M.D. Walton

 

Guest Speaker at Charter Oak High School

I had the special priviledge to be guest speaker to five periods of digital photography at Charter Oak High in West Covina on Friday. The teacher, Mr. Holguin, having around 25 students each class, seems to have his work cut out for him but manages to command the respect of his students. The classroom is equipped with a computer for every student and a completely outfitted studio. I'd say plenty of opportunity for those student who want to take advantage of it. 

The Mammoth Book of Gorgeous Guys

It may be premature but I want to whet your appetite and mention "The Mammoth Book of Gorgeous Guys." It is a mammoth anthology of men, nude and semi-nude, published by Constable & Robinson in the UK and by Running Press in the US. Sales will be primarily through Ann Summers outlets in the UK but it will be available through Amazon as well. The book will feature around 50 photographers with 10 images from each artist, Eric Raptosh being one of them. Arthur Tress is one of my favorite fellow contributers. Great news, huh? The bad news is that it won't be available until September 2011 in the UK and November 2011 for the US. It will be worth the wait.

Anna Anka

It's happening in Sweden.  Anna's new show, "Getting Fit with Anna Anka," premiers today in her home country.  She takes Americans who are fattish and blasts them into shape with the help of Marcus Kowal, a Krav Maga trainer and MMA fighter.  It all takes place on the beaches of Santa Monica.

Brett Leonard

Venice is a cool neighboorhood. For instance, I had the opportunity to work with Brett Leonard, a Venice denizen. He is recognized as one of the entertainment industry's digital media visionaries. As director and co-writer of the hit movie "The Lawnmower Man", he is heralded as a maverick in science fiction, fantasy and adventure for creating films with a strong visual presence. He is up for an award for digital innovation and required a portrait for the write-up in Variety Magazine.

As down to earth as you can get, his skills as an actor made for a comfortable relaxed shoot. Add to that some interesting conversation and the result was pretty much a perfect shoot.

WIN-Initiative

Last October, on a scouting visit to New York City, I had the pleasure of meeting Hans Neleman, a famed photographer, who currently runs an agency called WIN-Initiative. The WIN-Initiative image collection brings fresh and unique rights-managed photos from diverse cultures and countries around the world.  At the time Hans invited me to contribute to the collection and, after 10 months of sorting through images the fruits of my labors have now come to fruition.

Graciously, Hans has edited my work and put together an narrative gallery aptly titled "Genuine"  to show work for sale through his boutique agency.  I am so appreciative to Hans and his friendly staff at WIN for this opportunity to market work that might not otherwise be available.  Please enjoy this creative colloboration between Eric Raptosh Photography and WIN-Initiative.  

   

Fourth of July Fun-Raiser

This past weekend marked the start of our ninth year here in Venice and our eighth Fourth of July party. For a change of pace, we experimented with a few new twists to add some purpose to all the vodka tonics and Coke and Malibu’s. Our summer intern, Keats, has been awarded a prestigious grant from the Kathryn Davis Project for Peace to travel to Cairo, Egypt, for six weeks to assist in the renovation and outfitting of a school that caters to the children of Egyptian rubbish-collectors. Before she departs on the fourteenth, we decided to have the party dual-serve as a fundraiser (later renamed “Fun-raiser” by our new roommate, Bill Watson) to help provide more needed supplies for the school (laptops, tables, school supplies, etc.).

The biggest hit of the night—besides our charming bartender, Jason—was a “presidential photobooth,” so named because it mimicked the scene of a presidential portrait--with powdered wigs, tricorner hats, a stretch of thick manila rope, a globe, and a sword. A friend commented that it would look like a poster for tea partiers except—oh wait!—there were books.

Guests could pose however somberly or scandalously they pleased in exchange for a $10 donation to the Cairo Recycling School. The snapping of the flash prompted some to expose their inner gangster, to unbutton shirts, and even to drop jeans. In total, the evening raised almost $300.

The progress of Keats’s project can be followed here: http://recyclingschoolpeace.blogspot.com/ and the entire collection of presidential photobooth photos may be viewed here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/ericraptosh.

A big thank you to all those who made the party such a success and to those who were generous enough to donate to the school.

