The piece shown above is by Takashi Arai, and is called “A Maquette for a Multiple Monument for B29:Bockscar”, 2014 Daguerreotype, 73 x 220 cm.

As mentioned in the description of the piece, Takashi used the daguerreotype technique to capture the images in iodized silver plated copper. What really is marvelous about this specific piece is the sheer scale it boasts. Most daguerreotypes are relatively small, commonly being pocket sized. However, Takashi was able to painstakingly take daguerreotypes of the entire bomber that dropped the atomic bombs in Japan and piece the results together as one massive daguerreotype mosaic. The amount of effort put into crafting this was no doubt impressive. In order to create a piece like this, where each daguerreotype ends where the other begins, he would have had to painstakingly calculate each and every camera placement angle for the 352 daguerreotype plates this piece consists of, and that’s not even including the effort to redo shots that were ruined or didn’t come out quite right. Furthermore, its also interesting to note that Takashi chose to photograph the bomber Bockscar, which, like the daguerreotype, has been outdated for quite some time now. Perhaps a parallel can be drawn between the plane and daguerreotype in the sense that both have lived a similar fate of being relevant and current in their respective decades, but have quickly been shoved aside and forgotten about in light of newer or cheaper technology.

The exhibition “A New and Mysterious Art” presented recent work by several different artists who not only acknowledged the mass potentials encaged in various primitive forms of photography but also weaved their antique techniques into their own work of art. Among various images exhibited, Pablo, from the series “Letter to my grandchildren 5” by Matthias Olmeta grabbed my attention, first with its overwhelming pitch-black background and the deep gaze of the young man’s portrait in the middle, and then with its detailed, gold letterings inscribed on the portrait which seemed to convey an important message.

Matthias Olmeta created the photograph through a series of wet plate collodion process. Using a warm black background instead of a transparent glass, Olmeta created an ambrotype, a positive photograph, on an acrylic glass, thereby adding on seriousness and solemnity to the atmosphere of his work with different shades of shadows all the while preserving a sense of reality by placing a focus on the face of the young man. Such use of primitive methods demanded immediacy and urgency, which emerged out as one of the most unique features of the photograph. Furthermore, unlike the photos taken by digital cameras and phones with programs that were already planned out by another person, the entire process of creating the photograph by building up necessary equipment and environment that resemble the primitive photographic techniques gave the artist the sole power and authority to his work as he could control the medium and thereby manipulate the effects and possible outcomes. Such advantages allowed the artist to express his personal insights and message more directly towards the audience.

Besides the antique photographic techniques, the work Pablo, from the series “Letter to my grandchildren 5” has more element to it. On the surface of the portrait is inscribed a letter to people in the future. The letter is written in gold leaf and it covers the whole photograph evenly. However, when having a closer look at the letter, one can realize that the letter is indecipherable because not only is it written in three different languages, but it is also scraped from the back of the photograph, which means that the entire letter is in backwards. The first step that one should take in order to decipher the letter would be to use a mirror, just like some of the works of Leonardo Da Vince (who also created his work backwards). By having the photograph black and white, the artist might have attempted to express the present as a past for the people in the future whom the letter is written to. The gaze of the young man can also suggests that the letter might include the artist’s concerns about the current world and his hope that the people in the future would either remedy the problems, or, in the least address the issues and attempt to tackle them.

I really appreciated the photographs I saw at the Howard and Greenburg Gallery because the processes and techniques used were so novel to me. The different variables involved in the processes used to make each photograph allowed the artists to all have their own unique style.

One work that really grabbed my attention was Luther Gerlach’s “Photosynthetic”. From the distance, this piece looked like some sort of aquarium with blue lights, but as I walked closer, I could see kelp. And, when I was right in front of the piece, I noticed that there were three layers of seaweed, which made the seaweed look 3-D and extremely realistic. Since this aquarium-like piece was placed on a wooden stand, I also felt obligated to walked around the art. To my surprise, the back of the piece comprised of another three layers of kelp, but instead of blue lights, the back had violet lights. I really liked that although the frame of the piece was rather small, what was captured within the frame was very large. The thick strands of kelp reminded me of the vast ocean and the lively vegetation swaying with currents. Since the piece is titled “Photosynthetic”, I would infer that the color of the lights might indicate what wavelength light the plants can absorb, but I would love to know from the artist why exactly he chose blue and violet. Is there a deeper meaning to the colors?

