| 15 November 2009
Depression Bread Line (1991), by George Segal.
Four tractor-trailers hauled thousands of pounds of George Segal’s sculptures from Dallas to West Palm Beach. This is worth noting because an exhibition of his work, now at the Norton Museum of Art, presents 16 installations in a modest corner gallery of the museum’s first floor.
For all of its physical weight, George Segal: Street Scenes is not a sprawling sort of show, the kind that meanders through themes and rooms, where works are passed over because there is simply too much beckoning for our attention.
Although intimate, the exhibit is substantial in its pensive views of what it means to work and live in the heart of Urbania. Assembled in largely monochromatic vignettes, the plaster and bronze city dwellers made by Segal between the early '60s and the late '90s convey fragmented -- often solitary -- people and nooks from the real world, and they are both precise and encompassing.
It was one of the late American artist's gifts -- to be able to construct a human form blank enough for us to project our own questions upon but one that is also accentuated with detail -- the buckle of a shoe, the ripple of a woman's skirt, buttons and bare knuckles emerge from Segal’s ghostly palette.
We see this vital conflation with Japanese Couple Against Brick Wall, a 1981 installation depicting a man and a woman standing close together and seemingly anxious in their postures: his feet are askew as he leans into her shoulder, and she wraps an arm around her waist while one hand tugs at her chin.
Ensconced at the entrance of the show, they appear as guides, but if passed on the sidewalk, on the way elsewhere, the pair might only be briefly noted amid the downtown crush of apartment buildings and traffic. With their ordinary attire and barely-there eyes, this man and woman are at once familiar and mysterious, and at the museum, we recognize their presence even as we wonder what it means.
Dumpster (1994), by George Segal.
Segal (1924-2000) was enormously inspired by the ordinary minutes of the lives he encountered growing up in New York and, later, while living in South Brunswick, N.J. The street corners and diners he dramatically fashioned in his work were the very places he would frequent.
For years he traveled by bus to Manhattan, camera in hand, to what was then the poorest or humblest of neighborhoods: the Bowery, the East Village, or any place that was home to common folk. These were the people he wanted to document, not literally but through a reimagining that washed them in chalky plasters and blue and green patinas.
Segal’s men and women ride subway cars, gather on crosswalks, or sit on the front stoop of a liquor shop. His props are spare but suggest more than everyday settings. Many of his pale statues are framed by walls, doors or windows -- key elements in Segal's theater -- that obstruct a way out or divide individuals from the troubles of their lives. In Parking Garage, a young man sits hunched before a sealed exit, pondering the day's events or perhaps the evening ahead. He appears exhausted and we come across him in a rare instance of work-day stillness.
Cinema (1963), by George Segal.
The Norton has smartly set up seating in an adjacent corner, and throughout the show, giving visitors a chance to join the tableaux, which are not simply meant to be looked at as much as to be experienced. We need to spend time with Segal's people in order to understand them or to empathize with their plights -- much as he did.
These sculptures work differently up close than at a distance. From afar, light and shadow give each piece the feel of a documentary film still -- the impression is objective, almost scientific in its attention to how people exist in cramped proximity to one another. We either escape into the city’s quieter pockets or we pass one another without meeting eyes.
Move closer to his studies, and Segal’s compassion emerges. We feel it because of his attention to meager details: the construction of the threadbare blankets of two homeless men or how he drizzles sleet down the thin coats and hats of those shivering in a Depression-era bread line. Countertops and doorways are salvaged from junk stores; sculptures are cast from the bodies of friends, family or even from his own slumping shape. Everything matters.
In these narratives, Segal is not only a chronicler of isolation or despair; he is also moved by what he sees. He is the eye and he is what stands before it.
Emma Trelles is an arts writer in South Florida.
GEORGE SEGAL: STREET SCENES runs through Dec. 6, along with New York, New York: The 20th Century (through Dec. 27); and William Kentridge: Five Themes (through Jan. 17). The Norton Museum of Art, 1451 S. Olive Ave., West Palm Beach. Hours: 10 a.m.-5 p.m. Tuesday-Saturday and 1-5 p.m. Sunday. Closed Mondays. Admission: Adults $8, ages 13-21 $3, and ages 12 and under free. Call 561-832-5196 or visit www.norton.org.
