With presidential debates dominating the national conversation and the subjects of war and terror front and center, I was looking for someplace that could give me a sense of peace and beauty. The Huntington Library, in San Marino, with its Art Collections and Botanical Gardens, provided exactly the kind of respite that I needed. After a leisurely stroll through its magnificent grounds, I felt sufficiently fortified to dive into the difficult subject of the new museum exhibition, "A Strange and Fearful Interest: Death, Mourning and Memory in the American Civil War."
Drawn from the museum's extensive collections, this exhibition concentrates on rare and little known photographs documenting the Civil War, which cost the nation the lives of three quarters of a million people. What I found particularly moving was that, instead of delivering an academic lecture, the exhibition gave me an immediate emotional connection with one of the most painful chapters in American history.
(L) Abraham Lincoln, letter to Ulysses S. Grant, April 30, 1864
Huntington Library, Art Collections, and Botanical Gardens
(R) Alexander Gardner (1821-1882), Last Portrait of Abraham Lincoln, February 5, 1865
Gelatin silver print
Among the various portraits of President Lincoln on display, there is one I had never seen before. It was taken just two months before his assassination and he looks particularly thoughtful, unguarded, and very tired. In an accompanying exhibition, "A Just Cause: Voices of the American Civil War," I was profoundly moved by the modest appearance of a single-page letter from Lincoln to General Grant and written by the president's own hand.
(L) Alexander Gardner (1821-1882), Lewis Payne, a Lincoln Conspirator,
under arrest aboard the U.S.S. Montauk, April 27, 1865
Page from the James E. Taylor scrapbook; albumen print
Huntington Library, Art Collections, and Botanical Gardens
(R) Alexander Gardner (1821-1882), Hanging of the Lincoln Conspirators at the Old Arsenal,
Washington, DC, July 7, 1865
Page from the James E. Taylor Scrapbook; albumen prints
And then was a photograph of an attractive young man, in a hat and trench coat, who happens to be one of the accomplices in the assassination of the president. Nearby, there are two photographs of him and his co-conspirators. In the first, they are standing on the gallows with nooses around their necks, waiting for execution; in the second, their bodies sway in the wind.
Isaac Bonsall (1833-1909), Group of Union Military and Civilian Men near Chattanooga, Tennessee
ca. 1863-1864
Albumen print. Huntington Library, Art Collections, and Botanical Gardens
Walking through, one moment you are totally overwhelmed by the horror of what you are watching, the next you see a quiet photo of a Group of Union Military and Civilian Men near Chattanooga, Tennessee (ca. 1863-64) posing proudly and calmly in front of the camera. One cannot help but think of how many of them are lying dead here, in another photograph, which captures the gruesome aftermath of the Battle of Gettysburg. There is no way to describe this image with mere words; one simply must see it.
Timothy H. O'Sullivan (ca. 1840-1882), photographer;
printed by Alexander Gardner, A Harvest of Death, Gettysburg, July 4, 1863
Albumen print. Huntington Library, Art Collections, and Botanical Gardens
In search of much-needed solace, I travelled across town to see two exhibitions of the remarkable photographer William Eggleston. I like to describe him as the Prince of Melancholy who "has produced a veritable encyclopedia of everyday life in his native Memphis, New Orleans and the Mississippi River Delta." Last year, the Los Angeles County Museum of Art presented a retrospective of his half-century career. Today, two Los Angeles galleries – Rose Gallery in Santa Monica and Gagosian Gallery in Beverly Hills – pay tribute to this quintessential southern gentleman and to the beauty of the trivial moments captured by his camera.
William Eggleston, Untitled, 1970-1973, Dye transfer print
Image courtesy of Rose Gallery
Until William Eggleston started to produce his signature dye transfer images, color photography was traditionally considered to be exclusively a commercial phenomenon. Most of his photographs, even those saturated with color, look slightly faded, which gives them a particularly nostalgic, wistful mood.
William Eggleston: Los Alamos
© Eggleston Artistic Trust. Courtesy of Gagosian Gallery
Photography by the Douglas M. Parker Studio
Collectively, these images provide the most profound, and the most casual, portrait of small town America. If you are familiar with the writing of Eudora Welty and William Faulkner then these photographs will undoubtedly make a strong impression on you. Whether a glimpse of a car passing through a flooded alley or a solitary crossing guard at her post, nothing, absolutely nothing happens in these photos. But if you take a deep breath and allow yourself the luxury of slowing down, then Eggleston's photos will start to whisper, and maybe even sing to you their irresistible songs.
"A Strange and Fearful Interest: Death, Mourning, and Memory in the American Civil War," at the Huntington Library, Art Collections, and Botanical Gardens runs through January 14, 2013.
"A Just Cause: Voices of the American Civil War," at the Huntington Library, Art Collections, and Botanical Gardens runs through January 7, 2013.
"William Eggleston: New Dyes," at Rose Gallery runs through November 24, 2012.
"William Eggleston: Los Alamos," at Gagosian Gallery runs through November 10, 2012.
Banner image: (L) William Eggleston, Untitled, 1970-1973, Dye transfer print. Image courtesy of Rose Gallery
(R) William Eggleston, Untitled, 1970-1973, Dye transfer print. Image courtesy of Rose Gallery