Bøger af Michael Philip Manheim

East Boston, Massachusetts was once bucolic, a place where people would find relief from a stifling summer downtown. Wood Island Park was one of its magnets, located off Neptune Road, with acres of trees and grass, ending at the Atlantic Ocean and its ocean breezes. Wood Island Park was designed by Frederick Law Olmsted and treasured as one of his green spaces. In 1904 progress was represented by a subway tunnel connecting East Boston to the rest of the city. An airfield built in the early 1920s expanded into what is today's Logan International Airport. It became the 20th busiest airport in the U.S., even while lacking the land mass of other major airports. Logan is almost completely surrounded by water, which limits its growth. Rather than utilize it as a feeder airport, officials expanded into East Boston, wiping out Wood Island Park and impacting the community with aircraft flights low overhead that at times resembled bombing raids. Construction sent noisy trucks through the streets. Taxis and busses and shuttle vans serviced the airport and added to the din. When I photographed residents trying to hang on, in the early 1970s, it was already too late. The powers that be had made decisions that literally kept hammering away. As an example, there was the morning that residents of Neptune Road awakened to even more construction noise. This time the other end of their street, now pointing directly at a runway, was fenced off. Logan Airport expanded right into the neighborhood, buying up houses and scattering the residents. A warm and friendly village was no more. On revisiting Neptune Road in 2010 and again in 2013, I found little evidence of the life that had once flourished here: street signs, some lampposts, a fire hydrant, trees, and not much more. It was a poignant scene. And yet those photographs from 1973 might have some purpose today. They appeared too late to save the Neptune Road neighborhood. But they still carry a message. The philosopher George Santayana once 
observed, "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." Perhaps, in these more awakened times, any civic group threatened by an overreaching metropolis might think to access this book and the Documerica files of my images. These photographs could bolster a case of how tragic it would be if their own local treasures were abolished. Perhaps the power of photography might serve to dramatize how worthy is the quality of life.

The years following World War II represented a turning point, both historically and personally, for a talented young photographer growing up in small-town Ohio. This collection of black and white photos from the archives of Michael Philip Manheim presents small-town life in the 1950s, as well as the start of his documentary vision. Manheim's own lucid commentary on the era accompanies the images. With sympathetic but unsentimental attention, he documents the fascinating details of street scenes, dress and customs, faces and emotions of the era. These photographs allow the viewer to enter a different world, familiar to some and new to others. Some will react with a strong sense of nostalgia. For those who did not live through that period, the photos will enable a greater understanding of a time that was simpler, but had its own complications and prejudices. In capturing the small, vital moments of an America that was struggling to find itself after the upheaval of a world war, Manheim has also depicted the beginnings of his own personal growth as an artist.

This series developed out of my wanting to expand the possibilities of still photography through a new approach to the nude in nature. I had long felt that a beautiful body is a work of art by itself, so I didn't need to document that. Instead, I created and perfected my own method of in-camera multiple exposures and I sought out subjects not for their outward appearance, but for their ability to turn feelings into movement.I scouted locations in nature where participants would feel safe to delve into their vulnerability, and to physically express their emotions. I asked my subjects to choose a spot, meditate on their surroundings, and spontaneously move as if they were alone. I didn't direct beyond initial encouragement, and I assured them that they could do nothing wrong. I trusted their intuition to bring out the human condition and make a connection with the Earth. We experimented, trying minimal costuming, then partial nudity, then full nudity. I reacted instinctively and reflexively. As they went into motion, I made many exposures onto each frame of film.These overlaid images frequently created a sort of costume for my subjects. Rather than a literal representation of nudes in nature, these photographs conveyed the sensation of a body in motion, with a roundness, a dynamic, and a dimension that moved beyond a moment in time. A few individuals even metamorphosed into unrecognizable beings. No matter how different my subjects were from each other, they all displayed a plethora of emotions, and communicated them through the universal language of the body.Intricate meshing with nature, complex depths of expression, intriguing effects and juxtapositions...all spontaneously appearing in the camera... after every session, editing was both difficult and a pleasure.One reviewer called my method "risky photography," because there was no way to predict the outcome. The final images formed inside the camera-as multiple exposures layered onto single frames- and I utilized only basic dodging and burning for the final prints. There was no premeditation, just meditation that powered my exploration of the Rhythm From Within.-Michael Philip Manheim

I've been told today that my files are a treasure trove, so I'm going back into the archives to see what I saw long ago. First up is this sampling of my documentary photography, a nostalgic collection of How Once We Looked. I've selected images that seem memorable, from the perspective of a life spent pursuing my passion.