Nate Turner

Over the last few months I have been writing about Larson and the experiences we have had together. Our relationship has gown and changed a lot since I first began photographing him six months ago. I have always been a little skeptical of including a lot of writing with my photographs, but I think that these might tell a side of the story that I can’t or don’t know how to tell in photographs. I wanted to write these in a way that might function similarly to photographs. I am planning on including some or all of these in the book.

These first two are on how we met. One from my perspective and one from his perspective.

1.

I met Larson while I was living in the 19th ward, in Rochester, New York.

I was riding my bike down Plymouth ave. with my camera around my neck.

He stopped me and asked how many mega-pixels my camera had.

“21″

I said.

2. How we met from Larson’s side.

Yeah,

I remember how we met.

I had seen you riding up and down Plymouth.

This white nigga, he got a camera.

He hot

I gotta press this nigga.

But it wasn’t really like that.

I thought you was an undercover or something.

Probably just taking pictures or whatever.

Then I saw you again and was like,

let me just ask this guy.

He takes pictures, I rap.

I do my own thing.

Fuck it.

I ain’t going to just keep thinking you a cop.

I’m going to ask.

But we clicked.

Me and you.

I remember that first photo shoot.

One of the best experiences.

3.

It was cold.

We had been standing outside for a few hours.

“Lets get warm.”

He said.

We walked up a flight of stairs to a small apartment.

Two little girls jumped up and tackled him.

He laughed.

4.

We walked inside and took the elevator to the 3rd floor.

Four girls walked by and said,

“what the fuck a white boy doing in here?”

I smiled.

5.

Larson lit a blunt and got into my car.

He had licks to catch.

I Looked into my rear-view mirror.

There was a police car with its lights flashing parked behind us.

Larson had two pockets full of weed.

He never caries more than 2 ounces anymore.

6.

We went to meet his family.

We began walking toward a group of people.

Within a few seconds a large man began yelling,

“Get the fucking cracker outa here!

He repeated saying this several more times.

I timidly walked within a few feet of him.

He was still yelling at me.

I told him I wasn’t going to take any pictures.

He replied,

“You ain’t gonna do shit.”

“I’m watching you cracka.”

Then walked inside.

7.

“There is a cop behind us.”

I quietly said.

He replied,

“Fuck…. how’d you do me like that.”

I didn’t know what he meant.

8.

All I know is that four people tried to jump him.

I might be getting the story wrong, but I think it started with a car chase.

It ended with four people fighting Larson in his car.

He used to keep a kitchen knife under his back seat.

Now he keeps it next to him on the passenger seat.

9.

I asked if I could photograph him with his sunglasses off.

He replied,

“No, I don’t want to remember this.”

Over the last month I have spent more time photographing at night. I haven’t thought too much about these pictures yet, just been taking them. The night is quiet. It is one of the only times that I can be completely alone, or at least just with one or two people. It’s winter, so it has been cold, snowy and rainy. It is challenging to get out of my semi warm house and venture out into the brisk winter air at 1am. I feel like I have overcome something when I get back a few hours later, toes  numb and ready for bed. I think these might reflect a state of mind. I am in my own head at night.

There is only one portrait shown here, but there will be more. I like the way flash at night isolates. So much happens at night, but usually things that are meant to be hidden. While I’m sitting alone in bed, how many gas stations are being held up, people having sex, college students getting drunk, old people getting drunk, drugs being sold and other people sitting alone in bed? People get murdered at night.

This past Christmas break Graham and I spent two weeks on the West Coast visiting friends and family from L.A. to San Fransisco. It was my first time in California and it was pretty fucking great. It was just enough time to stay incredibly busy hanging out with people and eating as many burritos and In and Out burgers as possible, chilling, making art, and smokin up. While in L.A., we stayed with Graham’s mom who lives on a hill in Topanga which overlooks the valley. The area was not at all what I expected to see on the outskirts of the city.

Since I’ve been back it has been hard to make images here in Rochester. I absolutely love being able to explore and take pictures that aren’t made under the pressure of the impending critique. I find it easy to remember why I do this shit when I’m away from school. We are young and we should have fun. In school we are forced to be adults or “artists” or something. Labels are resticting. Fine art photography, commercial photography, its all the same thing. We just trying to sell. Whats the difference between Andreas Gursky and Nike? I guess I’m just rambling, but these are things I’ve been thinking about and I would love to here what other people think. I love what I do, but I think it is ridiculous to think it is any more honest or extraordinary than anything else out there.

The hills of Topanga.

Graham (on camera flash) I don’t get it when people say that on camera flash is ugly or synonymous with bad photography. I have a hard time saying something is bad. Maybe the worst photography is that which tries to be too good. Sorry for judging. I like contradicting myself.

A circle found in the hills of Topanga

The Chinese Theater, Hollywood

Pismo Beach

Santa Cruz

Jesus in the woods

Cave, Santa Cruz

Santa Cruz

Santa Cruz

I kind of hate this last picture. Its too pretty. There is no story. I find the one before it so much more intriguing. I don’t know. Maybe its OK.

In class the other day, we talked about what we like to see in an artist statement. Most everyone agreed that the best statement is the one that is genuine or sincere, but I feel like when it comes down to it, we have a hard time really saying what we are thinking. Love ya’ll s+w.

I first picked up a disposable when I was 11 years old. I was a collector. Before I found photography I would pick up everything and put it in a box. I had countless plastic boxes with little dividers full of spiders, rocks, shells, fungus and numerous other objects. When I was given that first camera, I saw it as a way to easily collect all the things that I had before, except this time I could save all of the other things that were previously impossible to fit into a 1″ x 1″ compartment. I have been photographing things for over 10 years now. Over Thanksgiving I began sorting through the boxes of photographs to see what I had actually saved. Its kinda crazy, photography has been one of the most consistent things throughout my life. I updated my website with a selection of these images. I am still playing with some of the layout.

I don’t know that these are about anything in particular. I started photographing as a collector and I don’t think that the camera still functions in the same way for me. For the most part, the images that I selected represent a specific moment or place in my life, some significant and some not. In that way they are collected. Maybe its only when you have work that spans a long period of time that you can look at it in a more removed way. I do feel removed from these, but they still hold something for me. This is half my life. I grew up from when some of these first images were made until now, as cheesy as growing up is.