Officers of the Peace

“Police mistakenly shoot 911 caller during manhunt,” read a recent headline in USA Today.

 

Nari Ward, Suspicious Buldge, 2002.  image courtesy of www.lehmannmaupin.com
Nari Ward, Suspicious Buldge, 2012.
image courtesy of http://www.lehmannmaupin.com

Tension was thick in Ferguson, Missouri, while the citizens awaited the grand jury decision on the case of Michael Brown, the unarmed teenage boy shot in the back by a police officer. Emotions were unleashed with the announcement of the jury’s decision not to indict Officer Warren as the answer to justice.

And then there’s the story of Oscar Grant, the unarmed BART passenger fatally shot by a transit officer, a tragedy that inspired the movie Fruitvale Station. “I made a mistake,” testified officer Johannes Mehserle about the shooting, as reported by Huffington Post contributor Michael McLaughlin, who further stated, “The 33-year-old claims he mistakenly used his service revolver when he wanted to grab a Taser.”

 

Muarizio Cattelan, Frank and Jamie, 2002. image courtesy of ww.christies.com
Muarizio Cattelan, Frank and Jamie, 2002.
image courtesy of ww.christies.com

 

I’ll share my own inane encounter with a peace officer. I often cycle on a quiet, one-lane residential street that is mostly a well-ridden bike lane. There are stop signs at intersections to keep motorists from using this neighborhood side street to bypass traffic on the busier, adjacent two-lane road. Routinely, cyclists do not stop at the stop signs—some may slow down rather than speeding through them, as I did recently. Regrettably.

Passing through this lane, I was overtaken—more precisely, cut off—by a police car with flashing lights. I thought to myself, “Whoa, this is aggressive enforcement for a stop-sign violation.” I abruptly braked, clipped out of my pedals, anticipating my lecture on bike safety. Instead, the police officer stepped out of his vehicle, shut his car door without even glancing in my direction, and went off at a waddling pace holding a gun in his hand. I don’t mean touching his holster, where his gun should have been. I mean he was wielding a gun in the air as he ambled toward the white picket fence in front of his parked vehicle. There he stopped and looked intently, rather nervously, at the house.

I realized then that my stop-sign infraction was not his objective. And as comical as the scene might be to recall—chubby cop, waddling like a toddler toting his weapon—it really did concern me. The police officer could have caused me to crash by cutting me off. If he believed there was imminent danger, his first action should have been to warn me to stay back from a potentially dangerous situation. I feared for any cat that might cross that yard—the officer appeared ready to shoot at anything.

As I cycled away, I could feel the entire scene had frightened me. I considered returning to get the officer’s information and report him, but then the thought of reporting a police officer frightened me even more, the prospect that I could be targeted as a troublemaker. Feeling bothered, I quickly pedaled home.

I am not writing this to ignite a fury against police officers. It is one encounter with one cop. In the larger scheme, I deeply respect the risks that police are willing to face in the line of duty to maintain order in our communities. I surmise they hold one of society’s most stressful jobs. No, I would not prefer to live in a lawless society. I have never been faced with a dangerous, life-threatening experience, and if it were to happen to me, I would like to know the police were there to protect me.

To get a wider perspective, I did a Google search for how many officers die in the line of duty and how many suspects are killed in police pursuit annually. Finding no reports, I inquired from a friend, a magistrate judge, who provided a precise list of officer fatalities, but could not find a good source for suspects who have died while in pursuit by officers. These two links offer some statistics:

 

http://www.odmp.org/search/year

 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_killings_by_law_enforcement_officers_in_the_United_States

 

They are called peace officers. Yet, why do they illicit feelings of ill ease, tension, power play, or actually confrontation? Police are intended, ultimately, to make us feel calm and safe. They are public servants paid with our tax dollars to ensure peace within a community. But why is it that when I ask anyone, of any age, “How do you feel when you approached by an officer?” they all admit to feeling guilty or nervous. Not once has anyone replied “safe.”

My son’s friend, John, told me a story passed along from his father. When John was a baby, he had difficulty sleeping through the night, crying his lungs out. On one particularly mild evening, his father decided to take him out for a stroll rather than pace the apartment. Not more than three blocks from home, a police car stalked them down. Interrogating John’s father with a harassing tone, the police questioned him whether this was indeed his son and what business he had wandering the neighborhood at night.

It is not that I long for the days of Mayberry R.F.D., a fictional time when life was simple and the sheriff never carried a gun. But I would like to see and read more heartwarming stories where the officer of the peace maintains a calm, friendly vibe.

