sabine schmidt photography

st. barbara’s day revisited

schmidtphotography — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 01:55:23 +0000

It took exactly one month longer than I thought, but one of the pear twigs I cut on December 4 now has leaves–pale green, soft leaves.

And last summer’s only surviving bitter melon plant is blooming, as are some pretty white blossom clusters that grew from bulbs placed in pebbles in a glass jar three weeks ago.

for my mother

schmidtphotography — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 05:46:55 +0000

December 4 is my mother’s birthday. She would have turned 68 today; she died of lung cancer four years and nine days ago.

This year, December 4 happens to be the Second Sunday of Advent. My mother ignored most Christmas traditions, but an advent wreath with four candles could often be found on her coffee table by the end of November, and there would definitely be baking–lots of baking. She used a couple of decades-old cookbooks whose pages had turned transparent from her thumbing through them with butter on her hands. She had long memorized the recipes, but it was part of the ritual to look them up.

I spent an evening in her kitchen a few days after she died and made Frankfurter Bethmännchen. They didn’t turn out well, but I remember that making them felt good:

December 4 is also St. Barbara‘s Day. Twigs cut from fruit trees, forsythias, or pussy willows on this day are said to grow leaves or bloom by Christmas Eve, symbols of renewal that appear just as winter settles in. There are three old pear trees in the yard of an abandoned home not far from my house. I walked over there, cut some twigs, and put them in water, hoping that this old-world custom will work in the Ozarks, too.

ghost in the window

schmidtphotography — Sat, 19 Nov 2011 06:23:30 +0000

Inspired by Will Self, my friend Erika recently suggested a walk to the old Fayetteville airport four miles south of downtown. Unlike Self, we weren’t actually going to get on a plane. Fayetteville’s Drake Field was replaced by Northwest Arkansas Regional Airport a few years ago and now handles only private and charter flights, none of which we were able to afford, although we discussed the possibility as we approached the airport’s single terminal. The liminal spaces we traversed are less sprawling than those of London and New York, but they hold their own mysteries.

We wanted to experience the shifts from busy city street to a state highway lined with businesses, residences, and increasingly nothing. We looked at things and sights along the way, including Erika’s new studio on a side street, and arrived at Drake Field three hours later. Inside the terminal, we found leather sofas, a cappuccino maker, and a small cinema with five huge, comfortable chairs. We drank the pilots’ coffee and sat in their movie theater and chatted with some of the employees. It was getting dark and we got a ride back into town.

Last weekend, we completed the walk and drifted back north into Fayetteville. Minutes after we started, we discovered the ruins of a repair shop of some sort where building and vegetation seemed locked in a slow, violent battle for territory:

Another small abandoned building a few hundred yards on was intact, the front door open, the floors swept and clean. Erika and I explored its three rooms. I was framing a window shot when a man and a girl came into view. They ran around the building, right by me and by Erika in the main room, but they had no idea we were there. Erika and I had become ghosts. The man and the girl walked down the street to the mailboxes and soon returned. Once more they passed only a few feet away from us, oblivious to the building they see every day. Do we no longer anticipate the unusual after we become familiar with a space?

The building must have housed an office–it didn’t feel residential at all, and the rooms were bare with no indication as to their purpose. There was no bathroom or kitchen.

Next, we came to an old subdivision separated from the main road by a tall chain-link fence. Only one street led in and out, and of course we had to check it out. We walked the loop and loved the bucolic feel of the place as well as the care with which most houses and yards had been decorated over many years. We found ourselves in the mirror of someone’s living room:

Later, we took a break on a Ballardian concrete island (with hay bales instead of overpasses and highrises):

We walked on and discovered more abandoned beauty.

On this drift, we encountered many more people on foot, skateboards, and bikes than on the way down to Drake Field. We had no explanation; both parts of the project took place on Saturday afternoons with mild fall weather. At dusk, we jaywalked across Fifteenth Street and stopped for beers and panini at the new Tanglewood Branch pub, where customers who walk or bike to the bar get a discount on their drinks. When we left to walk the final mile home, it was dark and the mood had shifted. The road seemed more ominous, and we noticed we still hadn’t really arrived back in town. More streets had to be crossed and more hills climbed before we could reclaim our territory.

set my watch against the city clock

schmidtphotography — Tue, 04 Oct 2011 21:00:33 +0000

I have a solo exhibition coming up in the Vault Gallery at Fayetteville Underground. Set My Watch against the City Clock opens Thursday, October 6, and runs through October 29. I am showing all new work. Each piece in the exhibition is the result of inspiration demanding to be let in during the snow days in early February. Stuck at home for four days, I began to think about the words “house,” “home,” “place” from an interior perspective instead of the exterior one I take when I photograph buildings I pass on walks and drives. If humans are capable of building structures that not only provide shelter but hold memory and a historical residue felt by passing strangers years and generations later, where is that human information contained? What is the principle of “house”?

