Time-Light Adventure

I'm old enough, and I've spent enough time around cameras, to appreciate a really new photographic adventure. While no expert myself, I have enough experience to hold great respect for those who are. In the Adirondack Artists' Guild's newest exhibit, photographer Burdette Parks bends perception, understanding, and light in ways that capture time itself.



In photography, time equals light.



Many years ago, my Dad taught me to photograph by measuring light to adjust the f-stop and shutter speed. I would record these details in a little notebook for future reference. Dad told me to bracket shots, with over- and under-exposed images on either side of a "correct" exposure, so that I could later compare and evaluate the prints.



In high school photo class, I learned to love the darkroom's red light, the chemical baths with their distinctive odors, and the string with its clips for drying. I would play with exposure there too, fiddling around to make an image lighter or darker.



Some years later, I had a Pentax SLR which did a lot of this work for me. I tucked away my light meter and grew lazy, trusting the camera's "auto" function more than my own eyes.


These days, I luxuriate in a Canon digital camera, and have grown accustomed to the flexibility of knowing I can play with the light after the fact, on my computer. (I have also learned that a bad shot is still a bad shot, no matter what the computer does to it!)



For his fascinating and ground-breaking new show, "Dimensions: The Expandable Camera", Burdette writes, "the camera defines an artificial frame around an arbitrary subject for a finite period of time ... we are accustomed, through long practice and tradition, to nearly unlimited variation and choice in the selection of ... subject and framing ... But what happens if the Time parameter is treated as variably as the parameters of subject and format?"



The old light meter would help us determine how much time to give an exposure; the newer Pentax and digital Canon can make that determination for us, if we want them to. But what if we take the whole question of light - that is, exposure time - away from the machines and own it for ourselves? Can a two-dimensional image of a three dimensional object express that fourth dimension - time?



It would seem so. This show does things with photography that I, for one, would never have imagined. You can click here to see some of the images, but they are worth seeing in person. The computer cannot represent the works' three dimensional format - much less their fourth!

Histories Explored

Like many families, ours has boxes of old snapshots: pictures of grandparents and parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins; old blurry black-and-whites of wide eyes and Easter hats; faded color shots of ourselves in outdated hairstyles and bell-bottoms.







My father even has a box with some silvered old Daguerrotypes, slowly fading in their hinged leather frames; sadly, few of the subjects' names were written down.







Time passes, but images remain. Photography is powerful that way to remember where we came from, the experiences which shaped us, the transitions we have experienced. Photos carry feeling - feeling enhances knowledge. Two photography exhibits are opening in Saranac Lake in the next few days which will help us remember, feel, and understand.








Tonight, Friday November 6, the Adirondack Artists Guild hosts an opening reception for the show "bridges I have crossed", by Mark Kurtz. I have written before of Mark's work (click here); this show is his prize as first place winner of the Guild's 2009 Juried Show back in March.







Bridges carry both physical and symbolic resonance. These days, we realize that a bridge also has very practical importance in the North Country: the sudden closure of our bridge across Lake Champlain has been devastating.







Mark's new show, featuring dreamy sepia-toned images, chronicles numerous bridges. Some will be familiar to North Country travelers, such as the Covered Bridge in Jay or the bridge over Lower Saranac on State Route 3. The Brooklyn Bridge is represented, as are bridges in Europe. But, familiar or new, each image is startling - either for its perspective, or the lighting, or something less easily defined...







In his Artist's Statement, Mark mentions that he has crossed many bridges in his life - I think most of us have. These images are the more powerful for helping us see layers of meaning in such crossings.





Another photography exhibition opens in Saranac Lake this week: "The Stones Have Memories", by Kelly Gorham, at the 7444 Gallery on Depot Street. This show is subtitled: "an exploration of Berlin's Cold War landmarks".









In the early 80s, I visited both West and East Germany. The West thrilled me with colorful flowers and fields, grand architecture, and, everywhere, sparkling cleanliness. The East, by contrast, impressed me as grey, unswept, and decrepit. Nowhere was this contrast sharper than in Berlin - that famous city divided. On the West side: fashionable people, dancing trees, neon lights, bustling boulevards. On the East side: grey. Grey buildings, grey streets, grey grit - even the plant life seemed colorless. I recall the empty, unresponsive eyes of the ladies shuffling along the sidewalks in head kerchiefs and dusty overcoats. I was traveling with a group of young people - Americans and West Germans - and we felt we could not laugh aloud. The very air was heavy, as I'm told happens before a tornado.

Unbeknownst to us, of course, a tornado WAS imminent. Before the end of that decade, that brutal grey wall - with its guard towers, barbed wire, and land mines - fell. I remember looking in wonder at photos of young people standing atop the ruins of that edifice - rejoicing with them at its destruction.

