Monday, May 10, 2021

Botanical Language: Decoding Flowers in Western Art

While contemporary people may tend to view flowers as primarily aesthetic objects, for thousand of years, artists have used flowers as a visual language to convey certain messages or emotions in their art. Yet even outside of the art world, people have created a botanical language by attributing specific meanings and values to flowers. For example, roses have great symbolic significance in American culture. Red roses are considered to be romantic, especially when they are given to someone on Valentine’s Day, and white roses are often associated with weddings. Arriving to a date with a bouquet of lilies would send a much different message than a bouquet of dandelions or poison ivy because of the unspoken language surrounding flowers.

This exhibit explores the use of botanical symbolism in Western art from the 15th century to the 21st century. These pieces will survey a variety of botanical depictions and their subsequent interpretations in art, ranging from representational pieces that allow for very limited interpretations to abstracted florals that invite the viewer to explore personal ideas. Many of the earlier pieces in this exhibition, specifically those dated around the 15th to early 19th century, treat floral language as a sort of code, where a plant can be directly translated from a visual symbol into a specific meaning. Contemporary artists tend to be less literal in their use of floral symbolism, allowing more space for the viewer to bring their own perspective and interpretation to the piece. These pieces call into question the role of botanical language in its relationship with the artist and the viewer: How do artists use flowers to express the underlying emotions behind a piece? Should this botanical language be used as a strict translation or as a fluid, subjective conversation between the viewer and the artist?

Flowers as the Passion of Christ

Anonymous follower of Fra Filippo Lippi and Pesellino, Madonna and Child
ca. 1470
Tempera on panel, 26.4” × 18.1”
National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.

Religious art frequently uses symbolic language to visually communicate spiritual truths. During the 15th century, creators of religious art often used red flowers to symbolize the sacrifice of Christ. For example, because red roses have five petals, some artists integrated the flower into their design as a symbol of each of the five wounds Christ endured on the cross. Additionally, the use of red carnations would have been associated with the foreshadowing of Christ’s crucifixion and symbolic of Mary’s love for him. In this 15th century painting, Madonna and Child, the artist uses this technique of botanical symbolism in the floral backdrop behind the figures. Red carnations interlock with shades of dark pink, white, and black-green to create a lattice against a light blue sky. As the flowers extend upwards behind the figures, there is a gradation from thorns, to red flowers, to white flowers and buds. This may represent or foreshadow the way that Christ cleanses and renews through his blood shed on the cross. The thorns, located near the bottom of the piece, remind the viewer of the crown of thorns worn by Christ during his crucifixion. The budding flowers near the top of the piece perhaps serve as a symbol of new life, a theme closely linked to the Passion narrative.

Flowers as Romanticized Death

John Everett Millais, Ophelia

1851–52

Oil on canvas, 30” × 44”

Tate Britain

“There is a willow grows aslant a brook, 
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream; 
Therewith fantastic garlands did she come 
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples 
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, 
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them: 
There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds 
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke; 
When down the weedy trophies and herself 
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide; 
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up: 
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes; 
As one incapable of her own distress, 
Or like a creature native and indued 
Unto that element: but long it could not be 
Till that her garments, heavy with her drink, 
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious buy 
To muddy death.”
Hamlet, Act IV, scene vii. 

In this Victorian era piece, John Everett Millais presents us with a bouquet of romantic, floral symbolism plucked out of a scene from Shakespeare’s Hamlet. The painting depicts Act IV, scene vii of the play: grieved to the point of madness, Ophelia adorns herself with flowers as an expression of her sorrow, just before drowning herself in the river. Millais skillfully uses the flowers to play a narrative role in the scene and to reveal details about Ophelia’s character. During the play, Ophelia’s brother Laertes calls her “rose of May”, which may explain the inclusion of small roses near her cheek and skirt. The pansies floating beside her refer to love in vain. The willow, nettle and daisy, all seen dispersed throughout the piece, are associated with forsaken love, pain, and innocence. The violets, worn in a chain around her neck, have multiple layers of meaning: violets can symbolize faithfulness, chastity, or death of the young, all of which may be applied to this scene. These themes are reinforced by the forget-me-nots floating in the water and the poppy, which is a symbol of death. Through Millais’ intentional use of flowers, the artist creates a poetic visual language that, when translated, reinforces Shakespeare’s romanticization of Ophelia’s untimely death.

