Which is the portion I was really interested in. The older books are interesting—if not beautiful—to look at but they also all contain flaws since they’re still finding their way through the technology. While Stanford calls it the Book Arts Revival, this exhibition shows that it’s really a distillation of everything good from historic book design.

In the same way that I found myself wanting to handle the books on display in the Art of the Book Exhibition, I would love to leaf through the Kelmscott Chaucer or the Doves Bible. We don’t make books like that anymore and these books cry out to be both read and treasured. It’s fantastic to be able to see them in person and really see the craft which went into them. It’s also clear that these books are meant to be more than just for reading. These are books* as devotional objects.

*And by extension, their contents.

Which is a point of view that I’m okay with. It’s obvious in the exhibition is that there is a threshold of importance which must be reached for a text to be considered worthy of publication—Chaucer, Shakespeare, the Bible, and Milton are featured a lot. The books I covet from the Folio Society are all classics like these too.

This makes sense considering how expensive traditional publishing has been. It’ll be interesting to see what happens as publishing dies and books stop being commodities.

Last weekend I made it out to the Cantor Center in order to see their Walker Evans exhibition. It’s very good—to the point where it also almost feels like a history exhibition rather than an art exhibition. So much of his work is tied up into the greater context of American History that it’s possible to come out of the exhibition just thinking about the time period his photos come from.

What I find interesting is that I don’t get any real sense of empathy in his photographs of people. The photos are flattering in their formality* but they also come across as somewhat intrusive and confrontational. This results in an interesting comparison between his photos in America and his photos abroad where, for once, there isn’t much difference.** I get the sense that even in his travels, he was always a bit of an outsider.

*Reminding me actually of Avedon’s work—specifically his American West.

**Unlike what I see so often where an American photographer travels abroad and takes photos of the 3rd-world natives as if they were specimens to be cataloged.

Evans’s keen formal eye though makes his architecture photographs very interesting. And his series of re-croppings from older negatives shows how he would re-envision a scene and formalize it over and over again.

I can’t help but wonder if the sense of intrusiveness is what prompted his subway photos. Shooting with a hidden camera obviously makes things a lot more unguarded though it doesn’t really address the intrusiveness issue. That the photos work is a testament to the respect with which he treats his subjects—even if they’re unaware.

A lot of people would use a hidden camera* to take photos of people in a way which would mock them. Evans avoids this trap and presents his subjects with a certain dignity. I’m reminded of the way I peoplewatch while riding public transportation—avoid the weirdos and don’t gawk at embarrassing things, instead just watch what’s in front of me and avoid eye contact with everyone else as they do the same.

*Heck, any camera.

The photos I like best are his signage photos—whether it’s his old depression era photos, his 1970s polaroid shots,* or the numerous other signs which exist in the background of many of his prints.** Maybe it’s because I’m a type junkie. But there’s something to the layered crafts and the way that the message changes as signs age, are layered together,*** or have pieces cropped off. I can admire the lettering, signmaking, and photography all together as each component is graphically considered but someone different yet all the pieces come together in the final image.

*These polaroid shots are 40 years ahead of their time and are what kids with instagram are attempting to achieve now.

**I so craved a Coke after looking at this exhibition

***Speaking of which. Would his Broadway print (above) even count as a photograph today?

One last thought/rant. A number of Fortune Magazine spreads are displayed since they contain all the color photography that Evans published. No prints. The wall text says that this is because Evans didn’t print anything while he was alive and so the published magazines represent the only true prints he did. This is a shame and makes no sense to me.

1.  The color photographs are on Kodachrome. Which means that we’re pretty certain what they’re supposed to look like.
2. The published portfolios already tell us which images he selected for publication.
3. Printing from the slides (if available) will look way better than faded CMYK offset printing at 133LPI on yellowing paper.
4. Who says that the photographer has to be the editor? It’s not a problem for Vivian Maier or NASA.

Also at the Cantor

There is a selection of Weston photographs hidden in the Early-modern Europe Gallery. This is also worth seeing. It’s a couple dozen prints roughly organized by texture. Which means that nudes are next to peppers. As they should be.

I’m familiar with Weston’s work more by osmosis than through any conscious study. I suspect that many photographers are the same. Some artists you lean by name and associate with specific things. Others have influence which just creeps into you. Weston is one of those sneaky ones who I’ve absorbed without realizing it. So it’s good to be reminded of this and to consciously see his work.