I was really curious to know what these separate layers were made of, but I knew for sure it wasn’t photo paper. It turns out I was looking at a type of photograph called ambrotype. This type of photograph was introduced at around the mid-19th century as a cheaper and faster alternative to daguerreotypes. Gerlach made “Photosynthetic” using “two relievo ambrotypes, each consisting of three glass plates”. In this process, a glass plate is coated in iodized collodian and then silver nitrate, followed by an exposure time of around a minute depending on the camera and the brightness. I really want to thank Jerry Spagnoli for curating this exhibit because in the generation of digital cameras, I feel that the complexity of 19th-century photography is often forgotten without exhibits like “A New and Mysterious Art”.

Prompt: I’d like you to say what captures you about the image–that is, about what can be distributed infinitely through digital sources–and what is important about the print itself as a unique object.

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Initially, what captured me about the piece was that it was unlike the other forms of art within the gallery; it is a calotype negative but at a quick glance, it just looks like a piece of folded paper with a cutout. This piece seems so simple yet it speaks volumes.

The part of the piece that can be distributed infinitely through digital sources is the significance of the human cutout. Regardless of the platform, the cutout will be evident. I interpreted the cutout to be the possible emotional state of someone inside such a large studio. Perhaps the studio is so massive that this person cannot help but to feel as though they don’t even belong there, aren’t significant enough, or just simply feel lonely. The feelings that this piece evokes also transcend through any platform. Despite being just the negative and not being able to show you the complete scenario, so much angst emanates from it.

However, this piece as an original is a very unique object. As a cut and waxed calotype negative, a digital representation of the piece would not do it justice. This digital representation does not have the same potential because it cannot be processed into the complementary colors into a colored image. Also, a digital representation would only represent the piece as 2-dimensional. The significance of the cutout and seeing the vague shadow of the piece on the back of the frame cannot be reflected in a mere .jpeg file or anything synonymous with it. A digital copy of this piece would not do the artist justice because it would over-simplify what the piece has potential of conveying.

Of all the works that I observed when visiting the gallery on Wednesday, the one that by far had the greatest emotional impact on me was Craig Tuffin’s Stolen. The $12,000.00 work is very new, having been completed in 2016, and measures 8 x 10 inches. The work was made using the Daguerreotype technique, which was the first publicly announced photographic process, and employed an iodine-sensitized silver plate and mercury vapor to order to capture the image. The subject of Stolen depicts a mother separated from her baby and watches from the other side of a high fence as another woman takes her child. I appreciated this photograph the most out of all the works in the gallery because of its instant emotional impact upon first view and its commentary on an important issue in American society.

The main topic of this photograph depicts a mother forcibly separated from her child by a form of a barrier in the middle of the desert. The barrier in this case is a large fence, and on the other side of the fence is a nicely dressed white woman with a baby in a carriage. One can assume that the child with the white woman is the baby of the other woman’s, because of her breakdown at the sight of her child with another mother-figure. One can tell from the details of the mother’s hair and skin tone that she is a Latin immigrant, presumably Mexican based on the image of the fence in the middle in the desert. The two women are juxtaposed, with one having light skin and blond hair and the other having tan skin and black hair. Tuffin draws a clear parallel between the economic status of the two different women based on the way that they are dressed, with the white woman appearing to have on more expensive clothes. The white woman appears to be very apathetic to the understable pain that the Mexican mother is going through by being separated from her child. To me, the photo seems to be a very clear commentary on the nature of illegal immigration in this country. While many in the United States, especially politicians, often focus on immigration within a broad political and economic context, the personal impact that immigration can have on families is not as often talked about. The artist succeeds at personalizing the issue through his art. The image of a mother separated from her child, presumably after being deported, has great emotional weight. Overall, the imagery of the photograph is very surreal, as the nicely dressed white woman on the other side of the fence would not normally be in the middle of the scorching desert. The fence stands as a metaphor for the breakdown of the family unit because of the great difficulties in attempting to have a better life in another country. I find very interesting the fact that the technique used to render the photograph is the oldest recognized technique for photography, yet the issue expressed in the work is as current as any issue in the United States can be right now.  

