Every
now and then, the ‘Decline of the American Empire’ rears its ugly head. Whether
nationally or regionally, a wide range of experts discuss and generally agree that,
at the very least ‘the times, they are a-changing.’ Yet how this phenomenon
impacts our daily lives here in Utah remains unclear. What are the symptoms?
Where are they to be found? And is it possible to address this phenomenon
artistically?
These
questions come to the fore in twenty unframed color photographs by David
Baddley, on show at the downtown Salt Lake library. Measuring approximately two
by three feet, the prints are pinned directly to the wall with thumbtacks.
Baddley’s compositions are asymetrical and oscillate between genuine
haphazardness and staged wrecklessness. The subjects too are arbitrary, banale
and benign. Depicted are close-ups and vistas that scream of nothing in
particular.
Subjects
such as abandonment and alienation are dear to artists’ hearts; there is a vast
body of work devoted to this subject. The paintings of Edvard Munch or Edward
Hopper come to mind. And while some may resent the connection of this subject
with the State of Utah, on another level Not
Home offers a welcome reprieve from the Land of Positive Thinking. And yet,
there are flies in the ointment.
Never,
not ever do we encounter another human being. Baddley’s images are consistently
void of people, though traces can be found in residual minutia, such as a peeling
picture frame or an overpolished barstool. In La Casita, Springville a tobacco-stained wall intersects with a
stucco ceiling. In Arshe’s Cafe, Beaver
a fragment of neon tubing stares out into a nocturnal abyss. To whom do these
objects beckon? To a crowd that never arrives, but opts to keep driving to the
next exit? Such works ask whether there is anything quite as lonely as small
town Utah? The answer of course, is yes. This kind of bewilderment is
universal, and found anywhere from the cornfields of Andrew Wyeth to the
beaches of Eric Fischl. If that is indeed so, what then is there to be gleaned
from these particular works? That the American dream failed here too? Somehow,
I suspect this is not new to American photography.
If
Baddley’s interiors are gloomy, you should see his landscapes. Though not
landscapes in the traditional sense, they depict the wilds of Utah, out there
where the genre no longer exists.
In these works, nature is the main subject, though always contaminated
by something industrially manufactured. Storms rage and recover against a
silhouette of mountains in Rest Area,
I-80, Utah 2011, yet are pierced by one solitary lampost whose bulb glows
faintly. Water Tank, Layton, Utah 2010
depicts a spectacular sunset at dusk, with shards of peach light forming what
Friedrich might have called the Sublime. Lurking in the foreground is a water
tank sporting the hopeful logo ‘Surf ‘n’ Swim.’
While
we encounter the sheer desolation of these places, Baddley’s work does not portray
antagonistic relations between man and nature, but co-existence in quiet
lamentation. Therein, one can’t help noticing the violation, as if a strip mall
had been photoshopped into an Alfred Bierstadt painting. Apple Tree, Susanville, California 2011 shows an apple tree
bursting with fruit. Its branches incongruously harbour some kind of lighting
contraption, replete with rows of fluorescent bulbs. The gravel of a highway
shoulder is depicted in Kiefer-like focus, yet is punctuated by three
black-and-yellow warning signs alerting drivers to a sharp turn. While we are aware
of these infringements, I can’t help thinking that these scenes hover on the
brink of sentimentality. As if we might next discover a headless doll, or a
lost shoe. Other works depict small-scale facilities of unknown origin or
occupancy. Here, metal siding is king and urban planning has gone the way of
the dodo. Once pregnant with purpose, these buildings now lie defunct and
lifeless, like the water towers of Bernd and Hilla Becher. As signs of a declining
America, they too are over-familiar, and approach the world of the cliché. Once
again, I fear Baddley will turn his lens to an untended baseball diamond, or a
derelict post office.
Compositionally,
Baddley’s works employ several time-honoured devices. Geometric elements are
contrasted with scribly, looser ones. The shadows of a tree are projected onto
a wall, mismatched tires pile up at an abandoned garage. As well, many subjects
are cropped such that only fragments exist – like SNL’s ‘guy who just wandered
in.’ A framed poster of a western couple is bisected at mid-waist. A corner of
a billboard invades a cerulean sky. A blue column is amputated at the knee.
Such devices betray a fondness for abbreviation which heightens a sense of
disjunction. The viewer is left wondering what lies beyond? Or do they? Maybe
they don’t wonder, but just move on. Because such fragments already constitute
the currency of their lives.
The
issue of vacuity and desperation in the darker recesses of the American
imagination has repercussions for us all. Yet Baddley has rendered this subject
in a visual language that is already common currency. This further trivializes
his subject, and leaves us wondering whether the works signify anything beyond
their own banality? In this way, Baddley’s works do not offer an aesthetics of
decline, they are symptomatic of it.
David Baddley’s Not Home is on view at the Downtown Library until June 15th, 2012.
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