Sunshine and Olly

Shout out to our photography fans!

What’s up, everybody?

How are things?

I know some of you followed me here from APE.

Thank you!
Danke schön!
Gracias!
Grazie!
Merci beaucoup!

Wait. Forget that last one. No one’s reading in France yet.

You know the French.

Now that I’ve got my own fancy website, with analytics, we’ve welcomed a host of international readers, from Mexico, Canada, Spain, Germany, Italy, the UK, Ireland, the Netherlands, India, and Argentina.

Four continents!

That’s pretty freaking cool, if you ask me.

Again, thank you!

Most, (if not all of you,) know me for writing about photography.

I appreciate your willingness to come to Sunshine and Olly, and read about other things.

But it would be crass to take your attention-span for granted.

To assume you’ll give my art endless patience, no matter what I do, because of previously-accrued, positive street-cred.

(Looking at you, Donald Glover.)

You won’t do that. I get it.

At 48, I know better.

To prove it, we’re dropping our first photo-related article, in our inaugural week.

Hope you dig it!

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In my last APE piece, I discussed a group of Georgia photographers who were all making work like each other.

It was weird, but I tried to understand it.

Thankfully, the photo-book-gods smiled on me yet again, because my first review here is a great counterpoint to the last one there.

(Love it when that happens.)

“Controlled Burn,” by Shannon Davis, is an experimental book, from Georgia, and takes the form of an oversized-match-box.

We have controlled burns here in New Mexico, by the Federal government, and they caused the worst pyro-emergency in the state’s history.

Just last year.

(Heckofajob, Brownie!)

Locals farmers also burn their weeds here each year, Taos being rural America, but they don’t use the term that way.

It’s reserved for the Forest Service.

Apparently, though, that’s what farmers call it in the American South, when they flame-up the old weeds, and blacken the soil, making it more amenable to new crops.

A controlled burn.

(Now we know.)

How do you make a book into a match box, you might ask?

Fair question.

It’s cardboard, with glue.

The book is a heavy-paper, accordion-fold, simply printed, and poetically done.

Truth time: I didn’t realize there were images printed on the back, until I went to photograph it for you, just now.

But I love them. Really rounds out the visual narrative, and announces a bold color palette.

There’s a poetically written, short, text insert, below the folded-image-book, and I tried to pry up the photo of the matches, on the bottom, but apparently it’s glued too.

(Why. Won’t. This. Damn. Thing. Budge!

Oh wait, it’s probably not meant to.)

After reading the text, about a Northern transplant finding a permanent home in the South, musing decades later, and being told you can live there forever, but not be FROM there…

…let’s just say I could relate.

Great little project, this.

Very cool.

I’m impressed.

Thanks for sending it my way, Shannon!

(And no revenge post today, right Laidric?)