Penumbra

AUGUST 12 – SEPTEMBER 13, 2015

Photographs by Arthur Bruso

Arthur Bruso has captured, in the photographs of Penumbra, that particular moment when we enter a dark room and strain to see. The images are almost completely black. A sense of place is occasionally suggested with a classical sculpture that seems to glow, or a clerestory revealed with a spot of light. The darkness feels solitary, populated only by an occasional marble figure. If anyone were to appear it would be a shock—unexpected in the moment you’re still gaining your bearings.

Once we’ve added up the hints, we can ascertain that the places visited here are the streets and cathedrals of Rome. Absent, other than the details, is sentimentality. When confronted with the everyday marvels of Rome it’s easy to work purely in service of the romance of the place. To either focus on its grandeur or charm. When a subject has been photographed so relentlessly it’s a challenge not to fall prey to conventions. Bruso reignites the possibility that there are still discoveries to make.

The images sometimes appear haphazard, as if we’re glancing around trying to locate an identifiable detail. This quality gives immediacy to the works, they’re in the process of disclosure. The prints themselves are beautifully produced. The blacks have a matte charcoal-like richness. The texture complements the idea that we’re feeling our way along in these cool, silent, echoing spaces. —Raymond E. Mingst

A Few Questions for Arthur Bruso

REM: You have a vast catalogue of photographs. You’ve printed hundreds and hundreds of images— these images span almost your entire life. You even have the first images you took with the first camera you received at 6 years old. Something we’ve talked about is how all of these photos are in play in your art practice. For example, in any given show we may be looking at an image you took as a very young person or an image you may have taken just last week. Confounding documentary considerations, like time and place, is a constant in your work. With that, how would you say your imagery has evolved over time?

AB: I’ve gotten better at using a camera. I believe that each camera “sees” differently. I have become more adept at exploiting those differences and using them to advantage in my work. I have also become less and less interested in the figure – I still have figurative work in my backlog, but in my newer work, I find I am more drawn to the landscape or inanimate objects. When I was younger (in college until after graduate school) I had the notion that I would be a Photographer who would make a Difference and a lot of my work was social commentary. These days, I find I am more interested in more esoteric ideas.

REM: For me, looking through the many boxes of your prints and shaping a show is a fascinating process. Identifying a theme or unifying element, selecting particular works and then writing about it, I feel a sense of authorship. However, it’s a collaborative process. Can you speak to what the process is like for you?

AB: A photographer can amass a large body of work in a short time, even when they are like me and are constantly editing – I never print every frame of film I expose. The curator can help make sense of the boxes of prints. I have my own ideas of what I want, but a curator shapes an exhibition which needs a cohesiveness that I may not have in my date defined boxes. Collaborating can be interesting in that way because I get to see my work through outside eyes. It can be frustrating as well, when there is a reinterpretation of the work that was never intended, but in the end, it becomes a back and forth, give and take. The curators I work with only want to show my work in its best light and for that I need to trust them.

REM: While you often talk about the aspects of your photos that aren’t documentary — composition, anomalies of the process that appeal to you, etc. — is nostalgia ever activated for you? Do you think about the when and where and what was going on in your life at the time you took the photo? Does your personal biography ever influence how you use your catalogue of images?

AB: Nostalgia is often a part of the work. I can remember the circumstances and my motivations for taking my first photographs. The image itself is often a trigger for me, and much of my work is about my experiences in a conceptual way.

REM: Can you speak more about that? How your work is about your experiences in a conceptual way…

AB: I don’t consciously plan to document my experiences in my work, but when I review it after it is complete I often see the connection. If you read the essays in my photo books, you will find that the photographic series relate to events in my life. The work may not actually portray what I discuss in the essay, but the essence is there.

REM: I referred to your “catalogue of images”. Is that how you would refer to them? Also, you keep each image in a plastic sleeve and those are kept in grey, archival storage boxes. Do you have a catalogue system so you can find particular images?

AB: I would call it a body of work. The organization is an evolving thing. My negatives I am bringing under control – or at least I have a system for them. My prints are more haphazard right now, but I am working on that.

