Colors and Patterns of the Natural World
Nature photography by Robert Evans
Through Sept. 18
The Parthenon, Centennial Park
For information, call 862-8431
The Parthenon seldom exhibits photographs, but for the next few weeks you can observe there the work of two strikingly different photographers. Last week’s Scene described the globe-trotting images by Iranian immigrant Simin Vafaie, whose show runs through Sept. 11. Exhibited nearby in the East Gallery are the nature photos of Robert Evans, “Colors and Patterns of the Natural World.” Lila Hall, curator of this show, explains that Evans appealed to her partially because his interest in the American landscape parallels the Parthenon’s James M. Cowan Collection of American Art, which emphasizes 19th- and early 20th-century landscape paintings.
Robert Evans grew up in Nashville and attended the University of Tennessee in Knoxville. He lives in Florida. For the past decade, he has spent much of each summer exhibiting photos at art festivals throughout the country. The exhibition at the Parthenon is his first in a museum venue, his first “serious” show. There are 29 images in the exhibition, and they come in three sizes. Most are 32 inches by 40 inches, but there are also two groups of narrow panoramas—24 inches by 56 inches and 8 inches by 40 inches. All of the photos are for sale.
There are plenty of nature photographers out there aiming their cameras at birds and sunsets and rock formations, and many are inspired by a missionary zeal beyond the artistic urge. Evans is one of these. “I hope that my photographs, along with my love of nature, have touched you in one way or another,” he says in his ingenuous artist’s statement. “If after viewing my images you have a different or enhanced view of nature, then I have done the job I set out to do.”
This is an admirable goal, but it doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with art. Nature photographers are often ardent ecologists, just as photojournalists tend to develop a sociological bent. But for us, viewing the result in a venue such as the Parthenon, the question is, “Yes, but is it art?” In the case of Robert Evans, the answer is a qualified but satisfying, “Much of the time, yes.”
It is interesting to note how clearly Evans’ artistic style divides along the line of subject matter. His photographs fall into two groups, which reveal both why the Parthenon wanted to show him and why he’s popular at festivals. The first group, considerably more noteworthy from an artistic point of view, includes mostly images captured in the American Southwest. Strikingly composed, beautifully lit, they celebrate the alien grandeur of sheer geology, the raw materials of creation. The second batch of photos, which are less original in their composition and subject matter, sometimes lapse into average calendar art—magnolias and dogwoods near Charleston, S.C.; Tennessee trees sheathed in sparkling ice. They are competent and pretty, but they lack the intensity that makes the Southwestern photos stand out.
Fortunately, most of the images are from the Southwest, which seems to engage the photographer’s eye and his brain equally. In college, Evans minored in geology, and he remarks in his artist’s statement that in the Southwest “the geology can be seen.” Most of the Southeast lacks this stark drama. In our part of the country, the bare bones of the earth aren’t visible even in the ancient, crumbled Smokies, where everything is well-upholstered in softening greenery that changes seasonally like fashions. The drama is softer, more atmospheric, not so fierce. But it is here, and if Evans sought it, he would find it. Instead, his photos of the Southeast appear slight and sentimental beside their stern Western fellows.
Sometimes we forget that nature photographers aren’t merely in the right place at the right time. And once they have found their subject—no mean feat in itself—their every decision about composition, depth of field, shutter speed, and even kind of film influences the final image. For a couple of photos, Evans climbed down into narrow slot canyons in the Colorado Plateau and shot slow exposures that allowed the light slanting in to reveal the painterly texture of the inner walls. To better portray the slanting rays, Evans determined his composition and exposure, then tossed a handful of dust into the air to give the golden light something more to illuminate. The result is an image of cathedral spirituality and grace.
Occasionally, Evans exhibits two photos of the same area side by side. His “Before the Rise” and “Teton Sunrise,” for example, were taken 20 minutes apart. One shows the sunlit clouds and the mountains below them almost silhouetted; the other captures the first rays of the sun glowing on the mountain’s face. By placing both images together, Evans not only reminds us of the constantly changing spectacle of the natural world, he also reveals something about the process of recording this lively show. In “Paria Wilderness #1” and “#2”, he records two perspectives—looking up and looking down—on the same naturally terraced sandstone formations painted with snow and ice.
There are no new subjects for artists. Like the human body, the panorama of nature is one that we return to again and again because it is our home. Evans is no risk-taking innovator. He is a self-taught photographer who, at his best, unites technical expertise with a straightforward emotional and artistic response to the world around him.
At times the result is quite impressive. In “Kolob Canyon,” the sandstone patterns look scraped, as if painted with a palette knife, and beneath them plants glow with the cheering optimism of living things cavorting across the harsh stage of the inanimate. The rows of crystal-like rock patterns in “Bryce Canyon,” the red glow on the velvety mountainside in “Paria Sunrise,” the minimalist, almost sepia tone of “Death Valley Dune”—all of these images testify to the artistic side of Robert Evans, and his ability to capture some of the grandeur he sees in the world around him.
