Browsing tag: Slow Living

  • October 4, 2019

    Slow Photography, an Interview with Photographer Cynthia Katz

    Not too long ago, I caught up with my high school photography teacher, Cynthia Katz, and was excited to learn about her pursuit of Slow Photography with cyanotypes, a photographic printing process that produces a cyan-blue print. She explained to me that the advent of digital photography changed the way she engaged with the medium and she discovered that the Slow Movement echoed her desire to live more deliberately and purposely. And so she turned to cyanotypes, one of photography’s earliest forms. She writes:

    Artist’s Statement, Cynthia Katz

    “Time has played a pivotal role in photography since its inception in 1839. Exposures, the decisive moment, the notion of history, all conjure time in photography. The advent of digital photography has changed the way I engage with the medium after many decades. Gardening has also framed my life since I was young, and it too has time at its core. Gardening forces us to contend with a process-oriented approach that requires patience and a respect for the elements of nature. Contemporary “slow” movements echo my desire to live at a more deliberate pace, resisting the ‘faster, bigger, more’ aspect of today’s dominant culture, and thus I’ve returned to cyanotypes, one of photography’s earliest forms. Drawn to their tactility and the serendipity of the outcome, I mix my favorite chemical recipe and collect objects around my home and garden in anticipation of imaging. Cyanotyping, like gardening, is slow and timely, ethereal, spiritual and ultimately ephemeral. Happy surprises, and the promise held by chance keep me at it, while failures propel me toward new possibilities. I mark time with cyanotypes along with the garden season.

    These pieces reference rituals and cycles though intersect with current politics, which I’m unable to dismiss. The very nature of process is central to this work, and the fragility of the forms, of alignment, of cross over, of containment, of reaching to connect across boundaries, are all at play. Drinking tea, marking time, making work, recording a present moment into a fixed tone or image, grounds this work on paper. Each cup of tea, each seed, makes something possible.”

    slow photography

    Photo by Cynthia Katz

     How did you become interested in Slow Photography?

    CK: I guess it happened well before “Slow” was a movement. For me, photography has always been about process, careful observation, and tactility. My dad was a photographer, so I have early memories of being in his darkroom with him, making photograms, watching the image come up in the developer. Later I would watch the precision with which he’d frame his images. In my own practice the quiet, contemplative search for images, attention to details of light, frame, juxtapositions of elements, or with my cyanotype work, conceptualizing and putting things together during a printing session, and after the images are made making further decisions, is pivotal. Moving to medium and large formats in grad school as well as doing my first non-silver process workshop were all with the same motivation and love of slowing down, and absorbing the experience and the process. Since digital photography has taken hold, it’s a great antidote. And it’s great to see the resurgence of 19th century processes.

     How do you convey this interest in time to your students through your teaching?

    CK: Time and the (decisive) moment is at the heart of photography and how I teach it, so it’s something that comes up early in my Photo 1 classes. Looking carefully, and deeply at pictures, and getting kids to self assess and talk about photographs is also at the heart of my work with students. When I show slides, or talk about work with students, they get it that I love (good) photography, and the power it has to move us.

    What is it about cyanotypes that you find most compelling?

    CK: Umm, everything. Again, process takes center stage. From weighing and mixing the chemicals, to measuring and tearing the paper, to thinking about what I want to work with (objects), and to conceiving ideas I want to work with, I love the process. I have to think about the weather, because I don’t use a light box (yes, a conscious choice). Just like I have to hang laundry out on sunny days. A day of making cyanotypes starts days before, considering sizes, tearing paper, thinking about what I want to accomplish, and then coating paper starts early in the morning. I find myself printing after the sun has left my “easy” spots, so I’m chasing the sun. A good productive day is immensely satisfying and even bad ones, oh well, gotta chalk it up to process.

    Anything else you want to share?

    CK: Like getting good at anything, it takes practice and consistency, but you also have to do it because you love it. Otherwise, find something else to put your attention to, and dig deeply into.

    Photograph Magazine

    Also, do you have a reference for that article you have tacked up on your studio wall?

    CK: The magazine is called Photograph, probably 4 or 5 years ago at this point.

    “Technology has taught us to consume media of all types at a breathtaking pace … No wonder some photographers (the blog istillshootfilm.org is but one example) have re-embraced analog formats – they have realized that instant gratification isn’t always so satisfying.”

    About The Slow Movement and Slow Art

    Since the 1970s, the principles of the Slow Movement have expanded to touch all areas of our lives; from its original tenet of taking the time to enjoy our food to how our cities impact our moods. As the pace of our lives quickens with ever more sophisticated technology, it makes sense that more and more people are embracing the Slow Movement.