The Thistle as a Symbol of Devotion

Albrecht Dürer, Portrait of the Artist Holding a Thistle

1493

Oil on vellum (transferred to canvas c. 1840), 22.2” × 17.5”

Louvre

In this 15th century self portrait, Albrecht Dürer carefully chooses to depict himself holding an eryngium amethystinum, a plant closely resembling a thistle (hence, the reference to a thistle in the piece’s title). In German, which was Dürer’s native language, this plant is called a "Mannestreue", which translates to “conjugal fidelity.” This bears significance because it indicates that this piece was likely painted as a betrothal portrait to his future wife, Anges Frey. The couple married on July 7 of 1494, which likely means that they would have been engaged in 1493, the year this portrait was created. The artist gently holds the budding plant between his finger tips, as if he is about to release it to his future bride as a symbol of his devotion to her. The thistle is also considered to have aphrodisiacal properties, further suggesting that this piece has symbolic meaning tied to the theme of marriage.

Flowers as a Symbol of Heritage

Kehinde Wiley, President Barack Obama

2018

Oil on canvas, 84.1” × 58”

National Portrait Gallery, Washington, D.C.

In this 2018 portrait of former president Barack Obama, artist Kehinde Wiley uses flowers to express that President Obama has not lost touch with or respect for the people and places that raised him. Many of the various flowers in this piece represent a place of personal significance to the president. The jasmine serves a symbol of Hawaii, the president’s birthplace and where he lived for most of his childhood. The official flower of Chicago, the chrysanthemum, can be seen throughout this piece as well. This serves as a reminder of the president’s time teaching, campaigning, and working in politics in Chicago. African blue lilies pay tribute to his late father, who was from Kenya. The bright green leaves forming a sort of hedge behind the president are perhaps reminiscent of the leaves of a family tree, tying together all of the places symbolized by these flowers. Through the use of these flowers and leaves, Wiley paints a portrait that displays a president who exudes strength, not only through his strength as an individual, but through the support of his heritage.

Flower as Sexual Reproduction

Frida Kahlo, La Flor de la Vida (The Flower of Life)

1944

Oil on masonite, 77.95” × 114.2”

Museo Dolores Olmedo

In this piece titled La Flor de la Vida (translated from Spanish to The Flower of Life), Frida Kahlo abstracts her strained relationship with fertility into the form of an abstract flower. Due to a bus accident at the age of 18, Kahlo was left unable to bear children. When it was clear that she would not be able to carry her first pregnancy, she had to get an abortion. A few years later, she miscarried a second pregnancy. The pain of not being able to bear children affected her deeply and became the subject of many of her pieces. This piece approaches the topic defiantly, choosing to portray the male and female sexual organs at the moment of coitus using botanical imagery. The flower is most similar to a fiery, red-orange daffodil or hibiscus, with two additional arms branching out from the top that perhaps represent ovaries. Golden lines springing from the top of the flower closely resemble stamens (the male reproductive part of a flower) and likely represent sperm. The sphere in the upper righthand corner had been interpreted as both a sun and the ovule awaiting fertilization. Kahlo transforms the flower into an abstract symbol that is concrete enough to maintain its personal significance, yet ambiguous enough to be open to interpretation.

