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JH Engstrom

on February 08, 2008

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JH Engstrom: http://www.jhengstrom.com/current.html

JH Engstrom

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Pekin Fine Arts

Continuing my investigation of Chinese photographers. View work by Zhang O at Beijing's Pekin Fine arts: http://pekinfinearts.com/artists/artists.php?id=19 View work by Weng Fen as well: http://pekinfinearts.com/artists/artists.php?id=4

Ansel Adams: Our National Parks

Ansel Adams: Our National Parks Edited by Andrea G. Stillman and William A. Turnage Little, Brown and Company 1992 Ansel Adams was never one of my favorite photographers. It felt as if I was expected to like him since he was the most famous photographer in the landscape genre when in fact the pictures he made were rarely personable enough for the average viewer to relate to meaningfully. At the time pictures of nature often felt too far removed from my suburban life for me to easily access them. Adams' images served as a referent to a natural world in which I had no interest in recreating, nor in emulating photographically. Perhaps even while disliking the work, I still respected it as my father respected Adams for the luscious, technical perfection he brought to his representations of the apparently untouched American West. Looking at this book after not considering it in a long while reminds me that I have owned it twice. Once as a teenager I purchased it to give to my fa

Paul Graham: Empty Heaven

"Paul Graham: Empty Heaven - Photographs from Japan 1989-1995" by Paul Graham Scalo Books, New York 96 pp., 54 full-page color illustrations, 9x12" 1995 Printed pink graces the cover and dust jacket interiors to Paul Graham's "Empty Heaven." It's pink like half-tone dots spreading and assembling into the color to represent Hello Kitty, princesses everywhere, and the antithesis of the horrors of life. Pink like perfect sunsets and the lips of the young Japanese woman on the cover, a woman who appears transfixed yet vacuous in her off-camera gaze. When I first heard of Paul Graham it was about ten years ago when my friend Christian Widmer left a message on my answering machine saying something to the affect of, "I have found God. I have found God. Call me." At the time it was a typically strange message from Christian, who at the time was completing his MFA thesis work at Arizona State University and would persistently call me Wlliam T. Sh

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