Not too long ago, I was traveling in Jamaica with my son. We hired a driver to take us to the rural, “road-less-traveled” side of the island to visit seaside villages and local farmers markets. Our driver wanted to take us to his favorite restaurant in Port Antonio. Unfortunately, all the vegetables were in the markets and there was nothing on the menu for me, a vegetarian, to eat. We decided to drive further along the highway to Boston Bay, known for the best jerk chicken on the island. Our driver, worrying we wouldn’t find any fresh plantains, yams, or ackee, waved down a police car to ask the officers if they knew of any restaurant where we might find both jerk chicken and vegetarian cuisine. The officers chatted amongst themselves, made a call, and sent us on our way.

Apparently, they’d phoned their favorite jerk chicken spot to inquire if the cook could prepare a meal for me. When we arrived the restaurant knew who we were (the only tourists) and we didn’t even need menus. They prepared our lunch, and it was delicious! Later, the two officers stopped by to see how we liked our lunch. Bursting with flavor, police officers assist tourists in a unique, delectable local lunch. Wouldn’t it be nice to read more headlines like this? True, they provided an unforgettable experience and a happy tummy. More importantly, I’ll remember their “Yah mon” calm.

FeelTheVibe_Culture_Cuisine_feature-1

Jamaican graffiti

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Listen to Silence

Is silence golden? When I imagine silence I don’t see gold. I more likely see black or even white. How does one visualize silence? And, why do certain images come to signify silence?

Silence is conceptual. Even though, as composer/artist John Cage stated, “There is no such thing as silence. Something is always happening that makes a sound.” And he sought to prove this in his 1952 performance 4’33”. In fact, pure silence is not obtainable or feasible; even though, we often sense it, feel it, and maybe even see it.

John Cage, 4'33" (In Proportional Notation), 1952/1953. image courtesy of www.moma.org
John Cage, 4’33” (In Proportional Notation), 1952/1953. image courtesy of http://www.moma.org

With a constant bombardment of noise–data, images, gossip, news, opinions (including blogs like mine)–hurling at us on our computers and smart phones, silence is precious, like time.  I, again, quote Cage: “There is no such thing as an empty space or empty time. There is always something to see, something to hear. In fact, try as we may to make a silence, we cannot.”

Silence thus is stillness, calmness. Silence is not necessarily a lack of sound as it is a cultivation of interior peacefulness, a stilled and quieted soul. Silence is the sound of breath. Silence is the sound of the wind, the sound of nature. Silence is an undisturbed, singular focus and complete absorption into something in the present moment.

How does an artist capture the concept of Silence?  How does one depict in an image or object the essence of silence? The artist must produce a ‘void’, a feeling, a resonating, a relation to language, something dialectical.

see-no-evil-hear-no-evil-speak-no-evil
image courtesy of http://www.allposters.com

The 1980s Pop artist, Keith Haring, loudly proclaimed a political sound to silence. Influenced by the ancient Japanese philosophy of the three wise monkeys which commonly portray that seeing and saying nothing is virtuous, Haring counters that belief by stating its opposite in a work from 1989: Ignorance = Fear / Silence = Death.

Keith Haring, Ignorance, 1989.
Keith Haring, “Ignorance=Fear”, 1989. image courtesy of http://www.haring.com

Also politically charged, Andy Warhol’s Electric Chair (1971), a series of 10 silkscreen prints, stages a bleak, empty electric chair in his usual colorful Pop Art fashion. While some see profound silence and emptiness, I hear an echo that radiates of protest, pain, and a dispiriting atmosphere of power instilling hopelessness in the name of justice. Both artists relate silence to death, the former illustrating that by keeping silent you are an accomplice to death and the latter depicting, although ambiguously taking a stand, that capitol punishment shall provide the ultimate silencing of the contrarian, nefarious voice. Yet, even death cannot silence. Through memory and art–the recording of a life–the deceased are not silenced.

