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07/13/2011 02:30:37 PM · #1 |
| I'd like to see this challenge open to all comers, so basic editing, maybe even straight out of the camera, no cropping, no anything, because pap should speak for itself and reveal the Real [Hu]Man. |
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07/13/2011 02:40:42 PM · #2 |
| Sounds like a fun minimal challenge to me! |
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07/13/2011 02:50:26 PM · #3 |
| What the hell is an "emotional pap"? |
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07/13/2011 02:52:04 PM · #4 |
| I don't know. I was hoping to find out. |
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07/13/2011 03:00:31 PM · #5 |
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07/13/2011 03:03:15 PM · #6 |
| I get to photograph my kids with the kittens? GREAT! |
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07/13/2011 03:03:51 PM · #7 |
In the original usage (a thread a few days ago IIRC), the intended meaning is "Nonsense"
//en.wiktionary.org/wiki/pap |
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07/13/2011 03:07:07 PM · #8 |
LOL...at last, the perfect venue for the Flubber Collection of  Clive_Patric_Nolan! ;-)
Message edited by author 2011-07-13 15:19:49. |
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07/13/2011 03:09:16 PM · #9 |
| This would need some kind of explanation, or the pics you'd get from the US people would be against the TOS. LOL! ;D |
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07/13/2011 03:10:56 PM · #10 |
| The way I have always used pap is a paste or gruel, devoid of texture or differentiation, a thing without substance. |
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07/13/2011 03:13:19 PM · #11 |
My entry, "Black Cloud of My Heart" might describe my feeling on my "Bugs" score...
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07/13/2011 03:59:33 PM · #12 |
| possible by-product of papal emotion |
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07/13/2011 08:36:46 PM · #13 |
 tnun, whilst i can see where you are coming from, and appreciate your enthusiasm, i do have to say that i am a bit worried and concerned about this suggestion. I don't think you have fully understood the nature of the 'Pap'. Where you are heading is a long and dark road that can only end in dissolution. I honestly feel you are stepping onto dangerous ground.
Perhaps an honest and heartfelt story from my past may turn your, and others, head from this path. I hope, to God, it does.
When i was a younger man, in the early 1980's, i spent much of my time indulging in the, some might say frivolous, pursuit of 'photographic art'. I was quite successful really and had a number of exhibitions; mostly in the Home Counties and the parts of Wales and Scotland that welcomed such things at that time. It could also be said that i made a 'splash' in Eastern Europe and i often enjoyed visits to galleries there that were putting on a show of mine. It was during one of these visits that i was first introduced to 'emotional pap' and all that entails.
It was during the autumn of '83 that one of my shows was welcomed into a small gallery in the Vysocany district of Prague. Hideously urban and run down, the area nestled the gallery like an egg, surrounded by the most horrendous of smoke choked factories and black houses. Inside, though, i was welcomed, as ever, with what passed at the time as fine wine and delicacies. The show was a complete success (at least to my mind) and i mingled happily with the rosy cheeked collectors and mayors and such. I had put on a selection of my 'abstracts'- a series of images, taken with my humble film camera, of trains rushing past, but on a very slow shutter speed so as to blur the roaring engines to a smearing, screaming mass. This, of course, portrayed the rapid onslaught of 'the machine' and its unthinking spread over the human condition.
It was whilst i was hovering by one of my larger pieces (Engine#64) talking to the wife of a local fur merchant, that i first heard the word 'Pap'. It was spoken by a large gentleman who had appeared beside me. 'Emotional Pap.' he repeated. 'Thats what you are looking for.'
Now, it's very hard to convey the impact of 'certain' people in such a lowly way as words. If i say he was big, black-haired, bushy of beard; it is a useless irrelevance. If i describe his clothing; smart, almost official with his mirror like shoes and tight-fitting, but almost 'fashionable' cut suit, it won't help any of us to picture him. Least of all me.
What i will say is this; the three or four watches that hung, pinned like a midwifes, to his lapel pocket; each one scarred or broken in some way, seemed, to me at the time, almost comical and stupid. Almost clown-like.
Now, 30 years later, i can see them as the hideous things they were.
He said his name was Adalwine Meyrink and that he was a distant relative of Gustav Meyrink. He said he could show me 'emotional pap'. He said i needed to come with him. He said many things. All i can say is that i went. I dis-entwined my arm from my lady-friend for that night (i'm slightly ashamed to say that i engaged in company many such 'art-school' types on these tours. Young girls whose black eyeshadow and morose music were typical of the sort i seemed to attract to my shows-usually ending in a cheap bottle of red wine and a bad nights sleep, and fumble, on a mattress) before walking with him into the empty street.
I remember walking through the Prague streets with him as he talked. Also i remember, and i feel this is important, years later, that he spat whilst he walked. Punching each end of a sentence with a mouthful of saliva onto the cobbled streets. He seemed full of rage. Why did i follow him? I still ask myself that.
