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Banlieues: This street scene represents a fragment of what might
one day be an exhibition of my recurring reactions to urban
life. It was captured on one of our many visits to France over the
years, when we happened to pass through Paris on a
"pilgrimage" to Vincent van Gogh's last venue and burial
place in nearby Auvers-sur-Oise. At the time of our visit in late
2005, France was experiencing troubled times regarding immigration
issues, resulting in minority disturbances in some suburban areas,
or "banlieues." Although this image appears to
be a hurried "grab shot," I actually had quite a wait in
order to record a juxtaposition of people and signs which reflected
the tension in the air at the time of our visit.
Baucis & Philemon: One of my favorite myths to come
down from ancient times was written by Ovid in his Metamorphoses
about an elderly couple faithful to their beliefs in life and to one
another right to the end of their days. For as long as I have been
photographing, I have looked for appropriate material, metaphorical
or otherwise, to "retell" this touching story visually.
This springtime image of two crows hunkered down in a willow oak
outside our bedroom window in Virginia is one of my many attempts to
interpret this little known but enduring story of faith, hospitality
and
companionship. On an unrelated plane, the oriental brush painting
feeling of this image continues to challenge me as a printer, albeit
now in digital mode.
Behind The Scene: Here the camera, a consummate
observer itself, captures the lovely wardrobe
assistant for the short film entitled The 5:22, looking on as a
scene is being shot for that film on the railway platform beyond.
This scene takes place on a cool autumn evening in the old railroad
station (now a museum) at Union, Illinois, where our subject serves
so artlessly and gracefully as a metaphor for our largely universal
aspirations for something else, beyond the reach of our own little
stretch of reality.
Bon Voyage: How different departures on grand ocean liners
are from the days when I was a young child. Yet in some ways,
nothing changes. Here, passengers still line the railings of the
promenade deck, full of anticipation for the voyage ahead and
exhilaration with the grand views afforded by their high and
ever-changing vantage point. All the while the stalwart tug below
plays its pivotal yet largely unappreciated role in getting the
voyage underway.
Burgaud Crucifix: Rarely in my experience has flat, dreary
weather played so appropriate a part in evoking a special poignancy
to such a quiet and isolated place as this. Other than the name at
the base of this crucifix, I know nothing about it, except its
location on the flat farmland overlooking the Oise River, between
the small villages of Auvers and Butry. I cannot help but wonder how
long it has stood there and what it has borne witness to passing by
on that long, lonely road beyond. The cemetery containing the graves
of Vincent and Theo van Gogh, among many local inhabitants, is a
little distance to the right of this scene.
Carriage Horse: Some years ago I
was quite surprised when I first showed this image to our dear friend to whom this
exhibition is dedicated. Although I knew Beverly had been a farmer's
daughter as a youngster, I never imagined that she (or anyone in
America anymore, for that matter) was so knowledgeable about the
intricacies of harnesses, and how this rig differed from others
designed to enable horses to accomplish other tasks on man's behalf.
My unsophisticated eye sees these trappings only as metaphor for
man's effort to bend nature to his will, sometimes, but not always,
successfully. This image was probably subliminally inspired by those
wonderful pictorial images of horses which appeared infrequently in
Alfred Stieglitz's periodical, Camera Work, some 100 years
ago now.
Dog's View of Man: This image was first captured in 1972,
long before I became seriously obsessed with photography as an
expressive medium. It does indicate, however, that my eye for irony
and my mind for social commentary were already in development. For
me, then and now, the urinary libations, howsoever contributed unwittingly and without bias by passing dogs, on the weighty affairs of
men
say it all.
Fallen Mum: An abbreviated view of one of the many "as
is" flower arrangements which adorn our home, often for years
on end. This was a recent arrangement at the time of exposure, with
the chrysanthemum flowers just beginning to shatter. The naturally
bending stem and falling petals of this flower put me in mind of the
Japanese concept of wabi-sabi, expressing the transience of life and
the grace inherent in aging.
Four Crows: One of a few images in this exhibition which has
appeared on this web site before. It does so again because it is one of my
favorite images; for several reasons. It is actually a very small part of
a wall mural, at the former Lorton prison site, which portrayed Martin Luther King's
I Have A Dream speech
on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in 1963. As I have completely
desaturated the original color painting, at the same time emphasizing
this very small element with a considerable change of scale through
the magic of the camera, I humor myself that this image is a
collaboration between the anonymous artist of the
original wall mural and me. It also reminds me of some of Vincent van
Gogh's last works in the fields above the town of Auvers-sur-Oise
and our (his and mine) common affinity with crows. Although one
might argue that these are not crows at all but some other species of
bird, they are crows because I've said so.