My son’s attempt.

My son wins. Serves me right for doing it with a camera.

At the same time, all is not well. While I was viewing the Francesca Woodman exhibition and thinking about how her work should be required viewing for any teen girl taking self portraits and posting them to flickr/facebook, it occurred to me that every female photographer that I could think of is most-noted for taking photos of people.* And this is certainly true for every female photographer whose work I’ve seen featured in a museum.

*I’d say portraiture but some people define this term to be strictly posed photos. What I’m really talking about are portraits, candids, and street portraits. Obviously, when we get into the street, there’s a huge continuum from posing strangers on the street to just using people as a compositional element. The dividing line for me is probably Garry Winogrand’s Women are Beautiful.

I’ve been thinking about this even more since Eve Arnold’s passing when I noticed that the resulting obits talked about how she was one of the few female photojournalists but noted her most-notable work to be her portraits of Marilyn Monroe.

After further deliberation, I’ve got the following list of art-museum-worthy (as deemed by museums) photographers whose notable work includes a large portion of photos which aren’t about people. I’ve gone ahead and listed what areas they specialize in too.

• Berenice Abbott—architecture
• Hilla Becher—industrial buildings
• Margaret Bourke-White—photojournalism
• Sophie Calle—conceptual
• Imogen Cunningham—botanicals (as well as portraits)
• Fay Godwin—landscape
• Vivian Maier—street
• Lee Miller—photojournalism (and partial credit for perfecting solarisation)

It’s a small list.* I cannot help but wonder why this is. Whatever the reason is, it certainly isn’t a good one.

*If anyone has suggestions for someone I missed, please let me know.

My gut reaction is that we tend to approach women artists the same way we treat other non-white artists—as representative of, and speaking for, their minority group. So, as a result, the work which gains the most acceptance in museums is that which explicitly offers—or which can be framed to offer—a different, female, perspective. There’s nothing wrong with encouraging this perspective* but the idea that it’s the main way for women artists to be presented is completely wrong.

*God knows we need it.

That kind of thinking is not only insulting and pandering but it trivializes artists whose work isn’t about their minority perspective.* Either they get shoehorned into a group to which they do not belong or the get saddled with the “token” label.

*Bringing to mind the Ruth Asawa exhibition at the De Young which kept trying to make it about her being asian and/or female when her work has nothing to do with any of that—unless you think the beautiful mathyness of it all is because she’s asian.

*Mike’s post there is a much better version of my Title and Purpose post. Although, unfortunately, the photo itself is hard-pressed to be considered art.

Context does matter. For all art. The idea that a piece of art should stand on its own is an impossibly high bar. What the no-context people miss is that there is always a context. Visiting Pier 24 still means you’re in an art gallery, that someone has selected the pieces in question, and that there’s an implicit commitment on your part to look. So what if there’s no libretto, someone has curated these and you trust them enough to look.

This is very different than seeing things on the web or encountering things randomly in the street.* The medium is the message and your mindset in each situation is tuned in to different things. People spend hundreds of dollars to hear him perform a concert but will completely ignore Joshua Bell if he’s busking.

*Something a lot of photoblogs seem to miss. Collecting photos and displaying them without any comment is not curation. There HAS to be a point of view.

None of this insistence on context should be taken to mean that context is more important that content. This is where I agree with the context is irrelevant people. Almost all the time, it doesn’t matter how interesting the backstory is if the photo itself is beyond redemption. Art is meant to be looked at and experienced. If it fails to engage at all, it’s not successful.

This Valentine's Day, let a work of art into your heart! sfmoma.me/zWN18g #museumlove <3—
  (@SFMOMA) January 31, 2012

(Did we mention we're all for a very loose interpretation of the term "love letter"?) sfmoma.me/zWN18g Think outside the "heart"!—
  (@SFMOMA) January 31, 2012

A challenge from SFMoMA to write a love letter to one if their works of art. I immediately thought of Rauschenberg and couldn’t resist.

| Date: January 31, 2012 2:55:11 PM PST
| To: SFMOMAsays@sfmoma.org
| Subject:
| Love Letter to Rauschenberg's Erased de Kooning Drawing
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And yes, I deleted each word one by one and did not do a select-all first.

That this was caught by their spam filter amuses me even more.

But.

