|
|
Photographers are insecure creatures at heart. On
the one hand, there is a lingering doubt about whether the medium's position
as art rather than mere craft is yet safe. On the other, given the sheer
volume of photographic images produced over the last century and a half,
photographers constantly fret that whatever their subject and approach,
somebody else will have 'done it' at some time in the past. There is, of
course, always the potential for an artist to say something new regardless of
how well-trodden the ground appears to be, but what is undeniable is that the
bar is set that much higher in those cases.
This second question was very much at the front of my mind when considering
this collection of 3 monographs, part of an ongoing series from Chicago's
Museum of Contemporary Photography which has been publishing portfolios
showcasing emerging photographic talent from the American mid-west since
1982. The issues explored by the 3 photographers - the treatment of
history/heritage in the US, personal identity and modern consumerism - are not
exactly new ground photographically.
Justin Newhall finds his subjects along the route of the early nineteenth
century pioneering explorers of the American West, Lewis and Clark, whose
expedition has become a symbol of both individual heroism and national
ambition. The real drama and danger of the original journey has been replaced
by the comfortable non-threatening world of the early 21st century. Historic
sites are marked by uninspiring memorials or in some cases they have
disappeared altogether under modern vernacular architecture. We have
re-enactments of battles, murals of bears chasing intrepid explorers, real
horses replaced by children's playground animals - reality replaced by a
simulacrum.
Newhall's style owes much to the cool, detached approach pioneered by the
so-called 'New Topographic' photographers in the 1970s. The American
landscape has been the most common subject of this deadpan aesthetic and it
is difficult to view Newhall's work in isolation from those who have gone
before him. Shying away from the grand vistas of the pictorialist
photographers in favour of the more mundane and less aesthetically appealing
landscape of the modern west is hardly a novel departure. The packaging of
the past, the transformation of messy history into sanitised heritage is a
story that has been told numerous times before. The 'deadpan' style works
best when applied to subjects not usually associated with that approach; then
it can genuinely work to undermine an accepted view. The problem here is that
there can't be many observers left who don't see through the faade presented
by roadside monuments and heritage attractions and Newhall's images leave us
ultimately with a feeling of 'so what'?
Kelli Connell's 'Double Life' is also, at first glance, a relatively
straightforward narrative. It appears to be a simple record of the
relationship between two young women, a series of images showing the pair in
a variety of domestic and other everyday situations. However, there are two
'deceptions' within the images. First, what are apparently a series of
unexceptional moments lifted from the flow of everyday life are in fact
carefully staged scenarios - a common enough photographic conceit. More
surprisingly the accompanying text reveals that the two women are actually
one person digitally duplicated.
Once the viewer is aware of the technical manipulation at the heart of the
work, a change in the approach to it is unavoidable. While the initial
reaction is to scrutinise the images to see how deftly the digital trickery
has been achieved (and it is technically brilliant) the wider question is how
the fact the two characters are actually the same person affects our reading
of the images. At a superficial level, it leads us to question our visual
acuity. While the women undoubtedly look similar to one another and could
pass for sisters, by using nothing more complex than different camera angles
the photographer effortlessly fools the viewer. On another level, the work
raises issues of identity, of ego and alter ego. That Connell does not choose
to create two obviously separate and widely divergent characters actually
adds to the power of the images and she succeeds in conveying subtly nuanced
personalities.
It could be argued that the work's impact is somewhat diminished by the fact
that it depends in large part on us knowing that the two characters in the
images are the same person - something we can only learn only from
information divulged apart from the photographs themselves. While I
personally am sympathetic to the view that art should be self-contained and,
as far as possible, speak for itself, in this case the work remains
sufficiently strong to stand up on its own merits.
In scrutinising the mechanics of American consumer culture through the prism
of the 'big box' retailers, Brian Ulrich appears to have chosen a subject
about which it is most difficult to produce original insights. Do we really
need to be reminded again about the excesses of the throwaway society or the
depressing truth that credit-fuelled gorging on tat which people neither need
nor really even want is not the road to personal or societal fulfilment?
However, it is the historical context, namely the post 9/11 world, which
casts Ulrich's work in an entirely new light and lends it a particular
poignancy. In the weeks after the terrorist attacks of 2001, the President
told the country that the best way to show their defiance in the face of the
Al Quaeda threat was to get back into the shops:
'I ask your continued participation and confidence in the American
economyThe vitality of our economy depends on the willingness of American's
to spend.'
George W. Bush
At a stroke, Bush transformed consumption into a patriotic duty and in
Ulrich's images the alternately blank and grim faced shoppers seem to treat
it as nothing more than that. So while Ulrich's main theme seems to be excess
- the work's title 'Copia' means plenty or abundance - for me it is the sheer
joylessness on the faces in the stores and malls that punches out of the
images. Bush's consumer shock-troops don't seem to be enjoying their mission
in the aisles of Wal Mart any more than the soldiers on the ground in Iraq
are enjoying theirs. The only smiling faces on display are in the
advertisements on the supermarket walls.
Two images stand out as non-too-subtle metaphors for present day America. In
the first, a sign above a bank teller machine in the lobby of a Las Vegas
casino reads 'Cash & Redemption'. Redemption through
consumption and gambling - an almost perfect summary of the American dream in
the 21st century. In the second image a sign in a gas station window states:
Homeland Security Threat Level Today: Please see cashier for details
That it reads like a 'Today's Special' promotion for baked beans or diapers
shows that even global terrorism has been effortlessly subsumed into the
language of American consumer culture. This is either comforting or truly
terrifying. The photographer leaves us to decide which. .
Colin
Bradbury 2007
|