Progression of Art
Wood Beyond the World
In a sun-dappled forest two women in flowing drapery move as if in a trance across the mossy ground. Slim but tall trees frame the image, and the women occupy most of the photograph's picture plane. The figure in the foreground is veiled, with her head - at once fully covered by gauze like fabric - tilted to gaze across her right shoulder with one arm loose and gracefully trailing behind her. The figure in the background is even more ecstatic, her are arms lifted in the air as in a pose of surrender or praise, her head tilted nearly all the way back and her eyes closed in pleasure and reverie. The pose reminds one of Gian Lorenzo Bernini's Ecstasy of Saint Teresa (1647-1652) and without doubt has strong religious overtones.
The Wood Beyond the World is a good example of Cunningham's experiments with the Pictorialist style, which utilized labor-intensive photographic processes in order to create a work derived from the photographer's sensibility rather then from the traditional point-and-shoot method. Pictorialists saw the photographer as a poet and as a craftsman, and the camera as not just a mechanical device but rather as a means of aesthetic expression on par with painting and sculpture. Cunningham staged this image, which was intended to loosely reference the 1894 fantasy novel of the same name written by William Morris and illustrated by Edward Burne-Jones. Her scene is not taken directly from the novel so ample space is left to illustrate the artist's own imagination. For critic, Judith Fryer Davidov, the image is all about "woman=nature" and it "plays with contrasts between stability and movement".
Every detail at work here contributes to the mood of bacchanalian mystery: the women's garb, their bodily gestures, the cropping of the photo to elide anything but the sense of a wood outside of time and space, and the capturing of the sunlight hitting the women's faces and bodies all adds to a scene of inscrutable and almost erotic mystery. Unlike her later work, the photograph is in soft focus, which adds to the timeless, dreamy, and lyrical mood. Cunningham explored Pictorialism expansively at this moment in her career and produced other significant works including Veiled Woman (1910), Ben Butler (1910), The Supplicant (1910), and The Dream (1910).
Gelatin silver print
By the mid-1920s Cunningham was spending most of her time at home looking after her three young children. She was entranced by the blooms in her California garden and as the best means to continue working whilst being a mother, began photographing these flowers at exquisitely close range. Magnolia Blossom, one of her most iconic works from this period, is a close-up of the flower illuminated by glowing natural light. Though she was, as critic Hilton Kramer noted, "still disposed to envelop her subjects in the kind of light that softens and poeticizes every form...there is nonetheless a more consciously articulated concreteness in [the botanical] pictures." The pistil and stamen, exquisitely detailed and precise, stand at attention in the center of gently curving petals, which appear softer and more fragile. The interplay between the flower's parts is mesmerizing, and it does not come as a surprise to learn that horticulturalists and scientists used - and still use - her botanical photographs in their work. The Magnolia, along with the Calla Lilly, were blooms both repeatedly photographed by Cunningham.
It also does not surprise that Cunningham's botanicals have garnered her comparisons with Georgia O'Keefe, the esteemed modernist painter of bold, erotic blooms. Magnolia Blossom certainly gives off a sensuous, erotic vibe in its juxtaposition of the hard and soft parts of the flower, as well as its extremely close-up, intimate framing, but there is also ambivalence and artifice. One critic deemed this "consciously articulated concreteness" conducive to the photograph looking like "a Hollywood stage set." Indeed, the obfuscation of the stem or any other connection to context makes this flower almost not-a-flower. Emilee Prado wrote that the work "showcased the flower in an isolated, delicate way," perhaps as a commentary on Cunningham's own isolation at home, or more likely, contemplation on her own fertility and reproductive capacity at this time. The flower stands as a metaphor for many things and thus it makes sense that it is taken out of context of any rooted or garden setting. Though this work predates the founding of Group f/64, Kramer's comment on the "concreteness" of the work suggests what is to come. Here she consciously frames the flower to evoke the aforementioned artifice and sensuousness, but she also limits both of those compared to her Pictorialist works.