    To clarify, the Slow Movement does not mean that we go back in time or that we literally move more slowly. Rather, we savor life in a conscious and deliberate manner. As Carl Honoré, author of In Praise of Slowness, describes it, Slow is “calm, careful, receptive, still, intuitive, unhurried, patient, reflective, quality-over-quantity. It is making real and meaningful connections – with people, culture, work, food, everything.”

    More recently, the Slow Movement has touched upon the Art world. Museums noticed that their visitors spent an average of just 17 seconds looking at a piece of art. So they created Slow Art Day, held annually in early April, to encourage their visitors to linger and contemplate a piece that speaks to them. This is to encourage a more profound level of engagement and connection.

  • March 13, 2019

    Carl Honoré’s In Praise of Slowness is a Must-Read

    People all over the world are reclaiming their time and slowing down to live happier, healthier and more creative lives. It’s called the Slow Movement. Carl Honoré’s own moment of epiphany came when he tried to streamline reading-before-bedtime to his two year old in order to save time. But then he thought, what is the point of rushing through life just to save a minute? What followed is In Praise of Slowness, an in-depth investigative book into the history of the slow movement and its various manifestations, from Slow Food to Slow Cities to Slow Parenting. It’s a must-read for anyone who wants to reconcile with their inner speed demon.

    What is the Slow Movement?

    The Slow Movement questions the unhampered materialism that drives the global economy. We feel constrained by greed, inertia and fear to keep up an unrelenting pace. Even children eel the pressure to do as many things as possible. How did we get to this point? According to Honoré, it began during the Industrial Revolution with the rise of factories, modern capitalism and increasingly accurate clocks. Workers began to be paid by the hour and not by productivity, allowing management to squeeze as much productivity out of us as possible by forcing us to work ever faster.

    The irony is that working long hours on the job actually makes us less productive and more error-prone, not to mention unhappy and ill. Many of today’s rising medical conditions such as insomnia, asthma, hypertension, migraines and gastrointestinal problems are caused by stress.

    slow living

    So what does Honoré mean by Slow? He stresses that the concept does not literally mean to move slowly. Nor does it mean turning back the clock. Rather, it is about promoting a balance between the modern and traditional world. As Uwe Kliemt, the Tempo Giusto pianist who plays classical music more slowly said, “The world is a richer place when we make room for different speeds.”

    Therefore, Slow is defined as “calm, careful, receptive, still, intuitive, unhurried, patient, reflective, quality-over-quantity. It is making real and meaningful connections – with people, culture, work, food, everything.” In contrast, he defines Fast as “busy, controlling, aggressive, hurried, analytical, stressed, superficial, impatient, active, quantity-over-quality.”

    Slow Food Movement

    What is a Slow City?

    The cultural revolution began in Italy in 1986 with the Slow Food Movement, which praised the joys of sustainable farming; organic and seasonal produce; supporting local farmers, markets and restaurants; and connecting with family and friends over a delicious meal. In fact, the very same city that brought us the Slow Food Movement, Bra, Italy, also gave Cittaslow (slow city). Expanding upon their original ideas, they aim to improve the quality of life in cities, resist the homogenization and globalizations of cities around the world, protect the environment, promote cultural diversity and provide inspiration for a healthier lifestyle. Since 2005, when In Praise of Slow was written, there are now 252 cittaslow in over 30 different countries and territories.

    In the United States, a similar movement flourished independently of Cittaslow, called New Urbanism, which promoted walkable neighborhoods with lots of public spaces. In their cities, the streets are narrow and flanked by wide, tree-lined sidewalks. Garages are tucked out of view in the lanes behind their owner’s homes. They are also socially conscious, including a blend of mixed-income housing, schools, leisure facilities and businesses. New Urbanism has its critics though, saying that it feels as if you’ve landed into The Truman Show (which was coincidentally filmed in the New Urbanism community of Seaside).

    Slow Cities

    Both movements, though, have labeled cars as the biggest enemies of slowness. With their noise and their space, they make pedestrians feel alienated. “The whole scene says cars first, people second,” Honoré wrote. Yet the less cars there are and the slower they go, the more connected a community feels. People walk more. Crime is lower. And with less cars, there’s more space for benches, bicycle lanes, play areas and parks. Slow Cities naturally foster a stronger community, which in turn encourages people to relax and slow down even further.

    Slow Living

    Unfortunately, the Slow lifestyle is often only accessible for the rich and upper middle class. Alternative medicine, pedestrian-friendly neighborhoods and grass-fed beef are not easy for everyone to come by. In the United States, public transportation is poor and with such wide street lanes and huge overhead freeways, we feel encouraged to drive. However, the book does include tips that everyone can incorporate, such as cutting down on Netflix, spending more time with friends and family, meditating, cooking and walking. At the end of this book, you’ll feel inspired to design a slow life whatever way you can.