George Segal working on Depression Bread Line, photo by Donald Lokuta.
| 14 November 2009
Girl at Mirror (1954), by Norman Rockwell.
By Gretel Sarmiento
Little girls with ribbons. Smiles hidden behind melting ice cream. Summer trips. Family quality time.
Nobody remembers an America like this, devoid of sadness, depression and poverty. Whose America is this? Without hesitation, some would say Norman Rockwell's. They wouldn't have been wrong, but they would have missed a large part of what this singular American illustrator and painter was all about.
"I have always wanted everybody to like my work," the New York-born artist wrote in his autobiography. "So I have painted pictures that didn't disturb anybody, that I knew everyone would understand and like."
When an artist openly admits to being sensitive to the public's opinion, this gives the public a precious opportunity to influence that work. More so, if it emerges from a young high school dropout as insecure and doubtful of his own artistic talents as Rockwell often was. The public stands no chance with artists who create independently of any exterior adulation.
Not Rockwell. He was listening. His work reflects not only the America he wanted to see but that people wanted to see. The engaging, masterful and beautiful product of his 65-year career is now on exhibit through Feb. 7 as American Chronicles: The Art of Norman Rockwell, at the Museum of Art Fort Lauderdale-Nova Southeastern University. The show, which opened today, is the first collaboration between the Museum of Art and the Norman Rockwell Museum in Stockbridge, Mass.
"This is our gift to the nation," said Laurie Norton Moffatt, director and chief executive officer of the Norman Rockwell Museum. Indeed. Here we don't have to overanalyze or sit on a bench for 30 minutes. It's pretty and pretty straightforward.
Triple Self-Portrait (1960), by Norman Rockwell.
If at any point while walking the first floor, where 30 of his original paintings, sketches and all 323 Saturday Evening Post covers are displayed, we find ourselves craving the bad and the ugly, we would have to blame our predecessors. Rockwell was not a discriminator of the ugly. We were. To criticize him for being selective, overly optimistic and too much of an idealist is to criticize ourselves for being the same.
We, after all, encouraged his idyllic art, the same way we encouraged Andy Warhol to stay commercial by buying his colorful prints and soup cans. Had there been a strong demand and interest in seeing raw reality depicted on a canvas, perhaps the Rockwell we know today would have been completely different. Maybe his most serious work would have emerged earlier.
While considering a visit to the exhibit, ask yourself: Am I ready for Rockwell? Don't dismiss the question so quickly. His work is nominally simple and beautiful, but the emotion and memories it evokes are heavy and complicated. Innocence, Childhood, Beauty, Youth, Coming of Age, Love, Family: all of them universal themes that can hardly resist a tear in normal days. The gloomy present times are bound to make us even more sensitive to them.
But "it's not just about nostalgia," said Irvin Lippman, Museum of Art executive director. And that is precisely what the exhibition seems to want to prove once and for all. From the supplementary pamphlets to the accompanying advertising, it is clear museum organizers see this is a chance to finally set the record straight.
Freedom From Want (1943), by Norman Rockwell.
Rockwell (1894-1978) was not just about good moments and happy holidays. To make that point, organizers have made this a non-chronological exhibition. Not until the radical '60s did Rockwell's work gain a certain seriousness, treating real issues -- war, JFK, space exploration. But we are not made to walk to the end of the exhibition to find the evidence.
In fact, in the very first room we see represented the themes of war, democracy and patriotism in the famous Four Freedoms poster series: Freedom of Speech, Freedom From Fear, Freedom of Worship, and Freedom From Want, which he painted in 1943 and were used to sell World War II bonds. It took him six months to finish the job, and it shows. One of the things to look for is his use of white on white in Freedom From Want, from the table linens to the glasses to the china.
Rockwell chose to depict familiar settings, some intimate, all very relatable. In doing so the artist included everybody, offended no one. Regardless of our political stance or opinion on war, we cannot ignore or fight against this work, walk away from it except in awe.