Andy Warhol, "Electric Chair", 1971.
Andy Warhol, “Electric Chair”, 1971.
Andy Warhol, "Electric Chair", 1971. image courtesy of www.propofs.com
Andy Warhol, “Electric Chair”, 1971. image courtesy of http://www.propofs.com

Silence can be unsettling. Most surely you have felt that pregnant pause or an awkward silence. Ingmar Bergman’s film Persona, an artistic psychological thriller, bares the angst-ridden and mentally tormenting aspects of the act of silence. Marina Abramovic’s performance art channels that same psychologically unsettling feeling, such as in her 1974 work titled Rhythm 0. For six hours she stood silently in a gallery space while an audience of participants chose from a variety of objects ranging from a feather to a loaded gun in which to taunt her out of silence. This performance illustrated both the committed passive/aggressive action by the artist to remain silent, and the audience members reacting from their inner desires (or demons) in response to her silence. Less disturbing, Abramavic performed The Artist is Present in 2010 at MOMA, where she sat face-to-face with a rotation of participants in a silent stare-off. Some say silence is a void. Contrarily, Silence is a presence.

Meditation, mindfulness, and Silence are actions. With attention and focus, one cultivates inner silence, blocking out both exterior and interior noise. In Kimsooja’s videos A Needle Woman (1999-2001/ 2005), A Beggar Woman (2001) and Homeless Woman (2001), all political and peaceful, the artist is seen standing still and silent amidst a sea of people hustling hurriedly down a crowded city street, or lying in a quiet, meditative state amongst crowds of curious onlookers. Watching her videos, I consciously stop; I am present experiencing an almost existential feeling. I, as a spectator become still, mimicking Kimsooja. I completely absorb the moment, not distracted, quietly contemplating and awakening to the beauty of her silence, becoming aware of how inattentive many of us are to those around us as we rush to and fro, day to day.

If Silence is not golden can it be beautiful? Shea Hembrey captures the concept of silence by summoning the beauty of silence–the softness, lightness, and calm—on canvas and in sculpture.

Shea Hembrey, "Dark Rain III", 2012.
Shea Hembrey, “Dark Rain III”, 2012.

With painterly bravado, Hembrey’s series, When Eyes Are Closed (2012), illuminates what we see when we close our eyes in the night, in the daylight, or in a room with artificial light where dark, light and thought can seep in. These paintings capture the silence when shutting out the world to our inner thoughts. In his canvases we can see, remember, the moments when, if we try, we shut off our mind to the noise of even our inner thoughts into a state of meditation.

Shea Hembrey, "Font", 2013.
Shea Hembrey, “Font” detail, 2013.
Shea Hembrey, "Font", 2013.
Shea Hembrey, “Font”, 2013.

Hembrey’s voluminous sculpture made from feathers, Font (2013), captures how I would imagine silence would feel if I were able to touch it. I imagine a calmness of sinking onto or into his feathery sculpture where all else around or inside me rests. I envision a stray feather, shed unawares from a bird flying past, floating down from the sky (in the case of Hembrey’s Font, a mass of feathers from a passing flock). Hush (2013), a smaller sculpture made from hundreds of butterfly wings, withholds the silent sound of fluttering butterfly wings. In form resembling a Chinese scholar stone, an image to inspire dream-like contemplation.

For some silence may be golden; for me, silence is the between; it is essential. Seek silence in art, in nature, in your day-to-day by simply noticing the clock ticking, the whir of your computer’s static energy, the noise of a distant siren, your breath. Be still and notice the silence in the midst.

Shea Hembrey, "Hush", 2013.
Shea Hembrey, “Hush”, 2013.

Remains of our Day

MASS MoCa, a reconverted factory in North Adams, Massachusetts, with capacious exhibition halls can accommodate large-scale art works, perhaps more than any other art museum. Considering other vast visual art buildings, such as, Dia: Beacon, White Cube in London, the Hermitage in Russia, and Hauser and Wirth’s new expansive gallery in NYC, this is saying a lot. The huge scale of the building and of the immense interior spaces within MASS MoCa create an optical illusion making the works exhibited in them seem smaller than they actually are. As I stand in one of the exhibition chambers, I wonder, how do the artists who exhibit here visualize how their art will fill the spaciousness? I presume not many have studios as large. I ponder, where and how do they find the space to create such massive constructions? And what will become of these large-scale works once the exhibition ends?

In the case of the artist, Xu Bing and his installation Phoenix, he answered these questions. Stepping back for a better vantage point to take in the immensity of the suspended birds, I bumped into a ledge installed along the wall. It held copies of a text that accompanies the art–the story of the creation of the mythical birds. Slowly I wondered the length of the room reading page by page, the start to the present, the birth of the Phoenixes (‘Feng’ and ‘Huang’); and, indeed Xu Bing alludes to them as being born, taking on a life of their own. He relates that within the time of their ‘hatching’ two collaborators who helped create the Phoenixes also gave birth to children. This coincidental occurrence of creating new life offered deep symbolism for Xu. It offered another layer to the materials used for the sculpture, the collaborators, and the resulting art object.

