Six Questions for David Agasi on Dreams about John Cage and Butterflies

Photograph of David Agasi © 2013 Bradley Hanson

Cold Green Tea Press is excited to announce that 

Dreams about John Cage and Butterflies, a new book of photographs by David Agasi, will be published in the near future.

Here is a brief interview with David on his recent work and the changes to his photography since his CGTP published his first book, Living with Myself Forgetting.

1.  What precipitated the change to square format?

There should be no secret about the images; they are still 35mm and I cropped them in order to bring a larger sense of focus and intensity to the objects within the frame. As I am a fan of medium format photography, but have very limited time and resources to follow that path, the experience I have with 35mm pushed me back into viewing the square as a very attractive alternative to rectangular negatives. This idea also stemmed from looking at so many LP and CD covers and trying to create a specific atmosphere in that limited size and perspective. I wanted to line up a meaningful series where all the images in the book were harmonically linked.

2.  How has your photography changed since your first book?

Not sure, because there are still a lot of undeveloped negatives that go back to the beginning of 2012. One reason for this, aside from the expense of developing film in Japan, is that I like to forget almost entirely what actually happened. That way, when I finally get the proof sheets in my hands from any number of photo shoots, the memories themselves have already morphed and changed over time. I want the images I take to be as much a surprise to me as they might be for anyone else. I don't want to elicit too much control or feel that at the time of shooting I knew what I was after or what I was doing. There is a kind of pre-prepared aloofness that I want to nurture and elicit in my work. I want the atmosphere to overshadow the intention.

3.  What decisions do you make in framing your pictures?

Again, very hard to answer because most of the decisions are unconscious. I do want the actual "essence" of whatever I photograph to be the main dalliance, in order to set the mood. Almost all the images are, naturally, rectangular, so it isn't until I am in the darkroom that I decide to crop certain parts of the images out. I don't usually take a lot of time deciding what should be altered, or which images should be made into squares because the overall composition in any negative will tell me whether it's going to be successful as a square or not. Most rectangular images can't be cropped without leaving out something important, so I have to be very careful.

4.  What qualities in people, physical and otherwise, are you drawn to photograph? 

 Photograph of David Agasi © 2013 Bradley Hanson

Most anything. My work is primarily about two things - whatever the subject brings to light, and the light itself. In most cases, I can only invest in what I am doing with the latter. The subject, its own power of persuasiveness or mystery, will dictate whether the image has a shot at remaining in the viewer's memory. Most images fail to do this. As always, after making countless photos, there are only a few worth investing in. Most of the fat has to be trimmed way, way down. Human bodies and faces are still one of the highlights of the natural world, as are objects that have been discarded, thrown away or abandoned. That must be why I am so drawn to trashed umbrellas and left-for-dead bicycles in Japan. So many of these objects no longer have owners, or never did to begin with. They are ghosly things in an of themselves.

5.  How did you come to be a photographer?

My first photo teacher, when I was a sophomore at college, was incredibly inspiring and I really felt comfortable photographing people from the beginning, so that's the long and short of it. Besides that, I didn't think much about it. In fact, there were periods where I didn't even have a working camera. Sometimes the camera equipment I did have was not particularly trustworthy, but I felt this added to the "chance operations" side of my process, not really being so attached to any one outcome. I consider photography to be a kind of reverse iceburg, where the riches you can harvest are not hiding beneath the water but are instead right there on the surface waiting to be plucked. The stuff beneath the surface, that 90%, is just throwaway. If you develop a system of editing your work where you maintain high standards, it's easier to see what matters at the processed negative stage. After that, it might be helpful to ask someone whose sensibility you trust to also aid in editing, as I did with this book.

6.  What advantages do you have as an analogue photographer in an increasingly digital world?

I like to make my images slowly, so I give a lot of the process away to waiting, being patient, and allowing whatever truths to surface naturally. Since I don't get a chance to edit my work the day I shoot it (or even the month or season for that matter) as digital photographers do, I have to be open to surprise and occasional disappointment in as open a way as possible. If you plant a specific kind of flower and cultivate it throughout its seasonal life, you are likely to get positive results. That's also the way I see film photography, as a kind of botanical exercise that really isn't as technical as the digital world has now made it out to be. There is still something inexplicably organic and mysterious about analogue, so I don't feel any reason at the moment to change formats. I would like to concentrate on 35mm film for a few more years at least.

