IRRESOLUTE APOTHEOSIS (2015-2016)
DEATH TO PHOTOGRAPHY (2013-2015)
AN ACCIDENTAL METAPHOR (2010-2013)
Aug. 2016 | I’m very happy to have a selection of images along with a few words featured at PhotoArtMag. Give them a visit at: PHOTOARTMAG.COM.
May 2016 | I have had the privilege to be seen and heard by questions of genuine sincerity & interest in an interview with Miggy Angel, at Burning House Press. Have a look: BURNING HOUSE PRESS.
March 2016 | A friend has (a propos ‘Jan. 2016’) made me aware of the following remarks by the Finnish composer Aulis Sallinen: “composing cannot be explained in any way other than self-referential” and “the musical event itself contains everything we need to know about it”. Obviously, we can accept aurally a kind of ‘self-reliance’ that we seem most unwilling to concede visually (for different reasons, not all of them very sound); I often envy these kinds of musicians, working in a field where the most obvious aspect of an artwork does not need to be ceaselessly pointed towards and reminded of. Where ♥ means ♥ and speaks to ♥, not System Circulatory:
Artery – Aorta, pulmonary trunk and right and left pulmonary arteries, Right coronary artery, left main coronary artery
Vein – Superior vena cava, inferior vena cava, right and left pulmonary veins, great cardiac vein, middle cardiac vein, small cardiac vein, anterior cardiac veins.
Nerve – Accelerans nerve, Vagus nerve
Oct. 2015 | Stalking Dogs – my wandering mind-ish, color photographic and strange habit of following dogs around – trenchcoat, notebook-in-hand – to spy on their daily appointments, is featured in Phosmag. You should give it a reasonable amount of your time: PHOSMAG.
Sep. 2015 | I’m happy to have my work in Phases magazine once again. Have a look here: PHASES. The images of Paracosmos are the same as those of Death To Photography; Paracosmos is a book project that combines both images and text – it’s diverse work about ‘seeing’ and ‘being’ and the ‘how’ rather than the ‘what’, etc, (etc), “etc”.
Jan. 2015 | I was happy to be featured at Mutantspace (HERE) and inspired by what Moray Mair wrote about the images. To have my work/words taken seriously that way is always a great feeling. I’d like to use this opportunity to clarify that I’m not averse to meaning per se. I think ’presence’ or ’the image’ is itself thoroughly meaningful, the meaning I try to stay away from is ’description-meaning’; the latter having become a kind of intellectual hegemony of experience. (Intellectual is good, hegemony – not so much.) Our senses are inherently contextual, fundamentally creative and too busy talking to ever find the time to listen – but it is definitely possible to lower the voice. There is a song beneath the song; if we stretch ourselves, we can just about taste the scent of it.
Dec. 2014 | “Death To Photography” – the zine – is now a part of Josef Chladeks fantastic photographic resource: HERE. Also “DTP” was featured among that multitude of great work that is Phases Magazine – Phases.
Nov. 2014 | Antler Press made a beautiful zine on “Death To Photography” – it’s a limited edition, you can find it HERE.
Sep. 2014 | What I like about the cellos of Bach is how aware they are of their emergence out of the void. So much so that the sounds seem manufactured to help me hear silence. I’m not sure I’ve heard other music so apparently conscious of its own nature; the knowledge that in the absense of nothing I am nothing.
June 2014 | Death To Photography grew up among the wolves. Lost in translations it knows not what it is and how to behave among humans – wolflike qualities aren’t lost here though met with the ambivalence of awe and disdain. Just look at it, stuck in a state of relentless imagery, obsessively supplying itself with itself, secretly aspiring for the major arcana: the fool, the star, the magician.
May 2014 | Jag drömde att jag tilläts bläddra i ett gigantiskt och av tid mycket vackert snidat band i vilket de döda samlades utan kapitelindelning. De var enkelt tecknade i en stil som förhöll sig till det forntida egyptiska med klädsam respektlöshet; en av de avlidna blinkade åt mig medan de andra nöjde sig med en foglig om inte tillmötesgående närvaro. Jag insåg att det var farligt för mig att betrakta boken för länge: det fanns en risk att sugas in i den, vilket gjorde mig illa till mods när jag vid flera tillfällen återkom till sidorna av hud och vass för att slå upp ett sista uppslag en sista gång. Som när jag har en bit födesledagstårta kvar i kylen eller när det ändå bara återstår ett glas och ett halvt i flaskan.
April 2014 | Given the choice, I always use the explicit version when making playlists for streaming music. That’s just how I roll.
March 2014 | I read somewhere that dogs experience humans merely as larger dogs. That must be why they treat me like a dog, licking my face although we are not lovers. And, if it’s true, they must be thoroughly impressed: this morning a parson russell terrier watched me use the front paws to put socks on the back paws.
Feb. 2014 | In the darkness restless to become spring: a car headlights the birches. Ethereal, sudden, an unexpected beauty – belly riding ferris wheel – it’s swift enough to make you dizzy. And the road is dirty; I have pebbles in my shoes.
Feb. 2014 | Om människan vore ett däggdjur vore vi kardborrar.
Jan. 2014 | There is a couple solving a crossword together on the subway northbound. He is holding the pen and paper, tired but not unhappy. She is the active one, silent between words but focused. He is closing his eyes, visible from where I’m sittin but not from her point of view. Whenever a word is ready to write she will account for it with passion. As far as I can see the crossword is in swedish but that is likely not their native tongue, they’re speaking some other language unfamiliar to me.
Fredric Nord is a photographer and writer living in Karlstad, Sweden. He enjoys coffee and watching dogs run as fast as they can. His work has appeared in Phases Magazine, Phosmag, Mutantspace, Burning House Press and in print via Antler Press. Fredric is currently making new photographs and writing essays on the poetics of photography and life.
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My sole interest is the fundamental poetry of presence and the visual music of photography. I collect images to be layers of poetry on poetry. The way rings of a tree trunk seems to determine age but really is an expanding with space. Looking at a photograph doesn’t have to be very different from picking up a tree cone, saturated with the warmth of summer sunlight, gently cupping it in your hand. In fact, it takes a lot of imagination to read an image as a representative of something other than itself. And for what?
The way I see it, any photograph is itself a visualized ‘wondering’. Why would I want to translate that into an intellectual conundrum? It would be like trading an experience for a description of an experience. The description, of course, becomes an experience in its own right, but an entirely different one: the experience of seeing an image is lost to the experience of describing it. In this sense, even having an opinion of an artwork means you didn’t experience it at all – you rejected it in favor of your own prejudice. And killed it as an autonomous experience by translating whatever it had to offer into an aspect of your own personality. Nothing is really gained this way as life becomes a zero-sum game of translation of translation of translation.
The edge of a photograph proves its inability to represent something other than its own kind, it makes it an individual in the image of its creator, not its subject. Visual experience is a continuum – soft, thick, light, rich. It has no sharp edges. It’s not the end of the world. The edge undermines the picture as a means of reflecting the nature of life, but validates it in terms of being an outstanding part of it. However, the dialogue between the viewer and the work is not limited to a simple transaction of signification. One might also use photographs as autonomous aspects of shared experience. The viewer has the power to transcend any limitation. Those looking for ‘the what’ of an image knows how to think, and that’s not a bad thing. But for those who can see, ‘the what’ is an afterthought.
It seems to me that ‘the joy of visual music’ or – should one get lucky – ‘the alchemical silence of consonance’ are both experiences of magic, two modes of stating that which is obvious yet hidden by habit: all wonderings are destined for wonder.