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An exhibition at the Addison Gallery of American Art proves that America's art photographers -- edgy, maverick, often downright shocking -- are an entertaining tribe.
"In Focus: 75 Years of Collecting American Photography," at Phillips Andover's Addison Gallery of American Art through July 31, 2006.
by Peter Walsh
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"The Lower Yosemite Fall" by Carleton Emmons Watkins. |
Boston, Mass. - May 16, 2006 -
In early March of 1839, in Paris, a prominent American painter named Morse was
let in on a sensational secret. A French colleague showed him his most important
creation, to be kept hidden from the world at large for another five months.
Morse was astonished. He realized this remarkable invention would change everything,
and soon.
Morse had seen an early daguerreotype -- now in a Munich museum -- of a Paris
street. "You cannot imagine how exquisite the fine detail is," Morse
wrote his family. "No painting or engraving could ever touch it." Photography
had been born.
A New Englander educated, if somewhat patchily, in the modernized
curricula of Phillips Andover Academy and Yale College, Morse had an inkling
of how science could move the world. Back in America, he promoted M. Daguerre's
invention with such zeal that he became the father of American photography.
Five years later, Morse unveiled to the U.S. Congress his own earth-shattering
invention: the telegraph.
The exhibition "In Focus: 75 Years of Collecting
American Photography" celebrates
the museum's 6000-image photography collection, founded in 1934. It is not billed
as a tribute to the school's famous alumnus, Samuel F. B. Morse. But it certainly
reflects his lasting influence on American culture.
To 19th-century Americans,
photography and the telegraph were twin inventions so miraculous they rivaled
God's own creation. One represents the world through captured beams of light,
the other via bursts of electricity. Together, they underlie the technological
wonders that followed them -- from the telephone, radio, and television right
through to the digital revolution and the Internet.
But can a scientific miracle be art? Americans -- more likely to separate
art and science than the Europeans -- weren't so sure. London's Victoria and
Albert Museum began collecting photographs by the 1860s; American museums hesitated
until well into the 20th century. The Addison was among the first to buy American
photographs. By then, photography had long been the quintessential American
medium -- at home in virtually every street and living room in the nation.
"In Focus" is mostly a display of classics and the self-consciously
arty -- an elite, selective survey of a rambling, rambunctious, and class free
medium. A lot of people get snubbed. The early 20th-century Pictorialists,
whose painting-like photos were often 'not' in focus, receive minimal
attention. Also shorted are the vast territories of the amateur snapshot and
the workaday worlds of studio portraits, photojournalism, fashion, and advertising.
No Richard Avedon, no Irving Penn, no Bruce Weber, no Herb Ritts in this history.
But
the show is very far from dull. Perhaps because of their medium's uncertain
status, photographers have always been among the most gritty and adventurous
of American artists. Edgy, maverick, often downright shocking, America's art
photographers are an entertaining tribe. The Addison show brings out their best.
A
label by the entrance promises "groupings that create provocative dialogues" instead
of chronology. This means that images are grouped by visual theme -- Western
landscape or suburbia, for example -- not by decade or school.
It is an inspired
approach, made stronger by admirable curatorial restraint. The viewer is never
bullied with longwinded explanatory labels that put everything "in
context." The curators play the perfect host -- from well in the background.
The dialogue is between the photographers and the visitors.
This is a show full
of delightful surprises, wry jokes, and majestic gestures. In a small, rather
surreal corner dedicated to childhood, Diane Arbus' seriously unsettling "Child
with a Toy Hand Grenade in Central Park, N.Y.C." (1962)
confronts Sally Mann's provocative, semi-nude "Jesse at 5" (1987).
Nearby, Andre Kertesz' black-gowned "Satiric Dancer" (1926),
cheerfully pinwheeled on her couch, hangs over one of E. J. Bellocq's languid
New Orleans prostitutes, laid out nude on a chair ("Girl on the Wicker
Chaise Lounge, 1912").
In another room, monumental, almost abstract grain
elevators by Jack Delano are followed by spooky landscapes from Minor White,
Jerry Uelsmann, and Lee
Friedlander. Vast western panoramas (the show has a
special fondness for panoramic imagery) share space with dreary suburbs, visitor
centers, and blankly staring tourists.
When " In Focus" spreads out
to explore a grander theme, the effect can be breathtaking. A long section on
the American city is a magnificent sequence of streets, skyscrapers, vistas,
patterns, and varied urban life forms. New York City, beloved of all true American
artists, is abstracted in images by Beaumont Newhall (" Chase National
Bank, 1928") and Sol LeWitt
(" Manhattan with a Grid, 1975"); particularized by Helen Levitt (" New
York 1940"), Berenice Abbott ("Canyon: 46th Street and Lexington
Avenue, Looking West," 1946), and Daniel Lyon ("Lower Manhattan," 1966);
satirized by Lisette Model ("Running Legs, NYC" 1940") and Charles
Harbutt ("Scrivener, Wall St., New York, 1970"). "In Focus" gives
photographic abstraction (May Ray, Theodore Roszak, Gyorgy Kepes, Minor White)
and the photography of the American West (Carleton
Watkins, Timothy O'Sullivan,
Ansel Adams) similarly broad, inflected treatments.
The selection does play to
certain strengths of the Addison collection. Thus Eadweard Muybridge appears
both as the celebrated photographer of arrested movement (in images from "The
Attitudes of Animals in Motion," 1881, and "Animal
Locomotion," 1887) and also as the lesser-known landscapist of the Yosemite
Valley. Andover alumnus Walker Evans is amply represented by images drawn from
more than 150 of his photographs in the Addison collection. A broad grouping
from Robert Frank's penetrating series, "The Americans" (1955),
introduces the exhibition.
Does all this add up to a working definition of American
photography? I think so. There is a strong sense of clear design -- and an
unflinching directness -- that makes these images both peculiarly American and
especially photographic. These
photographers look at everything and let nothing
get away. They are the bounty hunters of American art. Morse, the old world
shaker, would have been pleased.

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