Hiroshi Sugimoto: Artist Profile

Hiroshi Sugimoto, a photographer of time and its elusive nature, works with a measured patience that borders on the monastic. His images, often characterised by a serene stillness and a profound engagement with history, explore themes of memory, perception, and the very nature of reality. Sugimoto is not simply a photographer; he is a conceptual artist who uses photography as his primary medium. His work is less about capturing a fleeting moment than about revealing the underlying structure of time itself, a structure he suggests exists as much within the artist as in the world outside. “Rather than the camera projecting the outside world onto film,” Sugimoto has said, “I am using it to project outward the world that exists inside me.”

Sugimoto's influences are diverse and far-reaching. He has spoken of his admiration for the Surrealists, particularly Man Ray, whose experimental techniques and exploration of the subconscious resonate with Sugimoto's own interest in the ephemeral. One can also detect echoes of the Minimalist artists, whose focus on essential forms and reduction to the fundamental elements of art finds a parallel in Sugimoto's stripped-down aesthetic. But perhaps the most significant influence on his work is the Zen philosophy that permeates Japanese culture. Sugimoto's images, with their emphasis on emptiness and the transient nature of existence, reflect a Zen sensibility that is both subtle and profound. "I'm interested in time," Sugimoto has said. "Time is invisible. I want to make it visible."

What is important about Sugimoto's work is precisely this attempt to visualise the invisible. His photographs are not simply representations of the world; they are meditations on the nature of perception and the passage of time. His Seascapes series, for example, begun in the 1970s and continuing for decades, depicts the ocean under varying conditions, each image a study in the subtle gradations of light and atmosphere. These photographs, often taken with long exposures, possess a timeless quality, suggesting an almost primordial state of being. They are not just images of the sea; they are images of time itself, a concept Sugimoto connects to the dawn of human consciousness. “Water and air,” Sugimoto once wrote, “two things that you can’t really capture with photography, are my subjects.”

Sugimoto's artistic career has been marked by this philosophical curiosity and a serial, analytical approach. His early work, including the Dioramas series, which he began in 1974, depicts museum dioramas with a hyperreal clarity, already hinted at his interest in the relationship between reality and representation. Through his large-format camera, the museums’ painted backdrops and taxidermied animals become enigmatically life-like. The Theatres series, perhaps his most iconic, comprises long exposure photographs made in classic movie houses. Each exposure, taken during a film’s projection, compresses time into a single image, producing a glowing white screen in the centre of a darkened theatre. More recent series, such as Portraits, made in wax museums, highlight how photography is used to record history and human nature. Architecture isolates the forms of modernist buildings, blurring the lines between time, memory, and history. In Praise of Shadow records a candle burning down, a long-exposure record of flickering light.

Sugimoto's interest in the fundamental rules of natural phenomena is a recurring theme. Conceptual Forms depicts mathematical models, while Lightning Fields translates early research in electricity into dramatic images by applying a 400,000-volt current directly to film. Opticks depicts the colour of light through a prism, drawing from early experiments with the science of light. His work is marked by this exploration of both the scientific and the metaphysical.

Sugimoto's exhibitions, too, are significant, often featuring large-scale prints. One recalls the hushed atmosphere of his installations, the way his photographs command a space. Recent exhibitions include a major retrospective at the Hayward Gallery in London and Hiroshi Sugimoto Honkadori Azumakudari at the Shoto Museum of Art in Tokyo. His work is increasingly celebrated in both the East and West.

Sugimoto's work challenges the notion of photography as purely representational, pushing it into conceptual art. His images are about the ideas they embody, philosophical inquiries into time, perception, and existence. As Arthur Danto observed, "Sugimoto's photographs are not simply beautiful; they are also profound." His influence can be seen in artists exploring the relationship between photography, time, and memory.

Sugimoto's legacy is one of quiet contemplation and insight. He has shown us that photography can explore the deepest questions of human existence. His images, with their beauty and intellectual rigour, will continue to challenge and inspire. "I want to make photographs that transcend time," Sugimoto has said. This desire to capture the essence of time drives his work. His photographs, with their timeless quality and engagement with fundamental questions, stand as a testament to art's power to illuminate the mysteries of the universe. Beyond photography, Sugimoto has explored architecture, designing the Enoura Observatory for his Odawara Art Foundation, a space that itself engages with time and natural phenomena. His 68-foot sculpture Point of Infinity on Yerba Buena Island in San Francisco further demonstrates his engagement with space and time on a grand scale. Sugimoto's work, encompassing photography, architecture, and sculpture, reveals a consistent preoccupation with the fundamental nature of reality, the ephemeral nature of time, and the ways in which we perceive and experience the world around us. His legacy lies not only in the beauty of his individual images, but in the profound questions they pose about existence itself. He has expanded the possibilities of photography, transforming it into a medium for philosophical inquiry and artistic exploration, leaving a lasting mark on the landscape of contemporary art.

