree: "It's definitely a religious revelation from the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster". A sign indeed; but what could it mean?

SciFi fans, bloggers, and art dealers are starting to line up in front of our house to pay homage to our vision. This is much bigger than the woman who saw the Virgin Mary in her grilled cheese sandwich. And much more valuable. Definitely much more valuable.

Of note: Today marks the seventh anniversary of Life Outtacontext. Some of my favorite posts can be found on the right, under PICK OF THE CROP.

• [ E.T., Edvard Munch, Spaghetti Monster, Religious Vision, Bathroom Renovation ]

Yesterday, I was part of a high level meeting to discuss Web strategy. My strategy in these types of meetings is to sit quietly, absorb the dialogue, and to contribute something meaningful only when the opportunity presents itself. I do not want to appear stupid, or, more importantly, not up to the task before us. Before opening my mouth I seriously consider everything I am about to say. I think it out thoroughly, test my hypotheses rigorously, and organize my words to be succinct. Get in and get out.

This is hard work for I'm a storyteller, heavily invested in narratives and making literary connections on the fly. Workplace meetings require the antithesis of my often free flowing riffs. But over the years I've worked hard at being able to move between my two worlds. Bureaucracy demands major left-brain activity, the rest of my life just the opposite.

So when I found the right hook in yesterday's conversation I began my internal process quickly so as not to miss my opportunity. I would suggest we make public the information encased in one of our internal art research databases. And I would point out that its transparency would serve a wide range of our constituents, from art lovers to serious researchers. With everything in place I opened my mouth.

"The information in this database suppository would be incredibly attractive to a broad segment of our users," I THOUGHT. In reality, my voice stopped after the second syllable of "suppository." "...suppos, suppos," I kept repeating out loud, while thinking "wait, that isn't right, is it?" I repeated the first part of the word one more time before my body synced with my brain. My hand protectively covered my mouth as it went into immediate triage to save my professional life. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion. It was a professional out of body experience. In the process of resuscitation I scanned the room. Everyone was waiting for me to complete my thought. When I couldn't think of the word I really meant to say I quickly found an alternative: "This database is a wealth of useful information," I finally said.

Suddenly, I was transported back to junior high. I was sitting by the door in Mr. Thompson's English class when a secretary from the school office entered and handed me a note. "Please give this interoffice memo to Mr. Thompson as soon as possible," she whispered so as not to disturb the class. When I found my opening back then I walked to the front of the room and handed the note to my teacher. I thought I was repeating the secretary's missive when I stated loudly in front of my eighth grade contemporaries: "Mr. Thompson, this intercourse memo is for you." I thought all of that was behind me. And now this.

This latest example of buffoonery made it clear I might not ready for the heights of workplace bureaucracy. But, at least, I hadn't uttered the whole word. No one laughed, I made my point, and the meeting continued.

Yet, for the rest of the gathering I wondered: had everyone been able to complete the word that had stumbled out of my mouth? It certainly had been clear to me. But doubt has always been my worse enemy. And so as the meeting wound down I decided to take the transparent and humorous road to salvation. At just the right moment I interjected: "And I'd just like to go on record as saying this database is an great REPOSITORY of information." "Oh, you mean instead of 'suppository?'" one of the assembled replied. If it hadn't been clear before it was now.

Later that evening, as I stood in front of the toilet peeing, my work ID suddenly snapped off my belt and into the toilet. Yes, it was that kind of day.

Update: Apparently, I'm not the only one with this affliction. (Thanks, Howard)

• [ Workplace, Bureaucracy, Humor, Misused Words ]

When DC's Metro unveiled a new concept car last week this logo identity mysteriously appeared. Local officials first billed DC's proposed transit system as "America's" subway when it went to Congress for financial backing.

Last week the Washington Metropolitan Area Transit Authority (WMATA) unveiled designs for new subway cars that could make their appearance as early as 2013. Here in DC we've been debating seating designs for years. Should we continue with the traditional 2x2 seats? Or should we use more bench seating like New York City's system, which would allow for greater passenger capacity? The debate continues. Of greater interest these days is the new higher fares when the on-time service has dramatically deteriorated.