This was not only a wise-ass response. Yes, it’s meant to be too clever by half. And no, I did not expect to actually win anything.

At the same time, my letter to Erased de Kooning is completely honest. Divulging what I erased goes against the spirit of things but there is a lot to say about the piece.* It is arguably the most important piece in SFMoMA’s collection** yet it’s more often out on loan than it is on display in the museum. It’s one of those pieces which falls right into the “why is this art?” dilemma and forces people to think and talk about what it means. It’s easily mistaken for trash.*** And it double dips in the “does the creator really matter?” question by involving both Rauschenberg and de Kooning in the piece.

*Assuming the letter I erased is one I even wrote to begin with.

**Distinct from the most-iconic pieces which, right now, appear to be either Femme au chapeau or Frieda and Diego Rivera. Iconic pieces are the important ones which can move merchandise and draw visitors. Important ones are the glue which hold the museum itself together. And no, I don’t think it should go out on loan as much as it does.

***Hence my amusement at the spam filter catching my email.

It also totally sets up my entry for next year. I already plan on sending instructions to re-erase this year’s entry every year à la Rauschenberg’s White Paintings.

Update:

Holy Crap! They got it!

Although this love letter lacks the hearts and glitter of a traditional valentine, it takes the soul of the work to which it is addressed into the future, and isn’t that the deepest kind of love?

And I was just going for an honorable mention “this made us laugh” award.

Soccer is almost the exact opposite. Only after zooming out until I can barely make out the players do I end up seeing the details which excite me. The details which are key to most sports are distractions in soccer. Individual skills are impressive. But the movement of players, space, and the ball are beautiful and, when executed well, are the kinds of things that take my breath away.

Which is why I can watch and rewatch Richard Swarbrick’s Gareth Bale video over and over again. It removes all the details and leaves just space and movement. It’s much easier to watch the rest of the field instead of being distracted by the location of the ball. While it’s about a specific event, it’s generic enough to evoke the best of any soccer game.

@runofplay Okay. I've figured it out. All sports are boring. American sports just control the boring so you know when to tune out.—
nick (@vossbrink) January 18, 2012

Brian Phillips’s tongue-in-cheek column about embracing soccer’s boredom also gets at this point. It’s the dance of movement where “nothing” happens which is boring yet at the same time, much of that nothingness is actually seeing ideas form and watching how teams develop their strategies on the fly. I appreciate the clever ball which fails to find a runner or the brilliant run which doesn’t receive a pass and enjoy seeing how those first attempts pay off down the road as teams figure out what’s working and what’s not.

Are there truly boring times? Absolutely. But we never know when they’ll occur or when they’ll end.

The rest of the time is all potential. We watch how the tactics develop and see how the players match up. When something exciting happens, the excitement is as much due to the seeing-everything-come-together aspect as it is the fact that goals are rare and special things.

Yes, I know this makes me a sports purist.

It is a fantastic story in it’s own right. We love cinderella stories in sports. We love watching underdogs come out of nowhere. Sports is still able to surprise us. Linsanity is a national story right now.

At the same time, it’s huge in the Asian-American world.* It points out a lot of stereotypes that Asians have to deal with—all of which are nice to see blown up. And it shows how hungry Asian-Americans have been for their own sports stars to identify with.

*A world which I half-identify with. I’m lucky enough to be able to pass as just about anything now but I definitely grew up as non-white.

But as much as this is about turning stereotypes on their heads, I can’t help but wonder if the fact that he still corresponds to the standard Asian model-minority stereotypes fuels the hype. Would Asians still like him as much if he weren’t a Harvard grad and were instead a college dropout?

I’m not sure. Yes, it’s nice to see an Asian athlete in the big American sports.* The fact that he’s a nerd** though means he’s that he’s truly on of us.

*So far it’s really just been Tim Lincecum and Hines Ward. And both of them are half.

**In the way that anyone who goes to a top-tier college is a nerd.

My grandmother’s house is at the base of the Oakland hills.* We drove through the hills to get there for holidays and visits and there’s always something very comforting about that area as a result. It’s not where I grew up, but there’s a similar comfort in knowing and seeing where my father grew up.**

*Even though someone else has lived there for over a decade, it will always be my grandmother’s house.