Xu Bing, Phoenix Project (2008-2012). image courtesy of www.nothingmajor.com
Xu Bing, Phoenix Project (2008-2012). image courtesy of http://www.nothingmajor.com

Made from construction-site essentials, such as hard hats and shovels, as well as construction debris like rusted corrugated metal and striped plastic tarp, the two Phoenixes take up the entire length of the main exhibition space, appearing to have been constructed specifically for MASS MoCa. However, Xu’s art journal explains that when he began this art project MASS MoCa wasn’t even a remote contributing thought to his creation. He began this commission for one of Beijing’s glitzy new skyscrapers. Standing under Phoenix, two gargantuan birds suspended from the ceiling, I had the sense the sculpture possessed a spirit, as if alive.

I saw the life within the sculptures that came from all of the people who worked the construction site, who wore the hard hats, who dug the dirt with the shovels, who labored to build both the towering skyscraper and the sculptures. Their toil and sweat are the life within the art. One cultural critic, as mentioned in Xu’s journal, has likened the Phoenix Project to Diego Rivera’s mural of the Mexican laborers.

image courtesy of www.hiffingtonpost.com
image courtesy of http://www.huffingtonpost.com

I also see Vic Muniz’s Wasteland project and JR’s global photomurals. These art projects bring people together as collaborators with the artist and the art creation. Inseparable, the artist, those who inspire, those who work in the creation, and the art all become one.

Vic Muniz, Death of Murat, garbage series (2011). images courtesy of www.sikkemajenkinsco.com
Vic Muniz, Death of Murat, garbage series (2011). images courtesy of http://www.sikkemajenkinsco.com
JR, La Havana, Rafael Lorenzo y Obdula Monano, Cuba (2012). image courtesy of www.jr-art.net
JR, La Havana, Rafael Lorenzo y Obdula Monano, Cuba (2012). image courtesy of http://www.jr-art.net

Soaring with the spirit of the Phoenixes, I cruised down highway 2 to the Clark Art Institute in Williamstown. Entering the museum I detoured through the fenced and roped-off areas surrounding the building and beyond. The Clark Art Institute, like SFMOMA, the Whitney Museum of American Art, the Kimball art Museum, and the Coleccion Jumex in Mexico City is one of the many ever-expanding art museums that are either newly completed, under construction, or about to begin. P1050438 Wandering the galleries in the Clark, I stopped to look out the window to the men in hard hats driving the tractors and pounding the metal stakes into the steel beams. I reflected back on Xu’s artistic monument to the hard working construction laborers. Paradoxically, I couldn’t help but wonder, while considering all this construction done in the name of art, are art museums simply a polished dump for too much cultural debris?

image courtesy of www.berkshireeagle.com
image courtesy of http://www.berkshireeagle.com

With this thought I felt guilty. Even my conscience would persecute me. Maybe it wasn’t an epiphany, but a resonation. Perhaps this is a symptom of an oversaturation of art by attending too many art fairs where there seems to be an abundance of inventory from prolific artists; and, I wonder from all this creative production and consumption what will sustain and remain of value as a cultural recording of this time in civilization? I wonder, in our current prosperous art culture with massively monumental works created by artists, with an abundance of global art museums and private collectors building art sanctuaries or ‘warehouses’ for their collections, are we building temples for our creative consumption?

Andrea Lolis sculptures
Andrea Lolis sculptures

I considered artists who sculpt marble renderings of Styrofoam packaging, cardboard boxes, and plastic water bottles. Discarded debris becomes inspirations for Andreas Lolis to solidify and immortalize into stone, actually turning our debris into marble artifacts. I considered artists who use trash as their medium. Tony Feher I have nicknamed the garbage artist. His material can be foil chip bags to plastic water bottles.

Tony Feher sculptures
Tony Feher sculptures

In Blast From the Past (1972-73), Gordon Matta-Clark swept up all the debris on his studio floor, put the contents in a box with instructions on how to display this dust and cigarette butts; and, even now, from his grave, he asserts an importance to what most people discard to the waste bin day after day.

