‘The photographs of Zoe Strauss read like a photo-essay without the text. Her portrait subjects—glaring or shy, rail thin or obese, scarred or bleeding, partying or parading—are mostly from around Philadelphia. Her landscapes offer up empty parking lots, terse signage, insulting graffiti, and glimpses of the Gulf Coast region after Katrina and the BP–Deepwater Horizon spill. Other images are lyrical abstractions or sweeps of some allover pattern found in nature or in the city.

‘At first glance, Strauss’s images seem to fall headlong into every trap that the history of photography since the Progressive Era has set: exploitation of the suffering person, romanticization of the postindustrial landscape, voyeurism of the lower classes, and so on. Looking at Monique Carbone, who appears in two very different images—first pregnant, heavily made-up, and gazing sternly sideways into the camera (Daddy Tattoo, 2004), and later savagely beaten (Monique Showing Black Eye, 2006)—the viewer might feel discomfort, revulsion, alarm, curiosity, pity, and no doubt a selfish relief not to be in Carbone’s shoes. Wasn’t this why Martha Rosler left human subjects out of The Bowery in two inadequate descriptive systems, 1974–75, to avoid redoubling their victimization and reinforcing what she called the “connoisseurship of the tawdry”? And didn’t Allan Sekula develop extended photo-essays to establish a realism rooted in everyday facts rather than social generalities?

‘Strauss refuses to package her photos with text, in order to suggest that neither an image nor an image-plus-caption can tell a whole story. She reintroduces the human subject to “skid row” but juxtaposes her portraits with shots of unidentifiable oceans and unspecified fireworks so that the viewer is struck by the dissonance of the real and the romantic.

‘A beloved figure here in her hometown, Strauss has built a broad community-based audience over the past decade. Before turning to the camera in 2000, she made ephemeral public artworks—usable chalkboard murals on abandoned buildings, a New Year’s party at CVS for employees working the midnight shift—and from 2001 to last year, she held an annual exhibition under I-95, hanging $5 prints on the broad pillars of the overpass. (This retrospective has not affected her prices.) The fifty-four billboards installed around the city as part of her survey have maintained this truly public viewing experience and made visible a variety of connections across space and time. In a diptych at JFK Boulevard and Thirtieth Street, one image features a sign reading DON’T FORGET US, which Strauss found in Louisiana after the oil spill; the adjacent billboard shows dilapidated houses hastily constructed after the Philadelphia police bombed the row-house headquarters of the black liberation group MOVE in 1985, igniting a fire that destroyed sixty-one homes and killed eleven people. The catch is, you won’t know that the houses in Strauss’s photographs are these houses unless you look on her blog.

‘Or you could just ask Strauss herself, who, with the curator Peter Barberie who organised a recent retrospective of her work at Philadelphia Museum of Art, set up an ambitious public program: Viewers can chat with the artist privately during “office hours,” attend panels and workshops on monthly “pay what you wish” days, and take over the museum during huge dance parties with Philly-related DJs (including Questlove and WXPN’s David Dye). Strauss’s involvement in meeting with viewers plays the role of Sekula’s written narrative and Rosler’s avowal of her systems’ “inadequacy.” Not only are Strauss’s photographs deeply community-based, but her emphasis on the necessity of face-to-face interaction lends her project a profoundly social dimension.

‘Strauss wants her photographs to speak for themselves, but in reality, her voiceless subjects remain politically silenced, as what photography historian Sally Stein in her catalogue essay calls the “urban proletariat.” In prompting the viewer to construct an active reading of her images, Strauss emphasizes their contingency, and in speaking to viewers on her subjects’ behalf, she reminds us that the photographer always stands between them and us as a mediator. Meanwhile, those subjects remain outside the social matrix she constructs; they never get to join the conversation. Not even ten years of photographs has the power to change that.’ — Nell McClister, Artforum

 

