omeone once said that a photograph shows effects without causes. In other words, a photograph will always be less than reality. Thanks to an endless paradox, however, photography affirms itself as the faithful double, the mirror that can not be tarnished, and the mouth of light. Thus it is for the images that Gwen Smith has chosen for two books that have come out two years apart: Tropic (2001) and Cancer (2003). Two images of the same place, one before and one after, visibly, shredded and enlarged to fill hundreds of pages. What then do these details hide? They conceal exactly that which can be conceived only through touch and memory, non-representable experience, antagonist of the true imprint in which photography participates. They avoid saying that there is always a tenacious and modest tie (remember, by the way, that the titles of course evoke Henry Miller on the shores of Brooklyn facing Manhattan) that is absolutely essential between space and the lived, the body and the image. It goes without saying that these photographs put before us the unthinkable. But also, in absentia, they tell us how history proceeds in great leaps, tragic and extraordinary: a roof was there, before us. It has disappeared.
Stefano Chiodi (Rome)

Gwen Smith
Tropic
Published November 2001

Gwen Smith
Cancer
Published January 2004

This entry was posted on Wednesday, November 28th, 2001 at 1:20 am and is filed under afterartnews. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.