Flowers as Spiritual Curiosity

Odilon Redon, Pandora

ca. 1914

Oil on canvas, 56.5” x 24.5”

The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Around 1860, twenty year old Odilon Redon met Armand Clavaud, a botanist who opened the artist’s eyes to the world of science. In addition to his mentorship in botanical drawings, Clavaud introduced Redon to pantheism, Eastern philosophy, and Buddhist spirituality. Later in Redon’s career, after the death of his friend, the artist began using botanical imagery as a symbol of this spiritual curiosity and mankind's potential for enlightenment. He would use this influence while producing this mythological inspired 1914 painting, Pandora. Redon demonstrates that by freeing himself from the constraints of painting a flower representationally, he could use the abstracted form as a tool to express complex, spiritual questions. Redon paints familiar, plantlike silhouettes using bright, floral colors. From a distance, these shapes give the impression of representing recognizable flowers. However, with a closer look, it is clear that these plants are not identifiable. These “flowers” find a solace in this mythological scene, suggesting that we too may find solace in our freedom to safely explore our wildest spiritual queries in this world.

Orientalist Portraits: Depicting the East as Wild

In the nineteenth century, the West developed more efficient technology for communication, agriculture, transportation, and other aspects of culture. During this era, the West also developed a stronger curiosity for the functionalities and portrayals of Eastern culture. Despite their curiosity, Westerners still thought they were superior in their civilization and modernization. Because of this superior perspective, Westerner’s continued to colonize Eastern countries in an attempt to bring the East up to speed. 

Orientalism fundamentally accentuates the differences between Eastern and Western culture. It attempts to portray Eastern culture as exotic, uncivilized, and even dangerous. “Orient” refers to the “East,” which encompasses the Middle East, North Africa, and West Asia. Orientalist images often discuss whose reality we are viewing–a culture untouched by Westernization. Orientalist art evolved in order to meet the demand for knowledgable illustrations of Eastern culture. Artists started using certain styles to depict the timeless reality of Eastern customs and rituals. Many artists participated in Orientalism with their portrait paintings of Eastern males. Westerners often saw Easterners as less than human, so Orientalist paintings are devoid of Western modernization, highlighting the Orients’ inability to move away from the past. While some Orientalist artists attempted to display a wild, foreign, and boorish society, others were fascinated by the East during their travels and also sought to capture and preserve its beauty.



Charles Bargue

A Bashi-Bazouk, 1875

Oil on canvas, 18 ¼” x 13 ⅛”

Not on view


This painting by Charles Bargue depicts a silk garmented mercenary from the Ottoman Empire sitting on a corner holding a narghile and weapons. Other foreign objects are cluttered around the figure. The figure’s face is hidden by its turned posture and the darkness of the setting. Bargue demonstrates the uncivilized and wild characteristics of the Bashi-Bazouk by illustrating him without one shoe, on a filthy stone, and with fruit peelings at his feet. These attributes communicate an uncomfortable carelessness, foreignness, and uncleanliness. 



Leon Bonnat

An Arab Sheik, 1870

Oil on canvas, 25.5” x 28.5”

The Walters Art Museum


This painting depicts an old Arab wearing red, yellow, white, and brown colored robes and resting inside on a red rug with a weapon in hand. The figure’s face is concealed by the shadow of his hood and the darkness of the room. Bonnat created this painting after his travels with Jean-Léon Gérôme to Egypt and the Holy Land. He based his Orientalist paintings off of the sketches he made during his travels, so this artwork is rather an imaginative compilation of perceived Oriental realities. This painting is considered Orientalist artwork because it displays the potential danger and unknown of the East.



John Fredrick Lewis

The Pipe Bearer, 1856

Oil on panel, 30.5 x 43.2 cm

Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery


This painting by Lewis portrays a lighter skinned man wearing a turban who is likely an Arab with a darker skinned Turkish troop. The contrast between the skin tones demonstrates how this painting may seek to elaborate on the exotic nature of the East. The intricate patterns and designs in the clothing and different held objects also contribute to the foreignness of Eastern culture. Lewis was fascinated by Eastern life and attempted to attentively display it with exactness. 



Jean-Léon Gérôme

Pelt Merchant of Cairo, 1869

Oil on canvas, 61.5 x 50 cm

Not on view


This oil painting by Gérôme illustrates a barefoot merchant from Cairo sitting on a street corner with the beautiful pelt of a tiger draped over him. Other merchants and perhaps travelers are passing through the background of the painting. Because this painting by Gérôme shows a merchant resting in a filthy public place with the fur of a slain dangerous animal over him, it is an example of Orientalist art that displays the wild and exotic practice of the East. The exactitude of the painting suggests a timeless reality as well, which is evidenced by Gérôme's other paintings.



