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Debuted at Front Gallery, Asheville, NC, July, 2009. Statement follows.
I’ve been a serious photographer for ten years. In that time, I’ve come to believe in certain things: There are absolutes, but between them is a vast darkness, pierced only by the most determined of wills. For the past decade, my work has sought to present evidence of that rare illumination.
Evidence requires a witness, and the photographs here are portraits of witnesses, images of people and creatures that exist—or have existed—in a dark topography.
With one exception, the photos here were accidents; after-thoughts, digressions, images captured on the way to a weightier destination. They are disjointed, spanning several years and photographic formats, and they are set apart from their contexts. Among all the days we live, sometimes we find moments that need no context.
The exception is the grave of Bonnie Miller, which I photographed with a determined purpose. She is buried on a mountain near the Nolichucky River, five miles from the nearest road, in the abandoned town of Lost Cove. It took great determination for me to make this photo, and an even greater one for a sixteen-year-old girl to live and die apart from the rest of the world, as isolated as Noah on his ark.
Inscribed beneath the dates of Bonnie Miller’s life is a verse from Matthew: “Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God.” Like a spider building its web over an interstate, or a disciple painting a billboard, Bonnie Miller’s will was strong. It lit the purpose of her own short life, casting her light into the darkest of worlds. That light is now gone; I can only present evidence that it was once there.
But ten years of photography have taught me that Matthew is right: The things we see in life are gifts directly offered, and—if we do our part—directly illuminated by the strongest of wills.
Max Cooper
July 3, 2009