It could be the logo, with it’s gleeful morphing of the good ol’ swastika – and the decision to pair that logo with a mascot sired by Superman.  I’m guessing that whoever designed all this has little awareness of either history or philosophy [...]]]> I’m not sure what intrigues me more about this photo:

It could be the logo, with it’s gleeful morphing of the good ol’ swastika – and the decision to pair that logo with a mascot sired by Superman.  I’m guessing that whoever designed all this has little awareness of either history or philosophy – and compared to my quite limited grasp of both, that’s pretty fracking lame.  I mean, if the context was even vaguely Ayurvedic, or anywhere in the realm of eastern spiritualism, the swastika is fair game – a billion Indians can’t all be wrong.  But this is on a Superman-style outfit, for a gym which is, by nature, about the aesthetics of strength.  If the designer of the outfit has somehow seen this blog post, as unlikely as that may be, and is mystified by my ponderings, I can only suggest they google search hitler+superman (and +eugenics, maybe).

My intriguedness might also stem from something a bit less dogmatic, something more intuitively designerish to do with form and function and all that jazz.  It might be that dressing a gym mascot with a fake muscle-suit in order to impress potential customers is akin to dressing an unshaven hobo in a silk business suit  and asking us to open a bank account.  Oh, but hang on, that’s pretty much what most bank ads have ever been, and will ever be … oh.

Ahem.  Carry on.

Every now and then.

Oh, sorry, rewind …

There was a fire up the street from my house last night:

The first siren [...]]]> I dunno, bitch.  D’you think it’s appropriate to judge a person’s conscience when you’re totally ignorant of what you’re moralising about?  Alright, so I didn’t call her a bitch, but I did think it.

Oh, sorry, rewind …

There was a fire up the street from my house last night:

The first siren stopping nearby was enough for me to mute the TV.  The second siren coming from another direction got me out the door, with boots on and the Ricoh GRD in pocket.  I almost ran back for my DSLR when I saw the glow, but I’m glad I didn’t because the firemen had extinguished the blaze in a few minutes and I probably would have missed even this throwaway shot of the flames.

So, I’m snapping the fire engines out the front of the house when a night-gowned woman, a neighbour of the affected house, points at my camera and asks the question in the title of this post.  “Is what appropriate?” I asked back.

“Taking photos.  Y’know, what with the things that have been happening in Victoria lately,”  she replied.

A bit confused, I replied that I couldn’t see the link between the devastating bushfires over 1,000 km away and a small housefire a block from from my house (a fire in which nobody was even injured, I might add).  Yes, I thought it was appropriate to photograph.  It’s news.

She shrugged, and continued, “As long as you’re okay with that on your conscience.”

Up ’til she said that I’d merely assumed she was a bit media-washed and ignorant, but it now I started thinking of her as a bitch, as well.

And her conscience is okay with judging the morals of strangers that she knows nothing about, in circumstances which are out of her depth?  Or something like that, is what I replied.  I was getting a bit angry by then, so I can’t remember verbatim, but I’ll pretend I was half as eloquent.  I did point out that I’m as much a photographer as anything else, that such photos could be quite newsworthy to the local rags – she made some argument that implied my making money would make the photos worse, so I asked what about photojournalists?  She said they’re okay because it’s their job (i.e. they’re paid to do it) …

You can see how it was heading, the argument was getting not just circular, but mobius strip-like, and it was clear that I needed to get away from this confused harpy of the ethical shallows.  I thanked her for her opinions, and continued taking my photos.  She returned to her home, still frowning.

————————————————————-

Christ on a bike, I’m getting sick of this mindless distrust of photographers. The stupidest thing is that it’s fanned by the big media organisations, who just happen to rely on … you guessed it, photography/image making. It’s a frackin’ snake eating its own tail, I tell ya.  Something’s gotta give.

The only thing more confounding than ignorance is the willingness to spread that ignorance around, like a farmer spreading shit.