Enjoy a variety of eclectic events in Louth this month
Louth’s world class makers on display this August Craft Month
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inflatable tree-shaped sculpture by sky macklay plays the harmonica when you hug it
Harmonitrees by Sky Macklay Composer and sound artist Sky Macklay introduces Harmonitrees, an interactive sonic and kinetic installation of
Whitney Museum exhibitions feature trailblazing artists
It’s a sculpture called “Warrior for the 21st Century,” which periodically dances to the sound of a rattle.
It’s the work of Native American artist Jaune Quick-to-See Smith, along with her son, Neal Ambrose-Smith.
The captivating piece of art with sound and movement is one of more than 130 objects in an expansive exhibition of Smith’s work called “Memory Map,” at the Whitney Museum of American Art.
Smith, 83, is a citizen of the Confederated Salish and Kootenai Nation in Montana.
Exhibition curator Laura Phipps says Smith knew from an early age she wanted to be an artist.
“Before she ever even understood what that meant, she knew that art and mark making and drawing was a way of communicating, and that is what is really important in her work, that art is a form of communication,” Phipps said.
Smith uses her artworks as a way of teaching the public about Native American culture, history and issues they face, including land, racism and cultural preservation.
Phipps spent four years working with Smith on the exhibition, building a relationship with the artist along the way.
“We traveled together to the Pacific Northwest, places that were important to her. We spent time in her studio in New Mexico, time with her family,” she said.
The exhibition brings together nearly five decades of Smith’s work, from The Whitney’s collection, other art museums and personal collections.
While visiting to see Smith’s work, you can also catch New York-based artist Josh Kline’s immersive installations, with video and sculpture.
It’s called “Project for a New American Century,” discussing key issues like how emerging technologies are changing people’s lives every day, plus work that addresses climate change.
Both are on view at the Whitney through Aug. 13.
Jerry Thompson: How Photography Works
Photography is not only an artistic medium but also a way of knowing.
By: Jerry L. Thompson
Photography matters, writes Jerry Thompson, because of how it works — not only as an artistic medium but also as a way of knowing. It’s with this provocative observation that Thompson begins “Why Photography Matters,” his wide-ranging and lucid meditation on why photography is unique among the picture-making arts. He constructs an argument that moves with natural logic from Thomas Pynchon (and why we read him for his vision of contemporary reality, not his command of miscellaneous facts) to Jonathan Swift to Plato to Emily Dickinson (who wrote “Tell all the Truth but tell it slant”) to detailed readings of photographs by Eugène Atget, Garry Winogrand, Marcia Due, Walker Evans, and Robert Frank. Forcefully and persuasively, he argues for photography as a medium whose business is not constructing fantasies pleasing to the eye or imagination, but describing the world in the toughest and deepest way. We’re pleased to share an excerpt from “Why Photography Matters” below.
Let me begin with Reason One, how photography works.
The camera is not only a tool for generating images.
Studio artists today use cameras to generate the pictorial raw materials they need in order to create works expressive of their individual talents and personal visions. For a studio artist, the camera is a source of material. The artist provides the form, shaping what the camera supplies into what the viewer sees as a work of art. The content of the artwork — what it has to say to the viewer, the experiences (emotional and intellectual) it prompts the viewer toward — this content comes from the artist, as it does when the work of art is a painting (or other kind of imagined image). The viewer contemplates the artist’s vision. What the artist presents, as her work progresses, is a progressively deeper exploration of that vision.
The viewer who follows the work of an artist over time may come to know many facts about the world, but that viewer comes to know those facts incidentally, the way a reader of novels by, say, Thomas Pynchon comes to know about the trajectories of ballistic missiles or the progress of E. coli infections. What the serious viewer comes to know about, what he could not learn from a technical manual or guidebook, however, is something else: the vision — the intellectual and moral world — of the artist. We don’t read Pynchon to learn about physics and military history; if we read him seriously we read him to learn about his vision of contemporary reality. We read him to come into contact with what ever since Immanuel Kant’s formulation of 1791 has been called his genius: his original, and unique, understanding of how the world works. According to Kant, what genius produces illuminates Nature’s rules, rules the genius him/herself can embody in his/her work but not explain, rules some later intelligence may be able to analyze and make understandable to others.
A studio artist works like a novelist. He or she may pay a great deal of attention to the details of everyday visible reality, but what he or she adds to those observations is the something else, the shaping form supplied by his or her genius. The details figure in, but they are not the main point. Walker Evans wrote in an undated note to himself that anyone who goes to Botticelli to learn about the dress and manners of the 15th century is a pedant and a fool. Few scholars of the future who look at Jan Groover’s breakthrough still-life arrangements of kitchen utensils will spend much time considering the development of the colander in the 1970s. The main point is not a compilation of facts about the objects seen, but the genius of their combination into an original composition.