Gorham's new show opens at 7 pm on Monday, November 9, 2009: twenty years after the wall came down. I have not seen the images yet, but I look forward to it. In an interview featured in the Adirondack Daily Enterprise, Gorham points out that this story is in danger of being forgotten. He says, "It's not really covered in history in school anymore. Why would kids know about it?"

He has a point. Like the fading old Daguerrotypes in my family's box, these images need to be named, so that future generations will know them.

Wisdom of Youth

In one of my favorite songs by Roy Hurd, "Lookin' for America", he croons,

"And I've talked with young people all across this land,
and I'm tellin' you the future - it's in good hands."



That refrain kept echoing through my mind the other day as I admired the Saranac Lake High School Art Show, currently hanging at the Harrietstown Town Hall on Main Street here in Saranac Lake.




We have a great art program here. And these 9th - 12th grade students have taken advantage of the opportunity to learn, to grow, to express their ideas and share their images.




The work in this show encompasses a huge breadth of media, from traditional pencils and paints to hot glue, broken glass, duct tape, and more. Many creative uses of photography also dazzle.




Subject matter ranges widely as well. Still lifes, portraits, and landscapes are amply represented - as are fantasy visions, multi-media collages, character tributes, political commentary - really, an astonishing variety.





William Wordsworth famously defined poetry as "powerful emotion recalled in tranquility". The same might be true of much art. Certainly, these works elicit powerful emotion, whether the grief of a shattered relationship, the ecstasy of a speeding car, or the quiet warm comfort of a dog.




But many of the works are cerebral, as well - raising profound questions. Those of us caught up in life's daily struggle of working, paying bills, worrying about dinner, and all our grown-up cares too often fail to pause and ponder deeper concerns - but the searching minds of youth call us back.





What, after all, is a soul? Why do we live? What can - what should - we do on this earth? How do we respond to fear - to loss - or to joy? And how do we channel the energies which roil our insides with aching storms?





Young people can be so wise. They understand that they do not have all the answers, and they understand the need to explore. They know, too, that art can transcend language's limits. And in Saranac Lake, the high school students harness their creativity to do just that - thus reassuring us: the future is, indeed, in good hands.

The Saranac Lake High School Art Show hangs at the Harrietstown Town Hall through May 21st.

Artists and Light Bulbs

Our regional wealth of creative people fuels many intitatives, big and small, private and communal.

Of course, not everyone is equally cognizant of the creative community around us. Some of us live within this environment much as we live in an oxygenated atmosphere - the arts are so constant in our lives that we take them for granted, and fail to see. Conversely, some people find the arts a foreign world, and never realize how richly they are surrounded.

But then there are those who, while living within the world of the arts, also observe that world with a journalist's eye, and draw the rest of us forth to share in it. One such observer is Phil Gallos, pictured above, a photographer, writer, and historian in Saranac Lake.

He is creating a project called, "How Many Artists Does it Take to Screw in a Light Bulb?" and subtitled, "Portraits from the Saranac Lake Area Creative Community". (Click the link to see the photos, which are best viewed in "Slideshow" format.) Begun in 2006, the project is scheduled to include a show at Bluseed Studios this August.

This is an organic project, both reflective of and participating in the natural expressive growth that flourishes in this region. Phil is connecting with artists whom he personally knows and wishes to work with; he knows a lot of people! Most of these artists live in or near Saranac Lake; in a few instances, he has traveled further afield to photograph people in other North Country communities.

Many of these images capture creators creating, whether playing a musical instrument, or processing film in a darkroom, or spinning yarns in the presence of the sheep who grew the wool. You see the blur as fingers fly, the light of channeled potency burning in the eyes. You see, too, the creator's environment, his or her milieu. In some pictures, background tools and props enrich the narrative, while in others, the artist appears almost as a self-contained world.

Then, too, a number of shots convey the contemplative quality of an inner dialog, the thoughtful energy of gathering strength and vision. It's like clouds mounting in the sky before a rainfall, or flower buds swelling with fresh promise. The product has not yet emerged, but you know it is burgeoning. In some of these images, you feel as though you are eavesdropping on a conversation between an artist and a muse.

As is so often the case, words cannot do justice to this portrait collection. Just as each participant creates from his or her unique vision, so does each set of photographs reflect a unique creative fire.

Undiscovered Worlds

Perspective, you might say, is everything.

The position from which you look at something is critical in how you see it - literally and figuratively.

In The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, by C.S. Lewis, the character Lucy, with her brother, her sister, and some friends, is fleeing for her life through a wintry forest at night. Lewis writes:

The snow had stopped and the moon had come out when they began their journey. ... It would have been a pretty enough scene to look at through a window from a comfortable armchair, and even as things were, Lucy enjoyed it at first. But as they went on walking -- and walking -- and as the sack she was carrying felt heavier and heavier ... she stopped looking at the dazzling brightness of the frozen river with all its waterfalls of ice and at the great glaring moon and the countless stars ...

I think most of us can sympathize with the experience of being someplace breathtakingly beautiful, but being too weary or cold or hungry or hurt or frightened or worried to appreciate it.

The reverse is also true: if you are rested, warm, well-fed, comfortable, secure, and happy, a humble tent in a rainstorm can be a paradise.

So it is when looking at something. Have you ever climbed a tree in a familiar yard, and looked down to discover that, suddenly, everything looked different? In the movie Dead Poets Society, the new teacher at a stuffy boys' prep school orders his students to stand on their desks to help them understand the value of different points of view.

Alternately, to stand at a low point and look up can make something ordinary seem grand. In the above photo, "It's Only Wind", by Mark Kurtz, an otherwise bland, everyday wind turbine acquires mythic proportions. It looks like both a monument and a pathway, both hailing and leading towards a hopeful future.

I have written before of Mark's work (click here to read) - though he photographs normal, everyday subjects - mountains, bridges, buildings, and the like - his imagery draws the viewer into another world, much as C. S. Lewis leads us through an ordinary clothes closet into Narnia. A landscape or structure becomes the portal to a dream, the gateway to a place you always knew had to be somewhere, but never knew how to find.

The piece above was awarded the jurors' "1st Place" in the 11th Annual Juried Show at the Adirondack Artists' Guild in Saranac Lake. One reward for that designation is Mark's own show at the Guild this fall. Although one can drop by his gallery on Broadway in Saranac Lake almost any day, and see there many fine works through which to enter many magical worlds, this upcoming show promises to be something new.

I look forward to visiting worlds, as yet unknown, through Mark's future work, and I invite those who have not yet had that opportunity to visit his website - or, better still, his gallery - and discover places of magic.

Collateral Perception

War lacerates us all. None emerge unscathed. Combatants, civilians, leaders, bystanders, families, animals - all living things feel war's impact.

Georg Olsen, my father-in-law, had barely begun to shave when he landed at Utah Beach on June 6, 1944; of his original company, 3/4 were dead or severely injured before the Allied victory, but Georg was amongst the few to emerge physically whole.

After the war, like so many others, he got an education through the GI Bill, but he did not talk about his battlefield experiences for several decades. When he did open up (about 50 years later), it was evident that they had shaped his whole life.

Soldiers today are encouraged to confront their memories and feelings more promptly. Here in Saranac Lake, local artist and merchant Greg Moore has mounted an exhibition of photographs he took while deployed to Iraq with the New York National Guard, in 2004. (For NCPR's coverage of the war at that time, click here.)

Media coverage of this seemingly interminable conflict has varied, and it is too easy for the average American to "tune it out" most days. We tend not to think of it, of the 4,000+ American service people killed there, or of the hundreds of thousands affected both directly and indirectly.

It is also easy to forget that Iraq has been the site of tremendous history, architecture, and culture for thousands of years.

If you see Greg's show, however, you will remember. The imagery is accompanied by excerpts from his diary - so you feel the immediacy. It is almost as though you are there - except, of course, you are standing in the comfortable, elegant Cantwell Room of the Saranac lake Free Library, and no one is trying to kill you.

The words and pictures bring you to graceful arched doorways and gleaming domes. You see mighty towers and crumbling walls. But most of all, you see the people: bright-eyed children, soldiers watchful and tense, and soldiers lifting children in their strong arms.

I urge any who read this to see the show, and to bring a friend or a loved one. We, as Americans, need to see these things, and we need to read about the experiences behind the pictures. We need to step back from politics and abstractions, and to stand, however breifly, in the boots of a soldier, writer, and artist.

Traditional Value

A photographer friend and I recently chatted about the value of learning film photography in this digital age.

Why should one bother learning how to develop and print film, when Photoshop puts image manipulation tools at one's fingertips? Digital imagery has improved over the past several years, to the point that many professional photographers use nothing else. Why master obsolete technology?

Because, we concluded, while both forms can create all kinds of art, knowledge of both deepens one's understanding of each. A good darkroom technician will have a more nuanced visual understanding than a software user; conversely, a digital photographer might bring a sense of spontaneity and freedom to the more technically oriented approach of some film shooters.

This is true, I find, across disciplines: innovations are often wonderful, but tradition can also still prove invaluable.

Acrylic paint is a relatively new medium (developed in the late 1940's) which has unique working properties of its own, but which also imitates many of the qualities inherent to watercolor and oil paints. You can certainly be an excellent painter in acrylic without ever touching another medium. However, if you develop proficiency in either oil or watercolor, it will enrich your understanding of acrylic. It might even improve your technique.