(Dreaming about John Cage and Butterflies is forthcoming from Cold Green Tea Press in spring 2013)

Mini-Interview with Andrew Nye

Photo of Andrew Nye © 2011 Kenneth Traynor

Andrew Nye's The Suspect as well as his first book, Flying Objects, are both available from Cold Green Tea Press.

How are your new poems changed since your first book, Flying Objects? 

The clearest change has been moving away from the seemingly personal “I” central to lyric poetry and into a recurring fictional “he” more characteristic of narrative poetry. Each poem presents an event centered around a third person protagonist.


How does your location affect your writing? 

Contrary to what everyone believes, it rains in Seattle. Everyday. All year. On the other hand, the sun breaks through most days on and off. The gray atmosphere broken by bright, sharp light upon dazzling flora in constant bloom is a bit like The Wizard of Oz when the film shifts from black and white to Technicolor. It must affect my writing somehow.


What book do you think has inspired you the most? 

Mr. Cogito by Zbigniew Herbert has had a big influence on the suspect poems. Mr. Cogito was originally published in Polish as Pan Cogito in 1974.


How would you describe your work to someone? 

I would describe it as surrealist narrative poetry. There is intention within the poems, however, and they are very accessible. These poems are not an exercise in nonsense (as much as I do love good nonsense).


Any upcoming projects? 

I am considering a mystery novel written as a series of narrative poems. I am also constructing a zygote.

Interview with Long Lim

Interview with Long Lim
Originally uploaded by kid ampersand


In November 2010 Cold Green Tea Press published What We Miss When We Miss, stories and photographs by Long Lim.  


What is the relationship between your photographs and your stories?

I like to think they add depth to one another, while maintaining their own space. It's a symbiotic relationship. Since my writing tends towards being terse and sparse, I use the photos as a way to fill in the gaps between the words or thoughts within the narrative. And on the other side of that, the words fill in whatever is lurking outside or within the image. Depending on what you choose to focus on, one sets the tone or mood while the other seeks to enhance those feelings.

I don't intend for them to be literal representations of one another, like how it is in a magazine or newspaper article, even though it comes off that way sometimes. Most of the time, the photos and stories are created independently of each other and it's not until the very end, that I go back and see what works with that and pair things together.

How much autobiographical material do you include in your stories?

There's a heavy amount of autobiographical material in each story. Not necessarily in the events or places but within the feelings of each character. When thinking of characters, especially the ones in which the stories center on, I tend to pull from my own experience. Of course, since I'm also posting these stories, I have to be mindful of who reads. It's become a habit for me to exploit the people I come across or who are around me. It's also a habit I'd like to break out of though as I'm starting to feel confined and repeat themes or ideas too often.

How does location affect your work?

Location is very important. For photographs, location is critical, as is time. The quality of light is much different in Hong Kong or Taiwan compared to Sacramento or San Francisco. This in turn affects the color tones of the photo and so on. I think it works the same way for the stories. Each location becomes its own character and belies a different set of ideas or emotions. Since my characters tend to be displaced already, I like to have real and concrete places to ground everything on.


What is your writing process like?

It used to be that, I had to get everything done in one night or one sitting. First thought best thought right? I can be a very impatient person. For these particular stories, they were all written in a few hours and sat untouched for months, some of them years. Having posted so consistently for so long, my writing process mirrors the nature of my blog: upload, tag and edit, make public, share and then you're done. It's not until recently that I've learned to take my time and really grind through an idea, sit down and give it time to develop. And live a bit more before going back to revise.

The start of a story usually comes from an image I've come across or have been holding on to (a mental image, not a photograph). There's a lot of questions surrounding what we see hear or even think we know, say a woman waiting for the bus at six in the morning on a foggy day. Why is she there? I'm bothered by these kinds of questions. And I try to answer them when I do write.


