ISO Magazine Spring 2013: Imbalance by ISO Magazine

I S

SPRING 2013

I O

Cover: Alex Arbuckle, from the series Ayiti Ap Leve (Haiti Rising), an American aid worker shows her iPhone to children at SMDT Orphanage. Inside Cover: Abu Bakr Shawky, Cairo Car Cemetery, Egypt, August 2012

I S

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

In Joseph Rodriguez’s image shown above, the energy produced by the varying proportions of the subjects and intersecting, skewed lines creates an undertone of uneasiness. The subjects are compartmentalized within the frame. As your eye bounces from each figure, they relate to one another; their positions and age differences are accentuated. Extracted from his series East Side Stories: Gang Life in East L.A., Rodriguez’s images deal with the persistence of social trends within communities. As illuminated by this image, the formal imbalances aid in identifying and intensifying the themes throughout his work. In selecting Imbalance as this issue’s theme, our staff was interested in these formal qualities as well as subject matter that explored a juxtaposition of elements, of cultural frameworks, of points in time that converge. We employ the term not for its negative connotation, but for the momentum it provides for images’ descriptive and visual potential. We were looking for photographs that suggest or directly reference an environment in a state of flux—one that is constantly reworking itself within a global context as access and technology evolve. As with Rodriguez and our other featured artists Alex

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Arbuckle, Stefan Ruiz and Mallika Vora, we were also interested in certain imbalances inherent to image making. For example, there is a direct disparity between the photographer and subject in their work. As Susan Sontag describes in On Photography, the photographer acts as a “supertourist” when visiting and photographing others. Who holds the rights of representation? With expanding global relationships, how can images portray someone from another set of cultural and spatial circumstances? How are notions of progress and value projected? As Erica Dye writes about Rodriguez, he personally relates to some of his subject’s hardships. Vora photographed train passengers in India, not sharing their native connection to the space but their heritage. Regardless of the connection between the photographer and subject, the distance remains by the presence of the camera. These details of personal connection have little significance if they are not felt in the work. Regardless of what is directly shown in an image, we believe photography has the ability to transmit moods, to portray the zeitgeist of an interconnected world. In this reflection, an imbalance occurs offering its own, often strange, interpretation. -Perri Hofmann

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F E AT U R E D A RT IS T

ALEX ARBUCKLE: Ayiti Ap Leve (haiti rising) F E AT U R E D A RT IS T

STEFAN RUIZ: INDUSTRY OF DESIRE

PORTFOLIO

SOMETIME AROUND MIDNIGHT FELICIA POWELL

INSTA-PHOTOJOURNALISM

PORTFOLIO

THE GROUND IS ON WHEELS MALLIKA VORA

PORTFOLIO

Euclidean FORMS TORRIE FOX

F E AT U R E D A RT IS T

JOseph RODRIGUEZ: SUBJECT TO VIOLENCE

THE GALLERY IMBALANCE

Ayiti Ap Leve (haiti rising) Alex Arbuckle

Te x t b y G a b r i e l a J u n e T u l ly C l ay mo r e

Photo Credit Goes in here

aiti is a place of headlines and fundraisers. It is a place of conflict, and of forgotten events pushed into the depths of collective memory. Haiti is a slave rebellion, an island cruise destination, a decimated capital, and a Red Cross collection box. To many, Haiti is not a place that one would travel to outside of a philanthropic mission. The devastating earthquake of 2010 propelled the country into a global dialogue, one that fueled massive fundraising efforts, only to be abandoned as headlines faded away and another tragedy stood in its wake. The situation in Haiti is difficult for any outsider, let alone any artist, to approach. Since the earthquake, the

plight of the country has either been forgotten or put on display. Haiti is rarely depicted outside of a persuasive agenda, and is subject to pitying and selective representations of a troubled state. Photographer Alex Arbuckle had no such agenda prior to visiting Haiti during the summer of 2012. Arbuckle, a photography student at New York University, was first inspired to travel to Haiti after hearing of his friend’s return from the country following several years of organizing disaster relief. Arbuckle had heard nothing of Haiti since the earthquake’s immediate aftermath; his trip was born of opportunity rather than a long-standing interest. Arbuckle had originally anticipated that his project would document the