Road Trip to Liberal Arts

This is Keats writing, Eric’s niece and intern for the summer. I had the pleasure of blogging on the Ireland trip also, so I may be a familiar narrator to those of you who followed our adventures there. Since we haven’t written in quite a while, I’ll do some “back-blogging” on our activities since our last post in May.

After returning from Ireland, Eric and JJ enjoyed a month interim period in Venice before road tripping to Idaho, my home state, in the silver studio minivan. What on earth would compel someone to travel to Idaho? Well, in its defense, Idaho is nowhere near as boring as it may sound, particularly for a photographer. The primary goal of the Idaho trip was to shoot at the College of Idaho, a private liberal arts college in rural Caldwell, 35 miles from the capital city Boise. The College was most gracious in granting us access to the campus, allowing us to shoot in any of its students in any of its buildings. We took full advantage of this and took stills and video footage of swimmers in the pools, basketball players in the gym, and “slackliners” balancing on a rope stretched taut between two trees. We also coordinated a mock movie theater shoot in the College’s Jewitt auditorium—so realistic it even included obnoxious cell phone users, boxes of “propcorn,” and a boy in the back row throwing his empty cup of soda at another boy’s head. Other unique features of Idaho, endearing in their quaintness, were the Roadway Inn and Lardo’s Restaurant in the quiet ski resort town of McCall.

After three weeks of continental breakfasts—conveyor belt muffins, carbon-footprint-costly bananas, and pancakes made from batter in Styrofoam cups—we repacked our gear into the minivan for the hundred and first time (now including my suitcase, laptop, and rollerblades for the Venice boardwalk) and set the GPS to track us back to So-Cal.

Because the drive between Boise and Venice is so long (675 miles to be exact), we made an overnight pitstop in Tahoe. There we stayed with our good friends Jeffery and Agustin, both experts at hosting travel-garbled, ravenous house guests. Jeffery cooked a fantastic dinner of grilled vegetables and chicken breast, and even made a special dinner for me, the obnoxious vegan: cashew egg noodle pasta. Turns out, though, that egg noodles have—go figure—eggs in them, so I had to be so rude as to turn that down, too. Instead, Jeffery was kind enough to candy a mixture of walnuts, cashews, cranberries, and tomatoes, spiced with rosemary and olive oil—a combination I recommend for any adventurous eaters. Despite the hospitality of Jeffery and Agustin, we left for Venice the following morning, another eight and a half hour drive. We dedicated a good eighth of that time paying our respects to Idaho—listening to the entire Napoleon Dynamite soundtrack.

Finn MacCool vs. Benandonner

One of the legendary connections between Ireland and Scotland is the Giant's Causeway in Northern Ireland.  As the legend goes, the Irish giant Finn MacCool wanted to out-muscle his Scottish counterpart Benandonner.  The Causeway was used to cross the ocean but was torn up by Benandonner because, by one account, Finn's wife covered Finn in a blanket and told Benandonner that it was Finn's infant son.  Being a little intimidated that the infant was so big, Benandonner reckoned the infant's father must be gigantic so he ripped up the causeway to insure MacCool could never cross. 

You would think that instead of desiring only to beat each other up, the giants could enjoy each other's company.  I mean, how many giants were there hanging around?  It's not likely they had a high school or a recreation center.  Some company may have been nice.  All I could see that Finn might have found to eat, besides seafood, were the yellow wild gorse flowers.  It could be that Scotland provided some appreciated culinary diversity. Or not...  What do I know about what giants think about or need?

Well, besides the miracle of the 37,000 mostly-hexagonal natural basalt columns that exist here, I experienced a little personal miracle myself.  Unlike the giants, who apparentely just want to fight, as sunset approached I shared company with a companion I met on the Causeway, also named Eric.  During conversation he mentioned he had found a set of car rental keys in the Middle Causeway, which I was exploring about an hour earlier.  To my immediate astonishment and then relief I realized they were mine.  (I had taken my sweatshirt off and stuffed it in my backpack.  The keys must have fallen out of the pocket at that time.)  What if he hadn't found them?  Obviously, I would have been royally #$^&ed without transportation in the middle of nowhere with the temperature dropping quickly in the land of legendary giants. 