Groover (d. 2012) was, as also was the Evans (there were more than one) who wrote that epigram, not only a photographer but also an artist. But not all artists who use photography use it in the same way. To repeat: The camera is not only a tool for generating images.
To find a sharp contrast to what I have been calling a studio artist we need look no further than the first book of photographs ever published, William Henry Fox Talbot’s “The Pencil of Nature” (1844). This book consists of a number of the earliest photographs made, each pasted on a page with a brief essay/caption printed across from it. Here is an excerpt from one of the captions:
It frequently happens . . . —and this is one of the charms of photography—that the operator himself discovers on examination, perhaps long afterwards, that he has depicted many things he had no notion of at the time. Sometimes inscriptions and dates are found upon the buildings, or printed placards most irrelevant, are discovered upon their walls: sometimes a distant dial-plate is seen, and upon it — unconsciously recorded — the hour of the day at which the view was taken.
The implications of this pleasant observation extend to the extremes of recorded thought, both to its earliest beginnings and to the present now. For what Fox Talbot is describing is nothing less than a way of knowing the world that transcends our educations, our opinions, our intentions, hopes, and desires — in a word, our subjectivity. Talbot here acknowledges that the camera can show more than its operator understood he saw when he looked at the actual scene.
For a long time photographers who wanted to be artists viewed this rich harvest of detail as a large obstacle to be overcome rather than a “charm.” Many turn-of-the-century (19th to 20th) photographers turned to soft-focus lenses and worked on their negatives and prints by hand to obscure distracting detail. Others photographed carefully staged tableaux, and some pieced figures posed and photographed separately into a single composition. Now-little-known photographer-artists with names like Kuhn, Demachy, and Rejlander worked with laborious printing processes aimed at making their pictures look like real art — like prints and paintings. Alfred Stieglitz’s influential periodical “Camera Work” (1903–1917) ran an occasional column called “Lessons from the Old Masters.” The artist-photographers of this period disdained the humble documents produced by the portraitists and survey photographers. The goal of these artists was to produce prints to exhibit in salons, not pictures to be copied as engravings and printed in illustrated newspapers like Harper’s Weekly.
By 1920 a few photographers who thought of themselves as artists — notably Alfred Stieglitz and Edward Weston — had begun to reject this kind of art-making, embracing instead all the detail a sharp-focus lens could render. When in a 1923 note (written for the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston) curator Ananda Coomaraswamy sought to describe the artistic accomplishment of Alfred Stieglitz, he stressed that Stieglitz the artist managed to enlist every tiny observation the sharp-focus lens of his large camera took in to support the “expression of his theme.” Stieglitz’s great achievement was that he could control every random texture and detail as completely as a conventional artist controlled those he created with his own hand.
Talbot’s “rich harvest” had been tamed, enlisted to aid in the “expression of the theme.” But the wildness of the lens’s promiscuous harvest did not go away: It began to appeal to artists in love with “swift chance, disarray, wonder, and experiment.” Some of these artists had been to France and had heard of surrealism. One of them — Henri Cartier-Bresson (b. 1908) — was French, and had studied painting in Paris. For these enlightened ones, the chaotic intrusion of random details captured by an indiscriminate lens was not a problem to be controlled, but a gift to be embraced. By 1924, André Breton had appropriated a line from Isidore Ducasse (known as the Comte de Lautréamont) as a surrealist standard for beauty: the chance meeting of a sewing machine and an umbrella on a dissecting table. Cartier-Bresson, his approximate contemporary Walker Evans (b. 1903), and other talented workers of their generation began to frame and snap violent contraries yoked together by force — the force of their vision — equaling and even exceeding Breton’s absurd suggestion.
If World War I could prod English poetry to change from Kipling to Eliot, its dislocations and the monstrous savagery of industrial warfare might also shake faith in the complete artistic control Coomaraswamy so admired in Stieglitz’s work. Evans, Cartier-Bresson, and others embraced “swift chance, disarray, wonder, and experiment.” For a brief moment, a door was left ajar — a door leading back to Fox Talbot’s “charm,” his welcome of the bracing surprises an image at least a little bit out of control might provide.
The door was ajar only briefly. Another concern cut across that energetic acceptance of swift chance and wonder. That concern involved being an artist: Not even the greatest photographers have been immune to that siren’s song. More about this later.
