So I finally got around to editing together and writing about a short selection of the night work and the driveby project that I've been putting off scanning. Many of these are elsewhere on the site, but these are mostly new scans. Actually, I think they're all new scans. Anyway, if you want to start from the top:
Drive By
Night
Friday, July 28, 2006
Drive-By Portfolio
STATEMENT
Sitting shotgun is really the best way to travel. It’s only by leaning back and letting your eyes go slightly out of focus that the trees and wires and telephone poles really start to talk to you.
If you stare out the window of a car going 65 miles an hour, any single portion of the landscape flies by at the edge of perception. Where an eye can only report back to consciousness at its unrelenting pace, a camera can only consider one precise frame at a time. And from a car traveling the right speed and going the right places, each blade of grass becomes a brushstroke, and a tree is a sudden statement of clarity out of nowhere.
A camera shows the hazy majesty of the road; a moment revealed with your head against the window and static on the radio.
Andrew Ti, 2006
IMAGES
Untitled (Long Island, New York, 2004)
Untitled (Los Angeles, California, 2005)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2006)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2005)
Untitled (Hudson, New York, 2005)
Untitled (Detroit, Michigan, 2006)
Untitled (San Diego, California, 2005)
Untitled (near Toronto, Ontario, 2005)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2005)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2006)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2005)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2005)
Untitled (near Toronto, Ontario, 2005)
Untitled (near Toronto, Ontario, 2005)
Untitled (Long Island, New York, 2004)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2006)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2006)
Untitled (San Diego, California, 2005)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2006)
Untitled (Los Angeles, California, 2005)
Sitting shotgun is really the best way to travel. It’s only by leaning back and letting your eyes go slightly out of focus that the trees and wires and telephone poles really start to talk to you.
If you stare out the window of a car going 65 miles an hour, any single portion of the landscape flies by at the edge of perception. Where an eye can only report back to consciousness at its unrelenting pace, a camera can only consider one precise frame at a time. And from a car traveling the right speed and going the right places, each blade of grass becomes a brushstroke, and a tree is a sudden statement of clarity out of nowhere.
A camera shows the hazy majesty of the road; a moment revealed with your head against the window and static on the radio.
Andrew Ti, 2006
IMAGES
Untitled (Long Island, New York, 2004)
Untitled (Los Angeles, California, 2005)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2006)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2005)
Untitled (Hudson, New York, 2005)
Untitled (Detroit, Michigan, 2006)
Untitled (San Diego, California, 2005)
Untitled (near Toronto, Ontario, 2005)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2005)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2006)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2005)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2005)
Untitled (near Toronto, Ontario, 2005)
Untitled (near Toronto, Ontario, 2005)
Untitled (Long Island, New York, 2004)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2006)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2006)
Untitled (San Diego, California, 2005)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2006)
Untitled (Los Angeles, California, 2005)
Night Portfolio
STATEMENT
What are you doing on my lawn?
American changes its character at night. A well-kept lawn organizes itself with eerie martial discipline. Trees slowly war with their estranged brothers the telephone poles, while a basketball hoop becomes a skeleton. When I stop to make a picture, it’s an elaborate ritual, a process of staring and adjusting, balancing a clumsy view camera on a tripod, and squinting at a ghost image flickering on glass. Because these pictures are taken at such long exposures, colors shift in unnatural ways, as the film is pressed into service beyond its intended, commercial parameters. From this revealed world my pictures emerge, colors pulled in every direction and hidden shadows illuminated.
These pictures contain stories about a world hidden in the daylight: of people uneasy and unsure of their welcome, of those who are safe and clean, yet bored and alone--the outlying data in an American experiment. These are stories of people who don’t quite belong in the American suburbs. The hero of this book is a quiet insomniac, who walks the sidewalks and lawns at night, staring at the hidden potential of sleep. Cars will pass by in the night with curious pauses. These pictures are dreams of the last hour before sunrise.
Andrew Ti, 2006
IMAGES
Untitled (Los Angeles, California, 2005)
Untitled (Long Island, New York, 2004)
Untitled (San Diego, California, 2005)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2006)
Untitled (Long Island, New York, 2005)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2006)
Untitled (Long Island, New York, 2005)
Untitled (Long Island, New York, 2005)
Untitled (Long Island, New York, 2005)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2006)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2006)
Untitled (Long Island, New York, 2004)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2006)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2006)
Untitled (Long Island, New York, 2004)
Untitled (San Diego, California, 2005)
Untitled (San Diego, California, 2005)
Untitled (Long Island, New York, 2004)
Untitled (Long Island, New York, 2004)
Untitled (Queens, New York, 2002)
What are you doing on my lawn?
American changes its character at night. A well-kept lawn organizes itself with eerie martial discipline. Trees slowly war with their estranged brothers the telephone poles, while a basketball hoop becomes a skeleton. When I stop to make a picture, it’s an elaborate ritual, a process of staring and adjusting, balancing a clumsy view camera on a tripod, and squinting at a ghost image flickering on glass. Because these pictures are taken at such long exposures, colors shift in unnatural ways, as the film is pressed into service beyond its intended, commercial parameters. From this revealed world my pictures emerge, colors pulled in every direction and hidden shadows illuminated.
These pictures contain stories about a world hidden in the daylight: of people uneasy and unsure of their welcome, of those who are safe and clean, yet bored and alone--the outlying data in an American experiment. These are stories of people who don’t quite belong in the American suburbs. The hero of this book is a quiet insomniac, who walks the sidewalks and lawns at night, staring at the hidden potential of sleep. Cars will pass by in the night with curious pauses. These pictures are dreams of the last hour before sunrise.
Andrew Ti, 2006
IMAGES
Untitled (Los Angeles, California, 2005)
Untitled (Long Island, New York, 2004)
Untitled (San Diego, California, 2005)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2006)
Untitled (Long Island, New York, 2005)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2006)
Untitled (Long Island, New York, 2005)
Untitled (Long Island, New York, 2005)
Untitled (Long Island, New York, 2005)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2006)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2006)
Untitled (Long Island, New York, 2004)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2006)
Untitled (Ann Arbor, Michigan, 2006)
Untitled (Long Island, New York, 2004)
Untitled (San Diego, California, 2005)
Untitled (San Diego, California, 2005)
Untitled (Long Island, New York, 2004)
Untitled (Long Island, New York, 2004)
Untitled (Queens, New York, 2002)
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