The boy when he was a boy
In addition to the boy's show, I visited a number of other shows - Ed Burtynsky's Quarries, Prabuddha Dasgupta's Longing, Alison Carey's Organic Remains of Former World, and few others. I'll be writing about all them shortly.
I felt privileged to see all of them - in each case, I felt as though the artist had invited me into their private world to share a few secrets. This was especially true of Longing. My other son, Jason, and I were alone in the gallery and I had sought out the owner/gallery director to ask a few questions. After just one question, she asked me, "Why not ask the photographer? I'll go get him." We had a delightful conversation about which I will write later on.
The biggest and best 'priviledge' of the day was none of the above. It came when I stumbled upon the exhibit The Polaroids by Andre Kertesz. It's no secret that I really love the Polaroid medium, so to wander through an exhibit of Polaroids made by one of the seminal figures in the history of photography was a pure delight.
As is my wont, I browsed the exhibit before seeking out the exhibition intro. This is my standard MO - look at the images first to get a first impression and then learn more about the artist's intent and read what others might have to say about it. Again, it's no secret that I think pictures without words - not captions, but artist statements, etc. - are only part of the game and The Polaroids exhibit is a case in point.
The pictures, in and of themselves, were visually interesting and intriguing - especially so because of recurring pieces of glass forms including one in particular. The pictures were very warm, intimate and primarily on a smallish scale. All of this created a feeling of a glimpse into a private/personal 'intimacy'. Very, very nice.
What I didn't know, and could not know, from just viewing the pictures was that 'following the loss of his wife Elizabeth to lung cancer in 1977, and nearing the end of his own life, Kertész was admittedly a broken man.
Alone and in New York, a city in which he never felt fully embraced, Kertész would once again retreat into the safe confines of his Fifth Avenue apartment overlooking Washington Square Park. Fortunately, it was the inspiration found in a small glass bust, discovered in the window of a local bookshop, whose figure reminded him of his late wife, which would trigger the artist’s remarkable recovery process. The resultant body of work is now the focus of this unique exhibition.
Turning to a relatively new technology, the Polaroid SX-70, Kertész worked through his overwhelming grief, obsessively shooting the bust alone and placing it among other artifacts he and Elizabeth had collected together over the years. Taken from within his apartment, he photographed many of these still-lifes by placing personal objects against cityscape backgrounds, which were often reflected and modulated by glass surfaces ... ' - from the exhibit press release
It should go without saying that, after reading the press release, the pictures took on a whole expanded meaning. They were no longer 'just' visually interesting and intriguing pictures. For me, knowing what I now knew, the pictures became (as the press release also stated) '... powerful metaphorical and literal symbols of life, love, loss, death and mortality.'
IMO, pictures without words are 'just' pictures. They may be visually pleasing and a delight to the eye and even, to certain extent, the mind and the soul but knowing, at the very least, intent of the maker can enrich the pictures to an incredible degree.
FYI - a couple points of interest. The SX 70 camera was a gift to Kertesz from Graham Nash of the famed Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young and who, in addition to being a musician, is also a photographer and collector.
The Polaroids themselves were for sale. They were from the estate of Kertesz. What I found interesting about this is that, of course, the Polaroids were truly limited editions of 1. No negatives. No reprints. Nada. 1 and only 1. When they're gone (sold), they're gone. That's why I purchased the book. You should too. PS The book costs under $30. 1 original Polaroid costs $9,000. Take your pick.
I was also immediately struck by the coincidence that another seminal figure in the history of photography, Walker Evans, also received as a gift (from a dentist who was doing dental work for Evans in exchange for prints), a Polaroid SX 70 - a camera which he also used for a few years at the end of his life to create a significant body of work which, like Kertesz, was also his last.
Monday, February 25, 2008 at 10:01AM 