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Further

Zoe Strauss @ Facebook
Zoe Strauss @ Twitter
Zoe Strauss @ Wikipedia
Zoe Strauss @ Bruce Silverstein Gallery
Book: ‘America’, by Zoe Strauss
The Complete History of Every One: On Zoe Strauss
8 Lessons Zoe Strauss Has Taught Me About Street Photography
Artist On-site: Zoe Strauss
Zoe Strauss: Soon to be archived, then on to the next.
Philadelphia is a troubled place
Zoe Strauss @ Prison Photography
Zoe Strauss: Finding Humanity Where It’s Hidden
Zoe Strauss and the Problem of the Street Portrait
For Zoe Strauss
Why Zoe Strauss Matters
Violence and Intimacy in Zoe Strauss’s I-95 Projec
Zoe Strauss, capturing unexpected moments in time
American Detritus: Zoe Strauss Photographs What’s Been Left Behind
“If You Break the Skin You Must Come In”
In Defense Of Zoe And Her City

 

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Extras

Studioscopic: Zoe Strauss

Zoe Strauss – An Incredible Decade

Zoe Strauss and Steve Earle in conversation, Jan 28, 2012

Zoe Strauss – Under the Freeway

 

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Interview

 

SQ: You are a Philadelphian. You have enormous pride.

ZS: Yes. I love the city. I love it. It’s non-stop.

SQ: How do you interact with the city?

ZS: I lived in a number of different places in the city. I have an active interest in how it was shaped, how it was formed, how it changes and shifts. It’s fascinating to me. I have great affection for it even in the most difficult circumstances. I’m interested in the whole picture.

SQ: So you must know the city, its layers of development, the stories…is there a particular place that interests you?

ZS: It’s wherever I am at the moment. But, in terms of my own interest, I’m interested in how neighborhoods evolve and what it means for the city on the whole and what it means for the United States on the whole… Sometimes literally and sometimes as a metaphor but it’s always interesting how it’s shifting.

SQ: So—

ZS: Sometimes tremendously…like right now it’s a very distressing shift. It’s been a very difficult last two or three years.

SQ: In South Philly? In the city?

ZS: Yah, I’ve noticed it in South Philly, Kensington and North Philly especially. All of those places. There is a different level of desperation, a different level of mean-spiritedness that comes back to, very literally, a tension that seems to have literally filtered down from the Bush-Administration. And I know that sounds grandiose, but it really feels like it comes from this specific climate in the United States, and it’s just been boiling down to this…disregard for human life. The need for wealth. A lack of real jobs, of real opportunities. It’s manifested itself as real, not just “oh that’s a shame.” It has impacted real life.

SQ: The implications are more immediate.

ZS: Yes, and I think it’s taken some time to get here. It’s not so slow in some ways. It’s pretty direct, but it’s a climate of fear and suspicion that has steadily grown.

SQ: Okay, well shifting to another kind of fear and suspicion. How do you walk into a scene and walk away with a shot like the one I saw on your blog yesterday?

ZS: Oh, the swastika guy? I love him! I mean how nuts is that?

SQ: How do you walk in to that situation and come away with those images?

ZS: I don’t know. I don’t have an answer for that. It’s just completely intuitive whether or not this will be a good interaction. I mean you can tell within the first twenty seconds whether this is someone interesting, someone I’ll feel comfortable. There’s just…it’s very immediate.

SQ: So you must have to interact before you take each photo?

ZS: Oh yes. I always ask. If it’s a portrait I always ask. They can pose however they want.

SQ: So you tell them what?

ZS: If I see someone who I think would make an interesting portrait I tell them that, I tell them why if I have a sense of why, sometimes I don’t know and I just say that. We usually talk for a second and it’s usually yes or no, and that’s that. It’s almost always a good interaction.

SQ: Is this why the portraits are so intimate?

(Photograph by Zoe Strauss)
ZS: Yes. It’s always a real interaction. It’s never surprising someone. Unless it’s a street scene—I’ll often do photos where someone is striding past an architectural piece, and I often don’t ask those people. Their presence is just movement in the photo not the subject.

If I notice that they’ve seen me, I’ll sometimes say you know, I took a photo, is that okay? If they seem adamant then I’ll chuck it.

SQ: Has anybody ever chased you down? You know—

ZS: With a machete?

SQ: Or—

ZS: Brandishing it? No. My interactions are generally good. Except once I was in someone’s house and it felt uncomfortable, and I just left.

SQ: Easy enough.

ZS: Yea, and it wasn’t even the interaction it was just a “difficult feeling.”