The Problem We All Live With (1964), by Norman Rockwell.
A striking reference to school segregation is found in the third installation room, The Problem We All Live With, depicting a brave little black girl being escorted to school by U.S. marshals. Their heads are cut off, suggesting their identity is not important. A splashed red tomato rests on the sidewalk, and a terrible racial epithet is scrawled on the wall behind her. The event that inspired the 1964 piece took place four years earlier, when 6-year-old Ruby Bridges walked into William Frantz Elementary School in New Orleans and became the first African-American child to attend that elementary school.
Notice her right feet moving forward, her hand closed in a fist, her head held up high. She is not stopping. If one were fighting for a change, a cause we believe is important and necessary, this would be a good place to come for inspiration. Right in front of this painting we are reminded that perseverance and courage are key, for just about anything.
Going and Coming (1947), by Norman Rockwell.
Displayed right next to it is a warm depiction of a family's summer outing titled Going and Coming, which almost yells "fun" -- at least in the Going part. Then there are the sketches, handwritten notes and photographs giving the viewer a glimpse of the artist's meticulous preparation and creative process, which ironically goes unnoticed in the final products. On display, too, are some of Rockwell's advertising art for Colgate, Kellogg Cereal and Raybestos, a brake service company.
Delicate, vivid images such as Freckles and If Your Wisdom Teeth Could Talk... are so delightful to look at that their function appears grotesque in comparison. It's hard to believe that an ad could be this attractive and contain this level of artistry. Then there is Merrie Christmas, a 1929 Saturday Evening Post cover standing by itself on a bluish wall and proving the impact illustrations from Charles Dickens books had on the artist.
Murder in Mississippi (Southern Justice) (1965), by Norman Rockwell.
All of these are out to show Rockwell not so much as capable of capturing every wrinkle and smile down to perfection but as a master of drama, narration, composition and storytelling. You have only to look at his 1960 Triple Self-Portrait to know. New books, articles and future exhibitions are headed in the same direction.
But there is a danger in this mission to overturn the cultivated opinion that says Rockwell's style is superficial and sugarcoated. It may be saying that he did wrong by depicting lovely versions of reality, when maybe that's the aspect of his work that should be highlighted. If real versions of reality is what we want there are plenty of sources, but there are not many things that offer the sweet sanctuary Rockwell does.
This may very well be the best moment to show his "happy" work, or as good a moment as it gets. Fans will come to show their loyalty and admiration. But others will come simply out of a desire to escape, just as they would watch a movie they know is fiction but offers a truce, a momentary break from the sad reality.
That might be Rockwell's biggest merit and gift to us: a simple, refreshing art that doesn't require a sophisticated crowd, just a desperate one, wishing to remember the good times and hoping they come back one day.
Gretel Sarmiento is a freelance writer based in South Florida.
AMERICAN CHRONICLES: THE ART OF NORMAN ROCKWELL, at the Museum of Art Fort Lauderdale-Nova Southeastern University. Now through Feb. 7. Open daily except Mondays from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m., and open until 8 p.m. Thursdays. Admission: $10, adults; $7 seniors, military members, children ages 6-17. Call 954-525-5500 or visit www.moafl.org.
Christmas Homecoming (1948), by Norman Rockwell.
| 12 November 2009
The Moon of Yamaki Mansion -- Kagekado (1886), by Tsukioka Yoshitoshi. From One Hundred Aspects of the Moon (27).
Readers of Yasunari Kawabata's novel Thousand Cranes will have some idea of the significance of the tea ceremony in Japanese life, of how each element of the ritual, from kettle to the tea itself, is fraught with meaning.
An exhibit at the Morikami Museum west of Delray Beach offers a glimpse into the rituals of tea over the past few centuries through a display of more than 90 iron tea kettles, while a companion exhibit evokes some of the classic themes of Japanese art in a selection of 25 woodblock prints.
The Morikami presents both exhibits with care and minimal distraction, allowing visitors to steep themselves in the imagery of the objects, so much so that going outside to look at the museum's gardens is to see the landscapes in the art come to life.
