Because
the Mississippi delta is the "Cradle
of the Blues," the river's
poetic legacy is a floodplain
of pathos. New Deal photographer
Walker Evans famously chronicled
its cemeteries, sharecroppers
and prison farms, but his human
subjects hid all expressions of
joy. Alec Soth is an old-school,
Walker Evans-style photographer
in that his subjects are the object
of his art. However, he works
with a lighter heart and an eye
for irony.
In this age of egocentric, manipulative
photography and small candid cameras,
Soth lugs heavy equipment in search
of characters with stories to
tell. Because of its narrative
nature, his exhibition "Sleeping
by the Mississippi" resembles
songwriting more than current
art photography. The show has
overlapping themes, beginning
with a tribute to the music of
the river. At the grim boyhood
home of Johnny Cash, where 1936's
floods drove the family off the
land, Soth found optimism. As
he explained, those floods deposited
so much rich silt on the land
that in following years, harvests
were bountiful enough that the
family could afford things like
guitars and dreams. The photographer
visited the Harbor Marina in Memphis,
where Jeff Buckley swam to his
sweet hallelujah, before his body
floated up at the foot of Beale
Street's music clubs. Soth dropped
in on the famous Memphis photographer
William Eggleston, but shoots
him playing music. At Jerry Lee
Lewis' childhood home, Soth found
the singer's sister Frankie Jean,
who lives there, but sleeps in
a sleeping bag on the shag carpet
floor.
"She just doesn't want
to muss a bed," he says.
Empty beds are thematic. Soth
even quoted poet John Berryman
(who leapt to his death from a
Mississippi River bridge): "Empty
grows every bed." A nightmarish,
deserted hospital bed in Green
Island, Iowa, looks as therapeutic
as a Civil War amputation board.
The show includes flotsam beds
in swamps and a mattress floating
under a blues icon, the Helena
Bridge. Beds are dream catchers
and Soth asked his subjects about
their dreams. Charles Lindbergh's
boyhood bed certainly evoked flying
dreams, as do several other subjects,
including a prisoner in Kentucky
who said his dream was to own
a school for pilots. Lenny, an
erotic masseuse and body builder,
dreams he will "live to be
100 and still look the way I do
now." At a massage parlor
in Davenport, a daughter said
her dream was to become a nurse,
while her mother told Soth that
she had given up dreaming long
ago. In a neon-washed Minneapolis
tavern, Soth intervened in a dream.
"The thing about Kym was
that she had only left Minneapolis
once in her life, to go to New
Orleans. She had a good time there
and recounted that to me, but
she had taken photos and then
left the camera in a taxi. So,
when I went to New Orleans I tried
to photograph the places she had
told me about," he says,
before adding that the tavern
had been demolished.
Soth's river flows through very
different regions. The upper Mississippi,
including Iowa, is a cold land
of denial; the further south,
the more open and decadent things
become. From a frozen statue of
an amputated Christ in Buena Vista
to a lilac-blossomed Palm Sunday
in Louisiana, his camera warms
to southern light. And human subjects
lose inhibitions, from Lenny's
denial to life-accepting brothel
mongers in New Orleans and Memphis.
Beyond Venice, La., the southern-most
point on the river that a car
can travel, Soth finds the "Dead
Zone," where run-off from
Midwestern agriculture's chemical
addictions have eradicated marine
life. Walker Evans' camera would
have been at home here, but would
not have found the Devil's boudoir
- a wrought-iron bed in the bulrushes
of man-made Hell. (At the Des
Moines Art Center Downtown through
April 21.)
Art News
Drake's Anderson Gallery has
two "Best Of" shows
from the American Institute of
Graphic Arts - top book designs,
plus the nation's outstanding
graphic designs... Sherwood Gallery's
annual Pace print show begins
Feb 9... Des Moines Art Center
artist in residence Tony Pontius
signed with Moberg Gallery, and
is featured in its current show.
CV
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