Diane Arbus: Artist Profile

Diane Arbus’s photographs are not for the faint of heart. They are unsettling, often disturbing, yet undeniably compelling. They are portraits of the marginalised, the eccentric, the “freaks” as they were often labelled, but also of the seemingly ordinary – the suburban housewife, the child in its Sunday best. Arbus’s lens doesn't simply record; it probes, it questions, it forces us to confront our own preconceptions about normality and otherness. Her work, one could argue, is a kind of visual anthropology of the American condition, a sometimes brutal, sometimes tender, but always unflinching examination of the human psyche. As Susan Sontag wrote, “Arbus’s photographs are… about the secret life of America.” They are, to my mind, less about the what and more about the why – why we look, why we categorise, why we recoil or connect with the figures in her frames. As Arbus herself said, “I don’t press the shutter. The image does, and it’s like being gently clobbered.” It's a powerful description of her process, the sense of being overtaken by the image itself.

Arbus’s influences are complex and not always easily discernible. She studied with Berenice Abbott, Alexey Brodovitch, and Lisette Model, formative experiences that undoubtedly shaped her approach to photography. She encountered the works of Mathew Brady, Paul Strand, and Eugène Atget early on, visits made with her then-husband, Allan Arbus. These early encounters undoubtedly shaped her understanding of photography’s potential. While she admired the work of Weegee, the tabloid photographer known for his graphic images of crime scenes and urban life, her approach was fundamentally different. Weegee’s photographs are often sensational, focused on the dramatic moment. Arbus, on the other hand, was interested in the quieter, more subtle aspects of human experience. She sought to capture the inner lives of her subjects, their vulnerabilities, their anxieties, their hidden selves. “A photograph is a secret about a secret,” Arbus once said. “The more it tells you the less you know.” This sense of mystery, this feeling of something unsaid, is a hallmark of her work.

Her early work, including her commercial work with her husband, honed her technical skills and her eye for composition, but it was her personal work, her exploration of the city and its inhabitants, that truly defined her. She photographed circus performers, transvestites, and other individuals who lived on the fringes of society. These early images, while already displaying her distinctive style, are often more straightforwardly descriptive. Later, her work became more introspective, more focused on the psychological dimensions of her subjects. She began to use a Rolleiflex camera, which allowed her to get closer to her subjects and to capture their expressions with greater intimacy. This shift in technique coincided with a deepening of her artistic vision. She moved beyond simply documenting the “other” and began to explore the ways in which we all perform our identities, the masks we wear to navigate the world. “I really believe there are things nobody would see if I didn't photograph them,” she asserted. It's not just about the subject, but the relationship between photographer and subject, the implicit contract of looking. As she further noted, “For me the subject of the picture is always more important than the picture. And more complicated.”

Arbus’s photographs are not always comfortable to look at. They can be disturbing, even shocking. But they are also deeply human. They remind us of our own vulnerabilities, our own anxieties, our own sense of being different. She had a knack for capturing the awkwardness, the fragility, the sheer strangeness of human existence. “I’m always interested in people who represent themselves in a certain way,” she explained. “It’s like a mask that they put on. It’s a way of dealing with the world.” And it is these masks, these carefully constructed personas, that Arbus’s camera penetrates, revealing the humanity beneath.

Her inclusion in the Museum of Modern Art’s “New Documents” exhibition in 1967, alongside Garry Winogrand and Lee Friedlander, marked a turning point in her career, though her work was already evolving in this direction. This exhibition, which highlighted a new generation of photographers who were challenging traditional notions of documentary photography, placed Arbus’s work in a broader context and helped to solidify her reputation as a significant artist. Her two Guggenheim Fellowships in the 1960s also provided crucial support for her work.

Her 1972 retrospective at the Museum of Modern Art in New York, a year after her death by suicide, cemented her place in the history of photography. It was a controversial exhibition, with some critics accusing her of exploitation and voyeurism. But it was also a hugely influential exhibition, introducing her work to a wider audience and sparking a debate about the nature of photography and its relationship to reality. Her work was also shown at the Venice Biennale, a rare honour for a photographer. Since then, numerous exhibitions, including major retrospectives like “Diane Arbus Revelations” and “in the beginning,” have further explored and contextualised her work, revealing the depth and breadth of her artistic vision.

