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At first sight, one senses immediately the charm this man might have possessed in his relationships with both himself and those people and things surrounding his life. This sense is borne out in the wry humor of "Town Hall", with its off kilter framing, which we instantly recognize as Paul Strand. Ironically, a closer study of his personal life indicates Mr. Strand could be a difficult man. The well-known "Wall Street", an earlier piece of darkly shadowed monstrous windows overpowering passers by, is as close to the foggy pictorialist sense Strand will get, and the rest of the images show him breaking away from that style, and moving head first into the previsualized and almost straight photographic style that he was to help break ground for.
In this collection, several of the photographs stand out; but many seem rather innocuous, specifically the portraits of those he knew personally, and those he didn't - none seem to capture the viewers imagination like those of Mr. Strands' contemporaries might, Edward Weston for one. Instead, they seem unimaginative and emotionless. Furthermore, it doesn't help that, lacking that content, it may be that his reputation as an innovative technician in the darkroom goes unnoticed here, seeing these images only on the page (in small 7 inch by 6 inch reprint).
On the other hand, we are shown some photographs which show how powerful a view of quiet solitude can be. Of particular note,"Tir a'Mhurain" stands alone. A wide view of the silence surrounding three horses watering in the bay, and in the very left foreground, they are being watched from far above by a lone white horse. The leading of the three animals has turned its mane toward, and is eyeing the lone horse. The silvery water of the bay reflects the stand of horses, and more strongly, that of an immense and clouded sky, suggesting a powerful solemnity. Faintly, in mid-ground, wood buildings of a fishing village are left powerless in front of only a small mountain range. Taken in 1954, an American living in France (but not able to speak the language), Mr. Strand might have felt himself the lone horse. The obtrusive sky begging for silence. The artist contemplating his subject from afar.
"Driveway" was taken late in his life (in fact, three years prior to his death) where he lived in France. This poetic view leads us through an overgrowth, tunnel-like, of bare tree limbs and branches. Beneath this dark surrounding of hibernating growth, two parallel white cobblestone paths. Our eyes search the dark, shadowed background to where we are being lead; almost imperceptible, at the end of the driveway, we make out a decrepit structure: a country cottage, seemingly empty and abandoned. One cannot help but feel the author's probable recognition of the path of his own life, and the awful truth of life: of autumn, the oncoming winter, the drawing to a close, and of coming home to a place unknown.
In this collection, these are his strongest images, these landscapes. - whether "Fox River", from his acclaimed book "Time in New England", or the handful of New York cityscapes, or the country landscapes and village life scenes, such as "Marketplace", taken in Italy. Robert Adams has suggested that Mr. Strands work went into decline following his emigration to France in 1950 (1). In actuality, it is these images we wish for more of. Mr. Strand's capacity was not limited by time and place, but by subject and content. Seeing the images borne from his emigrated life, one is left wanting less of his still life's and portraits, and more of what showed a more genuine side of Mr. Strand through symbolic form. Not the modernist machine pictures like "Oil Refinery", or "Akeley Motion Picture Camera", but more of "Landscape, Sicily, Italy", with its bare, white birch trees having cloistered the villager's in their quiet homes.
However, in this book, as a simple compendium of Mr. Strand's oeuvre, the viewer is at least left with a closer understanding of a part of what this celebrated photographer was seeing throughout the varied stages and places, both known and foreign, of his life.
1. Adams, Robert Why People Photograph, Aperture Press, 1994. pg. 85
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Cris Cunningham
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I admit I am fairly new to these programs and not yet confident in my understanding and use of their various tools and functions, nonetheless I found this book very helpful in not only taking me beyond the tutorials, but in showing me the vast capabilities of these graphics programs. There are many good techniques shown here that I know will be very useful to me as I become more proficient in the use of these programs.
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I have compared the dosages with others formularies and fortunately, these are the same or similar. And finally, because this book is small, you can take it with you to your vet's consults.
I have compared the dosages with others formularies and fortunately, these are the same or similar. And finally, because this book is small, you can take it with you to your vet's consults.
Coming Back, I Visit Myself
I knock twice on the door of the old apartment. A woman lets me in. My silver toiletries. My plants. My knife and fork and napkin. I look to see what has died or been given away but everything is here.
I say nothing. I am not supposed to say anything. I poke my head in the closet looking for the good green dress.
---
Oftentimes it seems that the best poetry is created with unexpected juxtaposition, just as the best humor is, and one wonders at times why humor is not used as a device more often in poetry. And while I'd hesitate to go so far as to draw a comparison between McDougall, a relatively understated humorist, and Mel Brooks, it's certainly not out of the question. This is a fine little book, one which will remain on my shelves to be read again after enough time has passed that I have let the memory of the small pleasures contained herein blur, and I'll likely be just as pleasantly surprised again at how good a book this is.
Like the rain in the Delta she comes from, McDougall's poems sneak up on you, catch you unawares. Their effect can be chilling or warming, and surprising either way.
If there's something wrong with this collection, it's the title--taken, as such titles are, from a poem within. The title might spur in many men, even of literary bent, a sniff of disdain, and give the whiff of something "too" feminine for male notice. Wrong: These poems punch, even as they whisper.
I've heard McDougall read, and I've heard an audience literally gasp, collectively, at one or other of her lines. And I hear her voice in this collection.
As a writer, I aspire to her delicacy and power. And, as a linguist and teacher, I delight in the way McDougall herself delights in licking the syllables.
If you're not chronically postmodern or terminally hip and you think there's something worth reading for in Ciardi, Frost, Sandburg, or Eliot, pick up "The Woman in the Next Booth"--or, for that matter, any of McDougall's collections. It won't be the last you'll buy.
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The author provides easy to read and understand instructions for the icebreakers. Group size, materials needed (many require no preparation), time needed, and potential goal (if any) are laid out simply and are easy to find.
I would recommend this book highly. Good luck with your event planning.
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This book did not detail us on the reason why some of his co-reformers parted ways with him; but I did enjoy the time I invested on reading it.