When do you know when a story is finished?

One of my former poetry professors always pointed out to us that good writing encapsulates the weight of a life. They're words that I always keep in mind because I feel it's true. Whether it's poetry, a novel, flash fiction or short stories, there should be an implied sense that underneath a character or narrative, there's a substantial bedrock of experience; they have lived through the situations they're put in. The writing is get into this, enough so that you're able to reach some kind of realization about who this person is or the world the occupy. In a way, when they get there, it's also a death to their own previous ideas. When I feel that they do, then I feel more comfortable with saying a story is finished but it doesn't happen often. I leave every story with an uneasy feeling that there's still a lot I've left off the table.


How are your new stories different from your older stories?

Compared to my older stories, I think the new stories are less sentimental and nostalgic. In visual terms, they've gone from warmer tones to colder ones. The characters are much less at ease to say what they want to say and I feel there's more tension within them. They're more reserved. I think what they all have in common is a palpable sense of loss they're trying to come to terms with, yet it's not completely clear to them what that is or how they should reach to it. This was an element in the older stories too but there was also much more hope that they'd be able to regain it. Now, it's more vague.

What I like about the older stories was that there was a lot more imagination and color. I think the writing and atmosphere is stronger now, but it's also a lot more dry and gray. Since the stories here are a mix of old and new, it was bit challenging to go through and revise them so that they'd meet somewhere halfway.

Besides photography and writing, what else are you working on?

I'm working on environmental and field recordings. It's an idea that's been fermenting for a while but it wasn't until recently that I've gone out and actually tried it. So in addition to my camera and journal, a hand held recorder now gets towed along. It's a strange feeling at first to record how a place sounds, say like the BART or a crowded shopping mall and then having the ability to play play it back immediately. Unlike photographs or notes which can be subjective, you're literally capturing the space around you. I think we're use to this visually and it happens without us being aware of it since photos and videos have become so easy to make and are everywhere. But, for our sense of sound, when it's isolated, it's a different story. I want to see how I can integrate this with my writing and photographs to add some movement to my work without actual movement. It's fun.

Long Lim's online work can be found on flickr and viewbook.

Interview with David Agasi - Living with Myself Forgetting

David Agasi in Tokyo, April 2010. Photo by Sachi Okubo

In March 2010, Cold Green Tea Press published Living with Myself Forgetting, a hand-made book of photos and writing by David Agasi. The book has sold incredibly well; since it's been available, I've been constantly sending copies all over the world. David agreed to answer a few questions about the book and his work.


What is your favorite time of day for taking photographs? What kind of light do you prefer?

Time is suggestive. I follow the light, or its lack. Usually, I use cameras between 11am-4pm, but that is strictly outdoor or natural light shooting. Indoor scenarios, dependent largely on film type, are more open in terms of my not being bogged down by the changing light of the sun. In most cases, the moment dictates what I shoot and when. A gauzy, overcast day is my favorite outdoor situation due to the cloud cover, which acts as a filter. Too much UV light is something I always try and steer clear of.

Are your photographs an attempt to go back to those moments of clarity when you were a child imagining the world?

Hardly ever. My photographs are usually trying to capture a current moment rather than attempting to resurrect one which has passed. I want the strength of "now" to be enough. I want that to be my daydream.

If your photographs were a musical composition, what would they be? What sounds would we hear?

They would be the fluttering of decaying overtones after a piano has been smashed down upon with both hands, or, a single chord no one has ever heard before that leaves a certain bittersweet impression. Many of Debussy's chords have this quality. They unlock something lodged within us that we didn't even know was there.

What does the term "Living with Myself Forgetting" mean to you?

The title should be worked out by those who view this book personally. It could mean many things depending on how one feels at the moment. In my case, it stands for the state of being nowhere while having tried so intently and passionately to arrive somewhere. It is also about getting older. This, too, I leave to the viewer's discretion. Forgetting is often a natural occurrence, yet, we try so hard to keep memories solid within the course of our daily lives. There is a push/pull to remembering and forgetting the things that happen, so photography has always been a magnet, a medium that, like writing, only gives us limited information. We are required to fill in the cracks -- reconstructing memory while simultaneously allowing forgetfulness.

