Taylor Woods on the Behance Network

New portfolios posting on Behance.


Taylor Woods on the Behance Network

Kryptos

Kryptos

It's been interesting for me to reflect back on the last five months since coming to Los Angeles. I had no concept of the direction photography would take me. In all reality - as I was packing my car in North Carolina - I honestly anticipated spending the majority of my time waiting tables the first year or two in order to work on building Clothesline (waiting tables is not out of the question of course). 

I drove 34 straight hours from Arkansas to California in order to get here in time to interview with a sculpture conservation firm where my cousin and friend work (the time-lapse above is the first major installation we did together and interestingly, my first time-lapse experiment). Apparently - beyond the benefits of hiring me because of already established rapport with the team - my photography was a major draw for considering me over a number of other applicants, most with experience/ degrees in sculpture conservation. So, I'm immensely blessed to be 1. working, 2. working daily with art on interesting projects, 3. working with two of my best friends and 4. utilizing photography within the parameters of my job.

This sculpture above was designed by Jim Sanborn. There are a number of similar sculptures in this series titled Kryptos, most notably at CIA Headquarters in Langley, VA. It's a relatively simple concept: three pieces of petrified wood stacked onto a concrete footprint and epoxied together in order to stabilize weight with two bronze wings grooved into the wood; putting it together is the challenge. Wood can petrify within 100 years (the process of organic material being replaced by minerals). This wood that we used was estimated to be between 100-250 million years old. It is incredibly dense stone now, and each piece weighs hundreds of pounds. Ensuring that they stand flush and stable with one another was a major challenge, which took the majority of two full days.

Once we secured the three pieces, we had to grind grooves along both sides in order for the bronze wings to sit flush. We then fastened bronze studs into the cement footprint to ensure that the structure wouldn't give in a windstorm or earthquake (these panels had been secured to a previous piece of petrified wood, which fell and shattered in a windstorm).

Throughout each panel are a series of characters, often repeating; there are roughly 1600 characters in all. The CIA originally commissioned Sanborn to design a sculpture utilizing a unique code. He prepared by researching different forms of codes and and then designed this: in actuality, there are four distinct codes within the panels, one in each of the four quadrants. He anticipated the four to be broken within months of the unveiling at Langley in 1990, but it wasn't until 2002 that 3 of the 4 were finally broken. To date, the final code is still not revealed. There's an interesting article from a 2005 Wired Magazine if you want to read more about it: http://www.wired.com/culture/lifestyle/news/2005/01/66334?currentPage=all

This particular Kryptos is part of a private collection in Beverly Hills, CA.

Five Months

I made this video 5 months ago using my iPhone and a track by Ryan Adams. I had worked at this wilderness therapy program for at-risk youth six years to the day. Apart from being a Wilderness Field Instructor and Supervisor, this program was also my first photography client ever (see http://www.clotheslinephotographs.com/suws--phoenix).

It's interesting for me to watch it now, how distant it feels. In many ways, everything in my life revolved around this place. It was such a difficult and conscious decision to leave, to pursue Clothesline in Los Angeles. And there have been so many turns, experiences, interactions that have affirmed that decision to pursue photography here. I continue to feel optomistic and passionate about where I am heading, both personally and photographically.

New Blog Address

The Clothesline Photographs Blog has now moved to:


http://clotheslinephotographs.com/blog


I may add here for a bit but anticipate focusing on the website from now on.

Untitled

It's been almost two years since I've posted anything to say on this blog. I don't think I have much to say in the typical blog-style (not that anyone reads this anyway). But I began writing again in these last two months. This period of time has been transitional, and I've found myself getting back into a place of creation, but in a different way than I used to create. I'm not tinkering to the point of exhaustion; I'm simply creating, putting pieces together in a frame and moving on to the next project. I don't have the energy, patience or desire to labor over the details, to fix the subtle flaws. In a DVD covering the process of Ryan Adams' 'Jacksonville City Nights,' he says something to the effect of, "You can't fake a mistake like that." I've always been impressed by that idea and have never embraced it in my photography or writing. So this is the first complete poem I've written in a year and a half. It - I guess - touches on that sense of transition and incompleteness while allowing that process to be the present product.


