I've always enjoyed photographing industrial elements like piping and building ducts, so much so that one fellow art student remarked to me on a road trip, "Look, Marie! Trucks! Quick! Take a picture!", pointing derisively out the car window when I raised my lens to photograph a carrier loaded with cars the next lane over. But I love craftsmanship wherever I see it, in any form, and that point of view forms the basis of my design intellectualism to this day. I come from a working class background as many New Yorkers do, and I can't imagine our lives today without the massive industrial projects and undertakings of our forefathers. It's everywhere we look. After all, my great grandfather not only made metal work for bridges and buildings, he was skilled enough to render The Last Supper entirely out of copper, in a framed piece of art that still hangs in my mother's house.
Fuse box.
You can't manufacture that kind of history and continuity on demand without passion and heart, not even at the best art school in the world; a place where craft still counts, even back when I attended it as a tower made almost entirely out of ivory. Snobbery is always out of date, no matter the era, because the future will always belong to those of us still willing to get our hands dirty, which includes the mistaken idea that using our hands is somehow a base affair. I hope my former classmate, where ever he wound up, somehow managed to rise above his class-based leanings. It couldn't have been easy to be a Van Zandt, no matter how old and privileged his family name is (was). Stay classy, people
