The National. Awesome show!! (at Calvin College)
Photographer Translates His Nightmares Into Surreal, Haunting Photographs
by 19-year-old photographer Nicolas Bruno
I am in LOVE with these.
This is Camden, my 8-year-old son. He was at the finish last year wearing his “my mom is faster than your dad” T-shirt and holding up the sign he had made me. He never got to see me finish. He was sent off into the crowds full of panic and fear. He listened to the adults he was with and did what he was told. He was brave. He tried blocking his ears but the noise was too loud.
Camden thought his mom was “dead.”
In the months after the bombings last year, I would watch him sleep. It brought me back to the first few weeks he was born, when I would stand by his crib to make sure he was breathing.
Last year, I would stand by his bed and cry, knowing that my brave little man never got to show me the sign he made; knowing my race had put him in harms way; reliving the two hours I spent in silence not knowing if he was safe.
I felt guilt and anger.
Camden won’t be at the finish this year. He said “sorry mom, I just can’t go.” I am running Boston to show Camden that his mom is brave and that, with time, he will be able to go to the Boston Marathon again.
He will be able to see a fire truck without looking scared or watch fireworks without jumping into our laps in a panic. He will be able to sit through a thunderstorm without running for cover.
The thought of him not being at the finish breaks my heart and will open up a new stream of emotions. And I am sure when I get home on April 21st, 2014, I will watch Camden fall asleep and I will cry. Tears of happiness that together we did it!
— Amanda Burgess
Amazing read. Thank you.
For three decades, starting in the 1930s, he did the same thing. He’d sit inside a photo booth. He’d smile. He’d pose.
And then—pop! pop! pop!—out would pop a glossy self-portrait, in shades of black and white. There he was, staring back at himself … and grinning. And, sometimes, almost scowling. There he was, mirthful. And, sometimes, almost scornful.
The man—nobody knows who he was—repeated this process 455 times, at least, and he did so well into the 1960s. Nobody knows for sure why he did it. Or where he did it. All we know is that he took nearly 500 self-portraits over the course of thirty years, at a time when taking self-portraits was significantly more difficult than it is today, creating a striking record of the passage of time.
The man’s effort is now being shared with the public in the form of a collection being shown at Rutgers’ Zimmerli Art Museum in New Brunswick. “445 Portraits of a Man,” the exhibit is appropriately called, takes these early, earnest selfies and presents them as art.
Read more. [Image courtesy Donald Lokuta]
"Selfies" before our "selfies"?