|
A new show at Etherton Gallery documents struggles for freedom, both at home and abroad.
By Margaret Regan
WHEN YOUNG BLACK people were sitting in at the lunch counters
of the South and going limp in the arms of beefy cops, when jeering
whites blocked the doorways to swimming pools and schools, Danny
Lyon was there.
When cops gave equality the finger, when blacks buried four little
girls blown up by a bomb, when soldiers manhandled a black photographer,
trying to cheat history of his photos, Lyon and his camera, luckily
for the rest of us, were there.
Lyon's reverential suite of 28 civil rights photos from the early
1960s are at Etherton Gallery in a four-person show called Documentary
Traditions. (Like a host of other galleries around town, Etherton
is concentrating on photography this month and next in anticipation
of the national conference of the Society for Photographic Education,
coming to town March 11.) The riveting Etherton show proves once
again just how variable documentary photography can be. Lyon's
austere black-and-white work makes a good contrast to Alex Webb's
loose, painterly expressionism. Dana Salvo's tidy colored still
lifes of Mexican household shrines, glistening in folk art jewel
tones, are a fine counterpoint to Donald Woodman's seasonally
correct rodeo cowboys. Woodman's rough riders are most un-documentary-like:
They're evocatively blurred, and they ride through strangely skewed
perspectives, on steers rampaging at a slant.
Lyon's Southern pictures are a classic example of photography
in service to history. Chronicling a movement that art critic
Robert Hughes aptly called one of "America's greatest internal
moral struggle(s)," Lyon created photos whose images approach
the mythic. A more perfect marriage of style and subject is hard
to imagine. His classical compositions give gravitas to his small
pictures and turn them monumental. A sweaty close-up of Martin
Luther King Jr.'s face before his eulogy for the four dead girls
is a timeless image of grief; John Lewis, now a congressman, kneeling
in prayer on a street of protest, appears as the eternal peacemaker.
Mostly Lyon pares down, minimizing surrounding clutter to highlight
his human subjects. The faces of his heroes are startlingly transcendent.
On a winter day in 1963, he recorded the young idealists who thought
the U.S. Constitution ought to allow them a cup of coffee in a
cafe. In "Atlanta, Georgia, Winter 1963/4," they're
gathered along the counter, their faces luminous, quietly awaiting
the police. He doesn't spare us the lineaments of hate, either,
in the crewcut white teenagers hurling taunts on the streets (in
another "Atlanta, Georgia, Winter 1963/4") or in the
cluster of surly low-life cops whose contribution to posterity
is giving a finger to the struggle ("Clarksdale, Mississippi,
1963").
These pictures are oddly quiet, too, and still, and for all their
universal themes of resistance and oppression, they're forever
tied to a time and place. The streetscape of swirling car fins
and playful neon ("Hamburgers 10 cents," says one sign)
and the skinny dark ties and colored drinking fountains pin the
photos down. They're like insect specimens, dead relics of a segregated
world now mostly disappeared.
If Lyon goes in for austerity, his opposite number, Alex Webb,
is the wild expressionist painter of the medium. A dazzlingly
accomplished color photographer, Webb works worldwide for Magnum.
(He calls his group of 40 pictures The Waterways of the Amazon
and Beyond.) He photographs men unloading televisions onto the
Amazon's banks, festival-goers in fish masks in Peru, residents
of cardboard boxes on Mexico's streets. And where Lyon prizes
classical composition and a straightforward narrative, Webb's
pulsating color works have the messy helter-skelter of everyday
life.
"Mexico," 1987, is a geometric patchwork of colors
and shadows, slanting darks placed against a bright green house
facade. Only belatedly do we realize that the circles looking
out of the box on the street are the eyes of the box's owner.
"Bombardopolis," a Haitian picture from 1986, has an
unruly composition too, and you have to look at it for a long
time before you assimilate all its parts. A donkey's head juts
up in the foreground; a man is about to drive it through the sunlit
dusty streets. The tumbledown houses are positioned at extreme
diagonals, and a big man's head looms almost invisibly in the
right foreground. And like the best of painters, Webb ratchets
up his colors, allowing the dirt road to glow deep pink, and a
woman's kerchief to pierce the paper in an impossible red.
Even more difficult to untangle is "Palmapampa, Landing
Strip, Peru," 1993. A man is carrying a large red-framed
mirror, and the picture is mainly in its reflection. Slanting
out of the glass is a whole green landscape, with a decrepit brick
building nestled in front of mountains. Lurking outside the neat
world of the mirror, though, are a couple of ominous onlookers:
soldiers with rifles.
The villains in Webb's pictures are trickier to locate than in
Lyon's. The political terrain in his Third World subjects is about
as complicated as his painterly compositions. An American audience
immediately responds to the good and evil in Lyon's work, but
we're confused by the messy infusion of soldiers into a Peruvian
hillside, and the black coffins carried in Webb's Haiti. But like
Lyon, Webb doesn't shy away from aiming his camera directly at
the men with guns. And maybe that's the best, and most heroic,
of the documentary traditions.
Documentary Traditions, an exhibition of photographs
by Danny Lyon, Alex Webb, Dana Salvo and
Donald Woodman, continues through Saturday, March 27, at
Etherton Gallery,
135 S. Sixth Ave. Gallery hours are noon to 5 p.m. Tuesday through
Saturday, noon to 7 p.m. on Thursdays, and 7 to 10 p.m. on Downtown
Saturday Nights, the first and third Saturdays of the month. For
more information call 624-7370.
The Society for Photographic Education conference, Writing
and Photography, meets March 11 through 14 at the Holiday Inn
City Center, the Tucson Convention Center and the Center for Creative
Photography. Activities include lectures, panel discussions, art
demonstrations and portfolio reviews. Registration fees range
from $50 to $160, with discounts available for SPE members, retirees,
students and high school teachers. For information call 904-255-8131,
ext. 3944, or contact www.spenational.org.
|
|