lareviewofbooks:


The artist Spencer Finch has produced pendant photographs of two places in Brooklyn where a rainbow ended. This was a rainbow he’d glimpsed through the window of the F train, at the Smith-Ninth Street station on 10/24/99 at 3 PM to be exact. The locations are, necessarily, inexact. (Finch overlaid a street map onto a topological map and reobserved the site on the train to deduce them.) Nevertheless, they stand for the way any rainbow arbitrarily joins two spots on earth for the span of a few minutes or seconds. Both photos frame ordinary sidewalk views of Brooklyn: one of a closed corrugated metal garage door with graffiti garlanding the familiar interdiction No Parking, beside which a dumpster, beside which a couple bags of garbage; the other of a corner bodega, half a car, another No Parking sign. Whatever rainbow idled there, it wasn’t for long, and it left no trace of itself. Thus the photos, unpeopled and vaguely desolate, also conjure Walter Benjamin’s famous description of the French photographer Eugene Atget’s landscapes: “He photographed them like scenes of a crime. The scene of a crime, too, is deserted; it is photographed for the purpose of establishing evidence.”

Continue reading “Light in Translation: On Spencer Finch” by Ange Mlinko.

WAT.

lareviewofbooks:

The artist Spencer Finch has produced pendant photographs of two places in Brooklyn where a rainbow ended. This was a rainbow he’d glimpsed through the window of the F train, at the Smith-Ninth Street station on 10/24/99 at 3 PM to be exact. The locations are, necessarily, inexact. (Finch overlaid a street map onto a topological map and reobserved the site on the train to deduce them.) Nevertheless, they stand for the way any rainbow arbitrarily joins two spots on earth for the span of a few minutes or seconds. Both photos frame ordinary sidewalk views of Brooklyn: one of a closed corrugated metal garage door with graffiti garlanding the familiar interdiction No Parking, beside which a dumpster, beside which a couple bags of garbage; the other of a corner bodega, half a car, another No Parking sign. Whatever rainbow idled there, it wasn’t for long, and it left no trace of itself. Thus the photos, unpeopled and vaguely desolate, also conjure Walter Benjamin’s famous description of the French photographer Eugene Atget’s landscapes: “He photographed them like scenes of a crime. The scene of a crime, too, is deserted; it is photographed for the purpose of establishing evidence.”

Continue reading “Light in Translation: On Spencer Finch” by Ange Mlinko.

WAT.