relief effort, as he hoped to expose, “What’s working, what’s not working, and what needs to change,” he said. However, after researching the current adversities challenging the country, Arbuckle realized that his project would need broadening. The Haitian people face numerous problems, none of which can be attributed solely to the earthquake, nor can they be captured and presented to a foreign public in a mere fifteen days. Arbuckle’s project developed around this notion of selfperpetuating complex socio-political problems that have plagued the nation since its independence in 1804. “These overwhelmingly complex and interconnected problems are deeply rooted in Haiti’s history of foreign exploitation and dependence, racial

Previous Spread: Children play in the yard of SMDT Orphanage in Port-Au-Prince. The orphanage cares for about fifty children. Left Page: A 105-room Best Western Premier hotel under construction in the Port-AuPrince suburb of Pétionville. The hotel is expected to host foreign aid workers in the short term and perhaps pleasure-seeking tourists further down the line. Above: The nine-hole golf course of the Pétionville Club was transformed into a sprawling tent city in the aftermath of the earthquake. Three years later, the local government and foreign NGOs are making a push to dismantle the tent cities, but many residents have nowhere else to go. Left: Boys at SMDT Orphanage, Port-Au-Prince

Left: Pascal, Clercine 4, Port-Au-Prince Above: Unfinished monument, downtown Port-Au-Prince

divisions, and political corruption. With all that in mind, the project simply became my attempt to wrap my head around the place,” he commented. Arbuckle’s project “Ayiti Ap Leve” is a testimony to this complexity. The project’s title translates to: “Haiti Rising,” a popular slogan displayed on development billboards throughout the country. Although he remains a faceless presence behind the camera, the collection of photographs narrate Arbuckle’s first impressions of an unfamiliar country and its people. Haiti is a collapsed capitol building, but it is also a beckoning valley, a tent city, a girl smiling straight into the camera as she peers out of a surrounding chaotic crowd. It is a father and his 10

daughter seated on a cot inside of their temporary home; a street submerged in water, a boy holding his pet dog up to the camera. These photographs veer from the stigmatized image of Haiti that the world is often faced with; there is a pronounced resiliency found amongst hardship. So much of the common understanding of Haiti is based on marginalization. It is uncommon to look at the situation in Haiti as anything less than tragic, but Arbuckle’s photographs tell a more holistic story. “I didn’t want to sweeten the project with unearned inspiration, nor make it hopelessly dismal. The situation in Haiti is bad, but there are reasons to be hopeful,” he said. A white dove perches atop a

wooden cross as faceless arms cling to its weathered surface. Children chase bubbles outside of a still-standing home. A crowd dances manically at a rock concert. Some of these images are snapshots, others are meticulously composed; the unifying aspect of “Haiti Rising” relies on Arbuckle’s unique perspective as a brief visitor. “Haiti Rising” is unapologetically transient. The project does not document any one individual, and its amalgamation of various themes hints that it was shot in a short time span. Despite this, the project manages to expose the economic disparity and social imbalance that has perpetuated a defeatist outlook on the nation’s prospects. A man stands, his back to 11

the camera, taut skin covering lean muscle glistening in the palpable summer heat as he stares out at an unfathomable sight. Rows upon rows of tents cover the ground ahead of him, each one a home for a displaced family. The frame cannot contain the size of this pitched city. A canvas tent suggests impermanence, but some Haitians have lived as refugees on their own land, desperately awaiting infrastructural development that has yet to arrive. It is unlikely that the displaced will find a new home in the luxurious Best Western Hotel that is, “Coming Soon,” its towers daunting in relation to the destitute tent city. In “Haiti Rising” Arbuckle does not diagnose a problem. Haiti undoubtedly suffers from an economic and political imbalance, one that cannot be resolved by a single photographer’s desire to level the scales. Arbuckle’s work contributes to a conversation that has long since faded from the public interest, one that he hopes to continue when he returns to Haiti in order to take a more personal approach to the reconstruction process. “With my focus on the broader systems at work in Haiti, I ran the risk of turning people into symbols for my own ends. At some point in the future I want to return to Haiti and take a slower, more personal approach,” he said. Haiti’s prescribed definition is changing. For so long it has been a country thought of only in tragedy. To many, Haiti is still an outline in the Atlantic, and a forgotten disaster. According to Arbuckle’s work, an optimistic vision of the future persists as Haitians work to rebuild their infrastructure and society in the hopes of making a perpetually silenced national voice heard. Haiti is what is still standing, it is the anticipation of what has yet to be built, and it is liberation from a condemning definition. Like any other nation, Haiti is in process. It is not static—its prospects and people are rising. •

