ryan mcginley.

in the summer of 2005, ryan mcginley travelled around america with a close group of friends. these are the photographs from the series i know where the summer goes. anyone up for a road trip?

joakim eskildsen.

take a look at more of joakim’s work here.

rachel papo.

dana, a sniper instructor, outside her room, kibbutz kfar hanassi, isreal, 2005 (#25)

military kiosk counter, shaare avraham, israel, 2004 (#2)

hani during instruction on hand grenade throwing, southern israel, 2005 (#85)

fifteen years after she served her own mandatory military duty at 18, rachel papo went back to several israeli army bases to document the experiences of young women engaged in daily war and conflict in Serial No. 3817131.

making bank off hurricane katrina photo’s.

i wrote that last post about the road trip after looking at the photos of wyatt gallery (the person), as seen in peer gallery (the place). before we got home, our last official stop was in new orleans. we stayed with a girl named necco, who threw a dance party (?) for our arrival. we met some of her friends, who were born and raised in new orleans, who had lost everything. i’m talking everything man. from childhood report cards to family members, photographs, and friends. just listening to them tell their stories almost made me cry when i was supposed to be in “party mode,” and ready to hang out, shake my stuff, dance or whatever. everything they spoke of was completely devastating, but that’s just the way it was. that was the reality that had been created for them, and they were forced to accept it. they were so numb and emotionally raw from situation that they seemed apathetic.

the next day, airzla and i went for breakfast at this “special part of town” or something. i forgot what it was, but we just “HAD” to see it, and eat this specific breakfast at this specific place. so on our way back, we got lost and ended up in a neighborhood that had been completely destroyed by the flooding. it hurt. i mean, it hurts to stub your toe. it hurts to break a leg. i’m talking a different kind of hurt though. seeing new orleans was the kind of hurt that makes you feel 6,000 pounds fatter than you really are. the kind of hurt that explodes from inside your body. you know you’re radiating pain, anger, uncertainty, and you’re still so confused, bewildered, ashamed, empathetic. the kind of hurt that makes you feel complete and total devastation, as if the world has literally stopped turning and everyone is about to take their last living breath.

seeing it on television was different. you look at the square box in your living room, and you say “oh my god, that’s awful,” and you change the channel. but did you really think about that when it happened? what i mean to say is, did you imagine the neighborhood you currently live in, completely flooded to the tippity top of your neighbor’s roofs? did you imagine being trapped on your own roof for five long days, sitting on top of your possessions, completely stripped of anything you felt like you ever were, happy and scared to be alive? i thought that i had until we went there and was lost in the middle of it. literally defunct of direction, because the street signs were washed away, and two years later there were still downed power lines. i saw chain-link fences that only housed the skeleton of the building that used to sit on the land. it seemed like nothing had been cleaned up outside of the tourist destinations. it seemed like nobody cared to do anything about the ghost town that used to be a neighborhood. i thought i understood until i saw it all for myself and realized that it’s just incomprehensible.

so, i dig these photographs. i mean, it’s nice to see that someone took something so ugly, so horrible, and made some really beautiful images out of it. and that’s exactly what i mean. it’s nice, but in the way you describe people. (“oh, jennifer is nice.” everyone is nice, so it must mean that jennifer is pretty lame, because you can’t think of another way to describe her. jennifer isn’t cool.) seeing new orleans made me hold my breath because it hurt so bad to see such loss. so i guess i don’t like the idea that he’s making so much money off of these prints, the documents that describe the very nature of devastation. i give you a thumbs down man, that’s just bad chi-chi. beautiful photos, but how can you even think about profiting off of another’s loss like that? i wouldn’t sell my empathy for six thousand dollars. but i’m glad that you can, will, and have. high-five wyatt gallery, nice job.

 

ice bar.

ABSOLUT ICEBAR LONDON is the first permanent bar made of ice in the UK located in the heart of Mayfair in London. Experience the extreme – ABSOLUT ICEBAR LONDON is kept at minus 5 degrees all year round and everything inside is made out of crystal clear ice transported especially from the Torne River in Jukkasjarvi, Sweden.

Step into an environment where the walls, bar, tables, and even your own personal glass with a vodka cocktail is made out of the purest ice. ABSOLUT ICEBAR LONDON is operated in 40 minute time slots and you will be given a designer thermal cape with a hood to keep you warm during your visit.

PRICING
Entrance fee to ABSOLUT ICEBAR LONDON is 12 GBP
(15 GBP Thu,Fri,Sat evenings), and includes;
- Designer thermal cape to keep you warm on entry
- Personal ice glass
- Choice of Vodka cocktail in your ice glass
(or non-alcoholic drink)
Vodka cocktail refill 6 GBP, Non-alcoholic refill 3 GBP

http://www.belowzerolondon.com/icebar/index.html

abandoned houses, take two.

abandoned houses.

katie and i went on a wild search for abandoned houses yesterday, and ended up climbing through a window to take some of these photos. it was so humid and hot that i felt really close to fainting a few times while we were in there. the house was incredible though. it was like opening a window or a john malcovich door and feeling like you’ve been instantaneously sucked into the void of what is and what used to be, all wrapped up in a single structure that’s waiting to be demolished. it was half-empty and half-full all at once. the kitchen floors had three layers of linoleom that were all competing with one another. some of the ceiling had fallen through and left wooden debris and drywall in scattered piles on the floor. mold on the ceillings, floors, and walls left the air stuffy and damp. in one room, the floor had collapsed so much to one side that it created a black hole in the corner that seemed to be swallowing the room.

being there was uncomfortable. maybe it was because i was drenched with my own sweat, or because i knew i was breaking open a window to tresspass, because i was intruding on someone else’s memories of their childhood house that now leans to the left.. or even because i was afraid of running into a crackhead that might have lived in the back room. whatever it was, it felt dreamy. i think i might find more places around savannah to photograph, and see what else people have decided to leave behind.