L. Jorj Lark

Urban Stutter

Initially there were moments of reflection. I’d pick up in my camera to capture reflections upon glass or shiny surfaces, or water. Puddles, seas, raindrops. Did you know that the whole world lives upside down in a dew drop. Do you know how many dewdrops there are in the grass in the early morning? In these reflections, the cityscape was inverted, curved, managed into a multiplicity of itself. This became my notion of urban stutter. That the street environment has multiple, moving, variable points of view at any given instant. Dynamic. Irrepressible experiences that are multifaceted, fractured, , refracted, reflected, repeated over and over until the myriad voices strung together create a new meaningful whole.

The scent of wet cement, for example, and textures, and sounds, a vital gust of wind, evolved my definition and moments to capture as reflected environment. Also the notion of nature inserting herself in countless ways. And lately, as I live in wonder at the cacophony and quietude of macro to micro, it dawns on me how very many decisions have been made by individuals to concoct these environs. Stunning.

As a street photographer, primarily, I’m moving from literal to abstract visual moments as I’m documenting “exactly” what i see. One spot can bring about impressionism, surrealism, any fine art painterly modality, all inspire me. My photography is bold. Bold colors, shapes and I give a moment for things that inhabit the sidelines or act as backgrounds in our lives to inhabit the center, to be considered elegant and sublime and meaningful.

I feel like I’m stalking beauty. That the world itself, all of it, each singular component is ineffable, remarkable, a profound miracle of existence. The edges of texture, scent, the thunder of a working construction site all substantial, amorphous and impermanent. I wonder who made you? For what? And why are you so beautiful? Or ugly beautiful? I share these images with you in the hopes that you will see it too. On my very worst days, I remind myself that I get to see in color. Here for you are some of my best days.

Artist Bio

George Sand, George Elliot, Jorjiceva St. (actually Dordiceva St) are my precursors.

Raised a free-range child of American German Midwest farm folk and a Yugoslavian intellectual Holocaust orphan in multiple environs, claiming books as my best friends because they could move with us. I’d lived in 20 residences by the age of 30. I was driving a tractor at nine. Chickens, roosters, cats, calves and cows, steer, piglets and hogs were all counted as friends. And fireflies. Magical.

The wisdom of the South was learned by way of Betsy, a category 4 hurricane, that showed me the greatness of nature, and an architect named Wolf who soaring a VW bus over the small rolling hills, taught me that adventure lies in your own hands; and then of course by being one of only two white folk in an all Black wedding. The true meaning of sugar as given to the Dean of the English Department at Southern and by being allowed to touch the Black flag, reverently, at SUNO (Southern University New Orleans) when the students took over. Additional learning included art classes at the New Orleans Museum of Art and the confusion that ensued upon learning that most Rhode Islanders had never left their smallest of all the states. Studied political science-Howard Zinn was my advisor. Photography came by way of doing at the Boston Architectural Center Media Services and in all the music venues in and around Kenmore Square (yes, published in independent music zines). Lgbtqialmnop feminist, Buddhist, Black Lives Matter social and economic justice advocate, socialist. Short, sweet, smart and funny are the adjectives that describe me.

With work shown in Atlanta, NYC, Boston, and Winchester, MA, I know what the mud in City Park smells like. The hay mow in the barn. The salted ocean. And the grease of underground public transit. That means everything, to know intimately so many places. It’s such a beautiful, rich and varied world.