photography of interest
I am listening to a local radio program right now, and the guest is David Plowden, a photographer whose subject is "disappearing America." I checked out his website, and lo and behold, found a photograph he had taken of Marion in 1973, one of his many small-town America, black and white compositions he seems to specialize in.
They are sad (in fact, he and the radio host are talking about that now), but I can't stop looking at them. There are many on his website of barns, rural landscapes, deserted houses. They capture that starkness of the plains -- and reminded me of what Ellie had talked about on her blog a while back.
I don't know if I'd say, enjoy, necessarily, but they are worth a look. They appeal to my enjoyment of strict perspective.
They are sad (in fact, he and the radio host are talking about that now), but I can't stop looking at them. There are many on his website of barns, rural landscapes, deserted houses. They capture that starkness of the plains -- and reminded me of what Ellie had talked about on her blog a while back.
I don't know if I'd say, enjoy, necessarily, but they are worth a look. They appeal to my enjoyment of strict perspective.
posted by Lesley at 11:24 AM
3 Comments:
Oh my goodness. I LOVE his photographs! I really adore the harsh loneliness that is depicted in most of those images. I don't know if most thinking folks feel the same way I do, or if it's a little unusual: that kind of sadness in beauty really nourishes my soul.
That's how I feel, too, when I look at these photographs! They are so stark, yet you can almost see activity that once took place there. And I like the fact that they are black and white and not trying to make the landscape more than it is.
Wow! This particular picture is of Marion Hardware when my Uncle Jim Freichstein (sp? it's a hard name to spell) first owned it. My grandmother of course owned Van's Department store a block away and across the street.
It's so obvious that Marion is in decline now. Even in 1973 (I'm -2 years old on that date), when this picture was taken, Marion always seemed to me a dusty old town that had ripened two generations ago and was now just marking time.
There is something about Marion that's completely burned into my mind, however. I remember going to visit Mrs. Melton, one of my Grandmother's best friends, and being fascinated by the incredible amont of information stored on Marion in that noggin of hers. It's history was/is fascinating to me.
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