Ron Rubenstein // The Pacific

Text: Zaar Riisberg

It's like he shoots from a forgotten era, a likeable, sometimes rural and gritty US I personally would like to visit. The best things, are things you cannot explain why you dig. Half the time I can not pinpoint what it is - I feel thrown back to the era of Dennis Stock. Something classic or other - Ron makes seemingly dead things into live poetry. A torn inner curtain and a certain light, bam, that's a Rubenstein. I see a lot of my peers going for the same style shots, and never moving out of their comfort zone - some of them hugely talented visually, but they keep delivering variations of the same aesthetic. Ron has always been a barrage, but over the years, the frequency of stellar work has increased - and Ron is, for me, at least, one of the best. And he has the name - he already has the fucking name...

The Shot itself

Some would probably thumb over this, others would scratch their head and wonder what the fuck I am on about. They have no sense of mood. This shot has - from the crooked mid line, to the two worlds apart, to the magnificent geometry playing itself out in the entirety of the shot, with more shades of grey, than a mere fifty. Crafty. But the mood? A long lost James Dean outtake with him not in frame, perhaps? Something lingers, you get the sense, that something invisible or out of frame, is unable, or does not want to leave. And maybe, that is a good thing. Moving on, is always preferable, but not to soon.

Zaar Riisberg // Children of the Sun

Something changed or went wrong after Babylon and Egypt - we revered the cosmos then, and knew it was our destination - now we care about much more important stuff - like selfies, likes, form - people crave no substance, saves them from straining their puny brain and furthers the illusion that they are somehow special. It's the age of entertainment and surface, not thought and depth.

I am dedicating this artwork to Paulo Yarisantos for inspiring the text.

Children of the Sun//2015//Zaar Riisberg

Martin J. Sabine // Nest of Vipers

Backstabbing, underhanded collection of creeps

Picking the pockets of beggars while they sleep

Spitting out rhetoric like the poison of snakes

Flicking their tongues out is all that it takes,

Gutter crawling, bile spewing, with villainous intent 

Striking at will until they are spent

Forked tongued messengers, two faces smiling

Notoriously fickle, falsely beguiling,

This nest of vipers embroiled in asp venom

No warning rattles to alert their coming

These slithering serpents with scaly dry skin

Coiled Medusa’s rhythmic and thin, 

Watch out for fangs that bite hard and deep

The rancour spreads in the company they keep

Cold blooded humans in Reptilian form

Only worthy of pity but mostly of scorn.

© Martin John Sabine 2017

EDITOR'S NOTE

Not a lot one can say, when an artist utilises words, picture and flow to this extent, commenting, evaluating, analysing seem futile. For us on AB it's a break from the monotone. A welcome break. Spread the site, spread the art.

Tyson Rayburn // Wanting More

By Tyson Rayburn

Curves, curves everywhere curves. Everyday curves come and go without notice as life flows to your daily grind. Stop! Unwind, concentrate on your surroundings and you will see a whole new world of shapes. Things are never made up of any one shape but there are more curves than you can imagine and finding the right part of it to capture is the challenge. Bring on the challenge! Observe it until you stop in awe. Give the shapes life for others to see. A climax of curves for all to gawk at while wanting more.

EDITOR'S NOTE:

Tyson is often pointless. In a very good way, mind you. Curves seem to find him, and his architecture shots often exude a softness you will not find elsewhere. They have the cutting joy of glass and geometry imbued with curve lines. Some of Tyson’s work will envelop you - this one, for example.

Zaar Riisberg // Pointless Perfection

By Zaar Riisberg

A line is not a line, it is an unending array of points and points do not exist. A line is pointless. A line is always pointless, especially the one I keep feeding you. Hold the line. How could you? There is no point to it. So do not hold on to my line. A line is pointless at this point, effortlessly pointless, pointing out the obvious pointlessness of me.

POINTLESS

PERFECTION

Ron Rubenstein // Derelict Dreaming

Editor's Note by Zaar Riisberg

Ron Rubenstein reminds me of the beat generation. I don’t know why. Of an Americana long lost? Perhaps. His style is immediate, almost a barrage of shots - he just shoots what he finds interesting. These four shots taken, not far from each other, is typical of RR, in the sense that this is his art - his modus is as much his talent as his actual talent.

I’ve seen some stunning shots from Ron’s hand - but what we are displaying here on AB is a type of photographer, few and far between - there is a raw presence in all of RR’s shots, as if he breathes through the lens, and takes life in that way. Along with a glass of red, of course.

Martin J. Sabine // Window Licker

by Martin J. Sabine

Monge!...Spaz!...Tard!...Window Licker!...I wonder what scene prompted this particularly nasty, derogatory and denigrating term toward a small minority of people in society, probably something as innocuous as a small tired face pressed against a condensation laden pane of glass on a Community Transport bus. I’m sure the urge was overwhelming particularly if extreme thirst was the motivation.

We can all laugh and we probably did when we watched the film, two grown men with their tongues stuck on the icy lamppost stretched to extreme lengths whilst trying to extricate themselves from their predicament. The title of said film is a precursor to the underlying malaise in society where we accept it’s OK to laugh and make fun of those less fortunate than ourselves and to do it without a second thought as to the hurt we can inflict. 

Have we forgotten the time we took the ice lolly straight from the freezer and licked it only to be faced with the same painful outcome, half the skin of your tongue stuck to the pseudo fruit saturated block of ice or in later years when you ripped a layer of skin of your lip with a cigarette paper whilst smoking….

Oh yes and how many of you would not, when survival demanded it lick the elixir of life off a cold surface if stranded in the desert, on a lifeboat at sea or buried in rubble following a natural disaster, so you see my friends next time you feel the urge to laugh or take the piss, remember you could be inadvertently doing it to yourselves. 

Anyway back to the more pressing matter of how to get rid of the condensation running down the windows surely in this day and age there should be an app, or failing that “I have a Karcher for that!”…….

EDITOR'S NOTE:

It’s the finish he puts on it, they say. And they are correct. Martin Sabine displays a stunning attention to detail in all his works, because he knows that’s where the devil resides. As far as intelligence, he may be the brightest photographer/artist I have run into, albeit a bit impatient at times!

It’s go time

In the current art climate, everyone and his frigging dog is an artist. If you dare to question that, especially in photography - watch the fuck out. The dust has not settled yet, and people still think, that just because digital cameras and a variety of editing tools can make it psycho-crisp, and just because you can (re)produce the motifs of others, does not mean you know anything. The whole point is to see further than the object or motif in front of you.

What is the aim of this site, then? Well, to bring art back - Justin brought sexy back, it’s about time we do something for art. It is also to spell out that art should be provocative - but that provocation is not an art in itself. We aim to bring the grit and storytelling back, we focus on the diamond in the rough, that everyone else overlooks.

This site...curates outside the box.

/ZR