TOM ELLIOTT - REVIEWS

Glass

I am attracted to this photograph perhaps because photographs built around reflections have been amongst my personal favourites since the 1970’s when I purchased and still have, a copy of Lee Friedlander’s “Self Portraits” [Haywire Press].

Photographs capture so much within reflections and have broad appeal as they usually depict very much a one-off, never to be seen again moment. Reflections are seldom the same even seconds later, hence an urgency exists to capture the image then and there; one frame seized from the movie we call life, be it raucous, peaceful, thought- provoking or tragic-- we are compelled to preserve it.

This particular gem from Julian depicts three lovely ‘gals’ in a coffee shop enjoying their refreshments at a bench affording a good overview of Wellington street life and fashion, perhaps, as it passes by.

Remarkably, the two outside figures possess inwardly turned expressions which highlight the euphoric expression of the central figure, lost in her personal vision which we are made to feel is wonderful – utter contentment, the mild pleasure of a happy observer in her moment, while the remaining two figures appear left out, separate, grim, even questioning ‘what’s she so blissed out about’?

On first seeing this photo I noticed the three ovoid shapes hovering above the well- groomed heads, like three outsized, old-fashioned hair drying machines freshly lifted from their coiffeured settings. A street telephone booth, seemingly inside the coffee shop, is apparently stuck to the side of one lady’ head. Other ovoid shapes appear within the image: smaller tables, chairs, manhole covers, bowls and the brilliant white cups and table knick-knacks all help create an even larger ovoid around the collective portrait.

This is a photograph of great depth, printed in the crisp Julian Ward method. It is surely another timeless image which should form part of our greater national photography collection.

Tom Elliott, Karekare, Waitakere.
October 2011

Fragments from the Cosmic Womb

This photograph captured my attention immediately. At first, I, possibly like you, recognised a baby fur seal apparently at rest in a rock cavity anchored within a breakwater of other, more rugged rocks; all held in place by a small manmade wall. That on one level is what the photograph shows us.

A number of seasoned photographers will remind us that great photographs are likely to transcend the mundane and offer us alternative possibilities.

It was the beautifully formed rock holding the seal which first took my attention; it being so very, very smooth, like a finely sculptured piece thrown amongst much rougher specimens, the rock stood out alone as remarkable. A perfectly formed chair-like profile appears to have been blasted out of this rock and the seal has folded itself into a blissful advantage of rest from the support it now offers. The quiet presence of the photographer is not noticed.

The rock, in particular, carries a diagonal scar to the right of its swollen surface, a caesarean-like mark; perhaps into the cosmic womb of creation, revealing like some museum collection of specimens, the benign creature of its making, carried to earth to begin its sojourn somewhere along the copious waterfront of Wellington.

The uppermost rocks resemble a darker, planetary avalanche and the sparkling stellar details of the pebbles pressed within the wall below work to contain the greater galactic nature of this photograph. Finally, the protection afforded the seal settled into the rock suggests to the observer of the ever present need all animals require of us – to love and above all, to protect.

Recent horrors of animal cruelty bought to our attention through the media form a constant reminder of the duty of protection we as humans must provide all animals, at all times. Man’s inhumanity to man is one thing, ever outrageous, but with many of us, man’s inhumanity to animals strikes a far deeper chord and cannot under any circumstance be tolerated.

Julian has printed this photograph with just the right amount of darkness and mystery, a technique he has well mastered, further cementing the birth/death overtones of this image, casting it high into the realm of yet another classic.

Tom Elliott, Karekare, Waitakere. December 2011

On Julian Ward's Photographs

Some photographers have highly developed senses of heart and see less through their eyes thankfully and more through that side of their nature which is true to who they are in their everyday life. After all, in this dreadful Yuga of Kali, who should, in all honesty, be expected to believe their own eyes? Photography appeals to some of us because it touches on the above and teases the viewer to see more with their feelings and forget for just a moment what the eyes alone might see.

Ansel Adams, in addition to his acclaimed photographic history, was an accomplished pianist and many of his photos were described as having their basis in music. Personally, I prefer jazz and couldn’t see jazz in his work—but from a classical perspective, yes, I could see the structured and melodic influences of music there, especially in the manner of his finely interconnected tonal backgrounds which tied it all together through his Zone System into an orchestral whole. Ansel’s photographs are prized by collectors and galleries the world over.

Michael A. Smith, another wonderfully dedicated large format photographer, noted for his ability to transform a part of the phenomenal world into a photograph—an aesthetic object—into truths beyond illustration or subject matter, was also an accomplished musician – (playing) the hammer dulcimer as I recall. Michael saw a direct connection between ‘bird song’ printouts (sonograms) and what he saw in the spread of his 8x10 inch format as laid out before him. Many of his prints as well as those of his wife Paula Chamlee are held in the highest regard by keen collectors and name galleries throughout the US. (see Michael A. Smith: A Visual Journey—Lodima Press).