Gelatin silver print - Museum of Modern Art, New York
Whereas the title of this photograph might suggest an abstract composition, this is unequivocally a woman's body, photographed in intimate, close-up fashion. Cunningham centers the image on the woman's seated torso, her upper body curved and her arm gently stretched downward past her thigh. There is negative space formed between arm, leg, stomach, and breast; shadows and light interplay across the soft curves of the female form. Isolated from other parts of the body, including the head, feet, and hands, like Cunningham's tightly framed flower bloom, the body becomes more than just a body. It is now suggestive of a landscape or a collage, and speaks more of light and shadow than it does of sexuality.
The naked female body is a staple of Western art but here we have a female photographer exploring it for its aesthetic possibilities; its eroticism, which is certainly manifest, is not prurient and is decidedly not for the male gaze. Cunningham's interest is the body out of context: her shot is clear and close-up; the International Photography Hall of Fame notes that this viewpoint "would transform the bodies into organic forms and geometrical shapes as well as take them out of context". Furthermore, a scholar from the Museum of Contemporary Photography adds that in Triangles "Cunningham's composition transforms the female body into an arrangement of geometric forms in an interplay of angles and rounded curves. The image is a study of light, shape, and pattern, but it retains a certain warmth and sensuality beyond its formal emphasis." Cunningham keeps her focus soft and clearly favors a tinge of abstraction, but she also moves closer to the Straight Photography of Group f/64 treating the female nude in a straightforward manner like her flowers. She is no longer at this moment in her career, dressing her naked women subjects in veils and wandering idly in an ethereal wood.
Gelatin silver print - San Francisco Museum of Modern Art
Colletia Cruciata 7
With not only a tendency to photograph flowers, Cunningham was also particularly attracted to succulent plants. These were photographed within the Straight Photography parameters with sharp focus and very particular framing. Many of the succulents appear as though they could be found on the deepest seabed as well at the top of the highest mountain. They also look as much manmade as they do natural, and in this sense seem to merge many different aspects of life. Indeed, Cunningham's fellow botanist photographer, Karl Blossfeldt said, "the plant must be valued as a totally artistic and architectural structure". Colletia Cruciata 7 is particularly interesting in this respect as it seems to grow like a built tower or a flying machine as much as an ordinary plant.
Also interesting about the succulents that Cunningham photographed - by contrast to many of her more delicate petal based blooms - is that they have an aggressive quality to the fabric of their design. Here especially, the plant has distinct spikes and whilst other versions of Cunningham's flower photographs give a distinct lure of a soft and protective vagina, here there is the suggestion of a vagina dentate (a toothed vagina) and the warning that pursued pleasure could also be a source of great pain. Cunningham's exploration of succulents therefore highlights that her journey into the depiction of plant life is not one done principally for the sake of decorative beauty, but first and foremost as an investigation of the complex paradoxes of life.
In the 1930s and 1940s Cunningham photographed some of Hollywood's and the art world's most beloved luminaries, including a prolific series of the dancer Martha Graham. The series features Graham in innumerable poses, but in this work Graham is shot simply from the neck up. She juts her elbows out and places her palms on her face - one on her right temple, the other with fingers splayed covering her left eye and cheekbone. Both eyes are shut, as are her lips. Dark hair tumbles down and rests on her shoulders. Graham is silhouetted against an inky black background, and stage lighting seems to tilt slightly upward from the right to illuminate parts of her forehead, cheek, nose, chin, and forearms. Where the light does not hit is a lush power soft, velvety, shadowy gray. Here Cunningham highlights her recurrent interest in hands. She photographed hands at work throughout her career. Interestingly the digits often resemble the off shoots of plant leaves, representative of the much valuable parts of an interconnected whole. Cunningham's way of repeating hands across the picture plane, and also entwining real hands with those of mannequins, aligns her work even with Surrealism.
