A Review of William Eggleston's Democratic Camera: Photographs and Video, 1961-2008 by Jordana Zeldin.

William Eggleston is my favorite photographer. It can be a tricky question, “who is your favorite photographer?” and frankly if you asked me why I’d probably be hard pressed to tell you what it is I like so much about him save the fact that by pointing his camera at “the everyday,” he quietly tips his hat to the things around us that we all see but rarely really consider. Have you ever read the book Babbit by Sinclair Lewis? Or the Moviegoer by Walker Percy? Well in one of those two books, on one morning and for no apparent reason, the main character who finds himself a prisoner to the grind of the everyday, actually sees his pile- the thing he makes on his dresser when he comes home from work by plopping down his keys, change and receipts and scoops up in the morning on his way out the door, without consideration. His seeing of his pile is a revelatory moment for that character. That’s how I think of Eggleston’s images. Oh, and then there’s his extraordinary use of color, of course, and the uncanny expressions of the people he photographs. They never seem to fit comfortably in their environments and often look so privately troubled…ok, now that I’ve gotten going I could probably tell you a lot about why I like his pictures.

When I discovered his work in Los Alamos back in the winter of 2003 (yes, I know, I know, I’m a late bloomer) while doing research for a play I was directing, I felt like it shocked me into breathing. It was around Eggleston’s photos that the cast and I built the world of the play, how it felt and how it smelled. The green shower stall was, without a doubt, the shower in which the lead character found herself being ridiculed after gym class by a group of cruel high school girls. That window with the wispy cobweb cotton candy existed somewhere in that Southern town where she grew up. The house with the mop resting on the gate outside was her house. It was remarkable. Since then Eggleston’s images have altered the way I see the world and, without a doubt, how I take pictures.

So, given all of this (and more, really I could go on), you can imagine the surprise I felt to feel…gulp…underwhelmed by his Democratic Camera, Photographs and Video, 1961-2008 at the Whitney Museum of American Art. The trip uptown in the blistering cold last Friday felt like a pilgrimage to holy ground and I expected to come away with… a feeling. Step off the elevator on the 3rd floor and there’s the white light bulb on the red ceiling, the tricycle looming-large over suburbia is to the left, the image of the black man and the white man standing at a strange angle next to that white car, lost in thought, is also right there to greet you. All of my favorites and more were hanging in one of the five or so rooms along with a bunch I’d never seen before. Going from print to print (it was somewhat surprising to see small-ish prints, bucking the trend in modern photography exhibitions today where bigger means better. No, no- here, the images, rather than their size, were left to make the impact), I paused in front of each one really wanting to take them in deeply or to respond to them in a way I hadn’t before. I wanted to get up close and marvel at the dye transfer process and find myself lost in thought in front of the open freezer, the girl with the strawberry hair ordering an ice cream soda. In short, I didn’t feel any of those things. I tried to but ultimately left feeling empty. By far the most fascinating thing for me was the collection of “drugstore prints.” I guess Eggleston had dropped off some of his rolls of film at the local film developer to proof or just for kicks before printing them himself. The difference between them and his prints is marked, of course. I knew Eggleston was a pioneer of color printing but didn’t realize just how crucial his process was in making the images work.

So I left feeling somewhat anxious (had I spent enough time taking it all in? did I miss something?), looked around the bookstore and talked with one of the people at the information desk (“how does one get into the Whitney Biennial?" ”When is it?” “How often?” “Oh yes, duh! Of course, once every two years…thank you…”) and went home.

I haven’t been taking pictures as regularly as I’d like to these days but nonetheless packed my Polaroid 600 camera and trusty Rebel xTi into my bag anyway for my brief weekend trip back to Providence. I hadn’t thought much about the Eggleston show since seeing it and as I sat on the bus in my usual seat behind the driver I wasn’t doing much looking around, until suddenly, and just as inexplicably as that character is one of those two books I mentioned up above, I was. There was absolutely nothing remarkable taking place on that bus the moment I felt I had to reach for my two cameras but I grabbed them both and suddenly I felt like this whole “bus world” was revealed to me. The warm light shining on my Au Bon Pain coffee cup reminded me of Eggleston’s image of the light reflecting off the whiskey-filled cocktail glass on that airplane; the sky, made bluer by the polarized windows, reminded me of an Eggleston sky and the light and shadow shifting across the bus driver’s hand reminded me of the kinds of images I like to take. Motel signs, lottery jackpot billboards loomed large above the trees reaching up towards the clouds, reflections, strange scale, everything seemed exciting and worth taking a picture of. I shot incessantly from my seat for the remaining half hour of the trip and couldn’t help but see just about everything on the rest of my short stay at home as similarly picture worthy. It’s the same feeling I had when I realized I wanted to become a photographer in the first place and similar to the feeling I had after happening upon Eggleston’s images for the first time.

I wouldn’t necessarily describe Eggleston’s images as "tough " in the sense that Joel Meyerowitz meant but I’d call Democratic Camera tough…at least, tough on me (and come to think of it the images were certainly “tough” on the people who first saw them in the 60s). It didn’t give me that instant gratification I was seeking, it didn’t feel revelatory, but without my knowing it, I believe it was benevolently working on me even after I’d left it.

I don’t think of Eggleston as a particularly “enthusiastic” guy. He gives each object its fair showing with a picture and moves on, never snapping the same thing twice. Well, I now realize that’s how I felt at his show. I looked at the image, considered it briefly, and moved onto the next one. And I suppose that’s what this whole Democracy business is about anyhow. None of the images are positioned to stand out, they’re all the same size, and in a true “Democracy of Images,” no one picture should arouse any more or less feeling than any other one. Looking over these objects- on the wall and framed, yes, but somehow discarded-feeling in their “humility," the viewer is forced to take them in as Eggleston might have when he found them. I don’t think this was an accident, people. I think it’s the result of spot-on curation, totally in service of the photographer, his intentions, and his pictures.

Check out the show if you can and feel free to post your thoughts and comments about it here. It runs into next year through January 25th.

©William Eggleston

(click to enlarge):



© me

© me