Alfredo Jaar @Peter Blum
Rebecca Norris Webb: My Dakota @Ricco Maresca
JTF (just the facts): A total of 14 large scale color photographs, framed in blond wood and unmatted, and hung against white walls in two adjoining gallery spaces. All of the works are type c-prints, made in 2012. The images are shown in two sizes: 20×30 and 30×40 (or reverse); no edition information was provided on the checklist. The show includes 7 prints in the small size and 7 prints in the large size. A monograph of this body of work was published in 2012 by Radius Books (here). (Installation shots at right.)
Comments/Context: Written directly on the white painted wall and scrawled in pencil in the artist’s swirling handwriting, the question “does loss have its own geography?” hovers underneath this intimate exhibit of photographs. Of course, it’s a leading question, one with an affirmative answer embodied by the quiet melancholy of the images that surround it. But as framing mechanism and a way of setting tone, it works, forcing us to look at Rebecca Norris Webb’s landscapes with a different sense for their physical and emotional terrain.
Webb’s original project was a “get out of the city and go back to the open skies of home” kind of road trip, a mind freshening exchange of the urban environment of New York for the badlands and prairies of South Dakota. But this classic American impulse was upended by the sudden death of her brother, turning her endless days of driving into a personal journey of reflection and mourning. The result is s set of pictures infused with a dark, searching mood, interrupted by obscured views and filled with thoughtful absence.
Many of Webb’s landscapes turn standard Midwestern scenes into moments of shiveringly alone, sigh-filled despair. Plastic shopping bags tumble across the dusty grey skied plains, getting caught on barbed wire fences. A flock of ominous blackbirds settles down over the burned out husks of a dry field of sunflowers. And a pronghorn deer lies dead on the ground, outlined by gathering flecks of windswept ice. There is a common motif of the fleeting or the broken, in either case, frustratingly out of reach for the person behind the camera.
Webb also effectively uses windows and mirrors to close down her vision. A sheer white curtain of an abandoned farmhouse partially obscures the dingy rubbish out in the yard, yellow drapes block the tunneled view of a nighttime snowstorm, and the slightly tinted glass of her rolled down car window gives her vista of the dotted hills a grimmer coloring. Given her particular story about the loss of a brother, the reflected silhouette of a small boy seen in the glass of a framed state map is achingly sad. All of these visual mechanisms reinforce the sense of being hemmed in, even in a place with such broad open skies.
Together, Webb’s photographs deliver a kind of broken hearted lyricism we don’t see very often; she lets her grief come through unfiltered and the landscapes are infused with her numbed sorrow. It is indeed her Dakota, a place where genuine personal emotion has seeped into the land.
Collector’s POV: The prices for the works in this exhibit are as follows. The 20×30 prints are $2700, while the 30×40 prints are $4250. Webb’s work has little or no secondary market history, so gallery retail remains the best option for those collectors interested in following up.
- Artist site (here)
- Features/Reviews: Fraction (here), New Yorker PhotoBooth (here), Time LightBox (here)
- Interviews: New York Times Lens (here), Flak Photo (here)
Jane and Louise Wilson @303 Gallery
Akram Zaatari @MoMA
Oliver Gagliani @Gitterman
JTF (just the facts): A total of 25 black and white photographs, framed in black and matted, and hung against white walls in the jagged single room gallery space. All of the works are vintage gelatin silver prints, made between 1953 and 1974. No size or edition information was provided on the checklist, although the prints looked to range from roughly 4×5 to 11×14 (or reverse). (Installation shots at right.)
Comments/Context: It’s not often that I visit a gallery show and run into a photograph that I grew up with. But there on the wall at this survey of the work of Oliver Gagliani was the smoky familiarity of the watery mist rising up over the Grover Hot Springs that has hung pretty much wherever my parents have lived over the past few decades. Having grown up with a mother who was a photographer in the 1970s and who attended many of the week long workshops that were popular in those days, I was raised in houses that were full of prints bought, traded, or otherwise acquired from photographers she worked with or admired, and that Gagliani image was never far from view.
This exhibit traces a broad sweep of Gagliani’s work across his two most productive decades, and seems born of that workshop era, where the varied influences of Ansel Adams and Minor White can be felt and observed in the prints on the wall. But just because we can trace some aesthetic and conceptual breadcrumbs back to earlier teachers and masters doesn’t mean that Gagliani’s work doesn’t stand on its own. His synthesis and execution of those ideas was all his own, and the prints are executed with the kind of superlative craftsmanship we hardly see anymore.
Gagliani had a particular eye for tonal harmony, for the delicate balance of black and white in a image, regardless of whether his subject was a weathered door, some peeling wallpaper, or the way the light flared off worn barn siding at a certain time of the afternoon. His prints have the kind of range that is the mark of a master, the deep dark velvety blacks that don’t lose their detail, flanked by brilliant whites and highlights that don’t get washed out into nothingness. They are the kind of prints that quietly blow the mind of those that have toiled endless hours in a black and white darkroom. How did he get that tiny chevron pattern on the black tar paper to stay crisp without losing the detail in the white bed frame? Or how did he get the icicles and dripping white wash to come out of the darkness when framed next to the dilapidated white door? And how did he think to make a negative print of the broken glass in the diamond shaped window, so the edges would glow with reverse brightness? The technical prowess on display here is profound, and the show undoubtedly contains some of the best gelatin silver prints to be seen in New York this year.