The same principle applies in literature. Paradoxically, the strict form required of a sonnet stimulates creativity, thus enabling a poet to move more expressively into less structured outlets.

In music, too: the best jazz improvisers are often those who have mastered formal music theory and musicianship.

I am not saying that one must master the sonnet to write good poetry, or play a concerto to be a jazz musician; I am asserting, however, that fluency in a more traditional format can enhance capacity in the innovative.

To go as far as possible, a flight of the imagination should have well-built wings!

Magical Lens

Snow!

Above is a photo I took while walking to work this morning. As I have said before, I am not an accomplished photographer, but I took this quick snap to try to capture the lacy, otherworldly freshness of our first significant accumulation. Despite the cold which burned my ears and addled my fingers, the walk was beautiful.

Many local artists treat snow with mastery. The color and texture vary so greatly in an image of snow, depending on innumerable variables, but primarily light.

Barry Lobdell, a member of the Adirondack Artists Guild, photographs snow with a clear eye and a sure hand. His snowscapes are deeply magical - like Odysseus, he seems able to charm Athena into halting the progress of day and night.

In Barry's snowscapes, shadows reach across a velvety expanse, dancing into new colors along the way. Sunset wraps a cloak about the darkening hills, drawing an ice-bound island into its glowing embrace. Barren trees hold their aged trunks tall and proud, while striated sunbeams lure you to plunge headlong into the pure, frozen softness. A single, questioning birch limb probes into a dusky glade.

They are so wondrous, you forget how cold winter can be, and you bask in the sorcery of an artist's eye.

Broadway Hit

If you are looking for a great place to enjoy art in Saranac Lake, don't miss Mark Kurtz Photography, a gallery on Broadway right near the river. Although his hours aren't quite as regular as a shopkeeper's, Mark is usually there futzing on his computer or puttering in his darkroom.

-Yes, you read that right: this is a photographer who still uses a darkroom! Now, I love the instant gratification of digital cameras, and Mark uses them in his commercial work, but he still keeps to the old-fashioned, hands-on darkroom for his fine art.

His work is ethereal. Whether it's a view of the Adirondack High Peaks, or the Brooklyn Bridge, or a cobble stoned walkway in Europe, he leads us beyond this world. The Greek word kairos perfectly expresses Mark's landscapes: he brings you to a time outside of time.

He also works in tone, or value, rather than color. Value forms the underlying structure of most works in color - but Mark clears the color away to reveal inherent compositional elegance.

(I will write more about value in future posts - those of us drawn to color often overlook it, to our peril.)

Besides all this, Mark is a great conversationalist! If you ask, he'll tell you about the times, places, and methods of his work. He has a fascinating collection of antique cameras, he knows how to use them, and he'll gladly explain. Further, he is plugged into the community and the arts world more than most three citizens you'll ever meet.

So stop by - next to the oldest bridge in town, on Broadway, in Saranac Lake. You'll be glad you did.

Unsung Photographer

One medium at which I have never felt quite adept is photography. Sure, I can snap a shot, and some of my shots are pretty good, but as a vehicle for self expression - well, I've never quite made it that far.

I once read that a photographer uses the camera as a painter uses a brush - but I have never had a brush with f-stop controls, light meters, apertures... I greatly admire those who master this medium.

Many fine photographers live and work in the Adirondacks, and many have deservedly won renown. But not all...

Phil Gallos is one photographer who deserves more acclaim. He has lived in Saranac Lake for years, and in the 70s worked as a photojournalist for our local paper, the Adirondack Daily Enterprise. I first knew Phil as a suave, very patient bookstore clerk when I was a gangly, graceless (and no doubt irritating) teenager.

I had not realized that for decades, Phil has turned his keen intellect and sharp eye to an examination of Saranac Lake's history -both human and natural. His knowledge is encyclopedic.

Phil was a founder of Historic Saranac Lake, and served several terms on their board of directors. His book, Cure Cottages of Saranac Lake: Architecture and History of a Pioneer Health Resort, should be required reading for anyone who wants to gain insight into our unique architectural and cultural heritage.

He has also written extensively on Adirondack venturing. He penned large chunks of Discover the Northern Adirondacks and Discover the Adirondack High Peaks as part of Barbara McMartin's series. Sadly, his earlier book, By Foot in the Adirondacks, is now out of print.

It is so easy to take for granted that which we have always known - places and people alike.

When I visited his website the first time, I was blown away. He photographs the North Country with nuanced, radiant lucidity. Who knew? The photo above is one of my favorites, titled "The Oldest Bridge in Town".

I believe that great art can enable us to see the familiar in new ways. Phil's work is consummate art.