Additionally well-conceived is the consistency of theme across both exhibits. The soft, muted colors of the woodblock prints are in keeping with the restrained patinas and sheens on the cast-iron kettles.
The colorful prints -- the exhibit is called Moonlight Memories, Plum Blossom Dreams -- depict visualizations of the moon and plum blossoms from the late Edo period (1600-1868). The moon was symbolic of purity, transformation, renewal and divine power. Plum blossoms signify rebirth and the onset of spring.
The ukiyo-e prints, which come from the collection of James Stepp and Peter Zimmer, bring us the world of pre-industrial imperial Japan, with its samurai warriors and kabuki actors, its beautiful courtesans and geishas. Included are works by well-known woodblock print artists such as Tsukioka Yoshitoshi (1839–1892) and Utagawa Kunisada (Toyokuni III, 1786–1864).
Nine prints from Yoshitoshi’s epic One Hundred Aspects of the Moon are on display here and are not to be missed, as much for the history they impart as to appreciate the craft itself. Especially helpful in interpreting and contextualizing the prints and adding to my appreciation of the intricate images was the Morikami's program gallery guide, which details the folklore and history behind this beautiful art.
In the adjoining hall is the other exhibit, Elegance in Iron, which showcases tea kettles, called tetsubin, from the collection of Mr. and Mrs. Peter Kramer.
Tetsubin imitating a money purse, late 19th/early 20th century.
Tetsubin came into popularity in late 18th-century Japan as part of a revolt by intellectuals (bunjin) and artists in Kyoto who broke away from the rigid, traditional tea ceremony rituals (chanoyu) using matcha, a powdered green tea, in favor of Chinese-style tea, sensha, made from whole tea leaves.
Tetsubin replaced the traditional, more delicate Chinese porcelain teapots previously used for brewing tea. The Japanese also preferred tetsubin for boiling water for tea because the iron kettle allowed for proper heating and temperature control for making a good cup of tea.
Their popularity endured for 150 years until World War II, when many of the kettles were recycled for use in the war and the industry declined.
Two trends that stand out in this collection are the conscious attempt to design vessels meant to appear Chinese in origin by depicting Chinese landscapes and/or calligraphy, and an attempt to mimic signs of age and neglect. Wear and tear were considered an asset in tetsubin by the bunjin, as was their appreciation of ceramic raku pottery, which also was made to appear aged and neglected, as if it were a "found object."
Tetsubin with the character kotobuki in different scripts, late 19th/early 20th century.
Of particular interest are the kettles made with the "lost-wax'' technique, which illustrate the iron caster’s skill working with hot metals. These examples are among the most compelling in the show for their unusual and dramatic subject matter and for their ornate decorations.
One tetsubin features a dragon in high relief emerging from the clouds on Mt. Fuji. The kettle itself is in the shape of the mountain, the dragon is immersed in the gathering storm clouds and is partially obscured by them, creating a sense of drama. This theme is recognizable throughout Japanese art, but it was unexpected in a cast-iron kettle.
I was particularly struck by another tetsubin of Mt. Fuji sitting atop a brazier, its scalloped skirt flaring out, its handle intentionally distressed to appear to have been eaten away by worms or other earth-creatures. Noteworthy also are the three tea kettles in the shape of a fat money purse (the Money Purse of Inexhaustible Wealth) cinched by a realistic-looking iron silk cord.
Tom Gregersen, cultural director of the Morikami, said Japanese artisans attempted to create a certain verisimilitude by imitating objects and materials normally far removed from cast iron. “These quirky attempts indulge a sense of humor and can’t help but elicit a smile," he said.
The kettles are made to look weathered, and come in all shapes, including round, hexagonal, globular, and square and sometimes are made to imitate bamboo, wood containers, and even pumpkins.
Some have silver inlays, and others have nature themes: Decayed Tree Trunk with Flowers; Fresh Waterpond; Bird and Flower; Withered Lotus Leaf with a Fresh Water Crab; Grapevines Growing on a Thatched Roof Resthouse; Farmhouse with Ivy on a Thatched Roof.
