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Ralph Eugene Meatyard
The photographs of Ralph Eugene Meatyard defy they have been called visionary, surrealistic, and meditative. Whatever the label, these evocative images of friends and family and the natural world around his home illustrate a delicate psychology of human interaction. Meatyard was trained as an optician, a profession that he maintained all his life in Lexington, Kentucky; he bought a camera in 1950 for the sole purpose of photographing his first-born son. But shortly thereafter, he joined the Lexington Camera Club and developed a friendship with his photography teacher Van Deren Coke, as well as a circle of local writers and photographers, including Guy Davenport, Thomas Merton, Wendell Berry, Jonathan Williams, and Minor White. Family and friends freely participated in Meatyard's staged and mysterious images, which often involve masks and abandoned spaces, and obliquely reference social, political, and cultural issues. A key subject in Meatyard's work is the natural environment, which is featured in his Light on Water series, in which long exposures seem to create calligraphic texts, and his No-Focus series, in which he deliberately photographed stems and twigs out of focus. In one of his last series titled Motion-Sound, the pictures were made by moving the camera gently, creating multiple exposures of the woodland scenes that suggest abstract sound patterns. The book accompanies an exhibition organized by ICP Assistant Curator Cynthia Young with acclaimed writer and Meatyard friend, Guy Davenport, who also wrote the text. Also included are the exhibition history, chronology, and bibliography.
- GenresPhotographyArtNonfiction
320 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1974
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Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews
September 6, 2014
This is an excellent overview, including samples of Meatyard's various collections and themes.
The essay by Guy Davenport, who was a friend of Meatyard and his family, is brief but interesting and intimate.
The interview with Davenport: I don't know what Young's qualifications are aside from being an assistant curator, but she sucks ass at interviewing. Here's a typical exchange:
Thomas Merton and Guy Davenport
The essay by Guy Davenport, who was a friend of Meatyard and his family, is brief but interesting and intimate.
The interview with Davenport: I don't know what Young's qualifications are aside from being an assistant curator, but she sucks ass at interviewing. Here's a typical exchange:
GD: The found object was very much in the air in the sixties and I know that Gene was interested. A writer from New York came down here, and Gene and I went together to hear his lecture. He inventoried a large worktable in an almost anthropological way. He tried to account for every single thing on the table: where the pencils came from, where the erasers came from, where the books came from and why he owned them, paperclips, friends' letters, and so on. I am not remembering his name, and his vogue has passed. And then Jonathan Williams himself, who was doing concrete poetry, and Gene and Tom Merton were both very much interested in concrete poetry. And there is Mary Ellen Solt, up in Indiana, a scholar of concrete poetry, Ronald Johnson and one figure overseas, I am Hamilton Finlay. We were all fascinated by Finlay. I was in contact with him and was getting photographs of things he was doing with his famous Garden of Apollo there in the suburbs of Glasgow. In fact, there was an evening at the University when Gene and I both agreed that all the poets who were doing a series of poetry were dull as dishwater. And we devised our own show, which was well attended, where we prerecorded on Gene's tape recorder various kinds of music, very lively music, Francis Poulenc, military music, bagpipe, all sorts of things. I read poems of Finlay against the music. Gene and I had practiced this and we were well-cued. One of the things we were determined to do is have the poetry surrounded completely by silence, because most of the amateur poets and many of the big poets, I'm afraid, spent most of their time telling anecdotes on how a poem came to be. You know, "My wife has said...", "I was led..." Gene and I had contempt for this tradition, and gave what I hope was a rather startling performance.
CY: So you had fun together and did creative projects together.
Thomas Merton and Guy Davenport
October 8, 2014
One of the stranger names in recent art, and, strangely, Ralph Eugene Meatyard himself liked to collect strange names. He was a self-taught photographer who lived his whole life in Kentucky working as an optometrist, while maintaining close friendships with artists and poets and thinkers like Guy Davenport, Jonathan Williams, Thomas Merton, Denise Levertov, et al.
