“A Record of Emotions: The Photography of Frederick H. Evans”
“Wells Cathedral, Across the West End of Nave” (1890-1903), by Frederick H. Evans. ©Mrs. Janet M. Stenner, sole granddaughter of Frederick H. Evans.
Referring to them as “poems in stone,” Frederick H. Evans is remembered for his platinum prints of medieval stone cathedrals in England and France. He also said, “It is the beautiful rather than the antiquarian aspect that attracts me,” but in “A Record of Emotion,” on view through June 6 at the Getty Center, it is his tender and attentive approach to the latter, to objects caressed by time, that results in the breathtaking appeal of his work.
“Rather than simply identify the building as a place of worship,” writes curator Anne Lyden in the catalogue that accompanies the exhibition, “Evans imbued the photograph with a sense of awe and wonder that reinforced the spiritual qualities of the space.”
“Portrait of George Bernard Shaw” (1902), by Frederick H. Evans. ©Mrs. Janet M. Stenner, sole granddaughter of Frederick H. Evans.
Before devoting himself to photography, Evans (1853-1943) ran a bookstore on Cheapside in London from 1890 to 1898, which led to personal contact with various authors. That’s probably how he met the likes of Arthur Symons, Aubrey Beardsley, and George Bernard Shaw, whose portraits – along with those of friends and family – are also included in the show.
In 1900, Evans was elected to the Brotherhood of the Linked Rings, this being a Tolkien-sounding group of photographers who had withdrawn from the Photographic Society because they felt that photography was more of a fine art. Their aesthetic is reminiscent of the Pictorialists, of which Edward Weston was an early advocate. Evans, who did not believe in altering or interfering with the negative, would probably have unkind words for today’s extensive digital manipulation of images. Of some note is the fact that Evans was the first English photographer invited to contribute to the American quarterly journal “Camera Work,” which Alfred Stieglitz published early in the 20th century.
Islands in the stream
Frederick H. Evans approached each cathedral series in two ways. First of all, before he brought out the camera, he took notes on what he considered to be the best views and angles, and studied how the light fell at various times of the day. Needless to say, he had an eye for composition and tonality, born of careful observation and patience; but what he was really doing was locating his emotional response – which he then tried to depict photographically. We have to bear in mind that no one in those early days of the medium could simply step in, snap 200 shots, and based on the laws of chance be assured that there’d be at least one or two acceptable pictures.
The second approach is revealed in the presentation, at least as we encounter it in the catalogue and on the walls of the gallery. For example, we begin with a placement shot, in which the cathedral is seen from a distance. Then we are closer, but at another angle; and now we’re inside, in one of the naves or chapels, gazing at a solemn and self-contained forest of columns, or lifting our eyes toward a tangle of vaults and an array of stained glass windows. Lastly, Evans realizes that God – and not the Devil – is in the details, and he’ll fix his sights on some exquisite carved bit of stonework, preserved for posterity.
“Chapel of Henry VII: Roof of fan Tracery Vaulting” (1911), by Frederick H. Evans. ©Mrs. Janet M. Stenner, sole granddaughter of Frederick H. Evans.
All things must pass
This is where he reminds me of the 17th century Dutch painter Pieter Saenredam, whose depictions of several Utrecht churches was the focus of a major exhibition presented at the Getty eight years ago. Before that show closed, this writer actually traveled to the Netherlands and to Utrecht to view some of the churches for himself, and to visit the location where one – meticulously illustrated by the artist – has long since been pulled down; although, positioning ourselves with relation to other, still-standing landmarks from the same time, we can envision precisely where it stood. Saenredam’s portrayals of it are essentially all that remains.
Cathedrals somehow seem exempt from demolition, but even before World War II (when many across Europe came down with a thud) Evans was aware that all of them would one day disappear, and to one of his views of Durham Cathedral he attached these lines from Shakespeare’s “Tempest”: “The cloud-capped towers…/ The solemn temple…/ Yea, all… shall dissolve/ And, like this substantial pageant faded,/ Leave not a wrack behind.”
I think that Evans emphasizes this hovering reminder of eventual decay by leaving people out of his images, so that in one sense the stone giants are already deserted and abandoned. Of course this also amplifies our sense of the silence and the solitude for which people often retreat to these sanctuaries. Perhaps another person would be distracting, an infringement on our wordless dialogue with the Divine or even, who can say, an infringement on that larger dialogue that takes place between pillars and vaults, light and shadow.
For all that this implies about Evans and his aesthetic sensibility, these are not necessarily Romantic – as opposed to Classic – images, perhaps on account of their seeming a little too formal, static, even sterile. Perhaps Evans was too meticulous to be a true Romantic (despite the influence of Turner’s watercolors), partly because he leaves little or nothing to chance. A fleeting shadow, a dog slinking among the pews, a discarded veil – some small and unexpected element like this would make a world of difference in how we perceive the entire body of work.
Although a catalogue is never a substitute for seeing an exhibition in person, the one for this show is the kind of keepsake that miraculously reopens the show each time we leaf through its pages. In this sense, it does for the display at the Getty what Evans’ photographs do for the cathedrals, which is to preserve some semblance of what is seen and felt for our later selves and for later generations.
A Record of Emotion: The Photographs of Frederick H. Evans is on view through June 6 at the J. Paul Getty Museum, 1200 Getty Center Drive, Los Angeles. Also on view: Urban Panoramas: (Catherine) Opie, (Jeff Chien-Hsing) Liao, (Soo) Kim. Hours, Tuesday through Friday and Sunday from 10 a.m. to 5:30 p.m., and Saturday from 10 a.m. to 9 p.m. Free; parking, $15. Call (310) 440-7300 or go to getty.edu. ER