zkatz

Katzenjammer Kamp. This is how we do it. Food. Booze. Fire. Swim.... read more

A Little Place Called China - Artist Statement I strive to be a visual anthropologist of my own country, which as an American means myriad cultures as separate entities and intertwined amalgamations. My travels to other countries expose me to the essence of a culture, creating a foundation for what I witness, process and translate back in the United States. Everywhere I am, the moments of surreal human interaction captured by my camera become the indefinable strangeness of living. My images from China visually articulate the concept of conformity that is ingrained in the cultural, economic, and ideological psyche of the country. By singling out individuals and allowing them the real estate of a 35mm frame, their nondescript, often faceless identities grew to encompass the larger collective of one in two billion situated within a virtual ... read more

I would like to think that I am a city savvy, rough and tumble, friend of the darkside, cross the street where ever I please, kick you in the balls, stay up all night, eat what the locals eat, get high on the neon lights, kind of city girl, but shit, New Delhi proper has been serving me one toxic bitch slap. Radiohead has been playing on repeat in my mind: iwilleatyoualive.iwilleatyoualive.iwilleatyoualive.iwilleatyoualive. I am wrapping up a month of unstable housing, multiple daily fights with rickshaw drivers, robbery by fake house cleaners, pollution that coats my teeth, dust and grime between my toes, pooping like I am the source of the Ganges, fever sickness like a ton of bricks, racism and discrimination for my whiteness, shame for my single womaness, and at the heart of all ... read more

I have fallen in love and color is my lover. Like the player that seduces the all the women with the same moves, I have been swept off my feet by the same colors that enchant, bedazzle and entice the other travelers that have ventured to this magical land. My heart flutters when I walk through four pillars of orange richness, fuzzy and warm, that happen to be four aged men wrapped in blankets, with coffee skin and frothy white mustache and hair covered by another dollop of orange cloth tied in a twist. I cry tears of joy when I am standing in the sweltering heat and a mirage of a dozen Indian beauties in Popsicle colored saree appear licking and slurping an icy juice bar that is the color of the saree of the ... read more

This first blog will be dedicated to Lulu, my travel companion for the past month, my guru, my swami, my devi, my partner in crime, my food scout, my shopping expert, and mostly, my bargaining deal breaker. Our first exodus from Delhi and we are walking down a long dirt road, somewhere outside of Jaipur, Rajasthan to an organic farm. We ask the staring farming families if we are going the right direction but they have no fucking idea what we are saying. Repeating a single word is the only successful way to communicate. After being almost run over approximately 6 times, a very common situation during any type of walking excursion, we arrive to an enormously fat Indian sitting around drinking tea with a few other travelers. Shortly, we begin farming amla. For those who ... read more