I was blown away by all the beautiful art in the Howard Greenberg Gallery. However after careful examination of many of the photos, I decided to speak about this photo of a hand, for it intrigues me the most. The photo is titled ‘Yahna Ganga’ – yahna meaning to sit or sit down, and Ganga meaning to hear, to think, and to understand. This title is the perfect caption for this complex photo because in order to understand it you have to sit down, allow the image to resonate in your mind and speak to you, think about it, and finally understand it.

This photo was an ambrotype – a positive photograph on glass made by a variant of the wet plate collodion process. The ambrotype was introduced in the 1850’s, but was quickly suppressed by the tintype – a similar photograph on thin black-lacquered iron.

What I admire the most is that the photographer only focuses on the hand, as it appears to be in a spotlight, without any light shining on it, while the rest of the background is black. What is even more interesting about this photo is that the hand is positioned in a way where it is reaching out at you in a simplistic but obscure way. As I stare at it I can’t help but wonder who this hand belongs to. And why they are reaching out, what are they reaching out for, or who are they reaching out for. The mystery behind this photo compels me.

It is quite obvious that the hand belongs to a black male. Based solely upon the wrinkles I can estimate that the man is around the age of 50. The hand seems worn out, as if this man has done a lot of work in his lifetime. It even seems as if the man is pleading in a way, possibly for money? The photographer represents more than just a black background and a hand in the spotlight through this photograph. This photographs symbolizes hope, salvation and the will to carry on. It also expresses a helping hand through its gesture, along with friendship and comfort. This piece of artwork is very inspiring and ultimately spoke to me on an emotional level.

This work was my favorite by far. Although the gallery was supposed to be devoted to the use of different, more archaic forms of light retention, I found this piece magnificent for little reason other than its sheer brilliance. I have deliberately eliminated all thought in my mind of how it’s been made, because the material should never distract from the subject, only enhance its magnificence.

Here you see a man, he’s not necessarily attractive, nor is he of wealth or power. Look at him, and look closely. Then look at what surrounds him. Part of what makes this format palpable is the appreciation thereof. Retaining the light around the body of a man, on a reflecting lake or river, surrounded by foliage on a mostly cloudy day, with a human form just barely edging perhaps, perhaps foliage.

His ascent right above the surface of the water is what draws this piece so close to my heart. I can see the reflection, a shadow, just beneath his upper torso is a shadow.

I myself cannot identify his race if I tried. All I see is an old and (perhaps I assume) wise-looking man. His shadow representing his figure reminds me of the allegory of the cave.

Perhaps it is because this picture is most attainable in the methods I use that I most associate with it. Regardless, it is by far the least physically abstract yet most emotionally distant and that’s what appeals to me most.

Out of all the photographs in the Howard Greenberg Gallery, the work of art that captured my attention the most was Campo San Moise, Venice, VIII by Vera Lutter. This photograph was from 2006 and measures 56 by 88 ¾ inches and is valued at $75,000. Vera Lutter uses a technique called camera obscura, also known as the pinhole camera. This technique consists of a darkened room with a small hole in one of the walls. Light rays pass through the hole and transmit an inverted image of the scene. This photograph shows the rooftops of several buildings with a tower in the background. The photograph has a good variety of lights and darks, and the buildings’ rooftops show a lot of texture.

Another reason this photo stood out to me is that last year I made my own pinhole camera for my photography class. We used a similar technique to create it as Vera Lutter, except we used a small tissue box instead of a whole room. Taking a photograph with a pinhole camera is particularly difficult because you need to leave it open for a very long time but then close the hole at the right time, so the photo paper won’t be exposed to extra light. Another difficulty is developing the photograph in the solutions and exposing the photo the right amount. My photographs always came out either blurry, too dark or too bright. Vera Lutter’s photograph is focused and has the perfect blend of dark and light. This photo is impressive to me because I know how difficult it is to end up with a nice photograph while using an ancient technique like camera obscura.