GORDON MATTA-CLARK Blast from the Past 1970-1972 cut color photograph, 12 inch steel ruler, sheet of text in pencil and floor sweepings dimensions vary with installation
GORDON MATTA-CLARK
Blast from the Past
1970-1972
cut color photograph, 12 inch steel ruler, sheet of text in pencil and floor sweepings
dimensions vary with installation

If art is a cultural recording of our history, what does it say about our present moment that artists like Xu Bing and others create art from our waste, using ever-expanding variations of garbage? Furthermore, if it survives how will future societies interpret these art objects? Hopefully, it may make one pause, to take note of the everyday detritus in our lives.

Tony Feher sculpture. Image courtesy of www.hammer.ucla.edu
Tony Feher sculpture. Image courtesy of http://www.hammer.ucla.edu

Something to think about before you quench your thirst from a single-use plastic water bottle rather than carrying a reusable container, or toss away your plastic straw that you used for two seconds to stir your cocktail.

And, I wonder, what art will remain, which museums will endure over time, and what ruins shall tell our story, many years from now?

Fool For Love

I love my family, I love to run with an ocean view while listening to a good playlist, I love laughing, I love to sleep in and wake up to the sound of birds chirping, I love sitting in a cozy sofa while reading a good book, I love my dog, I love homemade thick tortilla chips with guacamole, I love cycling the Hana highway, I love nature.

Everyday, everywhere, everyone seeks, desires, and even fears love.  Music, literature, paintings, film, opera, poetry, psychology, and philosophy – love is everywhere. Since the beginnings of humanity people have sought an understanding of love, also to define, quantify, solidify, brand, package, and sell love.

Auguste Rodin, The Kiss 1881-1882.
Auguste Rodin, The Kiss 1881-1882.

With a polysemous nature, Love is a word that expresses an overwhelming sense of desire, sensuality, inspiration, and ambiguity. Love–how is it one word conveys such varied nuance?  Its meaningfulness pertains to a matter of both volume and intensity. I have heard there are over one hundred ways to express “you” in the Japanese language depending on the region, time, relationship between those conversing, and the social context. Yet, we only have one word for all of love. One word to express the love of nation, spiritual love, platonic love, brotherly love, forbidden love, and passionate love.

Dosso Dossi, Mythological Scene c.1524. Image courtesy of www.getty.edu
Dosso Dossi, Mythological Scene c.1524. Image courtesy of http://www.getty.edu

Philosopher’s have a long-standing dialectic debate between Eros love (ego driven) and agape love (altruistic). Love fills our minds and is felt in our body, it is both rational and passionate. Allusive and alluring, love never ceases to be written about. Some great minds have analyzed and intellectualized love: Simon May, Denis De Rougemont, Roland Barthes, and Robert Solomon, to name a few. Yet, even with all these great minds, love still remains mysterious. Love beckons one into a dream world of imagination. Love, ever changing with multiple open-ended meanings.

Alas! Love is everywhere and yet everyone is looking for it. Why do so many people feel loneliness? Why is divorce increasingly common? Advertisers, moviemakers, and even journalists entice us with promises of love and sex (many conflate the two). And, it sales! In the nineteenth century, just like today’s internet dating web sites, people paid for classified ads, seeking love. (Check out this blog, which cleverly interprets 19th century classifieds. http://www.advertisingforlove.com/). And, today, Internet dating sites are well populated with hopeful lovelorn souls who advertise and seek love.

Dave Muller, Love, Love, Love, 2011 4parts  courtesy of the artist

Dave Muller contemplates life, politics, and humanity through the archives of albums, cassette tapes, and CDs. He captures in his paintings a memory and a history. Art is the cultural recording of our history and Muller sources the musical recording of history and transform this into a visual art form. From past eras, music creates a narration that resonates in our present moment and then recalls us to a nostalgic time. The Beatles, one band of which Muller memorializes in paintings, sang many songs about love. For many, they are the signifier for love. And, Yoko and John symbolize that loving feeling that couples experience, imagine and idealize.

Annie Leibovitz photo courtesy of en.wilipedia.org

“Open” by Julianne Swartz, a sculpture which is a box containing three treasured words “ I Love You”. Upon opening the box, I, the viewer (now, an active participant) cross a boundary of ‘looking’ at art; questioning and wondering if I might be violating a taboo of touching art. Hearing the words “I Love You” I question if I am invading some privacy, and I wonder whom the words are meant for.  I doubt they are for me, or are they? These three words everyone wants to hear as reassurance they are loved in this world, but if they are said too lightly, they become doubted and mistrusted. We bring our own insecurities about loving and being loved to the box. The box is closed and the words carry with us as we question whether we are comforted, confident, or confused with love.