One of the introductions to this book is a meaty interview with Guy Davenport who comments on how Meatyard didn't like to talk about or explain his art (contrasting him with Stan Brakhage who annoyingly talked his ears off), and this unexplained mysterious quality permeates his photographs. Though they are clearly the result of exhaustive thought and contemplation the photographs themselves elude encapsulation in ideated thought, as should all true art. His work is a balance of conflicts and contradictions - serenity & restlessness, staginess & spontaneity, specificity & ambiguity, etc., and binding it all is a royally mysterious aestheticism.
His most famous photographs are probably those in his Lucybelle Crater series in which he takes portraits of individuals and families, all of whom are named Lucybelle Crater and are wearing a grotesque mask. For example, one photo is entitled Lucybelle Crater and her 15 yr old son Lucybelle Crater, both of whom are wearing identical masks. Beyond the gimmick they are genuinely funny and intriguing and make some kind of comment on Southern Gothic culture (I'd rather not go there).
But his body of work beyond this series is very large and varied and is worth long contemplation, with wonderful shots of untamed nature, records of explorations of run-down towns and abandoned structures, plus pure abstractions and shots of nothing but light interacting with water, and a fascinating series called Motion/Sound where he vibrated the camera while snapping the shot. Even with all these experiments he still had the policy of never cropping; he was like a shutterbug Zen warrior - first shot best shot. One series is actually called Zen Twigs, which are extreme close-ups of naturally twisted twigs partially in and partially out of focus, many sentiently straining toward the lens.
The record of photographs he left is inexhaustible and is evidence of his profound eplorations of individual solitary perception within a deep commitment to family and community, a thorough integration of art and life. Mr. Meatyard you died way too young, though you left a complete body of work in your wake.
One of the introductions to this book is a meaty interview with Guy Davenport who comments on how Meatyard didn't like to talk about or explain his art (contrasting him with Stan Brakhage who annoyingly talked his ears off), and this unexplained mysterious quality permeates his photographs. Though they are clearly the result of exhaustive thought and contemplation the photographs themselves elude encapsulation in ideated thought, as should all true art. His work is a balance of conflicts and contradictions - serenity & restlessness, staginess & spontaneity, specificity & ambiguity, etc., and binding it all is a royally mysterious aestheticism.
His most famous photographs are probably those in his Lucybelle Crater series in which he takes portraits of individuals and families, all of whom are named Lucybelle Crater and are wearing a grotesque mask. For example, one photo is entitled Lucybelle Crater and her 15 yr old son Lucybelle Crater, both of whom are wearing identical masks. Beyond the gimmick they are genuinely funny and intriguing and make some kind of comment on Southern Gothic culture (I'd rather not go there).
But his body of work beyond this series is very large and varied and is worth long contemplation, with wonderful shots of untamed nature, records of explorations of run-down towns and abandoned structures, plus pure abstractions and shots of nothing but light interacting with water, and a fascinating series called Motion/Sound where he vibrated the camera while snapping the shot. Even with all these experiments he still had the policy of never cropping; he was like a shutterbug Zen warrior - first shot best shot. One series is actually called Zen Twigs, which are extreme close-ups of naturally twisted twigs partially in and partially out of focus, many sentiently straining toward the lens.
The record of photographs he left is inexhaustible and is evidence of his profound eplorations of individual solitary perception within a deep commitment to family and community, a thorough integration of art and life. Mr. Meatyard you died way too young, though you left a complete body of work in your wake.
October 13, 2021
"Read" (as a cantankerous undergraduate) in the stuffy subterranean stacks of the Arts Library at UCLA in, probably, the fall of 2013. Have been on the lookout ever since for an affordable copy out here in the real welt.
March 17, 2010
This was eerie and interesting, although a lot of his photographs are of people wearing masks. I usually don't like that kind of thing. Such a lunge at being "weird." Just be weird without props. Be weird in your own face.
August 25, 2016
Spooky lovely photographs.
July 2, 2009
The very first photo book I fell in love with. Ah, young love. So pure. So earnest.
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews