While recognized in the art world for my beach and landscape
photographs, it’s a little known fact that I built my early career specializing
in commercial still-life work. As such, when commissioned to make
photographs for a show commemorating a gallery’s 10-year anniversary, I
found myself going back to my roots in more ways than one. Allow me to
explain. The seeds of my artistic orientation were, in fact, planted by the
Italian painter, Giorgio Morandi. Since my youth, his stubborn devotion to a
singular subject matter has been my most potent inspiration. His paintings
of bottles and vases have always spoken to me; unlike Morandi, however,
sentimentality has definitely been a common denominator of the subjects
I’ve chosen to photograph. For the commission mentioned above, I asked
my father (who has worked his entire life as a fine furniture maker and
carpenter) to set aside some raw remnants for me. I gave him no further
specifications, but of the several dozen wood blocks he presented, I chose
10, each measuring approximately 3 cubic inches. So, I played with my
grown-up “building blocks », photographically exploring the individual
character of each one and exploring their visual harmonies when
grouped. (It's impossible not to think of Irving Penn in his studio doing the
same with his treasured found-objects, though I believe our final intentions
had little in common.) I took pleasure in the familiar manipulations of my
8 by 10 inch camera, but also in what was a new «old process» for me:
Direct Positive printing. Eventually, I released a set of 22 photographs
entitled, Morandix. Its etymology, a combination of Morandi and the
French word for the number 10, which is "dix". Immediately, I saw the
continuity with my previous bodies of work in which I have looked
repeatedly at a specific place or object…and of course, with my earlier
commercial work: Same landscape, new eyes; same subject matter, a new
day - a new moon. It was my hope to make something complicated
appear minimal, something banal feel potent, something ordinary look
beautiful…to me. Summoning Morandi's ghost, I dove obsessively into
expanding this series, limiting myself to these same 10 blocks, and
exploiting the possibilities of my medium, as Giorgio did with paint. For
starters, I wanted to make larger prints. Since I was working with direct
positive paper (no negative, no enlargers) the only solution was to fabricate
a bigger camera. This I did, eventually building one myself that measures
60x60 cm.
That accomplished, the challenge of photographing a
potentially limited subject matter became even more difficult. The direct
positive paper I had thoughtfully chosen (and exhaustingly tested), based
on its appealing contrast and object quality, was suddenly discontinued by
the paper manufacturer.
As with the issue of format, I solved this dilemma
by making my own material - that is, my own direct positive
paper. The laborious metamorphoses begins with traditional silver-gelatin
paper which, after exposure, is processed in regular developing chemicals.
The result is a negative, which I subsequently put through a tedious
chemical treatment, wherein it reverses into a positive…or rather, a
« direct positive » by way of a few extra steps. Since each image literally
(eventually) develops into its own positive without an inter-negative,
duplication, or enlargement, each photograph is one-of-a-kind.
Once the required chemical dosages were honed and tweaked, it was easy
to obtain a decent image, though the process still required a great deal of
care at every step. By trial and error I succeeded in making pristine prints,
but I also found it was the "happy accidents" and variables of the day (and
mood of the photographer!) which created the most interesting
results…those with so-called flaws which added to the imagery, but also
revealing the nature of the photography itself.
Quite simply, I married the
slippery circumstances of the chemical process with intentional shifts in the
depth of field or lighting, which resulted in unique images. Though any
single composition of blocks can be re-photographed, to date, I have not
made more than four variations - and even so, each is as different from
another as fingerprints. Why all the trouble?! The interest of this time
consuming process for me lies in the multiple steps it contains
(composition of the scene, choice of paper and lighting, a chemical process
with an inherent multitude of variables). These elements organically create
a genuine chance to explore an infinite amount of possibilities with an
otherwise limiting subject matter.
And personally, I want to see how far I
can push and pull the balance of these possibilities with other technical and
self-imposed limits. To this end, I find it interesting to compare Praia
Piquinia to this new series, Ten. Both are born of a desire to push beyond
what appears to be finite, and a drive to explore the « test of time ». At
the beach, it is I who is tested, waiting while the time - the minutes, days,
months and years - pass…and as light, water, clouds, sand, beach goers and
parasols come and go. Reverently I look, I shoot, I return and learn to look
and love again. The same discipline is required of Ten. But now, there is no
wait…there is only not enough time! Furthermore, each finished
photograph is, quite literally, built by hand from the bottom up. They
come from Morandi, they come from my father, they come from me.