Why Things Are Seen

While I've been taking photos I've been stewing on how to approach the painted component of this project. And the short answer might be: Go back to whence I came. Namely, working with patterns and negative space in conjunction with figuration. Some of my earliest concerns with figuration regarded the tension between illussionistic and flattened space but was an area of investigation I've moved away from over the last couple of years, partially out of the need to ask different questions. 

Those questions regarded the power of myth and the draw to violence, but as neither are all that evident on Op Attention, I've been thinking myself in little circles trying to move forward... when backwards might be the solution.

The images below also relate nicely to what I imagine will be a photographic component with the very loose working title of Sibling Rivalry.

But for now, painting, and for your (and my) consideration, the below:

Hadji Don't Surf

Looking down the egress behind the shacks here at Camp Phoenix it's easy to get lost. The sun is warm today and people walking this route can't help but kick rocks, sand and pebbles as they amble along.

In many ways, Phoenix and its ubiquitous yellow wooden beach umbrellas feels like an ad hoc island community. Sand, rocks, sun, umbrellas, folk in floppy hats, smoking or knocking back bottled water, these are all props in our grand illusion.

It is an island, and though almost everyone carries a firearm, the weapons become very easy to ignore, are just another element of apparel, sort of a fad – an item that seems necessary for the climate until you realize it isn't. The equivalent of a foam beer holder maybe.

We are locked out of time and place and so the name seems appropriate and the silty texture of pollution acts like a temporal binder, covering everything and rendering the transient as eternal. Burning haze hides the outside world (and for all we know, the outside world might have burnt away) and holds us in an atmospheric bubble, equidistant, but undefinable on all sides. It's a phantom distance that might be 500 metres or 5 light years. The noise of the air conditioners masks any sound from the world and even the choppers that circle appear only inside the haze.

Outside there is a war. Inside there are boardwalks and evening dance parties thrown by the Romanians. Blue skies and cigarettes, we walk the halls in shorts and flip-flops. And like any good beach culture, it takes all comers. soldiers arrive from around the world and over time, though they might not know it, they become surfers.

Like the sign says:

"The light, the light" (The horror, the horror)

I met Gary during my recent stay at Alamo and we enjoyed a few good chuckles over the US Republican primary race as well as a shared enjoyment of the late Bill Hicks. Gary, himself an American, went to school with Both Joyce DeWitt and David Letterman and so the quiet humour with which he delivered the following tale has a good pedigree.

* * *

A while back an award-winning AP Photographer came to Camp Alamo. He was taken around to see all the usual destinations: The Soviet tank park, the acre upon acre of ANA recruits, the massive amount of infrastructure investment as well as the views from the surrounding hills. As Gary tells it, the photographer was wont to stare up at the sun – doing its usual battle with the polluted haze – and laconically bemoan, “the light, the light… I can’t work with this.”

After his time at Alamo and, assumedly, other camps around Kabul, he went down south the the fighting. After some time down that way and trundling along with US soldiers in a HUMV he proclaimed that this was the most boring assignment he had ever been on. Shortly thereafter his leg was blown off by an IED.

* * *

It should be emphasized that I'm not mocking the photographer and the tragedy that befell him. I'm here with a similar goal (if lesser stature) so if anything I recount the tale with a sense of black humour, and caution and empathy.

While I hold a similar desire to head south (as, I suspect, do most of the fighting troops in Kabul) I’m quite fond of the hazy landscapes of Kabul, even if my pores and my camera are not. I also still have almost 2 weeks here, and like both my legs.

Heads and patches, deals and "the bug"

Day 5 of my stomach bug. Thankfully there ain't much going on here.

Today, however, I did pick up a few custom patches and a baseball cap. While I was there I picked out some extra patches for my YYZ show. It seemed important to give the embroiders their due so I mentioned I'd be showing them in Canada and asked for a few business cards. The guy responded by also throwing 10 extra patches for free.

So in total: 20 patches and a baseball camp (with a velco rectangle on front) cost me $15!

I'll take a few patch photos in the coming days, but for now, apropos of nothing above, a few portraits of late, including 2 gems: 3VP guys in sweats, smoking and an ANA guy guarding a bedframe.

Okay, back to bed with me.

Predictably, Christmas

The best compliment/hack I received today was, "What are you, the JTF2 Photographer?"

I'll try to avoid any overly predictable Christmas photos, and will preface them by saying Merry Christmas.

- Scottt

 The above was found in the Chapel at Blackhorse, amongst other cards from American Kids.

My Little Afghan tummy buddy

Leaving Blackhorse I picked up a lovely parting gift by way of an intestinal bug, but it's just part of the vacation package and more or less unavoidable.

So, here I am at Alamo, having spent my first couple of days laying pretty low.

Today though, I did a walk around the KMTC training area where the ANA recruits start from zero.

So until I'm a little peppier, here are a few photos from today.