Night falls on the Clercine 4 neighborhood in Port-Au-Prince.

Industry of desire Stefan Ruiz Text by Rodrigo Cañedo-Gattegno

View of Studio 9, 2003 from The Factory of Dreams (Aperture, 2012) © Stefan Ruiz Right: Yadhira Carrillo as Leonora “Nora” Guzman Madrigal de Orta de Palacios-Garcia Amarte es mi Pecado (Loving You Is My Sin), 2003 from The Factory of Dreams (Aperture 2012) © Stefan Ruiz

e made eye contact through the window before I had the chance to press the doorbell. As I entered the apartment, the warmth of time and travel welcomed me with the aroma of marketplaces and dust. I was drawn to Stefan Ruiz’s timid demeanor; as a photographer that has worked in African refugee camps, Mexican urban communities, and California’s San Quentin State Prison, I had expected him to be unreserved. However, I sensed Ruiz to be an individual capable of abandoning apprehension. Despite his timidity, Ruiz submerges himself in the duty at hand, methodically erasing any reservations with every click of the shutter. Self-awareness aside, Ruiz was destined to be a photographer,

“It wasn’t really a question, I always thought I would do art,” he told me. Ruiz was trained formally in painting and sculpture, adding a classically timeless essence to his photographs. His father, a criminal defense lawyer, inspired Ruiz thematically as his work attempts to balance issues on the socio-cultural spectrum. Ruiz’s photographs reaffirm his artistic vision while simultaneously giving viewers the tools to form their own critique of the subject or issue depicted. His subjects are either isolated or exhibited within their environment, but no matter the composition, Ruiz’s photographs always endow viewers with a holistic understanding of a topic. Ruiz’s images oftentimes display the anatomical

structure of a culture, but in some projects, he proposes a more nuanced story. Ruiz’s work Factory of Dreams, is yet another example of his subtle ability to tell new stories. Factory of Dreams uses the characteristic Mexican soap operas, otherwise called telenovelas, to portray the socioeconomic imbalance in Latin America. Televisa Studios is the broadcasting company that produces these dramas. Based in Mexico City, Televisa Studios is practically a media monopoly, competing only with its smaller contender TV Azteca. Originally conceived in Cuban radio before the 1959 revolution, telenovelas are now being exported to various countries outside of Mexico. In the early nineties, when Televisa began 15

to recognize its authority within the global industry, it exported the soap Los ricos tambien lloran (The Rich Also Weep) to Russia where it experienced tremendous success. Ruiz understands the complexity of the culture that produces telenovelas, and has recorded their global outburst in an intelligibly layered way.

Fernando Colunga as Franco Santoro Mañana es para Siempre (Tomorrow is Forever), 2009 from The Factory of Dreams (Aperture 2012) © Stefan Ruiz Right: Pablo Montero and Giberto de Anda as Emilio Valtierra and Hugo Duelo De Pasiones II (Duel of Passions), 2006 from The Factory of Dreams (Aperture 2012) © Stefan Ruiz