Do you have a picture that-- for technical, personal or other reasons-- you were unable to photograph and yet cannot forget?

The most recent one that comes to mind is that of a bald man of retirement age bowed forward, half-asleep, sitting in front of a train window on the Yamanote Line near Ikebukuro. He was wearing a suit and seemed to be at temporary peace with everything happening around him. I needed a camera than, and did not have one. It was an epic silence. The city moved behind his head in a very unreal way, as if he didn't belong anywhere on Earth but was, for some reason, there, beamed down from above. Life felt very present in that moment. That's what photography can be, too.

What were your first photographs like? How are they different than your photographs today? How are they the same?

My first photographs were honest portrayals of the people in my life at that time, in my late teens. To most people, they probably wouldn't command a lot of attention, but there was a warmth to them that my later work cannot house, because we are now living in an extremely different social climate, living in a world where most of what we do is succinctly decided upon because of the electronic infrastructure around us. We live in relation to the machines created to bring us closer when what they have been doing for the past 25 years is fueling our isolation. Because we have more or less accepted this, photography has a new identity and purpose, one that has been formatted in direct response to advertising, which now controls an amazing percentage of what we are allowed to see.

Now that is more difficult to gain people's attention, my work has tightened up a lot, has become more graphic and eye-catching, but I don't find the emotional intensity of either period of my work to be all that different. As I continue to shoot and experiment in a more or less naive way, there's room for the unexpected to still take hold of the process. I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm not coming from a commercial place. Finding a poetic plateau is much more important to my manner of working.

How do your photography techniques resemble jazz?

Improvisation is absolutely essential to my personal process, allowing themes to develop or decay in a very natural way. When a jazz musician works with different musicians, his music has to change. I've always wanted to work with many different people and subjects so as to keep the energy kinetic and fresh. That doesn't mean working only once with one idea and then ditching it. There are themes which have been present in my work for long stretches, while at other times certain ideas are less likely to be investigated for very long because I want to move on. All of the arts work in this same general way. Their outcome is proportionate to the manner in which they are approached, either in a controlled way or a more spontaneous way, with varying degrees in between.

What is your ideal shooting space? 

The world and what's in it.

Seven Questions for Andrew Nye

Andrew Nye reading an early draft of flying objects
Originally uploaded by cold green tea press

1. How long have you been writing?

I have been as long and chewy as stretched saltwater taffy in the hands of two friends (distant cousins really) vying for the biggest piece.

2. Do you feel like you're a part of any particular tradition?

Lyric poetry, concrete poetry, skepticism, and expressionism.

3. Who are your influences, your favorite poets, writers, art, etc., that inform your work?

Dziga Vertov, Denise Levertov, Louis Zukofsky, Zbigniew Herbert, John Dos Passos, Guillaume Apollinaire, William Blake, Franz Wright, Flannery O’Connor.

4. What's your writing process like?

Now that I have quit smoking cigarettes, I have no idea how to proceed.

5. When do you know that a particular poem is finished?

A poem is finished when I stop changing it. The poems I can’t stop changing end up in the scrape pile. My mind will spin in circles, round and round, on the same line or stanza to the point that I am no longer functional. I just have to throw the whole poem out the window.

6. How do you make a poem?

I have to find a way into the poem. Sometimes a phrase from a newspaper or a magazine or a conversation will strike me as poetic, and I will use that as a starting point. I rarely begin from a desire to write about a subject. The content is always floating around in my head and in the air. The starting lines suggest, and sometimes dictate, the words to follow. Once you have begun a path, it is about the limitations of where you can go. Being an anxious person, I usually don’t go very far before I start looking for a way out.

7. Where did you grow up?

I grew up in downtown Wilmington, NC in 80s when everyone had moved to the suburbs. My brother, my friend Edwin, and I had free reign among the abandoned buildings and back alleys. Now everyone has moved back downtown, and I don’t like it so much.