What makes for good legends makes for good reflection. Here on these rocks I had time to consider the passage of the 61 million years it took the Causeway to look as it did the day of my visit. Time to sit and observe a natural art installation in slow light and consider my place here at this spot on this planet at this moment.  If a giant thinks and feels anything like me, he must have been content here.  For Finn MacCool, it wasn't about company.  He didn't need Benandonner's companionship because he was happy about his own isolated giant-ness.

I read once that in order to overcome your beast within, you must first learn to love it.  In considering my own giant-ness, I first have to reflect on my insignificance.  Once this is done—and what better place to do it—I can step on the Causeway as a pseudo-giant headed to Scotland and consider what it might have been like for Finn or Benandonner, rivals linked by a road across an ocean eternally trying to out-giant each other. 

In the end, I would like my name to be "Finn MacCool" or "Benandonner" just to be more giant-like—and potentially more popular.  But that would be pretentious.  I suppose even presently we continue to try to out-giant each other, strutting our giant-ness, to feel and appear more important and less insignificant than we really are.  But unlike Finn and Benandonner, we might do better with each other's companionship and company, without our giant-ness, because as the population grows and grows, we all still have to get along.

Coffee, Tea and Make-believe

Today is my 16th day of being in Ireland. I want to point out that during this time I have not had a single drop of coffee. Not one. Probably a record for me. Not that I'm not getting my caffeine—let's be realistic—I am. In the form of Irish tea. When in Rome…

While tea seems to be the rule, it also seems fitting. Here in the upper latitudes (+-53° N ) this time of year, the progression of light lazes through the day. Light is slow to disperse in the mornings and dissipate in the evenings. (I shot till almost 8:30 p.m. last night, albeit with a Feisol tripod. And I know the 5 a.m. atmosphere from taking my niece to the airport twice as she eventually fled the volcanic ash.) Just like the upper-latitudinal light, tea seems to distribute stimulants to my system in a similar languorous way. Instead of a jolt, it's a gentle easy progression. Don't get me wrong, sometimes a heady uppercut jolt is what I need, but this is a welcome departure from my usual wonts. I don't speak Irish (although it sounds like the greatest made-up language ever—even more than Klingon) but by regular tea I feel a speck of something that isn't the usual Slavic-Sicilian me.

Not being fussed about coffee brings me to other things I am not fussed about while in Ireland. Models. Sometimes I have them, sometimes I don't. I like having models. I am often vexed when I don't because as a lifestyle photographer they are preferred. But I can't just create a model from thin air. (Believe me, I tried making one out of scrap metal and construction tidbits lying around the Reynolds Kingdom junkyard-forest. Ridiculous.) Instead, what I did manage in a small way was to invoke human presence with some old weathered chairs that I selectively placed around the Kingdom of Reynolds.

As you can see, I am playing with invisible make-believe tea-people. You can't see them but you know they are there. This is me, in Ireland, drinking tea, playing, in the sometimes-rain.

Cork-Off-Shannon

Minotaur.

The Bull of Minos.

According to Briney Reynolds; I, one, James John Jetel, am the progeny of Pasiphae and the mythic Cretan Bull.

There is really nothing I can do to prove him wrong. However, anyone reading this may email my mother at jjetel@gmail.com . Her name is Janet.

Moving on.
I think it's time to broach the subject of Eric's physical indestructibility. I don't really know how to put this, but I watched Eric Raptosh somehow manage to appear in control of the horse dragging him by his ankle across the field in front of the Reynolds house. Yep. It was awesome, you know, once I found out he was completely unharmed. Not only completely unharmed, but he felt more "alive" after the fact.

Prior to the epic dragging, I had loaned my giant boots to the gracious and fabulous model Deirdre King. Therefore I was relegated dry, sock friendly areas. Due to my zoning, I had the privilege of being at a vantage point which expressed the sheer speed with which a horse can haul a human.

Really friggin' fast.


It's getting late here in Cork...Tomorrow I'll tell you about the Silvermine Mountains, Tipperary, and Count Yorga.