Arbus’s book, Diane Arbus: An Aperture Monograph, published posthumously, has become a classic of photographic literature. It features many of her most iconic images, accompanied by her own writings and reflections on her work. The book offers a glimpse into her creative process, her motivations, and her unique way of seeing the world. The acquisition of her complete archive by the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 2007 has ensured that her work will continue to be studied and appreciated for generations to come. The ongoing publication of books and catalogues, such as Diane Arbus Documents, further demonstrates the continuing fascination with her work and its evolving interpretation.

Arbus’s work fits into a broader context of 20th-century art that explored the themes of alienation, identity, and the human condition. Her photographs share a certain kinship with the work of artists like Edward Hopper, whose paintings depict the isolation and loneliness of modern life. They also resonate with the work of photographers like Robert Frank, whose book The Americans offered a similarly unflinching portrait of American society. “My favourite thing is to go where I’ve never been,” Arbus declared. And it is this spirit of exploration, this willingness to venture into the unknown, that defines her art.

Arbus’s influence on subsequent generations of photographers is undeniable. Her work has paved the way for a more subjective and personal approach to photography, one that embraces the complexities and contradictions of human experience. Photographers like Nan Goldin, Sally Mann, and Joel-Peter Witkin, each in their own way, owe a debt to Arbus’s pioneering vision.

Diane Arbus’s legacy is complex and multifaceted. She is remembered as a photographer who dared to look where others wouldn't, who challenged our notions of beauty and normality, and who revealed the hidden truths of the human heart. Her photographs continue to fascinate, to disturb, and to inspire. They are a testament to the power of photography to illuminate the darkest corners of the human psyche and to remind us of our shared humanity, even in our most vulnerable and imperfect moments. As Janet Malcolm wrote, "Arbus's photographs are not about freaks. They are about us." And it is this unflinching self-portrait, this unflinching look at ourselves through the lens of Diane Arbus, that constitutes her enduring legacy.

Hannah Starkey: Artist Profile

Hannah Starkey’s photographs are not about grand gestures or dramatic narratives. They are about the quiet moments, the fleeting interactions, the subtle dramas that unfold in the everyday lives of women. They are about observation, empathy, and the unspoken narratives that shape female experience. Starkey’s work, one might argue, is a kind of visual anthropology of contemporary womanhood, a study of gesture and pose, of the spaces women occupy and how they inhabit them. Her images, often coolly detached yet deeply felt, are both familiar and unsettling, reflecting the complexities and contradictions of modern life. They are, to my mind, less about the what and more about the how – how women present themselves to the world, how they navigate the spaces they occupy, how they perform the delicate dance of identity. As Starkey herself has noted, “When I first started out, photography was very male and not really considered art. I didn’t set out to have a feminist agenda, it was more that my interest in making work about women comes from the simple fact that I am one. That commonality of experience is at the heart of what I do as an artist.”  

Starkey's work exists in a complex dialogue with the history of art and photography. One detects echoes of the Pre-Raphaelites, their attention to detail, their focus on female beauty, their penchant for narrative suggestion. There's a hint of Degas's voyeuristic gaze, his intimate glimpses into the lives of women, though Starkey’s perspective is fundamentally different. It’s not the male gaze looking at women, but something more nuanced, a recognition of female agency within the act of being observed. As Susan McCrory observes, “Some critics have read sadness and loneliness on the faces of the women in her photographs. To me they seem lost in a vast expanse of thought.” This “vast expanse of thought,” I’d argue, is crucial to understanding Starkey’s project. It's not simply about capturing a likeness, but about suggesting the internal world of her subjects. Her influences, as she explains, are diverse: “In the beginning, I wanted to create a hybrid out of the different approaches I had been taught, by somehow bringing together the emotive language of documentary with the slickness of advertising and the observational style of street photography. I think I’ve become more reflective and considered, but the performative element has been a constant.”  

Her work also engages with the history of photography, though she rarely makes explicit references. One might think of the street photography of Helen Levitt, her ability to capture the fleeting moments of everyday life. Or the staged tableaux of Jeff Wall, his carefully constructed narratives that blur the lines between reality and fiction. But Starkey’s work is quieter, more understated. It’s less about the dramatic event and more about the subtle nuances of human interaction. As she has said, “I’m interested in the everyday. The things that we often overlook, the moments that pass us by. These are the moments that make up our lives, and they are the moments that I want to capture.” The book Pleasures and Terrors of Domestic Comfort, as she notes, also played a significant role, exposing “the anxieties at the heart of the American ideal of home through images by the likes of Nan Goldin, William Eggleston and Cindy Sherman.”  

