Making photographs has always been a scientific endeavor. While discussions of photography tend to always circle back to IMAGE, we should remember that to get to that image the photographer had to go through a rigorous process of exposure, composition, developing and printing. This process (traditionally) takes quite a bit of time and (until recently), a tremendous amount of labor. In fact, 19th century photographers had to be equal parts image-maker and chemist, since the luxury and convenience of self-contained photography had yet to be invented. These early pioneers had to drag hundreds of pounds of plates, glass and paper just to create the kind of images that most of us are accustomed making with a small 35mm film camera.
For the most part, we are isolated from the toxic fumes and chemicals of photography. We capture image, have the film processed and order some prints and frame the picture. No muss, no fuss. The process of printing is a build-to-order industrial machine that requires little input form most photographers (except for aesthetic choices). The mixing of chemicals, creation of film and paper, and disposal of said chemicals is none of our concern (unless one has a personal darkroom of course). Yes, we have the luxury of image without the tedium of photograph-making.
I'm considering these things because I just saw some work by the photographer, J. Henry Fair at MASSMOCA. His work is part of an exhibit entitled: BADLANDS: New Horizons in Landscape. The exhibit features architects, sculptors, painters, designers and photographers working with or against landscapes. Fair uses his photography as a bridge of sorts: documenting what he sees as, “ (an addiction) to petroleum and the unsustainable consumption of other natural resources.” Of course these photographs, these Industrial Scars (as he calls them) do wind up being very lush and beautiful and the commentary is sometimes lost to the gorgeousness of the print.
Take the image, Expectoration (displayed above), a photograph of an aluminum refinery in Darrow, Louisiana. It depicts the runoff from bauxite processing (bauxite is an aluminum ore that is stripped mined to process into aluminum). Fair’s photograph is filled with vibrant reds, siennas and browns there is a very painterly feel to it. It’s a joy to behold as an oversized image (about 5ft tall and 8ft wide) and draws in very quietly. In fact, Fair’s message of sustainability and ecological turmoil almost disappears into the image. Viewers are lost in the beauty and I several “Oh, that’s what it is…” faces during my visit to MASSMOCA. The revelation that the images were documents of somewhat “sinister,” events taking place did not seem to sway any of the viewers, most still found the work beautiful and alluring.
Most of Fair’s images are aerial photographs and in many more in common with a Diebenkorn painting than a traditional aerial landscape. The pictures were also not retouched and the colors were as they were found in nature (according to Fair). I found myself studying all the images intently and truly enjoyed them as images. However, once I began to consider their meaning and scope of Fair’s message, I had to wonder:” As a process, how much has photography hurt the environment?” We use copious amounts of silver, platinum, sodium sulfide, metol, acetic acid, etc, etc. Even Fair’s own work requires the use of helicopters, large trucks, and planes to reach remote destinations. In his age of the “carbon footprint,” how should photographers and other artists deal with the environmental of our planet? After all, we are makers of things that have mostly aesthetic and very little utilitarian value. We add to the discussion, but how do we add to the solution? At what point does the mass of objects that are created for sheer pleasure become scar-tissue on the planet?
I have no idea, but I certainly enjoyed Henry J. Fair’s photographs, and for now that is enough.
- S.B.
* I am not throwing digital photography/printmaking/processes in the mix here.
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