Indulge in your passions. Love. Turn up the volume!

In the end one loves desires and not what is desired. – Friedrich Nietzsche

Who is that V.I.P.?

In my place in line at the airport security checkpoint, I try to tune out a guy behind me, “Look! That man walked right up to the security check. Whose that guy? We were here first. I want to go in that line. I’m not waiting here.” He ranted on and on to anyone who could hear, yet no one in particular. I look at my fellow travelers moving through the airport. Airlines market to our desire to seek a higher level of status. They promote frequent flyer programs offering access to airport club lounges, exclusive lines, and better seats onboard. My mind wanders to art fairs. There, too, attendees clamber for inclusion to the pre-pre-previews. They compare notes to see who’s acquired the most invites to the abundant exclusive parties where they can see and be seen amongst important people. We all have our own personal ‘matter meter’ in which we want to be a V.I.P..

Historically, since the Renaissance, artists painted portraits of privileged aristocrats and nobility. Arguably, the most famous portrait is “Mona Lisa” painted in the 16th century by Leonardo da Vinci. Little is known of the noble woman Lisa Gheradini, who da Vinci captured on canvas. Most likely she was famous in her day. Now her image lives on in a life separate from that of the person. “Mona Lisa” is the V.I.P..

396px-Leonard Da Vinci:Mona_Lisa:wikipedia.org

Paul Ramierez Jones, 2012. Image courtesy of www.artspace.com
Paul Ramierez Jones, 2012. Image courtesy of http://www.artspace.com

Who is the V.I.P.? This acronym generally known as ‘very important person’ is commonly used today making everybody a V.I.P. As a result, there are many V.I.P.s who consider themselves very (self-assumed) important people, and usually those are the V.I.P.s that others consider very idiotic people or very impolite people. The free dictionary online offers one definition of V.I.P. as visually impaired person. When considering the aforementioned V.I.P.s while they may have 20/20 optics, their self-perception of themselves may be visually impaired. I recognize my status as a V.U.P., a very unimportant person and I take my place waiting in line at the supermarket, the movie theater, the airport and everywhere else behind all the V.I.P.s so busily looking at their electronic devices reading and responding to important texts.

William Wegman, 2012. Image courtesy of www.artspace.com
William Wegman, 2012. Image courtesy of http://www.artspace.com

Today, artists are not hired to paint the highly esteemed, popularly known V.I.P.s, rather they are inspired to paint (or photograph) these portraits not for the individual, but for the art collector. I would like to see a revival in portraiture. (I will write more on portraiture in a future posting.)

Who are today’s ‘true’ V.I.P.s? They will not be seen in any V.I.P. line or holding any V.I.P. card because they are instantly recognizable.  I call them triple V.I.P.s or VeryVeryVery.Important.Person.s. These 3-V.I.P.s have their people run their errands and make their phone calls, their personal chauffeurs drive them to their private planes, they visit stores, museums, galleries, after hours when no V.I.P.s are to be found or seen.

Shown here are images of 3-V.I.P.s captured by artists. I have purposefully left out titles…because, you know who they are!

Chuck Close, 2006. Image courtesy of www.artobserved.com
Chuck Close, 2006. Image courtesy of http://www.artobserved.com
Mick Rock, 1972. Image courtesy of www.artspace.com
Mick Rock, 1972. Image courtesy of http://www.artspace.com

 

Lee Foster, 2012. Image courtesy of leefoster.photoshelter.com
Lee Foster, 2012. Image courtesy of leefoster.photoshelter.com
Adam Mcewan, 2002-04. Image courtesy of www.art-agenda.com
Adam Mcewan, 2002-04. Image courtesy of http://www.art-agenda.com

Stuart Pearson Wright, 2001. Image courtesy of www.saatchi-gallry.co.uk

Stuart Pearson Wright, 2001. Image courtesy of http://www.saatchi-gallry.co.uk

Mark Seliger, 2010. Image courtesy of www.artnet.com
Mark Seliger, 2010. Image courtesy of http://www.artnet.com

Richard Avedon, 1998. Image courtesy of www.artspace.com
Richard Avedon, 1998. Image courtesy of http://www.artspace.com
Andy Warhol, 1977. Image courtesy of www.paddle8.com
Andy Warhol, 1977. Image courtesy of http://www.paddle8.comBranson AirAsia uniform-thumb-300x824-110643

courtesy of http://www.flightglobal.com