Homage to Eggleston

I have a new home now. It is similar to my old home, but different. I see patterns here in Alabama that parallel patterns I witnessed - and lived - in Mississippi. One pattern I am recognizing in myself is a structure of relying on my visual vocabulary to assist in generating an understanding of this place.

We all do it. We are bombarded by images daily. I read a report somewhere that said there are now over 1.8 billion new photographs created everyday. Think about that. Nearly two billion new photos everyday fighting for our attention and sneaking into our collective consciousness. We can’t help but be impacted by this not-so-subtle invasion of our visual worlds. These images create content for consideration, and our individual considerations create our individual meanings which are then gathered to create a collective understanding. I think it’s fair to say that our collective understanding is incredibly fractured right now. I wonder if it’s because we see too many images and have a harder and harder time extracting accurate meaning from them.

All this to say, when I find myself in search of meaning I tend to start with observations made by others before crafting conclusions of my own. I realized a few years ago that I was finding pleasure in discovering random tricycles or similar children’s toys. I cannot see a three wheeled bike now without also seeing William Eggleston’s iconic photograph of a tricycle.

It’s easy to find - just google Eggleston Tricycle and it will pop right up. The toy is photographed from a low perspective. The camera is very close to the bike, rendering it much larger and more majestic than the modest ranch-style homes behind it. There is much to be examined and gleaned from the content, but I’ll save that academic exercise for another time. (Perhaps one of my courses this year.) What is important to this essay is that Eggleston’s image is emblazoned in my psyche, and I recognize it each time I see a similar object in real life.

This leads to my own recording of the tricycles I encounter. I have an entire series of photographs of small three-wheelers I’ve observed over the years. I call the series “Homage to Eggleston” partly tongue-in-cheek and partly as a reminder to myself that I am regularly influenced in my own life by the visions of others. I don’t necessarily want to break free of the visions of others so much as become detached from it. I can enjoy the insights of others without having to become indebted to them.

I no longer live in the Land of Eggleston. Now my home is near the stomping grounds of another iconic “William” photographer (and another old white guy at that, which is also an essay fro another day and another class). This time it is Christenberry.

William Christenberry made many of his best known photographs in the Black Belt of Alabama. Vernacular structures dominate his archives, and as I study the rural backroads of this state I find myself recalling his photographs in the same way I recall Eggleston’s when I’m in the Mississippi Delta. This conscious recognition inevitably leads to both pleasure in my remembrance of the genius of these men and conflict over why it is that they jump to the forefront of my mind rather than other regional artists.

I’m pretty sure it’s because we recall what we have seen. Often what we see is what we’re told. And the cycle continues. Both Eggleston and Christenberry are extremely worthy of artistic study and appreciation. But they should not be the ending points. Other voices need to begin to emerge when I drive these backroads. This becomes a part of my new exploration.