**I have similar feelings about Kane‘ohe even though I visited there far less frequently.

I still remember the fire in 1991—both in terms of watching the news and then driving through the neighborhood soon after for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Watching the fire was scary and worrisome. Even though we knew she was okay, we were watching to see if our roots survived. While the house and immediate neighborhood did (being surrounded by the Claremont Country Club), we still had no idea what the greater area would look like until we drove through it later.

We didn’t drive through the area so soon after as Richard Misrach did but his photos of the aftermath still ring familiar to me. It’s easy to dismiss photos of devastation and disaster as ruin porn but when those photos become personal, it’s quite a bit different. That Misrach sat on these for 20 years before publishing shows that he understands the difference too. He’s thought through what these photos are for—they aren’t voyeuristic photos intended for people to gawk, they’re personal and intended for people to remember.

That they’re being displayed first in Oakland and Berkeley sort of forgives the one major fault of the exhibition. There are no pre-fire or post-reconstruction photographs available so we have to rely on our own memories or commit to driving up Broadway after the museum visit. But by being displayed first to locals, it’s likely that there will always be someone in the exhibition who can make it personal.

There is a memory wall which does alleviate some of this, but I still found myself directly comparing this exhibition to Gohlke’s work with either the aftermath of the Wichita Falls tornado or the Mt. St. Helens eruption. Gohlke is great about demonstrating a lot more of the cause and effect both in single frames as well as multiple frames from the same location over the years. The most I get a sense for this in the Misrach exhibition is the noticeable motion blur in a number of the frames—the wind which fed the firestorm was still whipping through the area.

I also, as a Bay Area native who expects to be wiped out via earthquakes, couldn’t help but appreciate how fire takes all of the house except the portion which earthquakes take first. Wood rides out earthquakes pretty well, stone and brick chimneys don’t. And yes, I know that the chief danger during an earthquake is still fire.

Two photos which struck me most. The car at the edge of the world. There’s always something striking about what remains in a landscape when everything else is taken away. In this case, you can also see how precariously those houses must have actually been on the hillside and you can see how the view must have looked before we began building there. There’s also a much closer shot of just the burned-out car showing how everything flammable has been consumed. I prefer this shot with the context but the two together* work well.

*And really, how often do you see two shots of the same subject taken at the same time presented together?

The melted tricycle. This one gets to me on many levels. It’s probably the most ruin-porn of the photos. But then the subject matter is also the most emotional. We’re always going to react strongly to a kid’s toy. It also reminds me of William Eggleston’s tricycle and the idea that these kind of photos can be art.* Plus this photo is one of the few which still maintains any sense of color. Everything else is neutral. It’s all been burned or covered in ash and soot. But the tricycle still pops.

*That it’s also the cover of the exhibition catalog suggests that I’m not the only one to make this connection.

There’s a reason why the only sports photographs I’ve ever seen in an art museum are large-scale Gursky prints which, while they show action, aren’t about the action on the field.

EM Arena, Amsterdam I, by Andreas Gursky

While I wouldn’t call Gursky’s soccer shots functional, they do demonstrate my previous conclusion about how functional photography has to lose enough details so we can fill in our own. It doesn’t matter what game the photo is of,* as a fan’s-eye view, we can fill in our own experiences.

*Though I do remember studying and identifying the players—yes, the big bald Dutch center back is Jaap Stam.

Besides the Gursky photos, I can’t think of any sports action photo which would be considered art. Heck, even non-action non-portrait is tough. Nat Fein’s Babe Bows Out which won the 1949 Pulitzer is close since it requires almost no supporting text or context for most Americans to understand and, while not technically* a portrait, it’s pretty close to being one.

*For many people, portraits are strictly posed photos of people’s faces. These people have never seen Avedon’s portrait of Andy Warhol.

Now, I have seen plenty of artsy* sports photos. I tend to notice them more during the Olympics where photographers of the more obscure events often end up favoring more graphic compositions or exposure experiments** which don’t tell a story but serve more as examples of what makes these other sports interesting. I’m not sure why I haven’t seen these kind of photos become art yet. Maybe it’s because the sports are so obscure that most of us can’t fill in the missing details. Or maybe it’s just bias against functional photography.

*Artsy in this case meaning that the photo is taken for aesthetic reasons and not to tell a story. 

**Longer exposures, deliberate over/under exposure, or anything else which is technically wrong for sports.

As with government documents, I suspect that the correct edit could result in a fantastic exhibition of sports photography as art where, instead of reading stories about specific events, we experience a different trip through the athletic world.