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Lot Essay
For another example of this image see: J Annear, Mnemosyne - Bill Henson, Sydney, 2004, illus. p.323
"Bill Henson's work is symbolist, state-of-soul stuff - like all photography, whether all photography knows it or not. Really to look at any photograph is to be there in a place and a moment, reflexively assuming the mentality that could choose to regard only that subject in only this way." (P Schjeldahl, 'Impressions of Henson', Scripsi, vol.5, no.2, February 1989)
It is the theatre, the drama, the beauty and the vulnerability of the figures found in Bill Henson's photographs that takes them beyond being mere documentary. Instead the mind immediately moves to the more tangible and formal qualities of painting, particularly the Italian artists Carravagio or Titian, and in the 'cut-screen' works the modernist stance of American painters Richard Diebenkorn or Clyfford Still.
The first exhibition of these works (where this work was purchased), was at Realities Gallery in Melbourne in 1989. The series included 20 cut-screen works, each editioned to three. However in a way, each work is unique, as although Henson has used the same image three times, he adds individuality to each piece in the cut. Henson can distort our usual reading of the two-dimensional surface by cutting, sticking and pinning it, but it is the emotion he captures within the human figure, which draws the viewer to the work each time.
The Untitled 1987/88 series were all taken in New York and Los Angeles, exposing through Henson's interpretation, the night-life and/or low-life of each city. Powerful night images of Los Angeles' expansive lights, the neon flashing lights of girlie bars and Eros cinemas, prostitutes, Time Square and generally figures caught unknowingly exposing their vulnerability to Henson's eye.
Like a scene from a David Lynch film, this image of a New York emergency serviceman, does not show a moment of courage, bravery or achievement. What we see is an extremely vulnerable man holding a look of utter disillusionment. Just from his eyes and stance, you can almost feel his inner drama - the self-anger and self-disappointment - growing inside of him the longer you allow yourself to delve into this moment. There is no pessimism felt here, instead the viewer feels sadness and sympathy at this man's unknown plight.
As Henson himself explains, "the critical thing in photography is to be able to create an experience that is intensely intimate, proximate and even tender. They're not words people use when talking about art these days. But I'm interested in that tender proximity, that ineffable, fragile, breathing closeness or presence which photography can animate while, at the same time, allowing no possibility for any familiar connection with the individuals in the picture." (B Henson in interview with S Smee, 'A second home, where everything is innocent', Art Monthly Australia, no.91, July 1996, p.5)
It is interesting to note that the cut-screens are not torn but are cut. As Isobel Crombie notes "This implies consideration and precision rather than the rhetorical flourish of a rip. To emphasise the absence of capriousness in this act, it is only necessary to look at the careful eye for composition and different cutting techniques in these works.
Although this cut paper creates a potential chaos, there is a satisfying unity between the various components of the overall work that connects with the similarly fragmented photographic narratives. The cut shapes are integral players in the overall drama of the work, accentuating moods evoked by the actions of the figures or of a dramatic light effect. Sometimes these shapes operate as punctuation points, dividing the planes of the picture; sometimes they are jagged, suggestive of violence; and at other times they have a more tender quality, softly tumbling down the image." (I Crombie 'Untitled - The Photographs of Bill Henson, Bill Henson, Melbourne, 1995, p.13)
Unlike other works from this series, Henson has not chosen to surround this image with cut-ups of prostitutes, pretty girls or neon lights. Instead it is pure blackness, possibly a hint at the before and after of this event.
And it has always been the human soul, rather than his personal looking at or being seen within the history of photography, which consumes Henson. He says "What interests me is the turn in someone's neck at the traffic lights when they're waiting for them to turn green, the look in their eyes, the shift in their face, the slight incline of their head - that can carry the same weight and beauty and drama as standing for four hours in front of a late Titan in the Academia in Venice". (B Henson in C McGregor, 'The Prints of Darkness', The Sydney Morning Herald, 12 April 1997, p.5)
The construction of the cut-screen works seen in Untitled 1987/1988 series, was extended further by Henson in his Untitled 1994-95 works. It was from this series that a selection was made for his very dramatic installation seen at the 46th Venice Biennale 1995.