Jean-Léon Gérôme

Bashi-Bazouk, 1868-69

Oil on canvas, 34 ¾” x 26”

The Met Fifth Avenue in Gallery 804


This painting by Gérôme depicts a Turkish soldier of the Ottoman Empire in his bright silk tunic and exquisite head-piece. Turkish troops were feared for their ruthlessness. Westernization created lots of change in the Near East that Gérôme tried to avoid. It is evident in his work that he attempts to preserve the past by capturing an arrested, dignified figure in a costume. As an Orientalist painter, Gérôme strategizes by making his viewers believe that his works are simply reflections, in their exactness, of the preexisting Oriental reality. 



Jean-Léon Gérôme

Bashi-Bazouk, 1868-69

Oil on canvas, 10 ¼” x 8 ½”

The Met Fifth Avenue in Gallery 804


This portrait painting by Gérôme captures another Turkish soldier of the Ottoman Empire in his green tunic and adorned with weapons and an intricate head-piece. The figure’s full expression is shadowed, characterizing the Turkish troop as unpredictable. Both of Gérôme’s Bashi-Bazouks were displayed together in the Metropolitan Museum. In contrast to Charles Bargue painting A Bashi-Bazouk, this piece further demonstrates how Gérôme communicated the exotic beauty of the Oriental reality to his viewers rather than accentuating the Turkish troops' barbaric tendencies. 

The Deaths of Socrates

Introductory Statement

Plato’s Phaedo tells of the Death of Socrates, how the philosopher accepted his execution and drank the hemlock with “the most serenity and sweetness.” Many artists have visually reimagined—and even repurposed—this narrative. This curation will present six different compositions of the same subject matter: The Death of Socrates. Coincidentally, not only are some of the most famous compositions shown here of the same subject, but also come out of the same general time period: 1750-1800. These two similarities bind the artworks together, but also draw their differences into sharper contrast. Just upon visual inspection, the unique ways in which each artist conceives of the mythical Socrates. A simple glance shows contrasts between the paintings. For some, the Death of Socrates is not just an opportunity for a history painting, but captures a spirit of loyalty to the transcendent which different artists utilize for their particular ends. Others do not depict Socrates as the immortal hero, but disrupt this image by depicting him in different parts of the narrative. Depictions of him in the midst of death, and of his carcass after the hemlock has taken its full effect, contrast with the exemplar depictions of the man and reimagine the heroic figure he is.

Jacques Louis David, Death of Socrates (1787)

Oil on Canvas, 51 x 77 1/4 in., Metropolitan Museum of Art

David’s Socrates is by far the most famous of any depictions of the subject and is considered one of David’s four masterpieces. As a politically involved artist, David’s work is seen as pre-revolutionary. It is similar to Horatti and Brutus in its depiction of a masculine figure “engaged in high-minded self-sacrifice for transcendent values of patriotism and conscience.” As it was shown at the Salon 1787, Socrates serves as a model to be imitated by the French revolutionaries in the pursuit of liberty.


Jean-François Pierre Peyron, The Death of Socrates (1786-7)

Oil on Canvas, w133.5 x h98 cm, Statens Museum for Kunst; Copenhagen, Denmark

Peyron’s Socrates was commissioned by the King’s Minister of Culture and also shown at the Salon 1787. Although it suffered defeat at the hands of David’s Socrates—so much so that Peyron only displayed it the last few days of the exhibition—it was still considered a principal work in French pre-revolutionary art. While David’s was considered the superior composition, it is interesting to note the similarities between the two. Socrates occupies the same space on his deathbed and has a strikingly similar posture. His chest is out and one hand lifts to the heavens as he discusses the immortality of the soul while the other hovers over the hemlock that will end his life. These same features highlight the purpose of displaying Socrates as an exemplum virtutis, a paragon of virtue.

