An Afternoon at the International Center of Photography

This Saturday, I ventured to the Lower East Side to check out the Eugene Atget show at the ICP. I just got a new camera, so I was doing a bit of a mini roam along the way, trying out some features and loving the feel of a “real” camera in my hands again after a few years of shooting with my iPhone and Instax.

What brought me downtown was Atget: The Making of a Reputation, a collection of photographs that were reproduced in Man Ray’s journal La Révolution surréaliste in 1926, and a set that were gathered for publication by Berenice Abbott in 1930.

Man Ray lived a few doors down from Atget in the Montparnasse neighborhood of Paris; Abbott was Man Ray’s assistant at the time. Abbott took a special interest in the mysterious photographer, later writing, “his photographs moved me and held me as no others did.” She was almost solely responsible for the preservation and canonization of the great street photographer.

 

 

I have always been drawn to Atget’s work, a Paris that no longer exists. Its storefronts, monuments, and avenues, photographed in the early mornings and mostly devoid of people. My favorite feature is the silence, conveyed by morning light, empty streets and alleys, and the sense of a city asleep. Such a unique quality in city/street photography, one that is very difficult to replicate given the twenty-four-hour nature of many metropolises.

Various publications of Atget's work

“Atget’s photographs are the supreme proof that photography is more than a machine, Except for the complex factors of stopping motion, Atget found no obstacle to making his photographs an extremely expressive comment on life. Not the camera, but Atget himself, dictated what would be set down in these now fading but still beautiful prints. The intensity of his purpose and vision was the powerful drive which compelled him to undergo long years of neglect and privation. At the same time he accepted the tremendous labor of his method, carrying the cumbersome view camera literally thousands of miles, weighed down by bulky glass plates. For him the camera was but an instrument for expressing his intense awareness of life.”
-- Berenice Abbott, “Eugene Atget,” The Complete Photographer, November 10, 1941

Eugene Atget photographed by Berenice Abbott, 1927

In Focus: Man Ray

Last month I attended the Man Ray retrospective at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, When Objects Dream. Man Ray’s work, specifically his photograms, which he called “Rayographs,” had a strong influence on my own, especially when I was delving into the realm of experimental photography. Many of his Rayographs were made using found objects and plant matter, everything from cheese graters and toy guns to light bulbs and ferns. Lightbulbs were a particular favorite of mine when I was working in the medium – I really enjoyed the effect variations of translucence would have on the finished image.

 

Man Ray, Various Rayographs, Metropolitan Museum of Art

Électricité (Electricity), 1931

 
While I already knew a lot about his career in art, I was thrilled to see examples from every era. From his early paintings and collage works, through every stage of his experiments with camera-free photography, and then into the medium of film. His musings on the human form, of which French lingerie designer Kiki de Montparnasse was a frequent feature, are striking in their beauty and whimsy.

Untitled (Glass Tears), ca. 1930-33

Film still from L'etoile de mer (The Starfish), 1928

 

De quoi écrire un poème (Subject for Writing a Poem), 1923

A small plaque in the middle of the gallery caught my eye:

“Man Ray first picked up a camera in 1915, to document his art. Through this experience, he discovered that the works acquired new qualities when reproduced in black and white. He made photographic portraits, too, which in Paris would become a dependable source of income. Reveling in the camera’s transformative optical abilities, Man Ray soon used it as a tool to facilitate his self-appointed role as a “marvelous explorer of those aspects that our retinas will never record.” He sought to revel the creative potential of objects in his studio and in 1918 began a series of photographs using specifically arranged everyday items.”

I have always been frustrated by the idea that what I see cannot be directly translated as an image, but I can come as close as possible with the use of a camera. In 2011, my Instagram handle, mycameraeyes, was borne out of a similar sentiment. I make photographs to preserve the things I see.

My favorite item on display, however, was one that has always intrigued me whenever I have come across a collection of Man Ray's works.

Object to Be Destroyed, 1923 (1969)

From the placard:

"Man Ray made the first version of this work in 1923, as a step to standardize his painting practice - working to the time of the metronome - and, adding the cut-out of an eye, as a witness to his work. Later, in 1932, following the departure of his companion and collaborator Lee Miller, he replaced the original detail with a photograph of one of her eyes. Many versions of the work were produced after that, both as multiples and, in a version known as Indestructible Object, with the substituted eye of his second wife, Juliette Man Ray."

I am fascinated by the idea of such a seemingly mundane idea taking such a whimsical form: to work to the rhythm of the metronome while being watched by the eye of someone he loves and who loves him. I feel so fortunate to have been able to see the Object and all of the work on display in person.

Four Days in London

I just returned this week from (what was supposed to be) a quick jaunt to London. I planned the weekend getaway around a special exhibition at the London Museum Docklands: Secrets of the Thames. Discovering relics from the past has always been an interest of mine, and for the last couple of years I have been following a handful of mudlarks on Instagram. Mudlarks scour waterways, especially along the banks of the Thames in London, for items of historical or monetary value.

“Mudlarks have been drawn to the water’s edge for hundreds of years, if not longer, searching for bits and pieces that could be sold. Today’s mudlarks are excited by the sense of discovery, of knowing that they are the first person to touch something in potentially hundreds or even thousands of years.”

Entrance, London Museum Docklands © Chelsea Pathiakis

                 
The items on display ran the full gamut, from an Iron Age helmet dating to 150-50 BCE (found in 1868), to a Medieval era leather belt with decorative studs, to Peter Fleming’s stolen Wimbledon medals, found by mudlarks and returned to their rightful owner (Fleming loaned the medals to the museum for the exhibit). Lost to the water were knives, swords, rings, shields, soldiers’ shoes, intaglios, and hair pins, as well as statuettes and figurines that were likely gifted to the river for religious or ritual purposes.

Iron Age Helmet, c. 150-50 BCE

Fashion Finds

Peter Fleming's Returned Medals

 

Offerings to the Thames

Various Found Knives

 

Rapier, c. 1594

Various Found Rings

 

Hairpins

Intaglios

Soldier's Shoe Soles

 
Modern mudlarks require permits from the Port of London Authority – before the pandemic, there were 250 active permits. During lockdown, that number rose to 5,000, and is now capped to protect the waterways.

Before I left, a friend recommended a book: The Lost Apothecary by Sarah Penner, “a dual-timeline historical fiction novel about a secret 18th-century London apothecary that sells poisons to women seeking revenge on men, and a modern-day woman who uncovers its mystery while dealing with her own marital problems, linking their stories through a forgotten crime.” The modern-day woman, Caroline, finds an old apothecary vial while exploring the shores of the Thames with a group of mudlarks. I don’t want to spoil any more of the story, but it really was the perfect accompanying text to this trip.

The Lost Apothecary by Sarah Penner

Because of the massive snowstorm due to hit New York just after I left, my flight home was cancelled, and I found myself in London for two extra days. Sunday through Tuesday, I decided to roam London and discovered I had muscle memory for the city tucked away from when I visited seven years ago. More than once I stumbled upon areas I’d intentionally looked for last time. I did take the Tube to areas I haven't explored before, like Marble Arch, Mayfair, and Canary Wharf. I also sought out a few new-to-me bookstores and stationery shops (Present & Correct was an immediate favorite), felt like a kid in a candy store at the London Graphic Center, and had the customary fish, chips, and a (half) pint.

 

 

All of the above © Chelsea Pathiakis

I can’t wait to visit again.