Artist: Alvin Langdon Coburn

Alvin Langdon Coburn (1882-1966) began generating his vortographs the same year they were first displayed in his one-man show at the Camera Club in London, in 1917. Ezra Pound contributed to the catalogue of the show, claiming, ‘The Vortoscope […] freed photography from the material limitations of depicting recognizable natural objects.’ He continues with saying that the, ‘Vortoscope is useless to a man with no eye for form or pattern.’ The composition of abstract silhouetted elements in his vortographs consists of pure white and dark shapes and were likened to the composition of music. The implication is that both rhythm and structure are an elemental part of the arrangement. Both of these components are achieved through the echo of light and dark that repeats as a measured beat within the photograph. The reduction to silhouetted shape through the fragmented reflection is a mechanisation of the supposed realistic representation in photography. Here the silhouetted forms of jagged geometrical white, black and mid-tone shapes symbolise the move away from the ‘naturalness’ of photography. The most literal of these, Vortograph of Ezra Pound (bottom image), shows a beautifully balanced composition with a central mirror-image silhouette of Pound framed, as if to imply respect by means of the pensive side profile, which is both solid and quiet in its simplification to the very essence of its form. In this vortograph, as if just for a moment, Coburn felt the need to move away from absolute abstraction to demonstrate his esteem for Pound.

Exhibition: Sally Mann

The Family and the Land: Sally Mann
18 June – 19 September 2010
The Photographers Gallery

Sally Mann (1951, USA) is best known for her controversial photographs of her three children in various states of undress; a personalised approach to the psyche of childhood sexuality. Contrastingly, her series 'What Remains' (2000-2004) is comprised of photographed corpses held at the University of Tennessee Forensic Anthropology Centre. The photographed faces of these bodies are in the process of natural decomposition and are to be used in scientific research.

In his Camera Lucida, Roland Barthes mourns the death of his mother through the consideration of a photograph of her as a child. Photography’s realism has frequently been used as a tool to confront death, although Mann’s approach is notably more explicit. The camera’s ability to capture a passing moment in time was seen by Barthes as a type of death, in 'What Remains' the passing of the moment is prolonged. We are not dealing with the inevitable aging of an immortal, but rather the decomposition of the dead. This is a confrontation with death, not merely a contemplation of it. Mann’s macabre display, although tranquil and eerily beautiful, gives the viewer a sense of seeing something that should rather remain undisclosed.

The photographic physicality of the images offer an additional dimension to their premise of mortality. By using antique cameras and a wet-plate collodian printing process, Mann prompts the viewer to remember they are dealing with pure representation. The photographs are large, sometimes with visible grain and almost always with obvious imperfections. Visible chemical drips and peeling emulsions merge with the imagery, confusing what is photographed and what belongs to the process of being photographed. 'What Remains' draws attention to the medium of photography enabling the viewer to regard the weighty subject matter without overt discomfort.

Exhibition: Catherine Roberts

Budgie Butlins
23 August- 25 September 2010
Belfast

Budgie Butlins tableau vivant of Fauvist flavour almost got me run over by a cab. As the colourful winsome window pulled me in, I scarcely heard the warning cries of my companion while being enchanted from across the road. Viewed only from the street through a shop window, Budgie Butlins shows a budgie-sized caravan park spanning the depth of the room. A utopian environment complete with mini-caravans on a hillside, two-dimensional mountains, trees and a few budgies, this was a fairly endearing piece of eye-candy. It offers an anthropomorphic and humoristic view on the strictly regimented Butlin’s Holiday Camps popular in the 1950s and 1960s that were later replaced by package holidays and resorts. Looking into the window one is reminded of the sometimes silliness of holidaymakers and the unattainable dream of the flawless holiday. From a more complex standpoint, Jean Baudrillard’s notions of the simulacrum are brought to mind: the budgies as a substitute for people, and the holiday camp environment for the constructed nature of experience.