Ruiz’s portraits of telenovela actors in their studio environment display a fictional but equally desirable reality found amongst Mexico’s polarized social classes. His portrait of Fernando Colunga acting as Franco Santoro in the soap Mañana es para siempre (Tomorrow is Forever) is an optimal example of the series. Colunga poses stiffly, gazing dramatically into the camera, holding together his fitted suit with his left hand. Artificial plants sit behind him, paralleling the falsity associated with Televisa’s programming. Another hint that the scene is merely a romanticized truth is in the obvious set light hanging above Colunga’s head; it is a reminder that behind the Plexiglas windows and the fabricated scenery in the background, the darkness of Televisa studios stands tall, engulfing an unattainable dream that gives viewers a reason to persevere. “A lot of TV in general is a pacifier. It keeps the masses satisfied. You forget all the other shit in your life. You can fantasize about this lifestyle, worry about someone else’s problems,” Ruiz

commented. Telenovelas are fairy tale melodramas with a happy ending. They are predictable roller coasters; although the audience knows what is going to happen, they continue sitting on the couch after a long day, fantasizing about improbable outcomes. Although they are similar to American soap operas in content and performance, Mexican telenovelas take place in a society where most people have no chance of accessing the lavish lives depicted on-screen. They also differ in format: “while a soap opera tends to go indefinitely, its Latin American counterpart has a closed format, which eventually arrives at a dénouement, even when it takes one hundred or two hundred episodes.” The audience is subjected to months of anticipation, despite the fact that the conclusion is practically the same every time. As viewers become entangled in the ups and downs of the telenovela, they become part of it and their impossible dreams are finally fulfilled. This anticipated emotional rush blends reality with the fantastical, creating an almost dependent relationship. The lives of telenovela stars become intermingled with celebrities depicted in gossip magazines and TV shows (all run by Televisa), giving the audience a sense of familiarity and involvement with the cast. This subliminal industry comes to life as it generates a cycle of obsession and false fulfillment.

In countries that suffer from a visible polarization between social classes, telenovelas give viewers the deceptive security of a happy ending. In developed countries, the definition of happiness has risen to new levels of fortune, but in the end, “everybody wants to marry the prince, or get the beautiful woman,” Ruiz asserted. Telenovelas attempt to adapt to the nation’s social climate. Most of the stars have European features that parallel the mainstream conception of beauty, whilst the maids remain autochthonous and stereotyped. Telenovelas are intricate mechanisms of power, presented in a simplistic manner. Ruiz presents the subject matter in a quasi-unbiased way; he avoids outright judgment of an entertainment industry that is so easily critiqued and denigrated. Like the conversation we had in his Crown Heights apartment, Ruiz’s work is patient as he attempts to depict a theme in its entirety. His large format images provide viewers with the necessary evidence to form or retract an opinion. Telenovelas are multifaceted forms of escapism–a human need comparable to that of shelter and comfort. The images in Factory of Dreams provide a contemporary view into our timeless desires and exposes them as fabricated, unrequited fantasies. •

Daniel Cortes CEA, Televisa Acting School, 2004 from The Factory of Dreams (Aperture 2012) © Stefan Ruiz

Azucena Preciado Hernández and Claudia Janet Prado Terrazas Amarte es mi Pecado (Loving You Is My Sin), 2003 from The Factory of Dreams (Aperture, 2012) © Stefan Ruiz

P O RT F O L I O

Sometime Around Midnight Text & Images by FELICIA POWELL

s we lurk about the neighborhood streets, stargazing and talking about life, we realize that we own the whole world right now. All of the families are sleeping, all of the streets are deserted. It is sometime around midnight, and we are completely free, nothing but the sound of crickets and the twinkling of the big dipper to keep us company. But there is a strange quality to the suburbs at night. The light falls off from the houses very abruptly. Scant light reaches the backyards or the side yards or the woods just beyond all of those manicured lawns. And the constant chirping of crickets is not really the only sound. Interlaced are other sounds, sounds whose origins are concealed by the darkness. I am grown; therefore, I am not supposed to be afraid of the dark. But I am. Every crunch of a leaf, every snap of a twig is a wild animal quietly stalking through the woods, or a psychopath lurking in the gloom, waiting for his chance. As we stop to survey the strange beauty of the shadows shifting up and down the sides of houses, we are half excited and half terrified. To capture this moment, we have to crouch down between cars or huddle beneath low hanging trees so that we cannot be seen; by neighbors, by cops, by anyone. And as we rustle through bushes or crunch leaves on the sidewalks, I wonder what the families in the houses must be thinking. I wonder if they can hear us darting through their backyards in the middle of the night, snapping the occasional twig as we take advantage of the darkness that we fear. And I wonder if the sounds they hear make them afraid. Because the strange part is, I am afraid too. â&#x20AC;˘

