Month: March 2013

“Microfire Flower 1”

“Microfire Flower 1”

Sandwiched Negatives, Gloss RC Paper Andrew Borsoum is not interested in doing hipster-wannabe fashion shoots. His work is the furthest thing he could get from having “content.” Instead, his camera acts as a collector of textures, line contours and tonality, which he then composes by hand 

“Sister Catacombs”

“Sister Catacombs”

Sandwiched Negatives, Gloss RC Paper Andrew Borsoum is not interested in doing hipster-wannabe fashion shoots. His work is the furthest thing he could get from having “content.” Instead, his camera acts as a collector of textures, line contours and tonality, which he then composes by hand 

“Phoenix (Firebird)”

“Phoenix (Firebird)”

Sandwiched Negatives, Gloss RC Paper

Andrew Borsoum is not interested in doing hipster-wannabe fashion shoots. His work is the furthest thing he could get from having “content.” Instead, his camera acts as a collector of textures, line contours and tonality, which he then composes by hand in the dark through a collage style printing process. Borsoum is not afraid of reduction. He encourages the eye to step  away from focusing on “what” the picture is about, but concentrates more on “how” it is placed within the image. Borsoum’s work plays, even tests the boundaries of multi-angularity and the inner layers of composition, so its not about what you see, it’s about how you see it.

“SoLAR”

“SoLAR”

Solarized, Sandwiched Negatives/Multiple Exposures, Matte Fiber Paper Andrew Borsoum is not interested in doing hipster-wannabe fashion shoots. His work is the furthest thing he could get from having “content.” Instead, his camera acts as a collector of textures, line contours and tonality, which he then composes 

“Elvis is Alive and He’s the Short Order Cook at the Silver Dollar Diner”

“Elvis is Alive and He’s the Short Order Cook at the Silver Dollar Diner”

Elvis usually gets there early, by 5:30, before everyone else, though this morning he’s running late. The waitress has had to make excuses to both 6 a.m. customers and the bus boy has had to make the pancakes. He’s not very good at it, so 

“I Was Afraid Of Dying”

“I Was Afraid Of Dying”

After James Wright

 

Now,

at twilight, the grasses in the field are green enough

to smell.

White-tailed jackrabbits dodging to the tree line.

Their skittish ears remind us we are not alone.

Hiding in the shadows of fallen-branch shelters,

they are the most patient.

Perhaps now they fold their narrow ears down

because they know we are here.

When I die, hide me

in a bed of upturned oak leaves and the softest dirt

you can find.

 

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Taylor Collier lives in Syracuse, NY. Work is forthcoming or has recently appeared in The American Poetry Journal, Blue Mesa Review, DIAGRAM, the minnesota review, Southern Indiana Review, Washington Square, and Yemassee.

“Domestic Still Life”

“Domestic Still Life”

We heard only the shudder of a jet approaching louder, but it could have been the end of the world, and it wouldn’t have mattered. I was in the kitchen, washing dishes, soaring through the window, the light that brilliance right before the mist takes