[ home ]
[ a dark topography ]
[ the district ]
[ a declaration of arms ]
[ to see a darkness ]
Debuted at Pump Gallery, Asheville, NC, August, 2008. Statement follows.
The images here continue my work in the New Topography, the school of photography that depicts the human element of a landscape. In the past, I've called this work dark--it is existential, shot at night, and renders scenes that are illusive and empty--but that's a label that is hard to apply to the River Arts District.
The New Topography is about humanity, and typically speaks of it in negative tones. What, though, is more human than art? Since his creation, man has been a creator. The Lascaux Cave, the Venus of Willendorf, pyramids, posts and lintels--these represent one of the oldest human endeavors. The artists here in the District continue that endeavor, and though these photos are dark, and mostly empty, there is a light here that isn't present in my other work. That light is not a product of any change in my heart, but of the honest depiction of the District itself.
This work, then, is an honest investigation of place, and these are its findings: the District contains an essential duality. It is a place of ruin and rebirth, of deep shadows and blinding illuminations, of incredible permanence and visions brief as a whisper. In the District, the endeavors of art and infrastructure mirror each other, because they are, in fact, the same.
I've done my best to capture this duality in the photographs. It's clear in images where graffiti covers the abandoned industry, but it's more subtle elsewhere--painting a canvas and painting the steps in a gallery's staircase for safety are both acts of painting. Does the Festus cross--art by nature, if not by intent--imitate the powerlines, or vice versa? The rigid obelisk of the Ice House smokestack, dominating the District's skyline, is also there in the puddle, languid and ill-defined.
Ayn Rand says that “all work is an act of philosophy.” This applies to artwork, as well as the work of railroad men and bridge builders. Their endeavors are the same, and nowhere is that more clearly illuminated than here in the District, where humanity's creations are caught between vitality and decay, art and infrastructure.
"Trust none of what you hear, and less of what you see."
-Bruce Springsteen, Magic
"Because otherwise no one would buy it."
-Max Rothman, in the film Max, when asked why art is so expensive.
In the digital age, a photographer has to explain himself. A medium once prized for its honesty is now held in contempt for its malleability--as if our technology has stolen our conscience. It is forgotten that the medium was always malleable, that some of our most well-known photographs are forgeries, and that we trusted photographers like Rosenthal, Evans, Eisenstaedt, and Lange not because the technology wouldn't allow them to lie, but because they were honest journalists.
That said, here's full disclosure: these photos are my best articulation of the truth. They may have been enhanced, but they have not been altered. In some cases I have used software to correct for optical distortions, or to remove very small distracting elements--the reflection of my flash on a piece of broken glass, for example. In Stockyard Café I removed a hint of my own reflection.
I've been asked several times if the lights of the Smokey Park Bridge really cast those haunting colors, and yes, they do. The color you see in these photos is authentic--created by the lights and the weather, captured by a long exposure--not just a figment of my computer.
Many people have expressed astonishment, and a good degree of disapproval, at my pricing of these photos. They believe I'm selling the work short, or selling myself short. Time will tell if they are right, but I suspect they're simply echoing the unspoken conceit of the Art World: that when you buy art, you're buying its creator's vision and effort, rather than just a material object.
Sometimes that is true, and sometimes it's not. I can say from my heart that this work represents the best of my inspiration and many hours of toil. But we have all seen examples where this is clearly not the case--4x6 digital photo prints selling for hundreds, common store-bought items selling as sculpture for four times their retail value--and felt not only incredulous, but insulted.
I believe in a free market, and that artists have the right to charge as high a price as their work can command. I do not believe, though, that these prices are beyond question simply because the merchandise is art.
A painter or sculptor may work from his own mind and soul. As a photographer, I must deal with my environment, and with other people--I depend on them for my images. The last thing I want is to insult the artists, craftsmen, and laborers who built the District by pricing my photos above their reach. If I sell myself short, so be it.
Max Cooper
August 2, 2008