A decelerated and aware contemplation. A slow introspection that arises in response to a meticulously wrought aesthetic object. Walter Pater asked, "What is this song or picture, this engaging personality presented in life or in a book, to me?" To discover...
[more]A decelerated and aware contemplation. A slow introspection that arises in response to a meticulously wrought aesthetic object. Walter Pater asked, "What is this song or picture, this engaging personality presented in life or in a book, to me?" To discover Hiroshi Sugimoto is to answer that question by falling into the lattice of the self.
The perennial sea has always tempted and challenged painters. Turner portrayed it marvelously. So did Titian. But it's Whistler, enchanted by the meditative quality of Japanese art, who comes closest to Sugimoto. The calming influence that Whistler sensed, Sugimoto claims as his natural birthright. He photographs the thing as it exists, arresting one moment in the infinite.
Many of Sugimoto's photographs portray the sea from on high, stagnant. Whether the light hints at arrival or departure, one is never quite sure. He captures the threshold of space. In life, to gaze out over an open ocean is to witness a world of colliding colors constantly in flux. Sugimoto, however, strips the ocean of its undulating hues by shooting in black-and-white. He has photographed different oceans all over the world, yet his photos portray each ocean in such gentle repose that one body of water is hardly distinguishable from another.
What results is a lingering glimpse into the heart of the mysterious. With nary a shred of personal interpretation, Sugimoto allows the camera and the scene to create a poetry of minimalism. One feels the same philosophical stirrings that a room of Rothkos elicits. In fact, the two artists share a similar scheme: the natural horizons Sugimoto captures on film echo the abstract ones in Rothko's paintings. The affinity is there in form and emotion.
Sugimoto's process mirrors the timelessness he captures. Using a nineteenth-century camera, he trips the shutter only to wait more than an hour for the image to burn onto film. His photos are so enchanting that we wonder why, since he expends so much time on one photo, he doesn't
simply provide us with a feature film? But, of course, Sugimoto's work is not concerned with movement. It is about standing still -- for as long as it takes for an image to laboriously come to light.
The study of light in lonely places persists as a theme in other works, such as his photos of abandoned movie theaters and drive-ins. Even when he studies fire, he infuses it with a drifting quality, as if he were capturing air. Whatever Sugimoto's subject, the four elements -- air, water, fire, and earth -- stay at the forefront of consciousness.
After leaving Japan at the age of 27, Sugimoto set up residence in New York (he is represented there by the prestigious Sonnabend Gallery). In 1999 he won the Infinity Award, following in the footsteps of such luminaries as Cindy
Sherman, David Hockney, and Chuck Close.
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