SQ: My partner and I were talking about this the other day how architecture can be so oppressive, how even a street has a psychology, and sometimes, you can’t put your finger on it, but there is a kind of psychic dis-ease in a random place.

ZS: Oh yes, absolutely. There’s no question, and sometimes it’s intangible, but it makes a big difference. Like in South Philly we have overhead electrical wires and it’s oppressive…if I were ever to move from South Philly that would be why because it’s like you’re literally under a weighty net… And there is all different things that make the feeling of, either the illusion of openness or closure… Once I read in The Moviegoer by Walker Percy about walking and how the “new” houses seemed haunted. Something resonated with me about that.

SQ: The new houses?

ZS: Yes, it’s not about the history it’s about the psychology.

SQ: Interesting. On the other hand, you can take a place that seems totally abandoned, lifeless, and to most people, terrifying, and infuse it with absolute joy…but there’s a lot of weight that goes with the territory of being a social documentarian. Particularly of a place like South Philly where you can feel, in some areas the tension is palpable. And the desperation is really evident block to block. Sometimes it seems you’re in a war zone.

(Photograph by Zoe Strauss)
ZS: It’s really block-to-block. My block has in the last couple of become gentrified, but yes, you can go one block and it’s…yes, it’s like Dresden.

SQ: How do you negotiate that?

ZS: That kind of dichotomy is fascinating because we live with it. That’s our lives. It’s not an abstract concept of this block is bad, this block is good; it’s very difficult to see and think about, but we’re all living our lives together at the same time. There’s no separate. People have these perceived ideas that this block is this, and this block is this, but it’s the same fucking block! You’re in the same neighborhood. For their own sanity people have a tendency to compartmentalize because we’re so packed in like this…and sometimes I think that’s healthy and sometimes not. I mean just to get by we don’t have to talk to every neighbor, but you need to know your neighbors and you have to be able to interact with them…

SQ: So, are you friends with everyone you’ve ever photographed?

ZS: Um. Ya. Kind of. Ya. I kind of love all of them. Without exaggeration there’s probably only one or two that I do not have a feeling of affection for…and you can really see it in those photos. They’re a little bit meaner… One guy, years ago, he was just a real racist, beyond the usual…you know working class white people can be sort of racist… I can have affection for someone whose ideology is absolutely abhorrent to me, but sometimes you can feel that someone is just mean-spirited. They are not a good person. Their ideas are like a giant albatross around their necks…you know we all come up with endless theories and ideas to deal with our lives, but the few times I’ve felt like “oh, my god this guy is like excessive” you can really tell in the photo that there’s not a connection.

SQ: Have you ever been terrified?

ZS: If I have I’ve blocked it… No, I haven’t been terrified. I’ve been uncomfortable with things people say, but no. If I felt I was in danger I would just immediately leave. I’ve felt scared, but not with people. Places yes, history yes, but not people.

SQ: Speaking of places…I’m from Vancouver, and I don’t know if you know this, but Vancouver has a very, very big problem in the Downtown East Side. A problem that activists, artists, politicians have been trying for decades to solve. Drug and poverty related.

ZS: I know, I’ve heard of this, and I thought, what? Canada?

SQ: Yes, Canada.

ZS: Seriously, it’s so shocking to me.

SQ: I know.

ZS: Mounties. Maple syrup. Friendliness.

SQ: Well, twenty years on when I go back and see it and know that little has changed. It’s difficult to remain hopeful in the face of such enormous poverty and suffering. How do you remain so hopeful? Do you feel that the work you do has some kind of impact, some kind of healing in your community?

ZS: This is an excellent question. I’m not really liberal in terms of this kind of ideology. I’m the far, far left here. I think you must do this yourself. Someone can’t come into a specific spot and as an outsider—I mean certainly there are a lot of things that can facilitate change and hope—actual daily living conditions for people, that’s important, that’s tangible, that’s a big part of the overall picture. That’s life. But I’ve also come to feel these people who want to come in and “do good,” “save people,” that kind of change cannot happen.

SQ: Liberalism out of context?

ZS: At its absolute worst. It’s a demeaning concept.

SQ: Enabling?