Previous: House Across the Street Left: Path That Goes Between Above: Field Next: Hotel

insta-Photojournalism Text by jackson krule

nstagram is easily dismissed as a repository for pet photos and exaggerated filters, but the application has garnered a following of photographers and photo enthusiasts eager to view one another’s work instantly. Since their inception, cameras have changed the way people view the world. Photographers see the world contained within a frame; they live in constant anticipation of the next photographable moment. Now that amateurs and professionals have access to quality camera phones that are available at any moment of the day, more people have the ability to display their daily lives through a personal artistic lens. Instagram, the Smartphone application named after the popular instant cameras of the 1970’s, has revolutionized camera phone snapshots by providing users with an organized means of distribution. Instagram is a modern Belinograph; it allows users to instantly share images from their phones. Unlike other social networks, Instagram is devoted solely to the sharing of photographs. For some, it serves as a casual visual diary of everyday life, while others use it in order to bolster a professional following. The success of Instagram lies in its simplicity and usability, allowing experienced and amateur photographers alike to share their photos on the same platform. Ed Kashi, a member of VII Photo, uses Instagram as both a photojournal and as a documentary tool. Strong compositional elements and poignant subject matter are characteristic of Kashi’s work. He was commissioned by Time magazine to take Instagram photographs of Hurricane Sandy, most of which were quick snapshots of destruction around the tri-state area. Many of the images depicted

solitary figures in front of damaged homes. Yet although they were very simple, they crafted a narrative that conveyed relevant emotional and informational content. There is a distinctive truth found in immediacy; photographs that are unedited and instantly displayed elicit the trust of viewers. Instagram has become a way for journalists to access their audience without a newspaper or a magazine acting as mediator and censor. The images posted by photojournalists allow us a unique view into their lives and work that would otherwise remain unseen. On an Instagram feed, all photographs are created equal; the most popular images are generally bold and easily digestible, composed within the limited frame. A famous photographer’s images occupy the same amount of space as an amateur’s. Many regard Instagram as a toy and not a tool, but while an iPhone may not boast the same quality as a DSLR, it has the ability to subtly capture unique moments that a bulkier camera would call attention to. Cell phones are ubiquitous, giving photographers the ability to sneak a photograph and then publicly share it immediately. Instagram is not a replacement for fine art photography or formal photojournalism, but it has made a distinct niche in the photo-world. Photography has always been a medium that capitalizes on its ability to be reproduced and distributed; Instagram is just the latest manifestation of this phenomenon. •

Images by our staff, left to right: @jhuangl, @mark_t_davis, @pshof, @jone_bone, @ali_gav, @jmkrule, @rcanedogattegno, @aaronbreetwor, @coleoo

P O RT F O L I O

THE GROUND IS ON WHEELS Text & Images by MALLIKA VORA

Previous: Woman and Child at Solapuri Platform, 2012 Below: Conductor at Victoria Terminus, Bombay, 2012 Right: Boy Crouching, Western Railway, 2012

n the train together we passengers share the same velocity, but we are parallel like the rails on the track, concurrent but uninvolved. But every click of the shutter creates junctions where before there weren’t, unscheduled stops on the way from point A to point B. These photographs are moments of joining, when two becomes both, a split-second intersection of the sight and the seeing.

It was my thirteenth or fourteenth trip to India, the homeland of my parents who moved to America thirty years ago. I photographed on local and regional trains, covering over fifteen hundred miles between Mumbai, Bangalore and Mysore. I partially did it to prove to myself that I could shoot someplace other than New York. I expected to emerge with an insightful documentary project and ended up with a beast of a different breed. All of my relatives had dissuaded me. I was told so many reasons to be afraid as a woman traveling solo that I started feeling uneasy all the time: according to everyone, men were certain to harass 30

me, and all sorts of bad things could happen. It was the wrong time to be reading the Times of India, to see headlines like “Young woman fights train thief, loses leg” and “Abduction alert: 77% rise in no. of cases in 5 yrs.” I had never worried about harm at the hands of others unknown to me, and my photographs back home in Brooklyn even sought to counteract such a common misunderstanding of working-class people. I felt angry that fear was planted inside me, and upset that my faith in the decency of those around me could be so easily shaken. Adding to this anxiety was my inadequate knowledge of Hindi, which I can understand but not really speak. It was the other giant obstacle in my process; I know I work best when I can talk to the people I photograph, in an effort to establish mutual trust. The language barrier immediately marked me an NRI (Non-Resident Indian), a label that I had a hard time reconciling.

