How often have you taken a
picture that’s not at all what you’d seen? This never happened to Garry
Winogrand. Or it happened all the time. He knew that “the photograph isn’t what
was photographed. It’s something else. It’s a new fact.” Winogrand never staged
anything. He had a restless nature, a restless eye, and was so often on the
move that he almost always managed to be in the right place at the right time.
In the fall of ’63 he applied for, and received, a Guggenheim fellowship,
intending to drive cross-country and take pictures along the way. He was
propelled as much by a need to be in motion as by his despair at the state of
the world. In the statement of intent he’d written: “I look at the pictures I
have done up to now, and they make me feel that who we are and how we feel and
what is to become of us just doesn’t matter.” But at the dose of his statement
he would stake his claim; “I cannot accept my conclusions, and so I must
continue this photographic investigation further and deeper. This is my project.”
Within a month, the president would be dead, and Winogrand was soon in a car
headed west. Forty years later, the selection of images in this show takes us
along for the ride.
In a picture from Lake Tahoe, vacationers relax poolside behind a frieze of
transparent yellow and blue panels held between a parked red car and a motel
sign above. A smaller sign, with a silhouette of a stagecoach and horses and
the phrase TALLY HO, is surrounded by blue sky and tall pines, and the
country’s pioneer spirit hovers over this newly mobile leisure class. America as
theme park and our notion of an all-encompassing image world were well on the
way. Again and again in 1964 Winogrand is taking pictures of people taking
pictures. At football games and state fairs at national landmarks and sometimes
just out in the middle of nowhere. When he stands across from the “grassy
knoll” In Dallas,
what does he see? Tourists with cam- eras examining a postcard of the Texas
School Book Depository against the actual scene. He wasn’t alone In his
restlessness, but as he catches others in passing, he identifies how escapism
and a troubled mind are somehow entwined, and how they define us stall.
On a warm night in Houston, when Winogrand is
looking down from a hotel window at a woman afloat In a luminous pool below, so
are we. He makes the cam- era seem to disappear and redefines being there. His is an art of
consciousness, of life lived as well as recalled: every Image an after-image,
his eye both highly focused and nomadic. At the time of Winogrand’s death, In
1984, he left behind more than three hundred thousand pictures he’d shot and
never even looked at! It was as if he were attempting to photograph every
single inch of the world around him. And us. His field of vision accounts for those
moments In which life appears to be doing almost nothing to attract our
attention, and it’s there in those empty pockets of time and space that
Winogrand not only captures the way life looks but how it feels. When you’re
waiting for a plane In an airport you’re In a Winogrand. Even walking down Seventh Avenue after seeing this show, you find the
street offering up one Winogrand after another. The best photographers do that
don’t they? Remind us that we inhabit
the world, that It comes to life because we’re In it. When you look at
Winogrand’s work you can’t help but
trunk about how so many pictures today, and the people who take them, make us
feel like spectators and not much more.
Until now, Winogrand’s
color photographs have never been exhibited or published, and their effect here
was nothing short of revelatory. Interspersed among black-and-white photographs
throughout the galleries, the color work is so finely attuned that these
pictures seem almost handtinted the colors, even white, appearing tipped-in. A
woman walks past a nondescript building in LA, and only details register as
color: her yellow dress, white purse and shoes. Have the white lines of the
parking lot been freshly painted in at her feet? Winogrand’s painterly eye for
color and composition are uncannily in sync, and when pop-inflected signage
figures in the equation, you’d swear it was by sleight of hand.
The pictures Winogrand
brought back from his cross-country trip form a definitive portrait of America,
on a par with Robert Frank’s landmark The Americans
(1959). And while Winogrand rendered the country at the end of its innocence
and still in mourning, his heightened sense of visual poetry and humor
transforms “Garry Winogrand 1964” into one of the great road movies of all
time. With almost two hundred prints from his archive, chosen by Trudy Wilner
Stack, many never before shown, this was nothing less than an event. In the
gorgeous book that accompanies the exhibiting, Wilner Stack’s essay begins with
a tease, the punch line to Winogrand’s favorite joke: A woman walks through a
park with her grandson in a stroller.
When a passing couple gush
over how cute he is, the grandmother replies, “That’s nothing. You should see
his picture.” You can’t help but wonder at how in tune Winogrand was to a
moment like this . . . to see in it something absurd but true about human
nature, and about photography as well.
Bob Nickas is a writer and critic based in New York.