ZS: Yes, I mean, needle programs are great, but I think people get some romanticized idea of what they’re doing…they aren’t coming in on white horses to save people, they’re facilitating a daily need. Not, I’m riding in and here you go… I mean shut up you jackass. Are you kidding me? Does that make sense?

SQ: Yes.

ZS: Cause that’s totally how I feel.

SQ: Yes, I totally get it, and it seems as though that’s what you’re saying with the photos. Your photos aren’t portraying some kind of “lifting out,” they’re a kind of witnessing. Like you have two seconds you can choose how to engage with this person. It seems like you find the most strength and dignity in whoever you’re looking at and whatever situation they find themselves dealing with on that particular day.

ZS: I hope so. I’m very optimistic. I’m filled with hope and joy.

 

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p.s. Hey. ** David, Oh, okay. Got it. I guess when I’ve gotten tested I never saw the thing itself and they just say yes or no. The Masters book is very good, the best book about a serial killer maybe. I haven’t seen any of ‘Squid Game’ due to my not watching TV or ‘TV’, but I should see a bit of it to know what’s going on. ** Dominik, Hi!!!! Maybe I feel very sightly better today, I can’t tell yet. I definitely don’t feel amazing. I think you would like ‘Neons’, yeah. It might be hard to find or expensive? I used to think children’s drawings of people were so sweet but then some 3D modelling guy did this thing where he created the ‘real’ people the children had drawn and they were completely horrifying. The moral of that story being don’t mess with a kid with a crayon? Love giving a kid with a crayon a professional film crew and a $100,000,000 budget, G. ** T, Hi, T. I’m happy the Belloc book caught your fancy. The press Semiotext(e) is publishing Dustan’s novels in English. Prior to that, the only one in English was ‘In My Room’. That’s the only one I’ve read. It was pretty good. It’s weird though, because there’s this whole Wojnarowicz-style deification of Dustan going on right now, which I find kind of ugh. I met him once, and he threw this giant, prima donna hissy fit and seemed kind of really insufferable, but hey. I do want to read those Semiotext(e) books. Thank you for the well wishes. I might be improving today, we’ll see. Ha ha, there’s this beautiful black sand beach in Hawaii that I still remember from my childhood, so I’ll imagine my room plastered with its likeness, and I will turn the heat up. Thank you. I hope your Wednesday turns all the mosquitos still alive in France into Tinkerbelles. xo. ** Misanthrope, Only two more days, man. Stay tough and take lots of oscillococcinum. Anyway, I managed to go out and do a bunch of stuff yesterday even sick, so you can too, worst comes to worst. ** Carrie, Hi, Carrie. Thank you very much for coming in here. Oh, I think I know who you’re talking about. I’m so very sorry to hear that. Yes, I will write to you today. Perhaps we can Skype or Zoom or something. Take care, and I’ll be in touch with you very shortly. ** Thomas Moronic, Hi, Thomas! Yes, ‘Neons’ remains so little known, it’s strange. Even here France, no one I know has heard of it, even people you’d think would be way into it. I think I’m upswinging today maybe. God, I hope so. We’re looking into showing the Home Haunt game thing in London. We’ll see. So maybe there. I’m really happy to know you’re out there looking in here. I hope all that typing is at least partly generating your own writing. Lots of love! ** Right. If you don’t know the terrific photographs of Zoe Strauss, … well, now you do! See you tomorrow.

 

‘“I kneaded mud and I made gold”: Belloc could borrow this verse from Baudelaire, which has become a cliché, to make it the subtitle of his Neons. Story of a self-discovery through obscene misery (the spectacle of a father dying after a boxing match, the mother remarried to a slugger, the discovery of her homosexuality in a pissotière, prostitution between Pigalle and Barbès where one sells for fifty bucks, the orgy in the Bois, the recovery house, the jail, the smashes …) and a cruel and implacable language, Néons leads the reader in his drift, refusing any form of wretchedness and regret … but by looking, convulsively, how to make a saving black humor emerge from the abrasions: ” I hear words:” morbid “,” depraved “and then” poor guy “. […]I look for the word in my dictionary: MORBIDE: relating to the disease: morbid state. Which denotes a sickly, depraved imbalance: morbid imagination. DEPRAVED: Spoiled: depraved taste. Perverted, debauched. For “poor guy”, I’m not looking. I know. “From this strange biographical tale which seeks to recreate, in a pulp novel way , a life whose softness and light have been scraped alive, we retain the sarcastic smile of Denis Belloc, which transforms lust into revealing a certain social truth (“I’m fifteen, I get nothing out of dialectical materialism and I don’t give a fuck about class struggle. I don’t like mine enough.”) And manages to make one feel, under the layers of merciless anecdotes given without coating, all the innocence of a being uninhibited, wild, and of a deafening honesty.’ — Julie Proust Tanguy

