Photography: "Ashes and Snow"

Walking through the cavernous environment that houses the photography show, "Ashes and Snow" by Canadian photographer Gregory Colbert, I felt underwhelmed. In comparison to the massive building built from shipping containers, and the gigantic image of the monk and the hawk unfurled outside, the artwork inside was hung from wire lines, like small pieces of flimsy laundry.

The walkways were made of wood planks, like a wharf. Mexican pebbles bordered either side of the walkway, creating an aisle, not made for wandering as one would a museum to ponder each piece, but more like a chute made to move people through as though we were two-legged cargo. Pressed to go in one direction, we glanced at photos while being pushed from behind. The pathway was supposed to symbolize a journey, but Colbert forgot that there are many directions in which people wander. The lighting was dim, the photographs in their sepia tones were attractive and the subjects looked serene, even surreal. One couldn’t help but think of Scavullo, Avedon and Lebowitz, or even ads done by well-known ad agencies.

Perhaps it’s this as well as the tie-in with Rolex, the special building of the grand scale architecture combined with big screen movies, posters that sell for $85, books that sell for $130 that makes it eerily like fashion photography and ad work. While there are images here that will endure --such as the child reading to an elephant, there was a veneer that felt choreographed but not necessarily spiritual.

Colbert’s intent was to erase the boundary between humans and animals, showcasing both the spiritual nature of animals and also a symbiosis between the two in their native environment. He traveled for 14 years to Asia , the South Pacific, Antartica and Africa to capture natives interacting with the species to show a symbiosis, a spiritual kinship. His work combines a soundtrack, architecture, novel writing, faux poetry and travel. This is art planned on a big scale, on par with architecture, men with hard hats and cranes. And though there are good compositions, Colbert's habit to photograph most of his subjects with their eyes closed or reading books as animals look on becomes repetitive. The people are in a state of rapturous bliss or appear to be in a sonorous sleep as a ocelot bats their head, or as wild dogs circle an old woman and her son. Though he claims that none of this was directed, one can’t help but think that his work is choreographed and what we are seeing is a highly idealized world, albeit a fictional one to go with the novel he wrote for this show.



When I compare it to major shows such as Phil Borges "People of Indigineous Cultures" exhibit, which was done for Amnesty International; Richard Avedon’s In the American West (at left) which was shot for the Amon Carter Museum; or the lesser known but great photographer from Texas, Laura Wilson "Hutterites of Montana," this isn't a groundbreaking one. In the work of Borges, Avedon and Wilson, the subjects posed as they were, where they lived, what they did for a living. The focus stays on the person. You know these people, you share their joy, their pain, you understand who they are. Their humanity blazes into your psyche. You feel engaged, sometimes upset and always full.

Perhaps this is where Colbert’s work falls short. Those who are viewing it already know the plight of animals world wide. But because the animals are photographed with humans in such a stylized way –women who are langorously draped in a boat with a big cat; orangutans reaching out to a human hand; the photographer swimming with whales as if performing a private ballet, diminishes the majesty of the animals. Though there is a sensual presence in these works, it is so intentionally somber and 'artsy' that the spiritual connection feels staged.

Artistic expression echoes the time the artist works in. In this case, what resonates is the material spiritualism in vogue today. The look of spiritualism, or what some refer to as the "zen aesthetic." It's gained by use of an ATM card: trips to far flung places, a $4.50 cappucino, $120.00/ month yoga studio, a $35.00 yoga mat and a pair of $50 yoga pants. All this stuff is supposed to make one feel more spiritual than the mother of 7 who attends mass. His insistence that it be shown in a specially built environment rather than a more accessible museum seems to miss that most spiritual of trait: sharing with those who have less than you.

As looked through the booklet that came with the ticket, I noticed blurbs on the architect, the structure, film crew and the artist. But there wasn't a nod to the master, Richard Avedon, who shot “Dovima with Elephants, Evening Dress by Dior" in the 1950's. (below)