Category: NFN

What can I say – my first two images taken with the left hand (more or less), and post processed with the left hand. (No worries, the broken arm started to heal, and I won’t bother you with more health references…)

I’m not sure yet which of these two I prefer.

A couple of weeks ago, I invited everybody to comment on the current edit of my upcoming book (the full sequence of images here), and name five images that should go, and five that you like best. The emails keep coming – thanks! With my elbow still in a cast and the sutures still in place, I thought I keep my own typing to a minimum and instead post one of my favorite messages so far, from a few days ago. I like this review so much that in my view the images, as Hannibal Lecter would phrase it, almost become “incidental”; stamp size copies included for reference:

“Hi Jens,

I hope you have powerful opiates with which to while away the hours…

I’m taking you up on your ‘invitation to comment’, but am trying to minimize an *overly* intellectualistic approach to the visual…

I don’t like #2, too pseudo Jasper Johns:

(–unlike #29 which nicely deconstructs Johns and seems fitting for our era of “Fake Empire”–check out the song by The National [here]):

#12 (too depressing):

#25 (most of the cones, I very much like–but here, the juxtaposition of the colors is unappealing):

#43 (a little boring?):

#78 (okay, I admit it, I’m an uncultured, simple-minded person–but the color of the stuff in the jar is just yucky!):

I like, indeed love, #8 (wonderfully enigmatic, but wry & cute at the same time):

#20 (nicely enigmatic, reminiscent of Jackson Pollock, in a good way):

#33 (fantastic! one wants to look *through* the picture, to see what’s ‘on the other side’ of the ‘surface’):

#61 (one of my two favorites: thinging things!):

#67 (great color and texture; I very much like that one can’t immediately tell whether it’s a painting, a lithograph, or a photo):

#70 (I like the tiles and the blueberries ‘interacting’):

(–this leads me to prefer #70 to #69, which may, however, be more beautiful):

#75 (my other favorite! I’m reminded of the >Rückenfiguren< in, say, any number of Caspar David Friedrich's paintings--but the blue into which the figure is looking could as easily be a void of nothingness as a site of transcendence & insight):

#86 (my third most favorite–but behind 61 & 75–I love the delicate colors juxtaposed, and the different ‘structure’ of the simple, ‘geometrical’ chair vs. the draped, flowing cloth):

and #100 (a great pendant to #20–each could be a drawing):

[…]

Cheers,

G.L.”

The images below were made by the surgeon who fixed my broken elbow this past Friday. When he explained the procedure to me before I signed the approval form, I was quite smitten by the ingenious simplicity of it.

Above is the smashed elbow at the beginning of the operation. In hindsight, it would appear that only a complete idiot would run around the snowed-in, icy Dolomites for an entire week (including a six-hour tour at high altitude) with this before seeing a doctor.

These images show the repositioning of various bone fragments (after cleaning the joint from blood and debris), and the step-by-step insertion of wires that pull the fragments into their correct position in the coming months.

The amazing thing after the accident was that I felt better every day for an entire week. Even right after the fall, after I overcame the initial shock, I was confident enough to reject the offer that a helicopter pick me up, and walked down the mountain on my own, all in all more than four miles, back to our car (which of course I couldn’t drive anymore).

The only reason why I called my father (a retired radiologist) on the phone a full seven days later was that I knew I was going back to Manhattan for several months, and wanted to be sure that I was alright. Not so: He told me right away, from more than 4.000 miles away and with shocking precision, which bone was broken, and that this needed to be fixed.

My one wish is that my own work is as good as the work of the many people who helped me over the past eleven days: The guy from a mountain rescue team who happened to be nearby, the staff of the family-run hotel where I always stay when I’m in the Dolomites, the surgeon with his team in Munich who organized and performed the ingenious procedure within a ridiculously limited timeframe, my dear sister in law, and above all, K. When the immigration officer at JFK looked at me yesterday, and then at her, he summed up the essence of the past eleven days, and of my life, in one short line: “I envy you.”