  • March 30, 2017

    A Very Personal Journey Towards Living Slowly

    My life took an unexpected turn when I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis (MS) in 2002. I had just completed 4 years at the Harvard Graduate School of Design getting my Masters of Architecture. I went blind in my right eye while finishing up my final thesis project. I couldn’t hold the exacto knife anymore to cut the tiny pieces for my model. I chalked it up to burnout and Andrew and my friends helped me finish. After graduation I saw a Neurologist who gave me the bad news. That day my future husband Andrew was back at our apartment loading up the moving truck for New York City. I walked out of Health Services, sat on a curb in the middle of Harvard Square and cried. I was 28 years old.

    Before my diagnosis, I spent some time in the fast lane in New York City during college. As a student at Barnard I worked hard and played hard, taking advantage of everything the city had to offer. As an Urban Studies major New York was the subject of all my classes. The possibilities of the city were endless and it sparked my curiosity and ambition. I wanted to experience everything, not just in New York but elsewhere. I studied abroad in Paris, lived in Oslo for a year after graduating and another year in Japan on a research fellowship. Then I landed back in Cambridge at the Harvard Graduate School of Design.

    I was hardworking and ambitious – typical type A personality – but the workload and pressure were too much for me. By then end of my second year I was experiencing pain that would leave me breathless. By then end of my fourth year I had my diagnosis.There are five stages of grief and I went through all of them when I was diagnosed: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and (finally) acceptance. I remember lying in bed in Prospect Heights, Brooklyn, hooked up to the corticosteroid drip treating my flare-up, wishing MS was fatal so I wouldn’t have to suffer so long. The thought of carrying this heavy burden through everything I had hoped and planned to do was terrible. Eventually, with the help of some anti-depressants, I realized that my life is going to be long and I would have to find another way through to avoid being miserable.

    In another phase I thought I could fix myself through nutrition, acupuncture, vitamins and herbal remedies. I tried everything because the doctors didn’t have much in their toolkit for me at the time and the pain was not responding to medicine. But even these things didn’t work. I had hoped they would be quick fixes, things done to me, while I remained passive and steadfast in my beliefs about how I was going to live my life. In architecture, long hours are synonymous with hard work. But I couldn’t put in long hours anymore, so I had to find ways to work smarter, not harder. But my type A brain wouldn’t quit so it took more than a decade to reprogram myself. My default had become more, more, more, reinforced by pretty much everything around me. The hassle factor of living in the city was not helping me. Things like getting groceries and doing laundry were a challenge and I was struggling with not having enough energy.

    The silver lining was that I met Andrew Plumb at the GSD and we have been together ever since. We started our lives as architects together, both embracing the diagnosis, unsure of what it would mean for our lives. Our ambition was unchanged but we had to explore different ways of pursuing it. Eventually, we moved back to Massachusetts together. And we did not follow in the footsteps of our classmates going to work for Starchitects at 80 hours a week.  We also chose firms where we could learn and grow and still lead a calm and quiet life necessary for my health. For years we had joked about being the Slowskys, the tortoise family in Comcast’s commercials from 2006.

    One of the problems with having MS is that I don’t look sick, and for a long time I didn’t tell anyone that I had MS because I was afraid of how it would affect my career (denial). And since the dominant culture is work-work-work, more-more-more, fast-fast-fast, I didn’t think I had an excuse to slow down, at least not one I could tell people. When our daughter was born I used that as my excuse to cut back one day at work, even though she went to daycare 5 days a week. I had lost my time to rest on the weekends and I really needed it, but still I felt guilty.

    On the 10 year anniversary of my diagnosis I announced to the world, via Facebook, that I had MS. It was such a relief! Finally I didn’t have to carry a secret in addition to the discomfort every day. Now I give MS (and our 2 kids) as a reason for cutting back on work and saying no to things. But what is it about me that I even feel like I need a legitimate reason to slow down? And why do I feel guilty? A psychologist once told me that guilt is overrated. In this case that is so true.

    What are we missing as we race through life?

    I don’t actually believe you need an excuse to slow down. It’s just in my case I am still struggling with whether this was a choice I made or a choice I was forced into. On a good day I am thankful to MS for teaching me very positive lessons that I may not have come to on my own. My life is proof that the fast pace can lead to sickness, both mental and physical, and I believe that many people will come to realize this the hard way over the course of their lives. Not only that, but what are we missing as we race through life?