Curious Matter

An Imperfect Grace

DECEMBER 2014 TO JANUARY 2015

EACH YEAR DURING THE HOLIDAYS we look back to the Catholic traditions with which we grew up. Through the iconography of the church, we try to identify some universal truth or cultural relevance that goes beyond our personal experience and instruction and create an installation to celebrate the season. This year Curious Matter presents an icon of the Madonna and Child. Upon discovery at a flea market booth, the icon instantly appealed to us — a handmade devotion, cobbled together from bits and pieces. The wood, brass, glass and printed elements are aged, weathered, worm-holed and patinated to a nearly indecipherable darkness. While the icon is a modest ruin, it has dignity. The thoughtfulness and precision of intention is apparent in its bejeweled and gilded remnants. The seller informed us that it hadn’t left the care of its creator for over 30 years, but who that might have been remains a mystery. Homemade devotions captivate us. If your very salvation is at the heart of your work, it’s not a leap to imagine the maker has put all they have into its execution; their ownpetite voie. For us, that can make a work transcendent. Every detail is significant and wrought with care.

The gestures, colors and compositions of icons are codified and have specific meanings. Most commonly this type of icon depicts the child Jesus seated on Mary’s left as she gestures to him with her right hand. This is her ‘”speaking” hand and she is communicating that he is the salvation or “the way”. The gestures of our icon are unusual. Mary’s lowered hand, held out with her palm up, communicates that she is open to God’s will and accepting of His grace. Her face belies the sorrow of her knowledge of the future — the tragic fate of her son on her lap. The hand of the child is missing, but judging by the position of the arm it was held up in blessing in the traditional pose of the Prince of Heaven and the Savior of Mankind. Most icons are based on originals that were said to have divine creation stories and purported to possess miraculous properties. These icons are venerated as holy relics.

In the Catholic tradition, we turn to Mary for comfort and guidance. She is the compassionate Mother. At this time of year, the qualities of Mary become increasingly apparent in all of us regardless of faith. In venerating the Virgin and Child, or with the lights we hang outside our homes, we declare aliveness and hope in the face of fallow winter. We declare it to ourselves, our families, our friends and neighbors — good will among all. Whether or not the icon of Mary speaks to you, there is grace in attempting to manifest a symbol of nurturing, forgiveness and acceptance. The Virgin endures for many as the symbol of perfect grace. For us, we celebrate the flawed, the imperfect, and the ruined evidence of our glorious attempts to manifest a vision of perfection in the face of our limitations.

WARMEST WISHES FOR THE SEASON
FROM YOUR FRIENDS AT CURIOUS MATTER

Eridanus Supervoid

This was my piece that was included in the Terra Incognita exhibition at Curious Matter.

Eridanus Supervoid:
8 3/4 “w x 6” h x 3 1/4” d
paper, rubber, glass, steel wire, archival mat board , acrylic paint, wood

Eridanus Supervoid

During the 2nd century AD, Ptolemy rearranged the skies. He plotted and named many new constellations from stars that were ignored or unseen by the ancients. One such constellation that Ptolemy observed and named was Eridanus.

Eridanus is a meandering line of stars beginning at Orion and winding past Cetus in the southern hemisphere. It is best seen in the winter. Its name transliterates from the Greek as “early burnt,” or “early river.” It is most associated with the myth of Phaeton (the Shining One), the son of Helios. The boy had pleaded with his father to allow him to drive the chariot of the sun. With trepidation Helios relented and the father’s fears proved true. Phaeton was unable to control the solar horses. The team veered wildly from their arced course; sometimes so close to the Earth that it became scorched, sometimes so far away that the land froze. To save mankind from destruction, Zeus hurled a bolt of lightening at the hapless boy and shot Phaeton from the sky. The body of the youth landed in the Eridanus River. There have been many attempts to determine which river is meant by the Eridanus, with the Po in northern Italy as a main contender. However, Eridanus is a river of myth and its location resides in the stories of our past. 

In 2007, modern astronomers began mapping the cosmic microwave background radiation, which is residual energy remaining from the Big Bang. In the direction of the Eridanus constellation was found a huge area, of 50 million to one billion light years across that was significantly cooler than the surrounding area. Immediately, theories abounded about what could be causing this anomaly. One particular theory that had the scientific community excited was that it represented a place where our universe was in contact (or had been in contact) with another parallel universe. Further investigation and research has led astronomers to believe that instead of being an exotic place of two universes touching, the cold spot in question was a massive supervoid in space. That is, a place in the distribution of intergalactic material where there is no matter – not even dark matter. 

