In the Herb Ritts Gallery of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (MFA), Harry Callahan is described as "both extremely famous and barely famous at all" on the wall text of the exhibit "Harry Callahan: American Photographer." Whether visitors have heard of the photographer or not, the 40 or so works that line the walls of his exhibit are instantly striking. Callahan is a master of visual poetry, and the MFA pulls together an outstanding collection of his explorations with the camera — from figure studies to abstracted natural subjects to darkroom experiments.
One wall of the gallery is devoted exclusively to Callahan's studies of his wife, Eleanor Knapp. In the relationships between her body and various surroundings, Callahan discovers geometric interactions and manipulates perceptions of space. Two prints paired together depict the environment engulfing Eleanor. In "Eleanor, Chicago" (1949), it's darkness that consumes the print — aside from the tiny figure of Callahan's wife, seemingly suspended near the right corner of the image. In "Eleanor, Lake Michigan" (1949), Knapp becomes part of an expansive shoreline, her upright body just a small object perpendicular to the edge of the lake in the center of the frame.
Callahan takes a slightly different approach to the figures in his urban imagery. In "Chicago" (1952), he captures an unknown woman in green, well−dressed and seemingly consumed in her own thoughts as she walks down the street. Taken with a telephoto lens from afar, the woman only appears to be inches away — a technique that suits what the wall text in the gallery pins as Callahan's "emotional intimacy and cool detachment" as a photographer. The photo (along with others on the wall of anonymous pedestrians) possesses the same elegance that characterizes Callahan's series of "Eleanor" prints.
Callahan's more experimental works utilize darkroom techniques rather than simply his subjects in order to construct rational, but intriguing, compositions. A multiple exposure entitled "Girlie Magazine Page and Wall, Providence" (1965) layers a woman's breasts over a brick wall with windows, juxtaposing pop culture with urban life — and perhaps suggesting some sort of Peeping Tom. In the series "Camera Movement on Flashlight" (1946−47), Callahan does exactly what the title describes, making wild, bright patterns with the beam of a flashlight.
Callahan's shots of nature also take on an abstract quality, especially when he focuses closely on particular objects. In "Aix−en−Provence, France" (1957), the arcs of the reed against a dark background become a meticulous examination of tonalities and form. "Weed Against Sky, Detroit" (1948) positions the titular plant against a white backdrop, and the high contrast makes it comparable to a black−and−white version of Joan Miró's dreamlike paintings.
The labels next to the works in the gallery are spare and formal, but the exhibition — as well as Callahan's style and interests — doesn't call for much more anyway. Callahan, after all, is about simplicity and careful, constructed imagery, so any extra explanation would simply crowd the quiet beauty of the photographs. Visitors should, however, remember to look up to read the photographer's quotes high up on the walls. There are a few scattered throughout the room, and they're easy to miss, but they, like Callahan's images, hold an austere resonance.
"Harry Callahan: American Photographer," interestingly enough, is paired with "Albrecht Dürer: Virtuoso Printmaker" in the adjacent room. At first, the two galleries seem discordant. While Callahan was hardly well−known while he was working, Dürer was immensely famous even in his own time. Wandering around the Callahan exhibition is a discovery of completely novel images for many visitors, but circling through Dürer is an exercise in reexamining images that are now almost so iconic that they are taken for granted ("Melencolia I," 1514, comes to mind first). While Callahan offers anonymity and mystery in his photographs, Dürer depicts legends and biblical stories.
A closer look at the two exhibitions reveals the complex ways in which they inform and complement each other. Both are masters of black−and−white and acutely aware of how each line and minute detail contributes to their images. In a way, both artists seem to surpass their medium of choice to reach another altogether. Callahan's prints are almost drawing−like in their attention to form and contrast, while Dürer recreates reality so meticulously through drawing that it seems photographic.
In Dürer's "Saint Jerome in his Study" (1514), visitors might find themselves mesmerized by the way in which the fine shadows on the tabletop and windowsills capture the light thrown into the room by individual panes of glass. These intricately drawn nuances of light echo the delicate tonalities of the reed in Callahan's "Aix−en−Provence, France."
As Callahan himself said, "If you choose your subject selectively — intuitively — the camera can write poetry."
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Harry Callahan: American Photographer
At the Herb Ritts Gallery, through July 3 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston 465 Huntington Ave., Boston 617-267-9300