Jacques-Philip-Joseph de Saint-Quentin, The Death of Socrates (1762)

Oil on Canvas, 140 x 115 cm, École des Beaux-Arts, Paris

Little is known about Quentin, the French Old Master artist. He was born in Paris, France in 1938 and died in 1785, leaving behind a range of prints and paintings, including his own Socrates. In addition to being made sixteen years prior, his composition provides a notable contrast to Peyron and David. The cup of hemlock lies on the ground, but none spills out of the cup. All of it has been drunk by the center-stage Socrates who clutches his chest and pushes his disciple away. Rather than being captivated by the bold Socrates, the viewer is kept in perpetual distress and suspense as Socrates is caught in the in-between. This depiction of Socrates after he has drunk the hemlock shows Socrates, not as the immortal man whose ideas and ideals would live on, but as a mortal man, on his way to his death.


Giambettino Cignaroli, The Death of Socrates (1762)


Oil on canvas, 202 x 271 cm, Museum of Fine Arts, Budapest


Cignaroli’s 
Socrates was created the same year as Quentin’s, commissioned by the Count of Firmian, the Austrian ambassador to Naples. This commissioned work departs from Cignaroli’s usual work in eccliastical paintings. Like Quentin, Cignaroli shows a different kind of Socrates than Peyron and David. Yet, this Socrates is not like Quentin’s in the rapid motion. Instead, this Socrates is hovering between life and death and his disciple in the background begins the lament as the doctor checks his pulse.


Vincenzino Camuccini, Lamentation over the corpse of Socrates (early 1800’s)

Oil on Canvas, unknown

This piece is notable for its contrast to other depictions of Socrates, as well as Camuccini’s other work. Cammuccini is better known for his highly neo classical depictions of The Death of Julius Caesar and The Death of Virginia. Similar to Cignaroli—although in contrast to his own work—Cammuccini does not depict the death moments before it takes place, but shows the grey-skinned Socrates in contrast with the warm and colorfully robed disciples. Unlike Cignaroli, and once again, his own work, Cammuccini does not paint idealized bodies with crisp lines, but more stylized bodies with hints of gesture. Like David’s Socrates, his disciples gather around his body, and some look away to weep. Others look on his carcass with concern and even a hint of disappointment.

Benjamin West, The Death of Socrates (1756)

Oil on Canvas, 31x41 in, Philadelphia History Museum at the Atwater Kent


West’s depiction precedes David’s composition by twenty-one years. It is, visually, one of the biggest stand-outs among all the paintings in the exhibition. West’s figures are stylized, and adjusts the narrative, placing Socrates between in a throng of people. Yet, West accomplishes something similar to David. It is also patriotic art. Commissioned by a veteran of frontier warfare, who was anxious to mobilize men, this 
Socrates served to arm its viewers against the French government, but against the Indian raids against colonial Lancaster, PA. Once again, we see the exemplar nature of Socrates, where the cup he holds serves two meanings. It “is both a choice he [Socrates] has already made, the consequence of his heroic refusal to conform to the compromise offered by the corrupt assembly. But, for others [the intended viewer], the cup marks the choice they are in the act of making, a shared commitment to martial valor.”




Sargent's Portriats

John Singer Sargent was one of the most well-known portraitists in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Much of his work focused on women of high class in England and America. Although he was not well-received in the beginning, Sargent gained a reputation as one of the leading portrait painters of his time. Sergeant’s portraits display the elegance, extravagance, and pleasure of high class society through details of attire and poise. The viewer is able to see several of Sargent’s works displayed next to each other in order to compare and contrast the display of high class women of his time. A portrait by Ingre is also shown as a comparison with other portraits of aristocrats from the 19th century. 


Madame X, John Singer Sargent, 1883-84, Oil on canvas, The Metropolitan Museum of Art



“I suppose it is the best thing I have done.” This was Sargent’s remark after selling Madame X to the Metropolitan museum. At its first showing at the Paris Salon of 1884, Sargent’s Madame X was not well-received. It was taken with ridicule and considered scandalous. The poise and self-display, as well as the attire of Gautreau, put a woman of high class and ideal beauty on display. Originally, the strap of the dress was shown falling off the shoulder, however, Sargent later went back and re-painted the strap on. He asked that the woman’s name be kept in disguise, and called the portrait Madame X.  