What did he talk about? He talked about photography. He talked about Fox Talbot and the Becher's. About Stephen Shore and Arbus. About Victorian ectoplasm. About Ansell and the forgotten photographs of the mid 18th century American pioneers.
We arrived at his house. It wasn't in anyway what i was expecting. Pure white walls with not a hint of decoration. Adalwine went and got drinks whilst i slightly staggered about the large room he had led me into. It was bare apart from a large print on the wall depicting what i can only describe as a man screaming. The strange thing was was that the more i looked at it the more i become convinced that the photograph was one of my own, enlarged to a large degree, but, still, just a small crop of one of my own photographs. I stared at it and become lost in it as one often does in abstract art.
Adalwine disturbed my reverie with a tray of refreshments. The glass he handed to me was, i thought, absinthe, but, as i took a large mouthful, it seemed far more viscous and solid than any absinthe i'd had before. The way it clung to the tongue and back of the throat, coating like syrup, was unlike any of the Green Goddess i'd had the pleasure of. Nevertheless i felt comfortable; and as he led me into another room, to sit down onto a soft, grass laden floor, i was quite happy to follow what might become.
Adalwine was talking again, though i found it hard to keep up with him. He was talking about 'photography' being one of the original 'stories'. About how the Sumarians and the 4th Dynasty Egyptians held 'shadows' of people under the light. How the 'f-stops' could be mapped onto the Hebrew Kabbalsitic 'Tree of Life'- How the Typhonian Tree of Life is just a negative of our society and can be mapped and printed using Ansell Adam's processing techniques. I was sat on the floor, giddy by this. I was dimly aware of four figures stood in the corners of the room, huge and dark. Adalwine seemed to go and kneel down and pay some sort of service to them, in turn, as he took, from out of his pocket a watch, attached to a piece of ribbon, and laid it in the centre of, what i was beginning to understand, was an altar.
As he led me to the centre of the room, my legs useless, i could feel tears streaming from my face; though i was not sad. I wiped my eyes and realised that it was not tears that ran but a heavy green liquid which soon started rising up though my throat. Soon it was pouring from my mouth, eyes and nose, gagging me as i tried to scream. Adalwine was chanting now, shouting, ' Emotional Pap!'' Emotional Pap!' as the four figures raised their heads and looked at me.
Suddenly, impossibly, the room opened. A gaping mouth of hideous bestiality yawned as the four figures exploded in light. I was drenched in unbearable truth, my soul stripped from me. A sound of laughter echoing as the room faded to black.
When i woke up Adalwine was gone. The house was empty. All i found was a battered old watch. Just like midwifes wear. I took it and went back to Wales, swearing that i would never again get involved with 'emotional pap' again.
I only hope you will heed this story of mine.
Message edited by author 2011-07-13 22:00:56. |
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07/13/2011 08:47:41 PM · #14 |
| well done sir, well done. Twas a thing of twisted beauty. |
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07/13/2011 08:55:20 PM · #15 |
| Great stuff! I was walking those streets along side of you as read your story. |
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07/13/2011 08:56:36 PM · #16 |
Jaysus, Clive. I am at a loss for words.
R. |
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07/13/2011 08:59:24 PM · #17 |
I was hoping this thread would be as awesome as the title and its reference lead me to believe. Little did I realize, it was in the challenge suggestions forum and succeeded in entertaining me to a degree that far exceeded my expectations.
ETA: Clive, your RAW emotion is unparalleled.
Message edited by author 2011-07-13 21:00:05. |
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07/13/2011 09:24:58 PM · #18 |
clive_patric_nolan, it is unfortunate that I was born in Amerika which situation apparently confers a genetic resistance to learning from history or even from your beautiful but tawdry (midwives! mattresses! artistic renown! Praguematism! the cavalry! Ken Rockwell) Siebaldean tale. As far as it is possible to liken my personality to any archetype, Toad of Toad Hall is That One: I am simply mad for creative pap - Toad who, at the wheel of his wayward automobile, cried Pap! Pap!
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07/13/2011 10:22:54 PM · #19 |
| great challenge suggestion... t deserves a warm pap on the back... |
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07/13/2011 10:43:32 PM · #20 |
Originally posted by skewsme:
great challenge suggestion... t deserves a warm pap on the back... |
Gross... |
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07/13/2011 10:44:50 PM · #21 |
| I blame Lovecraft and cider for that. Story of me life. |
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07/13/2011 10:50:30 PM · #22 |
| The only thing that matters is that this challenge take place before the Film Noir challenge. |
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07/14/2011 12:16:02 AM · #23 |
| Lo! The Bard of Llaregub incarnate! |
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07/14/2011 03:01:47 AM · #24 |
Originally posted by clive_patric_nolan:
I blame Lovecraft and cider for that. Story of me life. |
......with a twist of Borges for good measure. Prague, homunculus and such......a delight |
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07/14/2011 04:18:22 AM · #25 |
So let me get this straight... It would be a sad (emotional) portrait of a pet that is up for adoption? |
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