towards every potential subject to defy the shallowness of conventional representations of Indian people. I resolved not to photograph the poorest people unless it was a collaborative portrait, and asked as much permission as possible. I didn’t want to be that foreigner that simply visited, took a few dehumanizing snaps and left. Of course, I was pleasantly unsurprised at the kindness and grace of the people I came across. Men everywhere openly stared at me but nobody bothered me. Eventually, I fell into a shooting rhythm, and feelings of disharmony were mitigated as I thrust my face outside the open train doors into the deafening rush of air. I still don’t really know whose story I’m telling with these pictures: whether it’s just my story or the story of how I saw a place or the story of the people I saw. I guess it must be all three. I figure that’s good enough because it’s the truth. •

That limbo of familiarity without personal claim is probably the main reason I felt a deep responsibility 31

Apple Vendor, Mysore, Left: Four Girls, Woman and Child in Two Tier AC Class, Flower Seller, Veer Nariman Road, Bombay,

2012 2008 2012 2012

P O RT F O L I O

Euclidean Forms Text & Images by TORRIE FOX

hese photographs explore how objects exist in space. Taking into consideration the boundless, threedimensional extent of space, the sculptural objects within the images are a confrontation between the fragments depicted and what lies outside of them. Photographed in a way that is evocative of painting and through the use of an iPhone, the images ultimately question the viewerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s perception of space, the photographic plane, and how an object exists within the frame.

Above: Euclidean Form 01 Left: Euclidean Form 09

Euclidean Form 05

Euclidean Form 14

Subject to Violence

Joseph Rodriguez Te xt b y E r i c a D y e

Previous: A gang member teaches his daughter how to hold a .32 caliber pistol the morning after a rival gang tried to shoot him for the fourth time. Boyle Heights, 1992

East Side Stori es: Gang Life in East L.A.

oseph Rodriguez’s life is devoted to documenting and crafting complex photographic narratives. Rodriguez navigates through situations that are fraught with emotion and, at times, chaos. From subject matter that could easily be defined as violence and its aftermath, he offers a refreshing and intimate take on the people in his pictures. As Rodriguez analyzes the social, economic, and, most notably, psychological situation of his subjects, his work becomes less about violence itself and more of an anthropological exploration of those involved.

When gang violence in California erupted in the early 1990s, Rodriguez’s interest in the culture surrounding it led him to East Los Angeles. He began with his project East Side Stories: Gang Life in East L.A. in 1992. In his time spent working on the series and developing relationships with his subjects, Rodriguez documented adolescents entering into juvenile detention centers. He spent over a decade in California at these facilities and with the families of detained minors. In 2004, he published this series and book Juvenile. Now, Rodriguez is back in California for his newest project, Reentry, which explores how ex-inmates adapt to their lives after imprisonment. The three projects function on a timeline: each bring him one step closer to answering questions that have permeated his career and his life. How does a person get caught up in a life of violence? How do they cope in society if they finally choose to abandon this lifestyle? As a teenager growing up in Brooklyn, Rodriguez spent time detained in Riker’s Island. For this reason, Juvenile is his most personally salient project. The series illustrates a pivotal time in the lives of