Joséphine-Éléonore-Marie-Pauline de Galard de Brassac de Béarn, Jean-August-Dominique Ingres, 1851-53, Oil on canvas, The Metropolitan Museum of Art 



Ingres was a French neoclassical painter, well known for painting portraits of aristocrats. This portrait of Pauline displays Ingres skill with portraying personality and material. The woman is dressed in a blue, satin ball gown. The material is smooth and shiny. She rests upon a golden upholstered chair. Ingres shows her shy and reserved personality through her facial expression. This painting was commissioned by her husband, who hung it in his home after her death. 



Madame Gautreau Drinking A Toast, John Singer Sargent, 1882-83, Oil on canvas, Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum 


This is a portrait of Madame Gautreau that was painted a year prior to Madame X. The painting displays a much more candid moment of Sargent’s notorious sitter, stretching out her arm and making a toast. It is small and intimate; different from most of the portraits we have seen by Sargent. A year later, Sargent painted Madame X, a much more lavish and sensuous depiction of Gautreau. The portrait displays the side profile of Madame Geatreau, just like we see in Madame X.



Judith Gautier, John Singer Sargent, 1885, Oil on canvas, Detroit Institute of Arts



This portrait displays Judith Gautier, an esteemed Chinese and Japanese text translator. Early on in Sargent’s career, Gautier followed and wrote reviews on his works and exhibitions, emphasizing his great artistic personality. Sargent painted this portrait, alongside several others, as a gift for Gautier. It displays her dressed in a long, white robe, standing next to her piano in a dark room. The white of her robe and the moody background create a dramatic contrast that highlights her beauty. 



Mrs. Hugh Hammersley, John Singer Sargent, 1892, Oil on canvas, The Metropolitan Museum of Art


The portrait of Mrs. Hugh Hammersley was first shown at New Gallery in London, 1893. Portrait of a banker's wife, the painting displays a woman of class and wealth. The woman is shown dressed in a vibrantly colored velvet dress with gold trim, sitting with poise and elegance. Her arm rests on a French couch behind her. This portrait was received positively at it’s exhibition, changing the poor view that many held of Sargent.



Mrs. Joshua Montgomery Sears, John Singer Sargent, 1899, Oil on canvas, The Museum of Fine Art, Houston



This portrait depicts lifelong friend of Sargent’s, Mrs. Joshua Montgomery Sears, who was a photographer in Boston. This is one of Sargent’s later portraits, after he became a leading portraitist in England and America. The elegant texture and white lavender hue of her dress displays Sargent’s skill in painting elegance and dash -- a skill that he developed and became well-known for. The white of her dress contrasts with the dark background, emphasizing the woman's beauty.



 


Sunday, May 9, 2021

FACES: Photography of the American South

What defines the American South? American southern identity came to the forefront of national awareness from photography of the Great Depression era. A struggling rural America was depicted by government sponsored projects and photographers, like Walker Evans and the Farm Security Administration (FSA). They captured “objective” scenes and people bearing resilient pride; there resulted a broad, collective idea that the southern vernacular is a paradox: poverty-stricken but dignified, and dispossessed but not downtrodden. 

How has this deep-seated narrative affected the modern perspective? Arising from a double consciousness of their roots, southerners are taking up the lens with a new vision. The two visions are radically opposed and represent differing ideologies. Casting the same subjects in a new light has challenged the vestiges of confirmation bias, which have clouded popular perception. Rather than the outside aestheticization of poverty, new Southern photography claims a heritage of vibrancy, community, and the rich flittings of everyday interactions. Without throwing out the visual identity which defined the region, new Southern photography has embraced a fuller picture of life in Dixie. It speaks to current issues of race, class, and location, while acknowledging the multifaceted dimensions which influence the south’s different faces. Now, we can see the south through their eyes.