What, then, is the importance of Starkey’s work? It lies, it is argued, in its ability to make the ordinary extraordinary. She finds beauty in the mundane, poetry in the everyday. Her photographs are not about sensational events or dramatic occurrences. They are about the quiet moments of reflection, the fleeting interactions with strangers, the subtle gestures that reveal so much about human experience. They are, in a sense, portraits of contemporary life, but portraits that are not focused on individual personalities, but on the shared experiences of womanhood. It's not about celebrating the exceptional, but about acknowledging the significance of the ordinary. As she has explained, her interest lies in “explorations of everyday experiences and observations of inner city life from a female perspective.”

Starkey’s work has evolved over time, though her core themes have remained consistent. Her early photographs, often taken in public spaces, focused on the interactions between women and their surroundings. They explored the ways in which women navigate the urban landscape, the subtle power dynamics that play out in public spaces. Later, her work began to focus more on interior spaces, on the private moments of reflection and introspection. These images, often more intimate and contemplative, explore the inner lives of women, their thoughts, their feelings, their dreams. There's a shift from the public performance to the private contemplation, a movement inwards, exploring the psychological landscape of her subjects. This exploration of the inner world, the “unknowable depth of the female subject’s character and personality,” as McCrory puts it, is a constant thread throughout her work. As she has explained regarding her process, “I think I’ve become more reflective and considered, but the performative element has been a constant.”

Her use of colour has also evolved. While her early work was often characterised by a muted palette, she later began to incorporate more vibrant colours. These colours, however, are never simply decorative. They add another layer of meaning, enhancing the emotional impact.

Starkey's books are not simply collections of images; they are carefully curated narratives. They offer a glimpse into her world, a world of quiet observation, subtle interaction, and unspoken narratives. Her exhibitions, too, are carefully considered experiences. They are not simply displays of individual photographs, but immersive environments that invite the viewer to engage with her work on a deeper level. They become spaces for reflection, mirroring the contemplative nature of the images themselves. Her MA show, as she recalls, “set me up. Suddenly I was in demand and simultaneously I became very aware of the different space that women occupy in the photography world, both as practitioners and subjects.” This early success led to her first solo exhibition in 1999 at Cornerhouse, Manchester, further solidifying her position in the art world.  

Starkey’s work occupies a unique position in the history of photography. She is not a photojournalist, nor is she a fashion photographer. She is something more, a visual poet of the everyday. Her work resonates with the tradition of street photography, but it is also deeply personal and introspective. It engages with the broader themes of contemporary art, such as identity, gender, and representation. She's part of a generation of artists exploring the complexities of contemporary life, using photography as a tool for social commentary and personal exploration. As she has observed, “I have been acutely aware of that ever since, the ways in which women are constantly evaluated and judged. My gaze is not directed in that way. A lot of what I do is about creating a different level of engagement with women, a different space for them without that judgment or scrutiny.”  

It is difficult to quantify the influence of an artist, but it is clear that Starkey’s work has resonated with a wide audience. Her photographs have been exhibited in galleries and museums around the world, and they have been published in numerous books and magazines. Her work has undoubtedly influenced other photographers, particularly those working in the field of portraiture and social documentary. Her focus on the everyday, her quiet observation of female experience, has opened up new ways of seeing and representing women in photography. As she has said, her photographs are “explorations of everyday experiences and observations of inner city life from a female perspective,” and it is this perspective, this nuanced understanding of female experience, that forms the core of her legacy. And, as she notes, she is also inspired by “how younger female photographers are making their presence felt. It just feels like things are opening up because so many young women are expressing themselves through photography.”  

Starkey’s legacy lies in her ability to capture the quiet drama of the everyday, to reveal the beauty and complexity of female experience. Her photographs are not just images; they are invitations to look more closely, to see more deeply, to understand the unspoken narratives that shape our lives. They are, in short, a vital contribution to our understanding of the contemporary world. Her work, one suspects, will continue to resonate, to challenge, and to inspire for many years to come. It's a body of work that asks us to pay attention, to look beyond the surface, and to recognise the epic within the everyday, the monumentality within the seemingly mundane.