adolescents: do these youths continue this destructive lifestyle or can they reflect on their actions and change? Rodriguez acknowledges that photography saved his life. He uses the medium to document and understand trends in culture enveloped in violence. From his personal experiences and through varied perspectives of the criminal justice system, Rodriguez is able to see all vantage points. He explains, “As a kid, if someone doesn’t have a sense of self-worth, they usually try to ignore it. They can do this by being with people who may have the same feelings or experiences as they do. This brings someone into a negative circle of being stuck. They want to create something that is theirs. So the kid becomes violent, and they get respect and honor.” Although it is easy to look at each series and imagine brutality, Rodriguez is more interested in the lives of those involved and influenced by violence, rather than singular acts. He examines how violence has become normalized and internalized by his subjects, and is then passed on in communities. The images constantly question the source and nature of this behavior. For Rodriguez, the work is about “what happens in those living rooms, what happens in those bedrooms, in someone’s own cell, in their own mind, or what happens in the institutions that lack the support and the education they’re supposed to give our kids.” Therefore, his pictures are often tender and contemplative. His subjects look directly into the lens and at the viewer. There is a sense of longing in the images and in the expectant faces of his subjects. They evoke empathy rather than stigmatization. Rodriguez said, “For me, it’s always been about one theme, and that is family.” •

Above: Gang members give each other hair cuts befor getting ready to look for jobs. Boyle Heights, 1993 Right: A young boy after being shot in his home during a drive by. Watts, Los Angeles 1992

Veteranos show off their tattoos. East Los Angeles, 1993

Above: Latin Kings gang members wash a car. East Los Angeles, 1992 Right: Child with his aunts. East Los Angeles, 1992

J uv e nile

This 15 year old cut himself, engraving various symbols and letters into his own flesh. He was declared ‘high-risk’ but after an evaluation determined that he wasn’t suicidal, he was placed in B-6, a lower security unit. He also practices Satanism. San Jose Juvenile Hall, San Jose, 1999

Before going to court, José meets with his public defender, grandmother, probation officer and mental health worker. All of whom are to show their suppport to the judge. Santa Clara County Juvenile Court, San Jose, 1999

16 year old Katrina plays solitaire on her bunk. She says, “I’ve been in Juvenile Hall since April, for a probation violation. I’ve been here once before, for auto theft and evading the police. I have been crying and crying all night. My dad is incarcerated and I don’t know where my mom is. I have been in the system since I was five or six. I have been with several foster families. The last one my foster brother was molesting me and I told my forster parents but they didn’t believe me. I am now waiting to be placed in a group home.” In July 2000, Katrina was placed in a group home. San Jose Juvenile Hall, San Jose, 2000

Chris, a 17 year old white supremacist, joined the Willow Glen skinheads at age 14. His father, a member of the Aryan Brotherhood, is retired from the navy. Chris has dreamed of enlisting in the military, and with an AA degree in drug pharmacology, he was able to. At a party celebrating his enlistment, Chris became inebriated with friends and firebombed a house using Molotov cocktails. The house was believed to belong to a Jewish family, and Chris was arrested for committing a hate crime, vandalism, and conspiracy. San Jose Juvenile Hall, San Jose, 1999

Sovanny, 17 years old, is in Juvenile Hall’s B-8 unit, the maximum-security unit for violent and high-risk youth offenders. He threw a rock at a car and struck a man in the head, seriously injuring him. They are not sure of his sentence because the young injured man may die. Sovanny feels sorry for his family because both of his brothers are also locked-up. San Jose, 1999

Lance reunites with his mother after years of being apart. Lance’s mother Pat wrote a letter, titled “Incarceration, from a Parent’s View”. She writes, “One of the darkest times of my life was when the (police) came to my home and put handcuffs on my then 16-year old son.” “In my case, I had a problem with discipline. If I would have practiced tough love, things might have been different! Although I did try to teach my son morals, and right from wrong, I was so overwhelmed by my own problems that I couldn’t see what was happening to my son.” San Francisco, 1999

R e e n t ry

Elizabeth Carbajal walks her one month old son up and down the halls. He has been having trouble sleeping. She is exhausted from lack of sleep and her intense class schedule goes well into the evening. El Monte, 2008

Above: Marcos Luna, 37 years old, has served over 11 years of time in prison including time in lockdown at Los Angeles County Jail. He is a recovering addict and a member of Walden House. He currently works in the bakery at Homeboy Industries and volunteers his time to give food to the homeless. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Myself Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m a two striker, so I really got to think about what my third strike might be...With my criminal record, automatically I get a life term of 25 years to life, with no possibility of parole.â&#x20AC;? 2012

