This is an amazing opportunity to view images that changed the worlds view of civil right in America. Charles Moore was a man with a social conscience that used his camera when words had little meaning. He forever changed what we know as documentary photojournalism.
Tag Archives: photojournalists
Listen to Jonathan during opening reception:
View Jonathan’s website !
“MY FATHER NEVER MET A STRANGER.”
There is no finer sentiment for a photojournalist than that spoken by his daughter.
Our hearts and thoughts are with family and friends in Tuscumbia, Alabama today.
OPENING EXHIBIT, book signing and artist talk.
This Saturday, April 10, 4-8p.m.
at Fovea Exhibitions, 143 Main Street Beacon NY 12508
on view through June 10
Ron Haviv was in Haiti less than 24 hours after the earthquake devastated Port au Prince and surrounding areas. His intimate reportage describes the carnage and brings the viewer close to the terrible personal experiences of the Haitian population.
Curated by Sabine Meyer
The mid-morning sun is softened by the thin white embroidered curtains.
In reality there is no harsh light as it’s filtered by the winter clouds before entering the bedroom window.
The old oak chest sits in the corner with two large drawers on the bottom and two half their size on top. It is showing age…too many moves. You can tell that the miles are taking their toll; a bit of the varnish is coming off. It’s the same for people.
The chest is painted brown with streaks of black paint covering the surface.
In the 1950’s and 60’s the paint technique was called “antiquing”. I’m confused by the idea of taking something that is truly an antique and painting it? I guess the chest was just thought of as an eye-sore at the time.
A wood jewelry box filled with small treasures sits in the middle. Not expensive in content, but treasures none-the-less.
To the left, hidden in the shadow is a small empty putter picture frame. It proudly displays grey cardboard. I’m unsure why it is empty. There has been no shortage of the past, only the future is the unknown.
I’m reminded of the story of the village cobbler who worked so hard providing shoes for the town that he wasn’t able to find the time to neither make, or mend the shoes of his family. “Cobbler’s kids and no shoes!”.
On the right of the chest, just touched by the soft window light, sits a camera…there has always been a camera.