Uta Barth

Uta Barth, "Ground #30", 1994. Sies + Höke Galerie.



This blurry photograph from the "Ground" series by Uta Barth gives us just enough information to see the corner of a room. It is photography on the brink of complete abstraction. And it shows very clearly that photographs are created by light. The light that falls from the window high up to the left, and the shadows that are formed as the light's negation, build space.

I see painterly qualities in this photograph that remind me of Harald Fenn's paintings. But the most obvious reference is "The Milkmaid" by Vermeer.

Uta Barth, "Ground #42", 1994. Tanya Bonakdar Gallery.

It is as if these "Ground" series photographs could be backgrounds for portraits where the sitter would be in sharp focus. And the feeling of vacancy or void that is left by the missing subject is particularly apparent in this "Ground #42". The small reproductions towards the upper left look like they just happened to be included as a background for a sitter that simply is not there. And compositionally they are balanced by whatever it is that has snuck into the image from the right.

If you look more closely at the top left "painting", you can see that it may very well be a reproduction of the Vermeer I mentioned above...

And if you would like to depart from the more or less literal references these photographs induce, you could try to see them as representations of fleeting thoughts or vague memories...

Uta Barth, invitation card from exhibition at Sies + Höke Galerie, 2008. (Sundial series)

Then there is this image from the "Sundial" series. It is sharply focused, but it has the same vacant center as the photo above. My attention is drawn towards the yellow coach because it almost looks like it is slipping out of the picture, but for some reason it is the shadow that marks the transition between wall and ceiling I end up looking at. Maybe because this is yet another photo that is mostly about light, - about how the light changes through the day (in Barth's own home).

As Lyra Kilston points out in ArtReview:

Barth has long followed the Zen notion of what she calls a ‘choice of no choice’: she refrains from intentionally seeking out photographic subjects and instead turns her camera towards what is already around her – the sundial of her home. Through this disciplined practice, her work highlights the act of seeing as an autonomous undertaking. She does not seek out things in order to make a photograph, she makes photographs of what she happens to see.




Uta Barth, "... to walk without destination and to see only to see (Untitled 10.8)", 2010.
Tanya Bonakdar Gallery.




The Quote above is from a review of Uta Barth's exhibition at 1301PE in Los Angeles in May/June this year. And the title of that show was "Seeing is forgetting the name of the thing one sees". A similar approach to the act of seeing is evident in the title of the diptych above: "...to walk without destination and to see only to see".

Having said that, I will encourage you to look again at all these photos, while trying to forget what you have just read... - Try to see them only to see...

Nicholas Nixon, "The Brown Sisters"

Nicholas Nixon. The Brown Sisters, New Canaan, Connecticut. 1975

Nicholas Nixon. The Brown Sisters. 1988

Nicholas Nixon. The Brown Sisters. 1997

Nicholas Nixon. The Brown Sisters. 2007

These were the photos I was looking for yesterday, when I got distracted by Harry Callahan's "Chicago". I had never before seen that beautiful image of trees on the shore of Lake Michigan. And I had never seen "The Brown Sisters" either, - not until one of my former high school students showed them in class last year. - Thank you, Sofie!

I let my students browse the MoMA Photography Collection on the internet, and their task was to choose one or more pictures to present in class. Sofie gave a very inspired - and inspiring - talk about "The Brown Sisters", - about affection, connection, and differences. And about growing older.

I think these photographs fit well on a day when most people in the USA are getting ready to give thanks. They may inspire thankfullness about having a family, and perhaps feeling close and connected.

The time span that is so evident on these women's faces and bodies, forms a very important part of Nicholas Nixon's project (he has photographed the sisters every year from 1975 to 2008). Their age is accentuated, but the last two photos show that they are not ashamed of growing older. - Why should they be?

- And why do I even bring up this issue?
Well, maybe because I turned 40 a year and a half ago, and I do not like being targeted by all those who want to help me look younger...

I will rather listen to the actress Liv Ullmann who refuses to put on makeup that would hide her great life from showing on her face; I will look again at the portrait of Georgia O'Keeffe that tends to make me a little better able to love my own wrinkles; and I will give thanks to Nicholas Nixon for sharing the beauty of growing older.

Harry Callahan

Harry Callahan, "Chicago", c. 1950. Museum of Modern Art.

Looking for another photographer's work in the MoMA database, I just stumbled upon this image.
And I instantly fell in love.

It has got such intensity and near symmetrical beauty that I felt physically pulled towards it.

There is the white snow, - horizontal, and the black trunks, - vertical. Such powerful contrasts that would have been too harsh if it weren't for the calm grey water and sky that flow in between. The water and the sky form an even expanse, with a barely discernable horizon. But there, over to the right, is a glimpse of light.

Six tree trunks are rooted in the white snow, rhythmically organized in pairs. The pair to the left and the pair to the right seem well established, whereas those two trunks in the middle are a little more hesitant. The branches, though, are not shy. They blend together and form a web that almost entirely covers the sky.

Ansel Adams

© The Ansel Adams Publishing Rights Trust

© The Ansel Adams Publishing Rights Trust

I am probably not the only one who has come to appreciate art through enjoyment of black and white photography. The reason why, I think, is the rendering of light. Black and white photographs show us how important light is to any visual experience, and in doing this, they have something in common with impressionist-inspired paintings like the one I showed in a former post. Somehow, the importance of light becomes more apparent in black and white photos than in color photos. Probably because of the substantial degree of abstraction that is at work when colors are replaced by shades of gray.

The first few years I lived in New York, I used to go to the International Center of Photography quite often. And Ansel Adams was a favorite artist. I had a calendar with his photographs in my kitchen. I even visited Yosemite and Death Valley on a cross country trip, to get a live experience of the beauty Adams had shown me. Those places are definitely beautiful, but I didn't quite manage to see them the same way in real life.

I have uploaded a version of the top picture which is quite detailed (hopefully it is not too large for your connection...). But standing in front of the original print is obviously totally different. You just have to imagine seeing all the rich details and depth of shade in "Moon and half Dome", Yosemite National Park, 1960. And can you see how well the shades of gray sculpt the dunes in "Sand Dunes, Sunrise, Death Valley National Monument, California, 1948"?

Robert Mapplethorpe

Self Portrait, 1975

Lydia Cheng, 1987

Tulip, 1985

Derrick Cross, 1983,
all pictures: THE ROBERT MAPPLETHORPE FOUNDATION 

When I was 19, I went to New York City to study dance. - A big step in many ways: Leaving little Bergen, Norway; getting overwhelming challenges as a dance student; and discovering some amazing art museums.

A Robert Mapplethorpe retrospective at the Whitney Museum of American Art (1988) was the first show I saw.

Look at that playful guy in the top picture.
- Isn't there some of the same playfulness in the next two photos?
Do you see the beautiful lines and proportions? A stringent abstraction is accentuated by the black and white format, particularly in the tulip picture.
- And the way that last photo has been composed: What a beautiful shape...