Right: Gerald Anderson, 22 years old, is in for parole violation, burglary. He is from Compton. He shares a room with a roommate. He dreams of becoming a super rap star. He has written 13 songs about being a Playa, the Street Life, making money and the good life. He is getting dressed for a visit from his girlfriend. 2008

Schedule board displays some of the residents classes at Walden House, The Female Offender Treatment and Employment Project (FOTEP), under contract with the California Department of Corrections, Office of Substance Abuse Programs (Contract no. C98.316). FOTEP was designed to provide residential drug treatment for women parolees with a history of substance abuse problems, along with intensive case management, vocational, and family services. FOTEP programs have been implemented in 13 counties throughout the state. The goal of the project is to enable the successful reintegration of these women parolees into the community, particularly with regards to reducing criminal behavior, substance use, and welfare dependence, and to facilitate their reunification with dependent children, if appropriate. El Monte, 2008

At the Walden House Transitional Treatment Facility for Men. They can use the telephone for free. Inglewood, 2008

New arrivals from state prisons and jails to the Transitional Treatment Facility for Women. The Hill Street residential program can serve up to 70 female parolee residents at any time. The facility has been entirely renovated from an old hotel into one of the most reputable treatment programs in the Los Angeles area. The purpose of the program is to help the residents successfully transition from prison back into the community. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Hill Street,â&#x20AC;? located near downtown Los Angeles, 2008

THE

G ALLERY IMBALANCE is the stage on which daily life unfolds. From social ideals, to cultural paradoxes, to structural anomalies and bizarre oddities, photography unites these elements and weighs them all within a single frame.

Perri Hofmann, Italian Alps, 2012

Sophie Klafter, Untitled, 2012 Right: Jake Lindeman, Untitled

Above: Chloe Pang, Untitled Right: Juan Madrid, Rochester, NY Next: Andrew Nunes, You Say What You Want To Say

Perri Hofmann Above: Coney Island, 2012 Left: Central Park, 2012

Jonno Rattman, Abraham Lincoln after delivering the 149th Gettysburg Address, Pennsylvania, 2012

Perri Hofmann, Eric at Disneyland, California, 2012 Left: Mark Davis, Untitled

Jonah Rosenberg, Untitled

Rodrigo Ca単edo-Gattegno, In Blue

Aileen Mitchell, Bathing Beauties: Back Scratches, Boss Bitches, Big Dippers

Andrew Williams, Albuquerque, New Mexico, 2010

Aaron Breetwor, Liam Morgan in San Francisco

Perri Hofmann, Hollywood Boulevard, 2012

Tewosret Vaughn, Empty Antler, 2012 Right: Sarah Anthony, C Resting After Pushup, 2012

Jonah Rosenberg, Untitled Left: Dan Wetmore, East Liberty, Pittsburgh

Juan Madrid, Rochester, NY Right: Perri Hofmann, Zurich Zoo, Switzerland, 2012

Jake Lindeman, Bonneville, UT

CONTACTS

EDITOR-In-CHIEF Perri Hofmann perrihofmann@gmail.com PHOTO EDITORS Aaron Breetwor Rodrigo Ca単edo-Gattegno Mark Davis Torrie Fox James Huang Aileen Mitchell Andrew Nunes Jonno Rattman Jonah Rosenberg Cole Saladino ART DEPARTMENT Kaleel Munroe kcm373@nyu.edu Priya Chidambaram Amelia Chu Perri Hofmann Shiori Ohira WRITERS Rodrigo Ca単edo-Gattegno rc1953@nyu.edu Gabriela June Tully Claymore gtc230@nyu.edu Erica Dye emd365@nyu.edu Jackson Krule jmk582@nyu.edu COMMUNICATIONS Haley Weiss hweiss@nyu.edu Kristin Petersmann Connor Smith SPECIAL THANKS Jodi Bailey Irene Cho Sonia Davis Editha Mesina Aperture New York University Photography & Imaging Tisch School of the Arts Tisch Undergraduate Student Council

Right: Jackson Krule, Untitled Back Cover: James Huang, Black Hole Symphony Composition 01

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