There is no exact answer, seeing how it’s not an exact question.

One afternoon, I suddenly remembered making miniature houses as a child. Sometimes I used twigs, leaves and moss to create a sort of log cabin. Often I removed the lid from a shoebox or other small cardboard box, cut windows and doors in the sides, glued cardboard pieces on the bottom to create rooms, and cut and folded tiny pieces of cardboard or paper into beds, tables, and chairs. Gift-wrapping paper and ribbon became wallpaper and curtains. They weren’t dollhouses; nobody inhabited the miniatures. I simply wanted to keep rearranging rooms and objects.

Now I began to make paper miniatures in attempts to give physical shape to the principle of house. I refined the designs until I’d stripped everything superfluous away–things such as doors, windows, chimneys, roof overhangs, and other architectural details. I tried to condense the house structures into the most minimalist design possible. I experimented with other materials and found that rag paper works best for what I had in mind.

I set the miniatures in spots all over Fayetteville and Northwest Arkansas. Some places were carefully chosen, others seemed to invite me to put a house there. With each passing month, I found myself drifting farther and farther away from the city and deeper into the Ozarks, drawn by myths and stories. I took hundreds of photos. Most did not reveal what I was looking for: a palpable connection between the house as archetype and its environment. Others did. I could tell that they worked because when I showed them to friends, my friends had strong and immediate responses. I was reminded of Gaston Bachelard’s (and C.G. Jung’s) idea that “there is ground for taking the house as a tool for analysis of the human soul” (The Poetics of Space).

At the end of June, fortuitousness led me to the Artist’s Laboratory Theatre and their Place Project. One photo, taken during a rehearsal break, is featured prominently in my show:

I made about two dozen houses. A few got lost or destroyed. I sent one floating down War Eagle Creek. Another was crushed by the paw of a friendly black lab. The rest I took to one of my favorite places in the Ozarks, a tiny church off a winding highway. On a previous visit, I had discovered a stack of suitcases. This time, I zipped the top one open and filled it will all my houses. The result became the final image in the exhibition:

And finally, a note about the title of my exhibition: It has been a very good year for music with lots of releases by favorite musicians as well as new bands. Some years, it’s hard to find enough contenders for a top-ten list. For 2011, it would be difficult to pick only ten songs and albums, but “Drover” from Bill Callahan’s Apocalypse has been with me constantly since its April release. Its verse “And I set my watch against the city clock/It was way off” condenses a feeling I’ve often had on road trips and photography excursions for my house project.

three times three plus four

schmidtphotography — Wed, 07 Sep 2011 13:08:44 +0000

I can’t remember who said that the photographer needs to make sure every aspect of a photo is included on purpose, or something to that effect. I would like to be able to follow that rule, strict as it is, but I don’t think I have the discipline. Also, I love being surprised by details of which I was unaware when I composed the photo. And seeing an unintended theme emerge from several images taken in one location or over a certain period of time never fails to get me excited.

Front Yard, Downtown Fayetteville

Looking through photos I took during the last weekend in July, I noticed that chairs had edged into several of them. As mundane as these objects are, their casual arrangements in threes caught my eye. It is unclear how long they have been sitting empty–it could be minutes, it could be months.

Diner, Springdale

Public Space, Fayetteville

A couple of weekends ago, I had a chance to revisit one of my favorite sights in Eureka Springs: a line of four old motel chairs on a sidewalk across the street from Ermilio’s. The chairs are usually occupied by the brother of the restaurant’s owner and his buddies. The evening I visited, they happened to be empty–and while there is one chair too many for this set of threes, I can’t pass up the chance to include a photo of them here.