"Bill Henson's work is symbolist, state-of-soul stuff - like all photography, whether all photography knows it or not. Really to look at any photograph is to be there in a place and a moment, reflexively assuming the mentality that could choose to regard only that subject in only this way." (P Schjeldahl, 'Impressions of Henson', Scripsi, vol.5, no.2, February 1989)
It is the theatre, the drama, the beauty and the vulnerability of the figures found in Bill Henson's photographs that takes them beyond being mere documentary. Instead the mind immediately moves to the more tangible and formal qualities of painting, particularly the Italian artists Carravagio or Titian, and in the 'cut-screen' works the modernist stance of American painters Richard Diebenkorn or Clyfford Still.
The first exhibition of these works (where this work was purchased), was at Realities Gallery in Melbourne in 1989. The series included 20 cut-screen works, each editioned to three. However in a way, each work is unique, as although Henson has used the same image three times, he adds individuality to each piece in the cut. Henson can distort our usual reading of the two-dimensional surface by cutting, sticking and pinning it, but it is the emotion he captures within the human figure, which draws the viewer to the work each time.
The Untitled 1987/88 series were all taken in New York and Los Angeles, exposing through Henson's interpretation, the night-life and/or low-life of each city. Powerful night images of Los Angeles' expansive lights, the neon flashing lights of girlie bars and Eros cinemas, prostitutes, Time Square and generally figures caught unknowingly exposing their vulnerability to Henson's eye.
Like a scene from a David Lynch film, this image of a New York emergency serviceman, does not show a moment of courage, bravery or achievement. What we see is an extremely vulnerable man holding a look of utter disillusionment. Just from his eyes and stance, you can almost feel his inner drama - the self-anger and self-disappointment - growing inside of him the longer you allow yourself to delve into this moment. There is no pessimism felt here, instead the viewer feels sadness and sympathy at this man's unknown plight.
As Henson himself explains, "the critical thing in photography is to be able to create an experience that is intensely intimate, proximate and even tender. They're not words people use when talking about art these days. But I'm interested in that tender proximity, that ineffable, fragile, breathing closeness or presence which photography can animate while, at the same time, allowing no possibility for any familiar connection with the individuals in the picture." (B Henson in interview with S Smee, 'A second home, where everything is innocent', Art Monthly Australia, no.91, July 1996, p.5)
It is interesting to note that the cut-screens are not torn but are cut. As Isobel Crombie notes "This implies consideration and precision rather than the rhetorical flourish of a rip. To emphasise the absence of capriousness in this act, it is only necessary to look at the careful eye for composition and different cutting techniques in these works.
Although this cut paper creates a potential chaos, there is a satisfying unity between the various components of the overall work that connects with the similarly fragmented photographic narratives. The cut shapes are integral players in the overall drama of the work, accentuating moods evoked by the actions of the figures or of a dramatic light effect. Sometimes these shapes operate as punctuation points, dividing the planes of the picture; sometimes they are jagged, suggestive of violence; and at other times they have a more tender quality, softly tumbling down the image." (I Crombie 'Untitled - The Photographs of Bill Henson, Bill Henson, Melbourne, 1995, p.13)
Unlike other works from this series, Henson has not chosen to surround this image with cut-ups of prostitutes, pretty girls or neon lights. Instead it is pure blackness, possibly a hint at the before and after of this event.
And it has always been the human soul, rather than his personal looking at or being seen within the history of photography, which consumes Henson. He says "What interests me is the turn in someone's neck at the traffic lights when they're waiting for them to turn green, the look in their eyes, the shift in their face, the slight incline of their head - that can carry the same weight and beauty and drama as standing for four hours in front of a late Titan in the Academia in Venice". (B Henson in C McGregor, 'The Prints of Darkness', The Sydney Morning Herald, 12 April 1997, p.5)
The construction of the cut-screen works seen in Untitled 1987/1988 series, was extended further by Henson in his Untitled 1994-95 works. It was from this series that a selection was made for his very dramatic installation seen at the 46th Venice Biennale 1995.