In the Moonlight Under the Trees a Beautiful Woman Comes (1888), by Tsukioka Yoshitoshi. From One Hundred Aspects of the Moon (59).
One of the strengths of the exhibit is the well-thought-out display. It is obvious that much thought went into the layout and presentation of the tetsubin. They are showcased in clear plexiglass cases and grouped by theme, allowing the viewer to easily compare different techniques, styles and artisans. The scale of the exhibit is viewer-friendly and the somewhat austere setting allows for the focus to be solely on the objects.
Besides the displays of tetsubin and ukiyo-e prints, the show includes Japanese silk and paper scroll paintings, including Fishing in Autumn, Fall Landscape, Plum Tree in Bloom, The Four Gentlemen and the stunning Hawk and Chinese Bulbuls, depicting a hawk soaring towards a pair of the small, sparrow-like bulbuls, amidst a mountainous backdrop.
The exhibits will be of interest to not only aficionados, but to anyone interested in spending a leisurely but informative afternoon at the Morikami.
Jan Engoren is a freelance writer based in South Florida.
Elegance in Iron and Moonlight Memories run through Dec. 6 at the Morikami Museum and Japanese Gardens west of Delray Beach. Admission to the museum is $12 for adults, $11 for seniors, $8 for children and college students. For more information, call (561) 495-0233 or visit www.morikami.org. The museum is open from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Tuesday-Sunday.
| 24 October 2009
LeVerne Oveson, by JoAnn Nava.
A self-proclaimed contemporary folk artist who used to create faux-Pompeii scenes for a South Beach nightclub is currently paying tribute to nimble nonagenarians in a series of paintings on exhibit this month at Fort Lauderdale City Hall.
JoAnn Nava's Living Treasures series honors four Americans in their 90s, including a fishing guide on the Canadian boundary waters named LeVerne Oveson.
In the summer of 2008, Nava went fishing with Oveson on Lake Kabetogama, on the Minnesota-Canada line. The 94-year-old professional guide, whose small frame weighs but 90 pounds, counts President Harry Truman as one of the clients he's had over the course of a long career.
On a 37-inch-by-30-inch canvas, Nava depicts Oveson against a starry, predawn sky holding paddles that he hand-carved from trees he planted himself. Nava's straightforward realism has a sense of naiveté that helps the viewer feel part of the scene.
You can almost feel Oveson’s toughness and determination, but also that he has a down-to-earth kindheartedness. “During World War II, LeVerne was sent to the Aleutian Islands to train soldiers to survive in extreme conditions," Nava said. "He also flew small planes into the northern bush, although he never had a license.”
In 2007, Nava was fascinated with an exhibit of Gee’s Bend quilts at the Museum of Art Fort Lauderdale. The quilts were made by the descendants of former slaves and tenant farmers who have lived for generations in the Rehoboth and Boykin areas of Alabama.
“I was determined to go to Alabama where the quilts were made,” Nava said. “There is a ferry that takes you across the bend in the river to the small community of families that have lived there since before the Civil War. The workshop and gallery are welcoming and unpretentious.
"I inquired as to who was the oldest quilt maker, and I was brought into the workshop to meet Allie Pettway. At 93 years of age, she was smiling and busily working. The quilt in the painting is one of her creations that is [currently] in a New York art gallery.”
Allie Pettway, by JoAnn Nava.
Nava’s skill at capturing a subject’s personality is evident in her portrait of Pettway, who peeks from behind her colorful geometric quilt, her flowered hat framing her joyful face, as she shyly shows off her labors. In the 41-inch-by-53-inch painting, other quilts on the clothesline behind her are visible, as is the top of a humble home.
A tribute to the never-ending hope for romantic love is captured in a 54-inch-by-64-inch painting titled Happy Birthday, Ag & Ed. When Ag and Ed each were 82 years old and widowed, they met at Century Village, Nava said.
“When Ag met Ed for the first time, she told me that he was the handsomest man she’d ever seen. They fell in love, and she walked down the aisle in a long, white dress with white roses and daisies," she said. "In their 12 years as husband and wife, they have traveled to Paris and taken numerous trips across country by train. They are 95 years old now and still going strong.”