Eyjafjallajökull in Ireland

First, there is the psychic uncertainty caused by Eyjafjallajökull (AY-yah-fyah-lah-YOH-kuul)­­—the most awesome name ever for a volcano--well, glacier actually--that you never knew existed. A force majeure in spite of which Eric still found himself driving to Dublin at 5 a.m. to drop off his favorite niece to her non-existent flight to the states. (I suppose it didn't help that he stayed up till 2 a.m. watching Zombieland with his hosts.)

Then there is Fergal Harman. If Fergal were a meal he would be sharp cheddar and tabasco on rye bread with Costa Rican black coffee. He's thin as a tulip stem with dark sunken eyes. He looks strung out whether he's sober or has downed an entire bottle of champage, which, incidently, is exactly what he won singing for a competition at Dunn's Bar in Carrick while we downed Guinnesses and listened to the crowd scream-singing along to his tempered rendition of Billy Joel's "Piano Man."

People in Ireland are much too eager to work with us, so we have decided to exploit this innocence to the fullest extent before everyone starts learning better and turns on us. Wednesday we convinced James and three of his friends to tromp with us out into the woods (again with our beloved wrestler masks) to film a slo-mo walk up and around the circumference of the spruce trees. There is a simple beauty to the boys slowly winding themselves around the trees, yeilding to the branches, marking a path and a place their own. Through our forest romps, we have discovered a species of wild garlic whose leaves, piquant to the taste, can be munched on the walks between shots.

Yesterday we rented a row boat and, in perfect Viking form, JJ rowed us across Lough Key to a 12th century castle. After scouring the castle, I was reminded of the words uttered by Elizabeth Taylor in the 1966 film version of Edward Albee's "Who's afraid of Virginia Wolf," "What a dump!"  The castle, while beautiful from afar is, upon close inspection, plainly tragic.

OK, now that I've settled on the fact the temper tantrum of a certain Icelandic volcano has closed the Ireland airports entirely, I’m finding myself stranded with these harebrained, testosterone-ridden madmen for another few days or maybe many more. Good thing I have my noise-cancelling headphones, rice milk and vegan scones, for which Bernie has willfully perfected the recipie. And garlic leaves when I’m short on my allicin and diallyl sulphides or just want to spice up my pasta sauce or Irish potatoes.

Spaghetti Road to Galway

The fun continues here in Ireland as we “manhandle” the sharp turns of spaghetti roads on our journey from Carrick to Galway. Galway is a bohemian coastal town where James goes to college. On the drive west we stopped to take some shots at an old cemetery. Some gravestones had odd fishtank-like domes with whimsical religious panoramas inside them (note: whenever that day comes, Eric would like his grave fishtank-panorama-free, since algae seems to gunk up the scene quite quickly). After the cemetery we drove through downtown Galway and decided to park in a lot to grab dinner. Unfortunately, public parking in Galway seems to close at 7, so we had to get back into the car and drive to James’s dormitory to find a long term space. Once there, we got out to ask James’s roommate if it was okay to borrow his space for a few hours. Fortunately, James's roommate, Niall, is darn cute, so we felt obliged to barge in on his instant white rice and popcorn chicken student dinner to snap some stills of the Ping-Pong table in the dining room, laptop lying in the backyard, and Niall playing his guitar in the midst of all the four-boy-house post-apocalyptic chaos. This trip JJ has been filming and had the opportunity to shoot his first “music video.” After bombarding the boys’ evening (completely uninvited, of course), we hit up a chic Italian restaurant called Milano’s, which came highly recommended by the workers at Foot Locker, where we briefly stopped to see the advert photos of our friend Dave Reynolds. Eric ate a gelato chocolate cake desert we coined “Hiroshima,” which made him walk like a penguin all the way back to our parking spot at James’s. Driving on the left really burns the calories, after all. 

Carrick-on-Shannon

Well, Eric Raptosh and crew are finally here in Carrick-On-Shannon, Ireland, after two full days of uncomfortable airplane seats and over-salted peanuts. Our hosts, the Reynolds family, have graciously welcomed us into their home, the Old Rectory, which was built in 1805 and still stands two stories composed of the same stones. The Reynolds’ pony, Slowy, has worn a perfect circle of bare dirt in the front yard. Our guest house is in the backyard, overlooking a very bouncy trampoline and colorful graffiti paneling.