However important these issues are, they paled by comparison when I spied a new Metro logo on the side of the new car rendering in the Washington Post. A leaner and more efficient system is one thing; an ugly logo representing it is quite another. No mention of the new identity appeared in news reports nor on the WMATA site. But even if this display was meant only for sketchy purposes, I'd like to nip this graphic in the bud. Even as a concept it's ugly. I wince every time I look at it.

Using Metro's present brown-boxed logo as the "M" within the word "America's" completely undoes the unity of the text. Your eye just stops at the dark rectangle. I don't know what font they used for the rest of the word but it's clear its designer never meant it to be used in all caps. In addition, the font is serif while the logo's "M" is san-serif. Mixing the two styles should be left to a professional (if at all). This logo treatment looks like a bureaucrat did it. A type treatment for DC's subway should convey a sense of strength, reliability, and speed. It should also reflect the elegance the system's architecture conveys. This font is too casual and lackadaisical. And it only reinforces the perception that our subway is falling apart with no clear vision of its future.

I have always been mystified with the system's identity. The ugly brown color used on all station identity is hard to see on the pylons at street level. It's present logo, a big and bold san-serif "M" looks uninspiring and, I might add, like the system is standing still. I understand the desire for the "M" to stand out and be seen on the street, but surely there is a font that would convey a sense of style as well. There is no sense of movement implied by this treatment. With its mechanical breakdowns, most of us Metro riders would say this indeed represents the Metro today.

A quick comparison brings up some initial ideas. Left: Metro's present logo (this block "M" appeared as the logo on the Adopted Regional Map in March 1968, eight years before the system opened to the public). Middle: A simple change would give the sense of movement, something DC subway's identity desperately needs. Right: A more radical shift to a more elegant font would imbue the identity with a sense of style as well.

If nothing else, change the present "M" logo to an italic to evoke motion. But consider using a more elegant type treatment to reflect the Metro's modernist take on the city's Federal architecture. Bottom line: in upgrading the system's infrastructure, don't forget to rethink its identity. Yes, big and bold is visible, but a bit of style would make this designer a bit more proud to ride these rails and feel a lot less like I'm riding in a cattle car.

• [ Subway, Graphic Design, Typography, Washington, DC ]

It's awards season: the Oscars, the Grammys, the Golden Globes. But, what with the writers strike and the Globes show cancelled how will we get our fill of ego awards? Coming to the rescue: the Bloggies. What? You don't keep tabs on Web awards?

I'm afraid my film chef-d'oeuvre is still on the editing room floor and won't be ready for Academy Award consideration this year. Yes, of course it's disappointing. L'année prochaine. Perhaps next year. In the meantime (and so as not to disappoint the tens upon tens of my fans) I would be honored to substitute that nomination for another: the 2008 Bloggies.

Writing on the oddities of late twentieth and early twenty-first century life for the past seven years --what would modern life be like without the antics of The Theatre of the Barely Socially Acceptable?-- Life Outtacontext seems to have fallen through a few award cracks. Well, ok, all of the Web award cracks. But it's a new year and with it I've embraced a new strategy: shameless self-promotion. I do what I must.

The pitch: consider nominating Life Outtacontext for a Bloggie. Some of my favorite categories: "Most Humorous Weblog," "Best Writing of a Weblog," "Best-Designed Weblog," and my personal choice, "Best-Kept Secret Weblog (after all, after seven years Life Outtacontext appears to be quite the well-kept secret).

To cast your ballot you must nominate three separate blogs in any number of categories. So, while you're at it, consider writing in Eye Level, my other blog baby, in the "Best Art or Craft Weblog." Nominations close this Friday.

Psst, I'll be sure to mention you in my acceptance speech.

This 1950s Ranch MUST be seen to be believed! Amenities included. A larger view.

With the housing market tanking, home sellers must devise new ways to attract buyers. I'd like to offer this suggestion: do it in gingerbread. When having an open house the smell of freshly baked cookies always adds an aroma of value. Adding ownership of this cookie at closing will be just the push your prospective buyer needs. I smell bidding war!

Well, we're not selling our house but Susie and girls decided to construct a scale model replica of our 1950s ranch anyway. Using elevations from a recent renovation, my wife constructed the sides and the girls set out to decorate. I, being the professional photographer in a previous life, was tasked with documenting the finished model. As we are a multicultural family, matzot was were used for the hipped roof and garage doors.

• [ Gingerbread House, Housing Market ]