Situations { 14 images } Created 20 Jun 2013
Situations
Placing scraps of writing, found and created, Situations juxtaposes language, architecture and objects against the composition tension of the photograph. The writings within the photographs, housed within abandoned structures, evoke a narrative of disconnection and loss.
David Arnold
Reviews:
Portraits of mid-century celebrities that were featured on the covers of Life, dark abstraction flashed here and there with modulations of light, toned prints of male nudes, photographs infiltrated by words and accompanied by mythical descriptions—these are a few of the rewards in store over the holidays for the photo viewer.
Some purists disclaim the effects of words upon a photograph. Only for identification will they accede to even the use of a title, and that, they contend, should be noncommittal; i.e., “Untitled 17” or “Portrait of Tamar.” Titles are not significant to David Arnold or Lisa Bloomfield (Project Arts Center, 141 Huron av., Cambridge), yet letters, words, and punctuation function in their work.
Arnold alters unpeopled spaces—burned-out rooms and condemned apartments. His imagery derives in no small instance from that of John Divola, one of the first contemporary photographers to alter spaces. Divola uses colorful spray paint to decorate his decrepit environment with slashes, dots and curvy lines, after which he photographs in color.
There is a visible narrative element in Arnold’s black and white conceptions. His photographs are suffused with nostalgia, often sporting the tag ends of a scene that can be inferred or invented. He will assemble a group of chairs in a dingy apartment whose windows have been battered out. Beneath the chairs, which seem arranged as for a small lecture, he will paint words that echo and repeat themselves; “I could hear it/I could see it/I was delighted.” The antecedent of “it” must somehow be determined.
Around the ceiling in one of his images is the alphabet as penned painstakingly by some moronic giant. Aa, Bb, Cc, Dd. The walls are charred, and the room is vacant save for a fire of newspapers in a tiled fireplace. Visually, the image is complete; it speaks of the ache of loss or stifled despair without rendering particulars. Arnold’s variation and expansion of Divola’s construct is often beguiling.
Kelly Wise
Boston Globe, December 19, 1982
Placing scraps of writing, found and created, Situations juxtaposes language, architecture and objects against the composition tension of the photograph. The writings within the photographs, housed within abandoned structures, evoke a narrative of disconnection and loss.
David Arnold
Reviews:
Portraits of mid-century celebrities that were featured on the covers of Life, dark abstraction flashed here and there with modulations of light, toned prints of male nudes, photographs infiltrated by words and accompanied by mythical descriptions—these are a few of the rewards in store over the holidays for the photo viewer.
Some purists disclaim the effects of words upon a photograph. Only for identification will they accede to even the use of a title, and that, they contend, should be noncommittal; i.e., “Untitled 17” or “Portrait of Tamar.” Titles are not significant to David Arnold or Lisa Bloomfield (Project Arts Center, 141 Huron av., Cambridge), yet letters, words, and punctuation function in their work.
Arnold alters unpeopled spaces—burned-out rooms and condemned apartments. His imagery derives in no small instance from that of John Divola, one of the first contemporary photographers to alter spaces. Divola uses colorful spray paint to decorate his decrepit environment with slashes, dots and curvy lines, after which he photographs in color.
There is a visible narrative element in Arnold’s black and white conceptions. His photographs are suffused with nostalgia, often sporting the tag ends of a scene that can be inferred or invented. He will assemble a group of chairs in a dingy apartment whose windows have been battered out. Beneath the chairs, which seem arranged as for a small lecture, he will paint words that echo and repeat themselves; “I could hear it/I could see it/I was delighted.” The antecedent of “it” must somehow be determined.
Around the ceiling in one of his images is the alphabet as penned painstakingly by some moronic giant. Aa, Bb, Cc, Dd. The walls are charred, and the room is vacant save for a fire of newspapers in a tiled fireplace. Visually, the image is complete; it speaks of the ache of loss or stifled despair without rendering particulars. Arnold’s variation and expansion of Divola’s construct is often beguiling.
Kelly Wise
Boston Globe, December 19, 1982
