Cornell Capa, photographer, dead at 90.

"Topless" photos threaten Hannah Montana juggernaut. I shouldn't have to explain this, but here goes: Topless = nipple. If you can't see the nipple, she's not topless. She has a sheet as a top. To claim otherwise is to sink to Sam the Eagle levels of ridiculousness (see his Discourse on Nudity, quoted on the linked page). And speaking of ridiculousness, in what way does this demonstrate Cyrus being a bad role model? Are teenage girls going to show their bare backs in Vanity Fair? I think the worst possible ramification might be that young girls (or anyone, for that matter) might read Vanity Fair. If anything, it appears to me that she has a reasonable amount of meat on her bones, which would probably be a very good example for her target demographic (at least her humerus is not exposed).

All I know is, even though that girl I grew up watching on Saved By the Bell made that naughty movie, I turned out okay; I think this generation will somehow cope, too.

"Through Weegee's Lens": The New York Times has a profile today of photographer Jill Freedman.

Slate looks back at the photograph "The Soiling of Old Glory," from Boston's 1976 busing crisis. The slide show also includes a chilling photograph of a woman and child falling from a fire escape; it reminded me of a segment on This American Life's television program about the photographs mentioned here, which I can't find reproduced online. Of course, the only possible moral ambiguity in the falling women photograph would be voyeurism (at the forefront of my mind, as I watched Peeping Tom last night), as it is more obvious that there was no action the photographer should take (and he did avert his gaze before impact).

A Change in Scenery's movie theater photo stream. Good stuff.

In related news, apparently the Balboa Theatre has reopened in Horton Plaza. I'm looking forward to checking it out; too bad I see nothing of note on the schedule, having already missed Hal Holbrook's Mark Twain Tonight.

Science fair photo bonanza. That post was inspired by this collection of science fair photos, but I enjoyed Beware of the Blog's focus on freaky kids over odd projects. If I had to pick a favorite, "Garlic: The Silent Killer" narrowly beats out "Are you my mother?"

I failed to report the death recently of major-league pitcher Bill Henry, which was good, since he turned out to be a fraud. Actually, I only heard about him due to the hoax, and its eerie resemblance to a recent plot from Gil Thorp. Now, the New York Times continues the fraudulent-behavior-belied-by-obituary's-dissemination theme with a discussion of an unscrupulous, or senile, photographer. So remember, friends, if you're living a lie, make your final wishes very clear: No Obituary. Stress your humility, or make up a story about a murder rap in Idaho. More interesting than a padded resume.

I've been remiss in discussing my summer reading on this blog, but I just finished a rather unusual book that definitely warrants a mention: The Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death. I encountered a fleeting reference to the studies in an interview recently, and immediately sought out this book, from 2004, which documents these macabre dollhouses and Frances Glessner Lee, who created them.

Basically, the Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death are a series of dioramas, meticulously created dollhouses which capture the initial state of repose of various people, whom have dropped dead under mysterious circumstances. All are based on reality to some degree, with most being a composite of several police investigations. Lee created these studies as an educational tool, to train first responders on how to observe, preserve and evaluate a crime scene; the goal of the studies is not necessarily to solve the crime, but to determine what evidence at the scene is pertinent, and what further tests should be performed by the medical examiner. Lee was an early proponent of what was then called legal medicine, and advocated for the creation of medical examiners offices (at the time, many coroners, appointed by patronage, had no medical training).

The book opens with an interesting essay about Lee and the studies, and about the gender and class politics under which Lee lived. But the bulk of the book is dedicated to depicting the studies, through descriptions, line drawing, and lots of pictures. Rather than being strictly representational, the photos take a more expressionistic approach, capturing the tension between the innocence of the form and the violence of the content, and the hope depicted externally in many of the studies through windows and paintings depicting more idyllic environs, a hope the victim, dead in their often squalid homes, failed to reach. And while there are disturbing photos of dolls having reached their grisly ends, most of the photos focus on the incidental details of their homes, the banal belongings that define a time and place, and ultimately, a life. Corrine May Botz, the author and photographer responsible for this volume, quotes Paul Auster regarding the objects of a dead man: "They are there and yet not there: tangible ghosts, condemned to survive in a world they no longer belong to. What is one to think, for example, of a closetful of clothes waiting silently to be worn again by a man who will not be coming back to open the door?" The preserved remnants of a life snuffed out are often more unsettling than the (admittedly creepy) dead dolls.

The Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death would appeal to those whose interests run towards the macabre or the morbid, but it is not limited in its appeal to that audience. While the studies are not strictly speaking mysteries to be wrapped up neatly (though there is a general solution to the studies, since they are still used as a training tool, the solution to all but a handful of the studies is not provided--in general, the solutions are not too terribly hard to fathom, though the kitchen vignette really confounds me), fans of detective fiction and true crime should appreciate this book. And the story of Frances Glessner Lee, a woman whose ambitions were suppressed by the expectations for her gender and the heavy burden her wealthy family imposed upon her, offers interesting insights into the options available to upper-class women in the early twentieth century.

The book's Amazon page has some photos, and you can also see some photos and learn more from articles from American Medical News and 2wice (the former, written well before the publication of the book, has original photos, and more importantly, solutions not offered in the book).

Can photographers be plagiarists?