‘This is an old story, but one that literature has ignored until relatively recently–a universal story that Denis Belloc sets in France in the 1960s. A poor boy whose mother neglects him and whose stepfather beats him finds excitement and a kind of love in “tearooms,” or public restrooms. Uneducated but good-looking, he is absorbed into a homosexual underworld of prostitution, petty crime and unstable relationships with men a little older and a little better off than he.

‘The protagonist, named Denis like the author, “lives the absence” of his father, a boxer who was killed in a carnival sideshow. He has a vacancy in him that nothing seems to fill. He drifts through blue-collar jobs, prison and intervals as a kept man, periodically infected by syphilis, impulsively drawn to violence, oblivion and flight. The novel’s minimalist style fits the subject. Belloc presents Denis’ life in terse, detached scenes, as brutally clear but as fleeting as the neon lights that flow over him as he guns a stolen motorcycle through the streets of Paris.

‘Denis hardly has a chance. At 20, an ex-con with a drinking problem, his marketability waning–“(my body is) all I have to give”–he seems to have little to look forward to. He does have an interest in painting–his mother’s one positive legacy. And that literary phrase “living the absence” suggests that he may be acquiring an artist’s ability to give form to his pain. Belloc leaves the question open; his main purpose is to show how deforming pain can be.’ — Michael Harris, The Los Angeles Times

‘Néons tells the story of a guy who was massacred before he wrote it down, as though he vomited it and thus exorcised him: a father who died too early (“He was twenty-five years old. me one and a half. And what he did to me that evening in July 1951, I couldn’t forgive him. I thought: […] You are an absent bastard and I hate you.”), a bumping stepfather, a mother overwhelmed by events, the early discovery of raw and sacrificial sexuality (“And I put my satchel in the urinal on going to school, coming back from school, I wank and wank too, sometimes they suck my cock but I don’t want to suck.”), Petty crime, the reform house, the galley, the sidewalk, the descent to the lowest in extreme loneliness and self-loathing (“Lower your pants, spread your legs. Offer your mouth and buttocks. Whirlwind of spunk and shit, filth to be forgotten.”), Death stretching out its arms but the mother coming back, painting and this book to finally get out of it, maybe (and in fact not … but the rest is written in the later novels). We will have understood that reading this one is quite trying: because the truth is never made up there, because its language is raw (even though it is often sublime), because at the end of all that (which leaves to hope) seen how it started there is nothing necessarily. Not love anyway. So nothing but this Neons which is already a lot because of those rare books brought back from Hell which leave the reader (which they spit out at the end dumbfounded and shaken) a taste of ashes in the mouth and the mind upset to come to attend nothing less than ‘a miracle: that of the blossoming, in the mire and the wetness, of a song from the depths all of lack and excess, therefore of great violence… but of pure beauty.’ — Jean-Marc Flapp

 

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Further

Denis Belloc @ Wikipedia
‘Neons’ @ goodreads
‘Neons’ reviewed @ Kirkus
‘Neons’ reviewed @ Publishers Weekly
Denis Belloc: Écrivain sans domicile fixe
Contribution subjective à une mémoire …
Néons, un livre atypique
BELLOC Denis | Néons @ Dissonances
Buy ‘Neons’

 

___
Extras

Denis Belloc “Anti-portrait chinois” de Thierry Ardisson

Bernard PIVOT reçoit Denis BELLOC pour son premier livre “Néons”

 

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Press

 