This morning Dave’s mom, Bernie, cooked a traditional Irish dish called “boxty”—a potato, flour, and water mixture that’s deep fried, and is wonderfully tasteful in its simplicity. After breakfast (which so far we’ve been eating between noon and one thanks to jet lag), we all headed down to the Boyle River to go bridge jumping. Eric turned this adventure into a photoshoot by convincing James and his college friends to wear wrestling masks and jump together in synchrony. The four stooges agreed all too eagerly, pretending to be Mexican wrestlers swimming across the border. In most of the photos they look like a hardcore boy band, equipped with British fortified wine and Duff beer.

After Mexican wrestler bridge jumping, Dave showed us two abandoned castles that looked like a hybrid between Fern Gully and William Henry Hudson’s Green Mansions. We explored the area despite a prominently posted “danger: keep out” sign and after a few hours of shooting came home to homemade scones and barbequed pork and sausages.

Overall, the Irish people have been unbelievably gracious, giving us directions when we’re lost, food when we’re hungry, and cooperating even when we ask them to go jump off a bridge—topless with bandit masks and blue dreadlocks, nonetheless.

Todd Cherniawsky

Todd Cherniawsky cover story. The man behind the magic in the blockbusters "Avatar" and "Alice in Wonderland" featured in the Spring 2010 Work of Arts Magazine (pgs. 12-15). Eric Raptosh Photography shot Todd in January for the feature. It was a day of creative frolic and intellectual stimulation with heady accounting about the science and research that went into Avatar. I was pleased to find out that Todd still plays with Legos (having seen a box sitting out he got for Christmas). A great day of work that felt like anything but.

Chef Sauce

Well Internetland,

Here we are, so nice to meet you.

This is JJ over at ERP, I apologize for being out of contact, but I have a great excuse for that.

A little bit about me before the bit about us.

I'm a graduate of The School of the Art Institute of Chicago. Received a BFA in Photography. Prior to SAIC I spent a brief period at Penn State for Meteorology; I still plan to chase tornadoes.

Let's jump to what's been going on in this labyrinthine edifice we call home.

Most importantly, Kakuspace. Let me reiterate. Kakuspace. Kakuspace. Kakuspace.

For the uninitiated, and soon to be; what began as a clever play on perception is blossoming into a fully realized conceptual body of work.

The name comes from acclaimed theoretical physicist Michio Kaku. We're taking gravitational license here and temporarily altering terrestrial law. We aim to create an isolated incidence of physics, which our subject(s) must navigate. This project occurs in the psychological space created by the amendments we apply to accepted physical constructs.
(PS - I love that we here at ERP are living in LA and are most starstruck by scientists)

If you are feeling the inclination to be a part of this, contact me - jj@ericraptosh.com

Next, Ireland.

Oh. Dear. God. Am. I. Excited. We're going to Ireland, folks. Thanks in large part to the supernova of niceness that is Dave Reynolds; Eric, myself, and some special guests are going to trek to Carrick-on-Shannon in early April. We've been brainstorming like madmen, and have some very exciting work ahead of us.

Hopefully that's enough to whet your appetite. (I can't give it all away on the first post)
Until next time.
-JJ

Black and White Spider Awards

The 5th Annual Black and White Spider Awards were announced on Sunday, January 24th. While I was not a winner I did have two nominations: one in the category of Sports titled "Sweat" and one in the category of Nude titled "Spa."

"Sweat" was inspired by my fighter friend Marcus Kowal, a Swedish boxer and instructor of Krav Maga here in Los Angeles. It's raw, rugged and sweaty. "Spa" features my friend Karl, a great model who generously donates his time so I can pursue conceptual themes. His graphic bull tattoo fiercely graces his back in a calm setting of luxurious sun and white buns.

This is the 3rd year I've entered and the 3rd time I've had nominations. You can see examples of some very inspiring work in 14 different categories (including the images mentioned above) at www.thespiderawards.com.