Julian Ward, as I have only recently discovered, also has a love of music and I believe we can see it demonstrated in The Tui Folk Festival and Willis Street photographs. The first is more obvious, as the background banner tells us it is taken at a folk festival and the girl playing a violin stands inside a swirling hula hoop as she plays. How musical is that? Also the support pole just behind her to her left connects with that same hoop forming a giant musical note. The background chaos of props can also be read as a melody of music emanating from the violin; a veritable spreadsheet of vertical and horizontal bars and lines--- there are to be found every conceiveable symbol of music, microphones, crotchets and quavers within the mesh of steel, all captured by a photographer, I suggest, who may not have seen at the time but who photographed instead with a heart that felt, or a heart that sensed.

The second photo (Willis Street) shows a figure seemingly hurriedly walking by, largely in shadow forming a strong base note; solid, bold, mysterious; topped with a striking ‘gong of light’ on his forehead, which appears electric to me, not unlike the “zap” moment when electricity strikes and look at that splatter of shimmering silver birch leaves, vibrating in the Wellington wind. That’s music. Notice also the panelling in the building behind. Correct me if I’m wrong, but is that not the same or similar to the lineal pattern upon which music is written and the figures on both extremes left and right of the central figure like keys touched by the outstretched fingers of a pianist, all work to hold the image in perfect note.

I’m not suggesting Julian saw all this through his camera as he pressed the shutter; the point is that we instinctively reflect what is within, without--- as is the microcosm, so is the macrocosm. Perhaps it’s vice-versa, and, if the magic that is music is swirling around us and through us as we meander through life, it is often reflected , albeit unconsciously in everything we make contact with, such as personal relationships and photographs we may take.

The photographer Walker Evans remarked that photography is done instinctively, not consciously. Unless Evans felt that the object photographed was a ‘transcendence’ of the object, of the moment of reality, he would throw it away. He also commented that there are millions of photographs made all the time which do not transcend anything, and they are not anything. In this sense, he said, photography is a very difficult art and probably depends on a gift, an unconscious gift; and sometimes, an extreme talent.

It is for these reasons I for one am grateful to Julian for his incredible photography and the satisfaction it brings me. I hope every collector, curator sits up and takes notice of this talent of longstanding amongst us and works to provide a sanctuary for his work for all New Zealanders to appreciate in the future. We do not need to look overseas to purchase the Winogrands and Meyerowitz’s of this world, as totally inspirational their works might be, in Julian Ward can be found at least the equal, perhaps better, certainly local, right under our noses.

Is there not any way we in NZ can move to have Julian’s outstanding photographs made available through our prime galleries as part of our permanent collections?

Tom Elliott, KareKare, Waitakere
October 2011

A Submission to Sleep

Four youthful figures, students perhaps, lie prone, at rest across beanbag chairs at the staged footing of an event unknown. There’s a humour in the casual pose of the figures who, in full public view, seem to have just dumped themselves there without a care in the world. In the upper right corner, just within the periphery of one’s outer vision another lesser activity, not at first glance clear, is taking place.

Large format photographers, while viewing the ground glass under their dark cloths, are well trained to always consider carefully the edges and corners of their photographs as they compose, as often these areas hold or give substance to the image proper. The slightest shift of camera direction can change drastically the final result.

With 35mm cameras, as used here, minus the customary set up time afforded large format, the keenly observant photographer does the same thing; he scans the edges prior to pressing the shutter, albeit instinctively.

The eye, momentarily captured at once by the central figures of this image, senses a form sitting in the upper right corner. It could be a broad backed forestry worker in an industrial style chequered workshirt. On closer inspection it is revealed how the mind plays tricks and one sees small legs protruding from under the shirt, realising that this is in fact a small child standing on the surrounding platform, reaching for the back of someone’s head, as if about to jump them.

This hilarious error of judgement is further added to by the heavily anchored strops set into the ground behind them, like some bungy awaiting release to hurl both into the strata beyond.

The confident submission of the centrally framed youth, collapsed into the body moulding comfort of the beanbags is immediately striking. Older persons in a public arena might be less prone to such wilful abandonment of consciousness.

We notice the figure on the far left has even kicked off his branded sneakers and loosened his belt a little-- he is apparently there for the long haul. The girl next to him lies face to the sky, vulnerable, confidently comatose, while the next figure appears grateful the bean bags were there to capture his helpless toe-tipped stumble into blissful oblivion. The last remaining figure looks like he may be subconsciously calculating the results of his recent maths exam for errors, but the overall impression of the students’ total submission to sleep, stretching out in such random, abandoned comfort in a public place is something I find very encouraging.

Given today’s political currency, we in New Zealand have little need, at least by overseas comparison, to take up arms in protest for our liberty. We assume our safe political situation, taking it almost as a given. We can safely lie around on bean bags. In countries struggling for their democratic voice, thousands of youthful students lie dead on bloodied pavements and blood soaked desert sands, a far cry from our present comfort.

I consider this photograph to be a very successful image, as it reaches me on various levels of awareness. Many of Julian Ward’s photos take a gentle, enquiring approach, other images of his, I find perfectly poetic, some even grate like an old bus that can’t find the correct gear to change down to; that’s not in any way to be seen as a fault of the photographers, rather, it tells me that I need to look harder, for longer, to reflect with a mind that has stepped away from the mundane and gain the deeper centres of possible meanings his richly printed photographs offer us.

Tom Elliott.
Karekare. Waitakere.
December 2011