Loch Shirra Bridge: A challenging landscape, given the
relative flatness of both sky and water, and the rather narrow tonal
variation throughout the scene. In critiquing this image some years
ago, a well known landscape photographer (who shall remain nameless)
suggested that it might have been more successful had a porpoise or
some other creature splashed in the water in front of the bridge! How differently we all look at even the same
thing! For me, the image appeals precisely because of the absence of
any such distraction, allowing the mind to contemplate the symbolism
provided by the emptiness, with only hints of the near and the far shores under the
bridge...
One Man Band: Shadows, and their other playful cousins,
reflections, never fail to attract my attention as a photographer,
perhaps because they have a special ability to stimulate the
imagination in ways not possible by viewing a subject directly. In this case, only the shadow of this one man band
performing on the banks of the Seine would do; I felt no need to
capture a more direct likeness of him and all of his instruments,
and so I did not.
Retable d'Issenheim: This scene,
representing the Temptation of Saint Anthony, is a
small section of the back side of one of the more magnificent works of art to be produced in
early 16th Century Europe.
The museum in which this altarpiece is featured does not allow flash
photography or the use of a tripod, so I had to do the best I could
with natural light in order to get as clear a hand-held photograph
as possible. The result is not too bad, for a 63 year-old pair of
hands, even if I have to say so myself! I am indebted for the
opportunity to make this image through the encouragement of our
good friends, Evelyn and her late husband, Leon Zolondek, who in
2005 shanghaied us from nearby Basel for a day trip to Colmar solely to
enjoy this fascinating work of art.
South Aisle, L'Abbaye de Fontenay: A number of scenes from
this now World Heritage Site have appeared on this web site before.
This particular image has long been a challenge
to me because of the extremes in tonality represented, with few
mid-tones to make the transition between the deepest shadows and the
brightest highlights. I'm not sure the digital effort
presented here has satisfied my desire for closure with this image any
more than traditional darkroom techniques have in the past. The mood
and symbolism of the seemingly endless, receding bays of this church
seem to compel me to continue my efforts...
South Portal Study #2: This image has appeared on this web
site before, in the second exhibition devoted to Spanish Stonelight.
Clearly, I have yet to satisfy my visual appetite for this
exquisitely serene stone portrait. As with the French
scene above, this image is a digitally modified version of
the one which first appeared in the Spanish Stonelight series.
Staircase of the Lions: Simply an image I enjoy which has
hitherto not found a place in any of my other exhibitions. This same
subject, taken by another photographer from almost exactly the same vantage point, appeared
in an exhibition (Cats and Dogs) at the Kathleen Ewing Gallery in Washington, D.C. some
years ago. How similar and yet how different they were! In my
interpretation, the wall in the background has been deliberately
subdued in order to emphasize the balustrade and newels of the staircase.
Where Rangi and Papa Still Mingle: In
making a somewhat begrudging return to color photography over the last
several years, I have experimented considerably with varying degrees
of desaturation of color images (they sometimes seem garish, after 15 years of printing almost exclusively in black-and-white). This image is a result of one such experiment.
When Til and I visited Whaka, the weather was just beginning
to clear, such that the gases from the thermal vents throughout this
Maori village mingled almost imperceptibly with the low cloud
formations overhead. Inspired by the Maori explanation of the
Creation, I captured this fleeting image. According to Wikipedia's
version of Maori belief, Ranginui (or Rangi, for short), the sky father, and Papatuanuku (or
Papa, for short), the earth mother, were the primordial parents of
all creation. In the beginning, they lay locked together in a tight
embrace, with their many children forced to
live in the cramped darkness between them. As they grew older and
became discontent with this situation, the children discussed
amongst themselves what it might be like to live in the light.
Tumatauenga, the fiercest of the children, proposed killing their
parents in order to solve their predicament. But his brother
Tanemahuta (or Tane, for short), god of forests and birds, suggested
that it would be better to push them apart. The siblings put this
plan to work.
First, Rongo, god of cultivated food, then Tangaroa, god of the sea,
working with his brother Haumiatiketike, god of wild food, tried in
vain to push their parents apart. Finally, Tane himself, instead of
standing upright and pushing with his hands as his brothers had
done, lay on his back and pushed with his strong legs until, with
cries of grief and surprise, Ranginui and Papatuanuku were pried
apart.
Is
night simply a time when their children allow the primordial gods to
re-embrace? And are geological hot spots such as active volcanoes or
thermal vents places where Rangi and Papa may still mingle, even
during the daytime, if their children aren’t looking?
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