now in its one-hundred-and-eightieth year
Sometimes the very so-so quality of a photo makes it interesting. That’s the case with this blurry photo I took at Comiskey.
I like it for so many reasons. For capturing one of the ways we spend our summer. For showing modern people in the ancient act of looking. For representing mass society. For documenting what a stadium crowd looks like today. For capturing the quiet, laid-back quality of baseball watching, the peaceful side of a ball-park on a beautiful day.
Then I like it because it’s painterly. I like the little dots of color. The shirts, the faces, the empty seats. I think of Seurat’s pointillism, of color fields, the smudginess of Milton Avery. The color mix makes me think of Hockney—his cheery palette, the faces fleshy and flat the way that his are.
I like to squint at this picture and imagine all the conversations, relationships, feelings and stories, crammed into this one, still, square specimen of society.