King of the Hill, Eureka Springs

things that fall into place

schmidtphotography — Fri, 19 Aug 2011 12:03:09 +0000

At the end of spring, I spent a rainy afternoon exploring rural highways east of Fayetteville. The pace of discovery is different when driving or riding a bike. Being more used to finding things when walking, I am grateful for two indispensable exploration aids: The Internet for looking up places and getting directions, and tips from friends who know the area. One of the latter was the reason I ended up in Radford Freewill Cemetery that day.

The rain had stopped when I climbed the hill to the oldest part of the cemetery. It was still cloudy, but the sky was not as dark as before. I knew I would find periwinkle, moss, old trees and tombstones with mysterious inscriptions. Something drew me to a large patch of periwinkle sheltered by a rough circle of cedars. I stood and waited until I began to see details of the small grove as images. The first photo I took shows a battered old tree standing guard over a gravestone:

Aside from the arrangement of the trees and stones, I was attracted by the textures of leaves, moss, lichen and bark, all emphasized by the rain.

I submitted the photo for participation in the juried competition for the Artists of Northwest Arkansas Annual Regional Art Exhibition. I had never sent in work there before and was happy when the photo was accepted. “Regional” means Arkansas plus nine other states, so the competition is stiff. Last weekend, I went to the exhibition reception at the Arts Center of the Ozarks in Springdale. The event also included an awards ceremony, and my photo won Best in Photography/Digital Media. It was a wonderful and encouraging surprise.

By the way–the fourth photo I took in the cemetery that day shows the front of the tombstone in the center of the photo above. It looks as if someone placed a chamber pot under the stone:

things that happen on a corner

schmidtphotography — Thu, 28 Jul 2011 13:50:19 +0000

I am still figuring out what it means to put down roots. The Ozarks seem like a good place to try. It’s not only because of the landscape or the historic neighborhoods in Fayetteville or how long I have lived here. Much of it has to do with friends, fellow artists, colleagues, students, and strangers in coffee shops and stores and bars, at the fantastic public library, or on First Thursday at the Underground.

Mostly, however, it is the stories. They may be the reason why I consider the Ozarks both home and not. While I have been shaping my own stories for years now and love hearing others’, there is more going on around here than I or anyone will ever be able to know. The longer I live in Fayetteville, the more I am amazed by the density of history surrounding me–history born from a continuity of daily events and from the connections between people. (I like that in German, “story” and “history” are the same word: Geschichte.) Driving down old highway 71 for the first time in a year or so, I notice that a favorite view of a log cabin is now blocked by a huge new metal barn. When I mention this to a friend, I am only mildly surprised to find out that my friend not only knows why the barn is there but also who owns it, what the owner does for a living, and that he is well-known for what he does.

It happens all the time. In a restaurant, I am introduced to an architect who designed a friend’s house on the river one county over, the one I get to stay in often and which I consider my sanctuary. His boss once rescued me when my car died on the gravel road to that house. And from talking to friends and strangers, one might get the impression that everyone in Fayetteville has lived in one of about a dozen houses, at least for a while. (Mt. Olympus, anyone?)

By now, I’m expecting stories to involve the strangest links. The more I learn, the deeper the mysteries reach. I like tracing networks made by time, place and human relationships. I am intrigued when I come across a place I know nothing about. I am not aware of the connections, but I am sure there are stories–someone’s patterns and memories. Every corner holds worlds.

A couple of weeks ago, I stopped at the Y junction of two highways near the Benton and Madison county line. I noticed odd things that hint at stories I may never know–until I mention what I saw to someone who remembers. Sooner or later, that’s bound to happen.

Abandoned gas station in an old community named Lookout–a detail that adds a little irony to the “YOU Are Being Video TAPED” sign.

Many things are going on here.

Closer inspection reveals that the mailbox belongs to an upstanding, possibly horse-owning citizen: “I believe in GOD & the CONSTITUTION.”

From here, things can go either way. The building is another fine example of the clean and practical design often used in vernacular architecture in the Ozarks.

how green is an ozarks summer?

schmidtphotography — Wed, 20 Jul 2011 22:26:49 +0000

It’s a brutal summer. Over the past six or seven weeks, I have constantly been adjusting my perception of what is bearable. As of mid-July, “bearable” means 99 degrees if I can be in the shade by a creek.

Walks and bike rides have to happen early in the morning, or around sunset if I take it slow. As a result, I have adjusted my photo routine, too: I mostly decide on a specific location and drive there instead of doing my usual walking drifts around town.

