Artist Statement:
For me, photographs are all about the past. Even when I photograph to make a statement about the present, or to comment on the future, the image itself— the one I’ve just made simply by opening and closing a shutter— is cemented in the past. When I look at photographs, no matter whose photographs they are, or when they were made, they inevitably conjure all sorts of memories. Looking at old photographs of my family, or even of myself, I am staring at tangible memories, often barely recognizing those people in the pictures looking back at me. And late at night, when I replay events that occurred earlier in my day, those events or conversations appear in my mind as a series of visual narratives, not all that clear or well-defined, and very much like half-remembered dreams.
To help me create images that echo those visual vignettes, I often use pinhole or toy cameras. Unusual perspectives, long exposures, and a sense of movement and fluidity are inherent with these particular cameras. I also print in 19th century hand-applied printing processes, an intuitive way to print, offering both creative freedom and infinite possibilities. These printing processes mesh well with my images, which are nearly always interpretive. The repeated layerings of the gum bichromate process, in particular, remove all the hard and clearly defined edges, resulting in a softness and ambiguity— much the way we see and remember.
And so, for me, the photographic print itself provides a tangible way to hold on to the past- to a memory or dream- however elusive, fugitive, and ever-shifting.
The Old Garden
I began this ongoing series six years ago, on March 3rd, 2018 (Day #29), as part of my mission to create a piece of handmade art everyday for a year. The Old Garden honors my own Southern garden, which I view clearly from my back windows, and that of my grandmother’s, now seen only in my mind’s eye. Etched in deep faded hues, our gardens mingle, intertwine, and overlap. Most of these flowers, now permanently fixed as pigment encased in hardened gum arabic, remain- like my memories- as ephemeral as ever.
Figurative
These images are of my daughter, Annalee, who is now 36. I began this series nearly 25 years ago. This ongoing project has always been and remains a collaborative one. As metaphorical portraits, they suggest the essence of a person, rather than offer any literal interpretation. I like to think of these as visual vignettes that suggest half-remembered, fragmented dream worlds. They borrow from the past, my ever-changing and skewed memories of that past, and fleeting moments in time.
Diana Bloomfield
CLICK ON IMAGES TO VIEW DETAILS
For me, photographs are all about the past. Even when I photograph to make a statement about the present, or to comment on the future, the image itself— the one I’ve just made simply by opening and closing a shutter— is cemented in the past. When I look at photographs, no matter whose photographs they are, or when they were made, they inevitably conjure all sorts of memories. Looking at old photographs of my family, or even of myself, I am staring at tangible memories, often barely recognizing those people in the pictures looking back at me. And late at night, when I replay events that occurred earlier in my day, those events or conversations appear in my mind as a series of visual narratives, not all that clear or well-defined, and very much like half-remembered dreams.
To help me create images that echo those visual vignettes, I often use pinhole or toy cameras. Unusual perspectives, long exposures, and a sense of movement and fluidity are inherent with these particular cameras. I also print in 19th century hand-applied printing processes, an intuitive way to print, offering both creative freedom and infinite possibilities. These printing processes mesh well with my images, which are nearly always interpretive. The repeated layerings of the gum bichromate process, in particular, remove all the hard and clearly defined edges, resulting in a softness and ambiguity— much the way we see and remember.
And so, for me, the photographic print itself provides a tangible way to hold on to the past- to a memory or dream- however elusive, fugitive, and ever-shifting.
The Old Garden
I began this ongoing series six years ago, on March 3rd, 2018 (Day #29), as part of my mission to create a piece of handmade art everyday for a year. The Old Garden honors my own Southern garden, which I view clearly from my back windows, and that of my grandmother’s, now seen only in my mind’s eye. Etched in deep faded hues, our gardens mingle, intertwine, and overlap. Most of these flowers, now permanently fixed as pigment encased in hardened gum arabic, remain- like my memories- as ephemeral as ever.
Figurative
These images are of my daughter, Annalee, who is now 36. I began this series nearly 25 years ago. This ongoing project has always been and remains a collaborative one. As metaphorical portraits, they suggest the essence of a person, rather than offer any literal interpretation. I like to think of these as visual vignettes that suggest half-remembered, fragmented dream worlds. They borrow from the past, my ever-changing and skewed memories of that past, and fleeting moments in time.
Diana Bloomfield
CLICK ON IMAGES TO VIEW DETAILS
© The Photographer's Eye: A Creative Collective