Happy Birthday, Ag & Ed, by JoAnn Nava.
Nava has depicted the happy couple sitting on a couch about to blow out candles on a cake. The celebratory image seems like a snapshot taken by an amateur photographer who accidentally has cut off the top of Ed’s head in the image. But this technique brings to the painting a strong feeling of intimacy.
JoAnn Nava.
Nava, who grew up in the South Bronx in the 1950s and studied art in Chicago, spent 15 years as the resident artist for Twist Nightclub of Miami. There she annually transformed the South Beach club, creating scenes of such places as Pompeii and Tibetan temples, with inspirations coming from sources such as Picasso, Jackson Pollock and ancient Greek pottery. An expert faux finisher, Nava also restores and reproduces milk-paint finishes for 18th-century Swedish furniture.
All of this experience and inspiration blends into a style that incorporates muted colors and earthy tones such as maroon and rich greens. Interestingly, she paints with ordinary house paint, believing that it “brings a harmony to the eye of what we see in our environment.”
Her paintings range from portraits of South Bronx residents to birthday-cake still-lifes. In the Living Treasures series, she has created works that are touching for their sensitivity and ability to tell stories.
LIVING TREASURES, which is sponsored by the Broward Art Guild, runs through Oct. 30 at the Fort Lauderdale City Hall, 100 N. Andrews Ave. Hours are Monday through Friday from 7:45 a.m. to 4:45 p.m. For more information, call City Hall at (954) 828-5000 or contact JoAnn Nava through her Web site at www.joannnava.com.
| 18 October 2009
Loxahatchee River I (1991), by Clyde Butcher.
Many of us may never wade into the alligator- and snake-infested swamps of South Florida or hike into the mountain wildernesses of the West. But through Clyde Butcher’s photographs, we can get a feeling of what we would see and of the great beauty that awaits in our natural environment.
Through November 8, visitors to the Boca Raton Museum of Art can vicariously travel from the lily-padded Everglades and Florida Keys’ beaches to the dramatic mountain ranges of Yosemite, Colorado and Utah, as well as redwood forests, the Chesapeake area woodlands and the Czech Republic.
Butcher’s photographs, some as large as 8 feet wide, envelop the viewer, making you feel that you are standing on the edge of the lake or cliff to discover the wonder of nature. After viewing the big pictures, people invariably move in for a closer look, noticing the detail in the grasses, craggy trees and glacier-carved mountains.
The influence of Ansel Adams and Edward Weston is obvious, as Butcher has photographed many of the same themes as these masters of photography: El Capitan and Yosemite; immense, sculpturally dramatic driftwood; and organic rock formations in Westons Beach 4 and Sand Dune 19, shot in 2007 in Death Valley.
As Ansel Adams did, Butcher lugs to his locations view cameras such as the Deardorff 11 x 14, and uses high-quality lenses to shoot on Kodak T-Max 100-sheet film for the best detail in his enlargements. In his 2,200-square-foot darkroom, Butcher has many enlargers, including one that he redesigned from a large copy camera. He has built a line of 4-foot-by-5-foot trays in which he and a darkroom assistant process large prints that are also toned with selenium to intensify the blacks and increase the tonal range.
Indian Key 5 (1997), by Clyde Butcher.
Butcher was born in Kansas City, Mo., in 1942, and graduated with a degree in architecture from California Polytechnic State University. His interest in photography developed when he photographed his oversized architectural models in landscape settings. He also became fascinated with the landscape photography of Ansel Adams. He moved with his wife Niki to the Big Cypress Swamp National Preserve in Southern Florida, and he has been documenting wilderness ever since.
For the self-taught photographer, photographing nature is at once healing and his mission. “Wilderness, to me, is a spiritual necessity,” Butcher has said. “When my son was killed by a drunk driver, it was to the wilderness that I fled in hopes of regaining my serenity and equilibrium. The mysterious spiritual experience of being close to nature helped restore my soul. It was during that time [that] I discovered the intimate beauty of the environment. My experience reinforced my sense of dedication to use my art form of photography as an inspiration for others to work together to save nature's places of spiritual sanctuary for future generations."