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Book

Denis Belloc Neons
Godine

‘In this brilliant tale of violent sexuality, set forth in stark, hypnotic prose, Denis Belloc presents a straightforward narrative of the homosexual underworld in 1960s Paris. As a young child, Denis (autobiographical parallels are intentional) witnesses his father’s death in a sideshow boxing match and is left with nothing but faded photographs. Numbed by his mother’s neglect and her new husband’s abusive treatment, he turns to Paris’s teeming street life and to the sordid corners of the city’s “tearooms” (public restrooms). He is absorbed quickly into a world of physical and emotional prostitution, and finds temporary stability only with a few lovers and friends. Belloc’s detached style is devoid of self-pity, and creates a savage, involving tension. Blasphemous, unrelenting, uninhibited, this novel will leave no one indifferent.’ — Godine

‘This explosive and magnificent book speaks the truth, always.’
—Marguerite Duras

‘There’s much brilliance in Neons. Belloc’s story of homosexual underlife in Paris may be ages old, but he has sculpted it into a sequence of amazing musical fragments whose cacophonous honesty is perfectly matched to a prose both offhanded and capable of unnerving emotional feats.’
—Dennis Cooper

 

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Excerpts

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p.s. Hey. ** Dominik, Hi!!! Thank you! Thank you too for your love’s great intentions for my health. It hasn’t quite worked yet, but it’s the fantasy that counts, as I know all too well. Nice ashtray picks. Love like the sound of coins hitting the floor when some rich kid is grabbed by the ankles, turned upside down, and shaken, G. ** Ashhh, Nice name. Hi. Yeah, I’m still sick, grr, and I didn’t make it to Salon du Chocolat for that reason, so drat. ‘The Crucible’, that’s an interesting Halloween watch. Every time I lend someone a book, I just go ahead and write it off. Thank you marking your friend’s graduation so nefariously. I would want most of the ashtrays in my house, especially the ones that are worth a lot of money, although in that case rather briefly. And maybe not that poor human ashtray, although I guess she likes it, although it doesn’t really look like she does. ** _Black_Acrylic, It did make for a blissful short time. Maybe I need to just stream that episode 24/7 from here on out. Nostalgia for smoking cigarettes is a rosy lie of a longing, as I’m sure I don’t need to tell you. Great! Best luck with the submission! ** Bzzt, Hi, man, so nice to see you! Wednesday … tomorrow! Yes, please hook us up. Sure, I’d love to hang while you’re here. Just hit me up when you know your schedule, etc., and we’l sort it. Nice! I haven’t read Colette since I was pretty young, and I thought her stuff was kind of so-so at the time, but maybe it ages well or something. It did seem like one of those things where if you don’t read and like it when you’re in your teens you never will. But I could be totally wrong. Look forward to seeing you! ** David, Hi. The name Dennis Nilsen rings a bell, ha ha. I know a guy whose father was one of Nilsen’s victims. I don’t know what one line only on the covid test means, but congrats! ** Bill, Hi. I do know that Caja piece, and why it slipped my mind when making that post is a giant mystery. Yeah, I still feel shitty, but, yeah, hopefully not for long, and thank you. A bit cruel? Ha ha. ** T, Oh, no, you’re one of those annoying people. Ha ha. Don’t start buying packs though. Better to be very slightly annoying than be a full-fledged smoker. Like me. I didn’t make it to Salon du Chocolat due to my feeling shitty, and it’s sad but not, you know, tragic or anything. I could use one of those masks at the moment. Maybe I can put some scotch tape on the edges of my face and fake it. I hope your today turns every staircase into an escalator and every sidewalk into a conveyer belt. xo. ** Damien Ark, Hi, Damien. Thank you a lot, sir. Soup sounds really, really good. Split pea … oooh. I’ll see if I can find some. You good? Hope so. ** Steve Erickson, Thanks, Steve. If I was a multi-billionaire, I’d buy a failed mall and have it redesigned into a gigantic mansion. I would. I really think I would. ** Misanthrope, Well, I’m still sick, so watch your back. I would feel terrible if I had any part in preventing you from doing Cornstalkers. ** Okay. Today I’m spotlighting a really terrific novel that is very much an overlooked gem. It’s a novel that I definitely think could be of real interest to at least some of you who frequent this blog or my own books, but I’ve certainly been wrong before. Have a look. See you tomorrow.