I have this imagination, I guess you’d call it, about my pictures now, given Getty’s dominating presence in the field, and that family name’s history in the oil business. I conjure that my snaps now run in pipelines around the world, just like crude, but a lot less valuable, and get sloshed onto ocean going freighters, flying the Libyan flag, crewed by a vivid collection of multi-national sailors, insured out of the Netherlands and financed through the Bank of the Caymans.
They get transported here and there, and get sold at colorfully vibrant outdoor markets in port cities, say, on the west coast of Africa, pictures by the pound, auctioned off somewhere in between the livestock sales and bull semen futures. The sale gets rung up and then chopped, sliced, diverted, rounded off and otherwise divvied up among unknown but certainly necessary parties, and what makes its way back to my studio through routes apparently as circuitous as the Silk Road, is a remuneration, a sum, a check….for $1.32.
Shared on Jan 06, 2014