On Earth we cannot point to the river that caught the doomed Phaeton. Yet, an immense hole in the fabric of space lies where it is told that Phaeton was knocked out of the sky by the might of Zeus. The Phaeton myth can be interpreted as an ancient explanation for a meteor that exploded before impact with the ground, but an actual hole in space brings new meaning to the story. There are many voids in the universe, each attributable to the uneven distribution of the stars in the universe as determined by the laws of physics. But, once in a while natural forces will interact with supernatural forces to form a new reality. Perhaps this void is a remnant not of a place not yet filled with star matter, but a place where the hands of the gods show their power.

Additional Narrative Possibilities

My October 2013 solo exhibition at Curious Matter.

Additional Narrative Possibilities

PHOTOGRAPHIC WORKS BY ARTHUR BRUSO

SPECIAL WEEKEND-LONG OPENING,OCTOBER 5 & 6, NOON TO 6PM

Wet Floor, 8 X 10 inches, silver gelatin print

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ARTHUR BRUSO dodges narrative at one turn and embraces it the next. He begins this dance by using every photograph he has ever taken as the raw material for his work. For example, he may reprint an image he captured at the age of seven or seventeen and juxtapose it with something he photographed last week. He may do this in response to the visual structure of the images––an interest in how the diagonal bands of light captured in one image are a variation on the shadows in another. However, history, and specifically Bruso’s own history of looking and examining is a considerable aspect of the work. His photographic practice is built upon a perpetual state of review, reassessment, and reprinting. Perhaps constant looking is the task of every visual artist. In the case of Bruso, that accumulation of looking manifests not just in the refinement of his vision, but also in a rich layering––a photographic pentimento.

Fair Midway, 8 X 10 inches, color photograph.

Bruso doesn’t share the documentarian’s interest in the story behind the events, people, and buildings he shoots. He favors explorations in tone, color, composition and texture. In spite of this, we’re still confronted with a curiosity about the who, what, where. The question of whether Bruso is attempting to use his imagery as purely “abstract” becomes complicated by his occasional use of narrative accompaniment. In his 8 part series, “Association Sublimation,” over one hundred photographic works are presented along with essays that are remembrances and meditations. The images of “Association Sublimation” are sometimes unidentifiable blurs and streaks of light, yet they evoke a portrait and a sense of the artist’s journey. He essentially presents a self-portrait of the artist as a young man.

Construction Wires, 8 X 10 inches, silver gelatin print.

Additional Narrative Possibilities is comprised of 26 photographs. Among images of shattered glass, boarded doorways, chain link fencing, and light glinting off wet asphalt is a single portrait. The head of a woman is clearly visible against a snowy backdrop while her body disappears into a triangle of shadow. Is the collection of images meant to evoke a life story, a psychological portrait, or a formal examination of color, tone, texture and shape? Additional Narrative Possibilities is an invitation to look with shifting perspectives and intention in mind. What questions are we compelled to ask ourselves as we view the images? What questions are we being nudged to consider by the artist?

East River Pilings, 8 X 10 inches, silver gelatin print.

The urge to construct a story from Bruso’s images may simply be the result of a sort of tarot-like symbolism that is an undercurrent in his work. One of the first exhibitions of Bruso’s photographs that I had curated began with my selecting a group of 20 or so images from his huge archive. The theme of portals emerged. I was captivated by the many variations on the theme––a gate, the iron door of a crypt, the front entrance to an abandoned building. However, Bruso balked at the grouping––and rightly so. The collection was too constrained. We rethought the selections and varied the subject matter. The new collection revealed surprising relationships among the individual works. Ultimately, it made for a richer, more intriguing exhibition.

Glass On The Ground, 8 X 10 inches, color photograph.

We can certainly respond to the formal qualities of Bruso’s work. Alongside that appreciation we can’t seem to leave behind an impulse to decipher and assign meaning. His visual language includes images that lend themselves to symbolic interpretation. Describing this exhibition, in fact, might sound like a psychic’s reading: we see a broken rock, we see a path, we see a woman on the path engulfed in shadow, and then we see a shaft of light. How far do we take our interpretations of the narrative possibilities? Like a psychic reading we might find some satisfaction, an easing of anxiety about a particular nagging question by shaping some sort of story. But questions persist. And so, we return for more information. The enigmatic photographic explorations of Arthur Bruso also inspire repeated visits, and endless interpretation.

––Raymond E. Mingst, curator