[Floyd and Lucille Burroughs on Porch, Hale County, Alabama] 

Walker Evans

1936

Gelatin silver print

18.9 x 23.7 cm (7 7/16 x 9 5/16 in.)

The Metropolitan Museum of Art



Evans’s 1936 photograph is a prime example of old school southern photography. Commissioned under Franklin D. Roosevelt’s government and the Federal Security Administration (FSA), Evans intentionally puts forward a specific look: all his subjects bear similarly grim faces.  [Floyd and Lucille Burroughs on Porch, Hale County, Alabama] exhibits the same face as his portrait of Allie Mae Burroughs, Alabama Tenant Farmer Wife. From his aesthetic of naked realism, Evans’s trademark hard-lined, black and white, frontal-facing images branded rural poverty. Evans’s work is the foreground from which later southern photography departs. He shows one face of the South.



Untitled, collection: The Levee

2019.110

Sohrab Hura 

2016 (negative), 2018 (print)

Cincinnati Art Museum



Hura’s recent, untitled photograph black and white photograph plays into the southern expectation set by Evans. Again there are central two figures and dynamic clockwise movement back and forth between them; however, aside front the color and subject, Hura perpetuates the idea of southern struggle. More subtle than Hura’s photograph of a southern boy literally weighed down by the mattress upon his back, here he tells a story of an elderly woman attempting to get from the car to her destination. We take on the struggle as if we are her: in a world of gray, caught between poles and pavement and wires, and feeling each rigid bump of the walker hitting the sidewalk. We see the man’s face and furrowed brow. The sentiment is the same, even if his gaze is not directed out at the viewer.



Garlic

Keith Carter

1991

The Bitter Southerner, The Do Good Fund Collection



Keith Carter’s photograph “Garlic” showcases the vivacity missing from previously known southern photography. This is spirit. The posture of raised arms suggests victory and vigor. The eyes are drawn vertically up from the clothing’s stripes to the  the raised garlic, which reinforces the hope and triumph of the photograph. Also, the depiction of an African American subject deviates from the norm set by Evans and others. Rather than a story of struggle, Carter’s photograph “Garlic” is a celebration.



Family at Klan Rally, South Carolina

[c. 1975]

Dennis Darling

The Bitter Southerner, The Do Good Fund Collection



Darling’s photograph Family at Klan Rally, South Carolina, taken about 1975, contrasts with Evans’s vision. Darling captures the image of a family. A boy is grinning at girl, possibly his sister. She beams out at the camera. There are others cut out from the photograph, lending a sense of the abundance of community. The frame is filled from edge to edge with people. There is belonging and joy. Despite the acknowledgement that evil and suffering still exist in the south, as is evident by the KKK sign on the back of the truck, Darling provides a bigger picture. Unlike Evans’s glaring faces, Darling depicts grinning ones.



Blue Alabama

2017

Andrew Moore

The Bitter Southerner



In Blue Alabama, Moore captures the significance of place. The South refers not only to the people which reside there, but also the physical embodiment of the land. The land itself is a face. Rather than the close-framed photographs which dominated former southern photography, the frame is expanded. It includes not just the trailer, as a symbol of social status, but the trailer’s placement in nature, in vivid color. The trees are lush, tall, and virident. The viewer’s eyes are beckoned from the crips white trailer to the puffy spots of white clouds over the treeline. And the sky is blue. Alabama is not just black and white and impoverished. This is Blue Alabama.



Untitled, collection: Blue Alabama

2017

Andrew Moore

The Bitter Southerner



Andrew Moore’s untitled photograph pictures the aftermath of the former Snow Hill Institute, founded for specifically African American education. After desegregation, the school closed; however, Moore captures the renewed life and vitality in something thought dead. A far cry from Evans’s black and white, forlorn photographs, Moore photograph depicts a large spectrum of color. People play on a dilapidated basketball court. The viewer is caught, suspended as the ball about to swish through the basket. Moore gives a moment caught in time. Rather than Evans’s carefully constructed vision of static reality, Moore offers an observation of renewed life.