A rainy day is a gift to be used wisely. There have been two so far, and they allowed me to look around more leisurely.

The combination of a cool, wet spring with a stubbornly hot summer has resulted in almost surreal vegetation. The Ozarks never lack for greenery, but right now things just grow and grow and grow. Reviewing this summer’s photos, I get lost in the many shades of green all this growth creates. Photosynthesis is an amazing thing.

On Black Oak Road.

I passed this overgrown house south of Fayetteville on a Sunday morning bike ride just before a storm.

My morning, noon, afternoon, and late-afternoon view.

When a 30% chance of rain turned into a full day of storms, I was lucky enough to be on vacation in my river sanctuary.

Eventually, it all disappears.

I have been watching this tree for a while now. I wouldn’t mess with it.

The river in summer.

At some point, the current slows down and the creek turns playful.

wherever you go, there are houses

schmidtphotography — Wed, 13 Jul 2011 03:46:08 +0000

For the last few weeks, I have been working on my next show at Fayetteville Underground. It will be quite different from We’ve Been Holding This Moment for You, my May 2010 solo debut at the Underground. The current project centers on semi-abstract miniature houses. They have kept me busy since February, and I think I have assembled a collection of images in the past five months that will let the concept speak for itself. Not to give too much away at this point (the show opens in October), but: I constructed about twenty tiny buildings from different types of paper, cardboard, and plastic. Cut from one sheet and shaped to resemble southern vernacular structures, the miniatures are as minimalist as I was able to make them. The idea is to have them embody the essence of “house” (in the western sense, although I am curious to see what the limitations are). I place the houses in environments and situations where they seem to belong; then I take photographs of them that reveal incongruities, tensions, and mysteries to the careful viewer.

Initially, I put them outside all over downtown Fayetteville, mostly in locations that evoke a sense of history and change. The next set of images was more abstract; and most recently, I have been working on connecting the houses with other human-made objects.

I’m on a working vacation this week. I’m only about a 45-minute drive from home, but I’m staying in a remote area with many opportunities to explore exterior and interior spaces. Here are a few examples, one or two of which may turn up as part of my show:

Resettled at the Bluff

The bluff overhang makes for interesting light effects on this river bank.

Triangulations

I like the sparse, jagged rock layers on this river bluff. Here, everything came together in triangles.

Rock Village

My first attempt at placing all the houses together.

Houses in Abandoned Suitcase

This photo was inspired by working with The Artist’s Laboratory Theatre (see post below).

houses inside and out

schmidtphotography — Tue, 28 Jun 2011 16:58:56 +0000

Recently, the Fayetteville-based Artist’s Laboratory Theatre launched The Place Project, a research/performance concept for investigating what “place” means to humans–how we create and change place, how we define it, and how it relates to the idea of “home.” The group’s artistic director is the multi-talented actor, producer, and teaching artist Erika Wilhite. Since Fayetteville has a compact but active arts community, Erika and I knew about each other. It was only a matter of time before we would meet. And meet we did–one humid Saturday morning a few weeks ago on the patio at Little Bread Co. We spent a good hour comparing ideas and creating the kind of inspired connection that brings with it a sense of wonder. She and I are thinking a lot about the significance of “house” and its relationship to memory, to the familiar, to love, communication, personal and public history. The Artist’s Lab is exploring those questions in their performances; I do it through photography and writing.

Houses and Home

During the month of June, Erika and her troupe developed a site-specific performance in a private home whose residents were traveling for the summer. She asked me if the actors could use some of my miniature houses and invited me to one of the rehearsals. I took photos there and at the full performance a few nights later. The event was invitation-only and included a small audience that was led from scene to scene in two separate groups, crisscrossing the house and the yard until we all met in the living room to break bread (Erika bakes, too!) and discuss our experience.

Rehearsal for The Place Project

Seeing my houses handled by other people was odd. I am not very attached to the miniatures. Most are made of paper; when I place them in various environments, they get wet, stained, and bent. One has been stepped on by an overly affectionate dog. Others have been blown off roofs of buildings or into rivers and puddles. I want the houses to bear traces of their use. Until The Place Project, however, that use had never included other people; people who showed me different understandings of what the houses can be.

Rehearsal with Director in the Shadows