Before we progress to Reason Two why photography matters now — because it provides a case study in contemporary understanding — let me wrap up Reason One: how photography works. Talbot, and the cohort including Evans and Cartier-Bresson seven decades later, proposed (however briefly) a new kind of epistemology, a new, hitherto impossible way of learning about the world. Since the Enlightenment, studying the world had meant proposing a model — mathema — and applying the model to the world of experience, what Kant’s translators called “the manifold of sensation.” The skills you had acquired, whether they were a humanist education or a skill in algebra or calculus (mathema gives us our word mathematics) — these skills were the light you shone upon raw reality, the world. You got answers to the questions you asked, and the answers you got to those questions were taken to be Truth.
Fox Talbot’s caption suggests the possibility of another approach (an approach, as we shall see, that was prefigured a long, long time earlier). Though he may not have been aware of or at all welcoming of the implication, his description of the indiscriminate power of the lens to record detail suggests the possibility that mathesis — reliance on the models we project to understand the world — may not have the final say or be the final measure of what is. Maybe — the quoted caption that presents his innocent understanding of one of the “charms” of photography suggests — maybe Fox Talbot’s brief essay/caption opens a door onto a new (though it in fact represents a re-calling, a re-remembering of a very old) way of understanding the world.
We are already into Reason Two, but let me spend one final, brief moment on Reason One: in a hurry, briskly, as our modern marching orders dictate. Fox Talbot and the modernists who preferred his acceptance of the disjunctive over the late-romantic pictorialist desire to enlist every element of the picture in service of “the expression of the theme” — the gentleman scientist and the urgent modernists both suggest a new way of understanding the world. It is an amalgam of educated understanding and chance discovery. It asks that its user be intellectually prepared, but also that he/she not let that preparation predict the findings. Swift chance, disarray, wonder, and experiment will also play a role. Mathesis — reliance on mathema — will cooperate with a willingness to accept pathema as well. The opposite of mathema (a model projected to enable understanding), pathema is an experience passively received: acquiescence to what is seen.
Our words sympathy and empathy stem from this root; pathetic evokes this root meaning (except when we use that word as casual jargon to mean something like woefully inadequate, or pitiful — a usage which encapsulates nicely our modern appraisal of the relative merits of aggression and reticence). When a pathema holds sway, the artist will no longer be Master of the Universe. He or she will be instead an attentive observer, a willing participant in, perhaps even a servant of, a system larger than that artist’s individual, personal, particular needs.
Jerry L. Thompson is a working photographer who also writes about photography. During the last three years of Walker Evans’s life he was Evans’s principal assistant and, for a time, printer of photographs. From 1973 until 1980 he was a member of the faculty of Yale University. Thompson is the author of “The Last Years of Walker Evans,” “Truth and Photography,” and “Why Photography Matters,” from which this article is excerpted.
Opinion | I Wanted to Capture the Fleeting Magic of a Summer at Camp in Photographs
In 1999, after my freshman year in college, I was a counselor at a camp in central Vermont. It changed my life.
For the next eight summers I kept going back. Camp was where I found my professional calling: Teaching kids to mold clay flowers by hand made me realize I wanted to spend the rest of my life making and teaching art. It was also where I came to understand core values. Somewhere in this outdoor summer utopia — a blend of vaguely Quaker ethos with a communist, hippie, artsy sensibility and a dash of Midwestern kindness — I found my people. It’s where I fell in love for the first time, with a soulful, charming boy who worked slinging oatmeal and scrubbing pots in the camp’s kitchen. It’s where I learned how to exist in community with others.
Although I was technically hired as a ceramics counselor, I also appointed myself the unofficial photographer of Camp Killooleet. Even back then, I knew I would grow up and move on, and I wanted to hold onto all of it: the potted red geraniums on the dining porch windowsills, the ham and potatoes for Wednesday supper, the rutted mud puddles down the grassy fields created by campers on bikes. I wanted to freeze the smell of campfire in dirty hair, of a soggy bathing suit hanging in the cabin rafters, of a kid who is too young to wear deodorant but needs it. Camp felt magical. And inherently fleeting. By photographing it, I wanted to save it forever.
I took photos of the campers and my fellow counselors with a Yashica twin lens reflex camera on medium format film. Slowly. Lovingly. I scheduled portrait sessions in the early evenings, before dinner, when we had time to hang out and catch up, and when the light was soft and dewy. I photographed Hallie before the dance. Maddie outside the shower house. Molly mending her broken flip-flop. Julia by the smoldering Cabin 5 firepit. Manny lying down in the infirmary.
These portraits capture those brief, intense summers and all of our youthful energy. They convey my deep connection to the place, my love and care for the people I knew back then, our intimate connections. My photos of a group of adolescents two decades ago now also capture the passage of time in a place that remains the same as its inhabitants come and go.
