In the fifteen months since the first TINAP exhibition, a lot has changed in my life. Last year, I got a new job building cell phone and Botox ads as a Production Graphic Artist at the San Diego Reader. I’ve just recently been promoted to do editorial layouts, which I enjoy very much. I also have secured a studio photography space where I have taken photos of bands with studio strobes, soft boxes, colored gels, backdrops and other new controlled lighting and photographic equipment for publicity photos and album artwork. I’ve happily entered the world of digital photography and have refined my digital imaging skills through a variety of classes and workshops.
But in spite of the various changes that have come into play, my love for photography—and photos of bands in particular—has not changed.
My primary goal is still to record music with a camera. Knowing that this is impossible has never discouraged me, but occasionally the approach has been a trying issue. For instance, I constantly labor over the paradox of having to craft a photograph that is better than the quality of the music that is at hand. I mean, shouldn’t an average photo suffice for an average band? Well … sure, if I was the only one who was ever going to see it.
Then again, some of the best sonic photography has seldom been about a direct reflection of reality. I tend to lean toward events involving fire, blood, nakedness, projectiles, or the destruction of private property simply based on the fact that they’re unique and, well, entertaining. The world of rock and roll is totally conducive to these desirables. It’s all about the cheap thrills. My only problem is that there are just so many exhibitionists, and so little time.
But even when shock value is not so imminently on hand, I still rely heavily on my own intuition. I’ll study a band carefully to anticipate their movements, wait for the right moment, and snap the shot. Sure, it sounds easy, and it is to some extent, but timing is everything, and if that time passes and you didn’t capture it, you instantly know it. It’s a delicate situation that’s as unpredictable as the weather and as fragile as a first kiss. It has become such a gut feeling that sometimes, when the ebb and flow of the music clicks into place, for that split second when the flash pops off, I feel like I’m actually in the band. And that is more than enough to last me for the rest of my life.
I’ve decided that TINAP2 will be the final public exhibition of my band photography. I’ve never shown the same photo twice anyhow.
CHRIS WOO
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