Of her portraiture Cunningham stated, "One must be able to gain an understanding at short notice and close range, of the beauties of character, intellect, and spirit so as to be able to draw out [their] best qualities..." Even without Graham's body in the photograph, it is clear she is an exquisitely skilled performer. Her pose, her facial expression, and the lighting are deeply felt but artificial. Cunningham is showing Graham as she is, as the dancer and the icon; there is the sense that though she is posing, Graham will move at any second and create an entirely new image with her body. Cunningham's technique adds to this in that she is no longer using soft focus to create an ethereal mood; rather, she is demonstrating what she and her peers in Group f/64 were interested in - Straight" Photography, unembellished and unfettered by extraneous ideas or affects. The image is captured through a large-format view camera with the smallest aperture in order to produce high contrast, sharply detailed photographs without any graininess. Cunningham aptly summed them up by commenting that the group was "for reality. That was what we talked about too. Not being phony, you know."
Gelatin silver print - 1931
Cunningham's sojourn in Paris in later life yielded some of her most captivating street photography. Here she photographs a nattily dressed couple from behind, playfully leaning over what appears to be a bridge. The man and woman occupy the center of the image, and a large tree looms up from somewhere down below and fills most of the background with its branches and leaves. Though the viewer cannot see their faces, the couple's casual and uninhibited poses strongly suggest that they enjoying their moment together. The light hits the scene straight on, thus precluding any moody, deep shadows. There is a sense of Charlie Chaplin comedy at work, as though the couple may tumble over the bridge and then reemerge, or the man may cheekily reveal his girlfriend's knickers. It is paradoxically not a static image and seems that much could happen in an instant.
Cunningham's charming image typified those coming out of Paris a decade or two after WWII's end. The parisian photographer's eye was no longer drawn to ruined buildings or spectral soldiers but, as the International Photography Hall of Fame explains, was now enthralled by "sentiment, parks, and lovers - a romantic view. Poetic fragments of everyday life were being celebrated in cafes, bustling streets, and overflowing terraces." Cunningham did not set these scenes up but captured them with her Rolleiflex. She called them her "stolen pictures". Journalist Steve Meltzer wrote that Cunningham had told him, "Once a woman who does street work said to me, 'I've never photographed anyone I haven't asked first.' I said to her, 'Suppose Cartier-Bresson asked the man who jumped in the puddle to do it again - it never would have been the same. Start stealing!"
Gelatin silver print
This photograph brings the highly satisfying sense of a career coming full circle, perhaps the highest accolade of cosmic symmetry that any artist/human could ever wish for. Indeed, here we have Cunningham making Pictorialist work again. The painter Morris Graves was a frequent sitter for Cunningham, but Pentimento is a special work. The bearded Graves appears in a part natural, part fantasy setting. Filling most of the foreground, he is seen only from his unclothed upper torso to his head, his right arm extending gracefully out in front of him (his left arm is mostly obscured). His gaze is contemplative, his head tilted in the direction of his reach. He seems to be in a silent and still forest pool, which is surrounded by dense and ethereal trees. Leaves and slender branches frame him below and to the left of his body. Most of the forest background is dimly lit, but a bright light comes from the left and illuminates Graves's brow, shoulders, and hand. The light across the hand is particularly magical, and suggestive that photography acts just as it set out to be, "the pencil of nature".
The title of the work provides insight into Cunningham's technique, as "pentimento" is an art historical term referring to an element in a painting or drawing that was once painted over but now resurfaces. Indeed, here, not only does the subject re-surface but also an old interest in terms of technique for Cunningham. Here Graves is superimposed over the sylvan scene, and as the scholar for the MCP notes, "the fanciful qualities of the depiction reflect Graves's interest in mysticism as a means to engage with the natural world." Though the photograph seems to suggest Cunningham's Pictoralist work from decades prior, it has been said to be more of an accurate meditation on the reclusive character of Graves himself, the skill as a portrait photographer for which Cunningham was known for. Aperture wrote that she "quickly discards artifice and vanity" when her sitter is before her, "and gets right to the very core of a person's being. A Cunningham portrait is far more than a record of a personality; it captures inseparably the internal and external individual. Often it bares the soul." Cunningham was one of the few people Graves allowed at his property near Eureka, California, which he called "The Lake" and posted a sign reading "No visitors today, tomorrow, or the day after" at the entrance. Her ability to capture his cerebral, solitary self in a moving and authentic fashion is an astonishing coda to a career already teeming with triumphs.
Gelatin silver print