Gagliani’s compositions tend toward the up close found abstractions of Siskind, with a healthy dollop of the photographic spirituality of White. Glare off the sand at the shoreline, barbed wire near a falling down barn, paint spots on a random wall, they all provided Gagliani with an opportunity to turn the mundane into the lyrical. His images of window shingles, stained blinds, and angled door hinges are exercises in texture, but with a dose of reverential mystery. They are patient pictures, improved and enhanced by technical expertise that feels like ritual.
While the images in this show certainly feel drawn from a specific time and place in American photography, it’s hard not to be enthralled by their tactile execution. For those black and white print junkies out there jonesing for a fix, this show is most definitely for you.
Collector’s POV: The prints in this show are priced between $3500 and $7500. Gagliani’s work has very little history in the secondary markets, so gallery retail likely remains the best option for those collectors interested in following up.
Rating: * (one star) GOOD (rating system described here)
Transit Hub:
- Review: New Yorker (here)
Maria Magdalena Campos-Pons @Stephan Stoyanov
Photography Collectors in the 2013 ARTnews 200
ARTnews recently released its annual list of the largest, most active art collectors in the world (here, magazine cover at right, via ARTnews), and it’s always intriguing to see how photography fares among this elite group. Each collector (or pair) is listed with their geographic location(s), how they came into their money, and the general categories of their collections.
In 2013, the following 11 collectors (out of 200) had some form of photography called out in their collection description, often one of many artwork types in a larger list:
Cristina and Thomas W. Bechtler–Lanfranconi
Joop van Caldenborgh
Ella Fontanals Cisneros
Danielle and David Ganek
Ydessa Hendeles
Alison and Peter W. KleinThomas H. Lee and Ann Tenenbaum
Heather and Tony PodestaLisa S. and John A. Pritzker
Aby J. Rosen
Chara Schreyer
Compared to similar lists from prior years, there is remarkable consistency in the names above; most have been on this list for plenty of consecutive years. Of course, this short photo-focused list is a little deceiving, in that roughly 85% of the names on the complete list of 200 collectors have “modern”, “contemporary”, or “emerging” art in their bios, so many of them likely collect some photography as a subset of their larger efforts, but haven’t had it called out specifically as an interest; in fact, there may be other names with broad collection descriptions that may indeed own more photography than some of the names above. More generally, it would be fascinating to know how many of the complete list of 200 own at least one photograph; my guess is that it’s meaningfully more than 50%, which points to a much broader rate of inclusion than the data here explicitly shows. All in, this annual list is always an entertaining barometer of what the most active among us are collecting, allowing us to sketch out a faint picture of the machinations at the top end of the market.
Thrush Holmes @Feature Inc.
Christopher Boffoli @Winston Wächter
Optimism in photographic edition sizing
Asger Carlsen, Hester
JTF (just the facts): Published in 2012 by Mörel Books (here). Hardcover, 48 pages, with 21 black and white images. There are no essays or texts. (Spread shots below.)
Comments/Context: When describing classic nudes from photographic history, we often refer to the bodies as being “sculptural”, where the curve of a hip or the bend of an arm is somehow abstracted beyond its fleshy existence into an elemental realm of line and form. Asger Carlsen’s new book Hester takes the concept of the sculptural female nude to its ultimate limit, where constructed “bodies” are assembled mad scientist-style into impossible Frankenstein combinations of merged musculature and borrowed limbs. His results are at once reverential to the aesthetic traditions of the genre and deeply unsettling.
Posed against the white walls and bare wood floors of a studio, Carlen’s nudes seem at first glance to take their cues from any number of pared down photographic studies of the human form – unadorned flesh reduced to its simplest essence. But Carlsen’s digital concoctions quickly disrupt this conclusion, sending us down the rabbit hole of mind bending distortions, scary deformities, and stomach turning mutations. Arms become legs, spines are twisted back to front, and bulging limbs explode from unnatural locations. Many of the headless bodies are reduced to smooth skinned torsos and blocky masses of flesh, with folds of skin borrowed from one location and grafted somewhere else.
While Carlsen’s previous body of work had an element of dark humor, these photographs never take on a jokey feeling, even when one of his nudes has three ass cheeks. Several of Carlsen’s forms seem reminiscent of Hans Bellmer’s surreal poupee, especially when legs extend in opposite directions. Others seem to borrow from Francis Bacon’s melted faces and distended bodies, but without the raw psychological emotion; Carlsen’s mute bodies writhe and bend in equally disturbing ways, but they are generally free of buried anguish. Carlsen’s innovation is that he has truly broken the nude down into component parts, turning each piece of skin and bone into a malleable puzzle piece, to be mixed and matched in seemingly endless deadpan combinations. Compared to normal human bodies, his constructions are in some sense altogether horrifying, like some questionable medical experiment gone tragically wrong. But their apparent realism (especially in the way light glances off skin) keeps the viewer off guard, forcing us to constantly match his fabrications with our own knowledge of how bodies actually fit together.
For all their creepy oddness, I think these works are a terrific example of digital manipulation used smartly. By staying within the boundaries of certain visual conventions, his constructed figures start off with an assumption of plausibility, which enhances their power when the inversion finally comes. Carlsen’s nudes would make a great ending to a traditional historical survey of the genre, effectively yanking the rug out from under the previously contented visitors.
Collector’s POV: Asger Carlsen doesn’t appear to have US gallery representation, but V1 Gallery in Copenhagen (here) has prints available. Carlsen’s work has little or no secondary market history, so gallery retail is likely the best/only option for those collectors interested in following up.
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