Flash to 2023. I’m a professional photographer and mother of two. Earlier this summer, not quite ready for the full two months that Killooleet requires, but eager to try out camp, my 12-year-old daughter went to a week of sleep-away camp in southern Rhode Island. As soon as I returned from dropping her off, I dutifully signed up for Bunk1, a photo-sharing app that promised “a front-row seat to camp life. Designed for parents and families to be the first to know what’s happening at camp this summer.”
That first night, I eagerly logged in and began scrolling, searching for photos of my daughter. I felt disappointed when I didn’t see her anywhere. On day two, I found her. Or at least the back of her head. I spent the rest of the week obsessively checking Bunk1 for updates. (I am not alone: Some camps are even using facial recognition technology to help parents spot their children.) But the app that ostensibly gave me a “front row seat at camp” left me hungry and unsatiated. I endlessly scrolled and zoomed into low res, pixelated photos that mostly just left me with questions: Is that my child in the background? Does she look happy? Is she OK?
Two decades ago, I was the photographer; now I’m a mom voyeur. Back then, I poured my heart into the composition, trying to capture the perfect moment in the perfect light. I knew that the parents of campers wouldn’t see my photos; the regular updates they got on their children came in the mail in the form of handwritten memos. In the summer of 2002, over the course of the eight weeks at Killooleet, I took around 240 photos with my old film camera. At the time, it felt like a lot. On Bunk1, we easily get 250 photos per day.
Scrolling through the galleries from the comfort of my air-conditioned living room, I’m a distant observer. These photos are so thoroughly not mine. They’re snapshots taken on someone’s iPhone, abundant but unremarkable. I’m painfully aware they were likely taken by someone who doesn’t even know my child’s name.
This is not to criticize my child’s camp, or the counselors who took the photos, or digital photography, or even Bunk1. Just that these photos from Bunk1 leave me with a sense of longing and distance. I feel far from the camp experience of my youth, far from that thrilling burst of newness and possibility, far from the sense of discovery and belonging. I also feel far away from my child.
My camp photographs have always left me with a sense of nostalgia. Even now, after years have passed and I have kids of my own, each summer I feel a sentimental tug to return to Camp Killooleet. At middle age, I still miss summer camp. But this new version of “camp photography” makes me ache in a profound, different way. I feel lucky to have spent formative time in a small valley in central Vermont. At least I have a box of photographs I’ll forever cherish from another era.
Josephine Sittenfeld is a photographer and filmmaker based in Providence, R.I.
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Medici Museum Exhibit Includes ‘Starry Night’ Mural
HOWLAND, Ohio – An artist known for making murals out of colored gumballs will come to the Medici Museum of Art this week.
‘Artists in Action’ at Art Works Gallery
Usually held on the Second Saturday of each month, this August’s “Artists in Action” event at Art Works Gallery will be held on Sunday, August 13. The August Artist is
Summer Arts Institute hosts students
PLATTSBURGH — Local students received instruction and guidance from local artists through the 2023 Lake Champlain Summer Arts Institute this week.
Country calling: Standout artists Morgan Wade, Jake Owen and Gabby Barrett visit Vermont
Call it a country music trifecta — three of the genre’s most compelling artists will visit Vermont over the course of three straight days when Gabby Barrett, Morgan Wade and Jake Owen play the Green Mountain State on Aug. 17, 18 and 19, respectively.
Here’s a closer look at the trio of noteworthy artists:
Aug. 17: Gabby BarrettPennsylvania native Gabby Barrett is a force to be reckoned with.
At age 23, the powerhouse vocalist — a Top 3 finalist on ABC’s “American Idol” — has already had chart-topping hits like “I Wish” and “The Good Ones” from her multi-platinum selling 2020 debut album, “Goldmine.”
“Glory Days,” a new single from a forthcoming sophomore album, was released in June and features her husband, former “Idol” contestant Cade Foehner and two young children in the music video for the song.
The tune is the first track from Barrett’s album, which she recently told Entertainment Tonight was “almost finished” and will possibly be released in “early fall.”
“I did not want to come out with another midtempo or ballad,” Barrett told Billboard about “Glory Days.” “It’s summer, so I really was eager to release something that was up-tempo and fun and make people smile.”
Gabby Barrett performs at 7 p.m. Thursday, Aug. 17 at Vermont State Fairgrounds, 175 South Main St., Rutland (in partnership with the Paramount Theatre). Tickets are $40-$50; call 802-775-0908 or go to www.paramountvt.org online.
