Henry looking at photos in a lazy way, breezy, feeling lovely, gazing the work of great photographers.
He liked photographers that were on the lip of it, the ones that had a freakish and peculiar vision to share.
Folks like Diane Arbus, Robert Maplethorpe, William Eggleston, Robert Frank and Man Ray to name a few.
Viewing their work transported Henry to queer places, lonely corners in small-towns and ghost-towns. A world at the other end of the orbit: Carnivals, freak-shows, asylums, chemical-factories, subway tunnels and garbage-dumps.
Henry loved the hip photographers, the lost and broken ones, the truth sayers, the spark-plugs transferring—a momentary vision worth a thousand words.
He liked the black and white film “Cocksucker Blues,” a two part film by Robert Frank. A junk trip full of raw meat, bouncing hippy-girl breast, chickens and goats, all of it in the isle and seats of a 727.
In “Cocksucker Blues” Robert Frank magnified everything using grainy film shot at odd angles. In editing he cut the film up, splicing in queer ways, making the film look more insane than it's reality really was, allot of people liked it that way.
Robert Frank and other peerless photographers gave a wide birth to day to day parallel strata like it was a rampaging Rhino.
Robert Frank and other peerless photographers gave a wide birth to day to day parallel strata like it was a rampaging Rhino.
Henry loved the part of all art that didn't conform.