The tropics were a favored subject of the early moderns, a fascination that has spilled over into popular culture. The lush, exotic watery blues, sandy whites, rocky yellows and leafy greens of the Caribbean and Pacific islands were well-suited to the frenetic style of artists such as Paul Gauguin (see Tahitian Landscape, above). Kathryn’s 2006 work shares the same deep attraction to the rich sensuality of the islands, but her piece is unique in that it captures an image common in contemporary advertising photography, one that has come to represent relaxation, luxury, and attainable exoticism, but challenges this very motif through its compositional framing. The palm fronds gently caress the sand, rather than reaching towards the sky; there is no sign of industry, save for two boats and a windsurfing board that seem to suggest a provincial use of land rather than a commercial one. A creator is not wholly present, creating the sense that the viewer himself has stumbled upon this idyllic, quiet place devoid of human contamination, save for the lucky who stumble upon it.
By Guest Blogger Evan Johnson The importance of the camera itself is central in thinking about Kathryn’s new series, “The Great Divide”. Using a pinhole camera and the traditional development process, the role of both tool and method are highlighted in a manner altogether different than with digital. Sculptor Alexander Calder wrote in 1943:
I feel that the artist should go about his work simply with great respect for his materials. As the painter must be conversant with his colors, their pigments and vehicles, so as to produce something which is not contrary to the laws of chemistry, so the sculptor must have a feeling for the materials he uses, whatever it may be , use it in accordance with its strength & nature.
When I look at this series, Kathryn’s experimentation with the pinhole speaks to a strong understanding of her materials. Calder says that a painter must speak the language of his colors, pigments, and tools. So to must a photographer master the conversation between light, shadow, line and camera. Be sure to join us for “The Great Divide” at McGuffey Studio 27 on April 3rd(5:30pm-7:30pm)! ps. A new Calder sculpture will be installed in front of UVA’s Peabody Hall this weekend, check it out!
*quote and photo courtesy of the Calder Foundation.
Join us for an exhibition of Kathryn’s work of Friday, April 3 from 5:30-7:30 pm at McGuffey Art Center (here’s the Facebook event!). The series will feature black and white photographs made entirely from traditional process and cameras; refreshments will be provided. See you there!
These two pieces of art have little in common visually, but when deconstructed to their meanings and influences are a perfect pair. Shepherd Fairey’s ubiquitous, now-iconic Obama graphic is an exercise in the reduction of elements and a subsequent increase in the arresting power of the work; so is Kathryn’s recontextualizing photograph of the Lone Sailor statue at Golden Gate Park. The precedents for Fairey’s work have been discussed at length – the maybe-plagiarized AP photograph, communist posters, Michael Anderson’s “Big Brother” from his 1956 version of 1984; from all of these influences he extracts the most powerful elements to create the image that we all know today. The expressive eyes, calm forehead, and concerned mouth are all expressed in a few loud punches of color – iconic and loaded ones at that.
Kathryn’s photograph is a similar exercise in minimalism. You see the statue from the back, so the expressiveness of the face is hidden from us, but his popped collar and hat detail his persona. The composition is off-kilter, showing no sense of place or weight, disorienting and confusing the viewer, who is thrown into a one-on-one audience with this now arresting and terrifying figure. The man in the corner seems to be commanding some kind of zealous tourist army; the stark colors and molded wind in the statue’s coat send chills of winter up the viewer’s spine. Just like Fairey’s Obama, Kathryn’s work is able to instill a strong emotion with readable historical reference points into the viewer’s mind with a sparing use of space.
Perhaps more than any art movement in history, nature ruled the world of the Impressionists. Light was of huge importance; they painted outside, en plein air, and strove to capture the sensations of illumination and warmth that radiate from the sun through pure, unfiltered color. Compare this work from Kathryn’s “Journey” series with Monet’s Landscape at Vetheuil. The obvious, coincidental similarities in subject matter and composition lessen with deeper contemplation. While devoid of human figures, both works allude to the relationship between space and nature through their point of view. Monet’s work sits comfortably, from far away and slightly below; we can see the painter standing where we view the work, dabbing paint on his canvas. The medium of photography allows Kathryn’s point of view to hover slightly above her picture, god-like; there is no sense of time in the composition, except for faint and far-off telephone poles, hinting to civilization on the other side. In Kathryn’s piece the river floats eerily into the road, conflating the viewer’s sense of reality, just as Monet’s farmhouses grow out of the fields of wheat on the hill. An untrained criticism of photographers would be that there is no great skill involved. The comparison of these two works proves this wholly false. The lighting in each is expert, with Monet’s well rendered and Kathryn’s well timed; the colors in each highlight the warmth of the afternoon sun and the humid mist. Most importantly, both compositions are derived from their choice of subject matter chosen with a trained and inspired eye.
As my colleague Evan will be discussed with you Kathryn’s personal inspirations and creative process, I’ll be writing about her work in the greater context of modern and contemporary art. I hope this series will shine a light on Kathryn’s work and her ability to pull the beauty out of nature, life, and experience, a concept that modern and contemporary artists have been representing for nearly two centuries through abstraction.
Before photography, artists struggled to capture what cubist Robert Delaunay called in 1912 “the eternal quality in art:” realism. Realism, “the very essence of beauty,” could not, as hard as painters and sculptors tried, ever be perfectly created; the fleeting nature of a time intensified the difficulty. It was the impressionists, Van Gogh and his compatriots, that first discovered abstraction’s ability to capture life’s moments of beauty; next Seurat used dots to mimic the experience of vision, then Picasso and Matisse in their epic experiments of shape and light reached what they thought was more beautiful than naturalistic painting, a sense of conception rather than vision. Color photography changed everything, and allowed artists to literally capture moments.
It is the only the most skilled photographers who take the moderns’ experiments in conception and apply them to their composition. The age of computers has allowed for even more manipulation of natural beauty, but I’d wager that Kathryn and artists stay truer to the vision of the moderns by not manipulating their compositions, and letting the viewer experience rather than see a moment in time.