Aug. 18: Morgan WadeOne of country music’s most compelling and fastest rising new artists, Morgan Wade headlines the Higher Ground Ballroom in advance of her highly anticipated sophomore album, “Psychopath,” scheduled for release Aug. 25 on Sony Music Nashville.
The album is a follow-up to Wade’s stellar debut album, 2021’s “Reckless,” which garnered widespread acclaim and was named the best country music album of the year by Rolling Stone.
On “Psychopath,” the Virginia native, 28, reunites with Sadler Vaden, who plays guitar in Jason Isbell’s band, The 400 Unit. Vaden, who produced “Psychopath,” coproduced “Reckless” after hearing an earlier album that Wade made in 2018 with musicians she recruited through Craigslist.
The poignant “Psychopath” title track, released in May, is a one-take rumination on obsession while second single, “80s Movie,” serves up a light and breezy ride that’s rich with nostalgic references to the feel-good movies of the decade.
Other highlights of the 13-track record include the anthemic “Losers Like Me,” the steady-driving rocker “Alanis” — an ode to Alanis Morisette, one of Wade’s musical heroes — and the soaring centerpiece song, “Phantom Feelings.”
“I’m proud because I feel like it showcases where I’m at currently,” says Wade of her new album in press materials. “I have no choice but to be authentic, and I have to feel what I feel. And right now, I’m really feeling the music.”
Morgan Wade and opener Nate Frederick and The Wholesome Boys perform at 8 p.m. Friday, Aug. 18 at Higher Ground Ballroom, South Burlington. Tickets are $25 in advance, $29 day of show (all ages); call 888-512-7469 or go to
www.highergroundmusic.com online.
Aug. 19: Jake Owen
Known for such fan-favorite classics as “Barefoot Blue Jean Night” and “Beachin’,” Jake Owen “has maintained a strong balance of ballads of heartbreak and pain, as well as some of the most energetic party songs of the past decade,” said Billboard in 2017.
The Florida native, 41, brings his feel-good, singalong friendly songs in support of his seventh studio album, “Loose Cannon,” released in June on Big Loud Records.
Owen’s first album since 2019’s “Greetings From … Jake,” the 16-track record serves up a sunny summer soundtrack that’s buoyed by a classic country sound and compelling songs by an impressive assortment of top-tier Nashville songwriters.
Opener “Hot Truck Beer” is a catchy summertime anthem that finds Owen — who quit drinking a few years ago — reflecting on his days of “smoking something from the center console” and “drinking too early by a couple years.”
Other highlights include the breezy “Go Getter,” the infectious “Solo Solo,” the upbeat “Nothing” and the poignant “Somewhere South with Rum.”
And the pretty title track closer is a love song to his fiancée, an “anchor” to Owen’s “reckless abandon.”
“I’m just this kind of guy that flies by the seat of my pants,” Owen told Country Now. “I’m never really steady (and) I’m kind of restless.”
But Owen says his two young daughters and his fiancée are “kind of like my rock in my life, and I feel like it was the perfect way to title what this album’s all about, which is kind of how I feel and how my life is going.”
Jake Owen performs at 7 p.m. Saturday, Aug. 19, at Vermont State Fairgrounds, 175 South Main St., Rutland (in partnership with the Paramount Theatre). Tickets are $45-$55; go online to www.paramountvt.org or call 802-775-0908.
MIHS hosts Between the Gulf and the Glades: Florida’s 10,000 Islands photography exhibit
JIM FREEMAN / COURTESY MARCO ISLAND HISTORICAL SOCIETY
The Marco Island Historical Society (MIHS) presents Between the Gulf and the Glades: Florida’s 10,000 Islands, a fine art photography exhibit by Jim Freeman. The exhibit opens at the Marco Island Historical Museum (MIHM) August 10 and continues through November 3. Sponsored by Koastal Design Group, Kira Krümm & Co., the exhibit is free and open to the public.
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Freeman is passionate about sailing and photographing Southwest Florida’s Ten Thousand Islands near and around Everglades National Park. In Between the Gulf and the Glades, his stunning photographs capture the haunting beauty of these unique and remote islands that are accessible only by boat.
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Experienced in many types of photography, including fine art and architectural art, Freeman is widely known for his ability to transform spaces into environments with his photographs. He is committed to producing pristine, one-of-a-kind works of art that tend to be minimal and serene and consistently emit a feeling of tranquility. Freeman’s fine art landscapes hang in private and public spaces, corporate offices and homes of collectors around the world.
The Marco Island Historical Museum is located at 180 S. Heathwood Drive. Open Tuesday through Saturday, 9 a.m.- 4 p.m. Admission is free, and the site is handicapped accessible. For information, call 239-389-6447 or visit www.theMIHS. org. ¦