In Loxahatchee River I (1991), the stillness of the scene is captivating, as the water reflects the temple of trees, and a partially submerged log leads one’s eye into the composition. The water’s impressionistic, dream-like effect was created by a 6-minute exposure, so that any movement of the water was smoothed, as if airbrushed.
I observed another museum visitor who was intently studying the photographs, and I asked him what he liked best about Butcher’s images. Harold Davis of Boynton Beach turned out to be a nature photographer and an ardent Butcher fan.
“Out West,” he said, “it is easy to take great photographs because the landscape is so dramatic. But in Florida, it is flat, and you have to wait for stormclouds to make an interesting composition.” Davis had a great point, and Butcher has emphasized the clouds by using a yellow, orange or red filter over his lens. This technique darkens blue areas, such as the sky and water. A red filter will also lighten green foliage, which is evident in several photographs.
“It’s all about the light! You have to have great light; it makes the image every time," Davis added. Light creates texture with shadows, highlights edges and sets the mood. “Let there be light” may be Butcher’s mantra, as he wields it mightily.
Moonrise (1986), by Clyde Butcher.
Moonrise, a gelatin-silver print, was photographed in the Big Cypress National Preserve in 1986. At the bottom quarter of the tall print, grasses and bare trees point vertically toward the sky, where a central Rorschach test-like cloud is punctuated above by a three-quarter moon. The sky gradually fades from a deep rich gray, past the fluffy cloud formation to about a 20-percent pale gray, where it is met by the stick-like trees. Beautifully printed, this riveting photograph was chosen for the cover of the exhibition catalog.
Traditionally, gelatin-silver prints are considered to be finer-quality prints. However, compared to Butcher’s later large gelatin-silver prints, his archival inkjet prints have a better range of grays, blacks and detail in the highlight areas.
Large gelatin-silver prints are challenging – from difficulties in “burning in” (darkening) or “dodging” (lightening) specific areas, to transporting and processing the prints in large trays, and keeping the chemistry moving over the print to ensure even processing. So many things can go awry. A crimp in the paper can ruin the print, as can bumping the enlarger when dodging and burning or darkening an area too much.
Butcher does seem to have some difficulty with over-darkening areas, such that while he may have intended leading the viewer’s eye to certain areas of the photograph, it sometimes comes across as unnatural.
The 63-inch by 106-inch photograph Skillet Strand has an appealing subject matter in the fluttering white egrets resting in the Spanish-moss-draped trees and reflected in the water below, but the print quality leaves me wanting more. I would like to see details in the bird’s feathers, and, if the print were slightly darker, the trees’ branches and linear effect would be a stronger design feature against the dark, still water.
Over the past decade or more, extremely large photographic prints have been popular with art buyers, but, because of technical difficulties, quality is often sacrificed for size. At the Ansel Adams-Georgia O’Keeffe exhibition earlier this year at the Norton Museum of Art, the largest Adams print was less than 16 inches by 20 inches. Many of Butcher’s prints are excellent; only a handful could have been printed better.
Wendy Blazier, senior curator of the Boca Raton Museum of Art, said, “No one captures the Florida wilderness better than photographer Clyde Butcher.” Nineteenth-century naturalist and wilderness preservation activist John Muir may have captured the effect of Nature best: “In every walk with Nature, one receives far more than he seeks.”
Butcher has indeed created a treasure trove of nature photographs that fortunately he has shared with us.
CLYDE BUTCHER: WILDERNESS VISIONS runs through Nov. 8 at the Boca Raton Museum of Art. The museum in Mizner Park is open from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Wednesday through Friday, and noon to 5 p.m. on Saturday and Sunday. Admission is $8 for adults, $6 for senior citizens (65 and older), $4 per person for group tours and $4 for students. For more information, call (561) 392-2500, or visit www.bocamuseum.org.
Clyde Butcher at work with a view camera in a Florida swamp. (Photo courtesy Jackie Butcher Obendorf)