Untitled

At midnight I woke to hands
kneading the walls,
I prayed for leaves.
I let her rest against my bed. She undresses
her hands like autumn;
she presses against my rhythm,
and we follow the trail of smoke
lifting from wounds.

Love teaches us to be limber, when we
fail and touch and crawl. I end and begin
in the same trailing sound.

I fought to unhinge you,
breaking blankets on my hip.
I chose to leave
and stay in love.
You begged me not to go.
We held the silence between us like our child,
wrapped crisp and white between our bodies.


Winter will be the sea
between us, tearing wind from bone,
giving us motion.
I hate departing gifts
as they spring lovers in coffins.
We stand, amused by the voices
that carry us.
We lift from wounds like smoke.

When dawn is on us,
we scratch the eaves of our bodies
together, and forget the errands
we promised for morning.
Our bodies cast shadows,
and ignore the limbs outside
humming against the windows.

With a parched tongue, you told me
how you pray, that you caught god
in glass panels you made in grade school.
He looks bare in the crystal
your hands shaped.
You hold him like a pendant.

You leave in the morning,
only hours left of these seven years.
You still sit like mist in the window -
eyes blue and cold -
and winter nears.

You dress yourself in smoke, smile
and hide the blue you palm.
Sunday stretches before us, casts
autumn on a line. I consider salvation,
you pray that God is still real.
You once found him
hiding in the fireplace
as your mother lit the stove.

Our bodies press lightly, damp and soft.
I hear you hum
as you catch smoke with your tongue.

status: trailer-park legend

i went to see
the graves
where my grandfather
buried his dead
without hymns.


the water tower hides the sky:
red on black,
where i hide him now.

i bury his stones
to mind the soil.

Amber

Today's been a writing day for me; I've probably spent 9 hours writing various things. I used to post my poems on my Myspace blog but I recently had to get rid of Myspace. It wasn't good for me. I'm real tired, I've barely slept in a few days and don't think sleep's coming soon, so I thought I'd post something here, and on Flickr - http://flickr.com/photos/39199733@N00/. I'll be uploading there and Smugmug - clotheslinephotographs.smugmug.com - and here a bit more soon. So no, this poem is not what I normally do here, it's not exactly about photography, but the photographs I'm posting are where some of the images from the poem came from. Unfortunately I had to convert these photos to another format so they don't look nearly as good here; they should be more vibrant and sharp... and these are doing that haloing thing. Sorry, I'll try to work that kink out later. For now, view better ones on Flickr. Safe travels to you.













In five weeks
This season’s changed
From stains to russet.
The chairs creaking
Against floorboards,
The water reaching up
To the Cyprus knobs.

In five weeks
I’ve gone from
Panting to prayer,
Gathering rain
In shopping carts.
I thought these weeks
Would be different,
Holding stamps
While I wait for the bus.

These five weeks
You pressed yourself
Against lampposts
That hold the night sky.

Each season shares
New colors,
Streaks the window panes
Like a diving bell.

These five weeks
I’ve come and gone,
My front porch is lonelier,
Carries the cold
Too well.

Each week buried
The mist, held light.













In five weeks
I’ve tasted fire
Coiled between
My thumb and finger.
The ghosts of holidays
Bore into fruitcake
And leave us begging.

My five weeks
Channeled grave robbers,
Tearing my grandfather’s
Pendant in the Arkansas sun.

Each week
Seems like falsehood and hope,
Torn from
Distant sheets you now share.

My blessings mourn
The stale wind,
The smell of exhaust
Coming through
Like hale stones.

These five weeks
I caught amber
In the mist.