Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Smithsonian Magazine has a small article about the photograph that graces the cover of Woodstock:
Early Sunday morning, Uzzle, happily stuck at Woodstock, left his makeshift tent with two Leicas strapped round his neck. “Gracie Slick of Jefferson Airplane was singing, bringing up the dawn,” he remembers. “And just magically this couple stood up and hugged.” They kissed, smiled at each other, and the woman leaned her head on the man’s shoulder. “I just had time to get off a few frames of black and white and a few of color, then the light was over and the mood was over,” Uzzle says of what would become his best-known photograph. His subjects never noticed.
I'm having a total Pat Brassington moment in my life. Really is quite fitting considering what I've been going through emotionally of late. I won't elaborate too much but let's just say it runs paralell with the "road kill" theme I often find myself toying with. That awful need to know about something that will either hurt me or disturb me deeply. I am so fascinated by these things that if I am not set straight I will let my mind meander to depths of darkness, only to find myself more fucked up than if I had just known. Brassington's work is that edge of knowing just enough about what is going on without being fully aware of every detail. She creates disconcertingly ambiguous imagined states that evoke uneasy tensions between bizarre, sinister intimations of menace and weirdly beautiful, benign harmonies. Using sexuality to confront, discomfort and intrigue, she knows what makes this lass a little crazy.