In his artist statement for Planes, Lattices and Interstices, a solo exhibit at Iris BookCafé through Aug. 25, photographer Lars Anderson says his latest body of work was born out of failure.
We should all be so unlucky.
Unable to always obtain permission to take pictures inside the grounds of active and abandoned factories around the Midwest, Anderson started turning his lens on the privacy fences surrounding his favorite subjects. In the process, he discovered infinite new opportunities for creativity and conversation.
Straddling a line between realism and abstract Op Art, Anderson’s images reward viewers who take a second, third or, he hopes, 50th look at “the unexpected interestingness” of these spaces.
Anderson says the current larger series from which the Iris exhibit is drawn, Access, asks a simple but important question: What can we observe by standing in a different place? As onlookers shift their physical positions to look past the barriers in his photos, Anderson sees them also overcome obstacles in their thinking about industrial sites and art.
“This series works in two ways,” Anderson says. “First, in the purely visual realm, photographing through latticework creates interesting optical effects for the viewer. What you see changes depending on where you stand.” Or where you sit. I had lingered for several minutes before recognizing that the subtle white curve I had been admiring in a photo was actually the hard outline of a propane tank. Then other details came into focus, including a few tall blades of grass along the fence. Were they attempting to break out of a man-made environment, or working their way in to reclaim the space?
Such musings support Anderson’s other theory about what makes his photos so arresting. On one side of the fence, people see blight and pollution; on the other side, they see jobs that boost communities.
“This series reminds us that we are not objective observers, although we tend to believe that we are more objective than we really are,” he says.
The photographer’s fascination with manufacturing goes back to his Iowa childhood. While growing up in the 1970s, he and his brother saved money for drafting tools rather than traditional toys. Anderson sketched fictitious industrial landscapes and drew architectural plans for factories. But his creative impulses went dormant as he pursued an economics degree and a career in the aerospace field. It wasn’t until 2007 that he picked up a camera to take more than travel snapshots.
It’s likely that Planes, Lattices and Interstices will also reawaken the viewer’s imaginative inner child. The slats and shadows lend a mysterious effect to these closed-off spaces and tempt passersby. From a distance, a colorful line of auto parts in an Akron lot starts to resemble plastic tunnels on a school playground. Up close, some chain-link fences glisten like silver, as if they are doors to a magical castle.
Anderson uses the word “spooky” to describe a favorite picture hung near Iris’ entrance. Electrical boxes pop into view as if the photographer pasted a 3-D layer onto the picture, but when you move a few feet the boxes fade into the rest of the image again. In another photo — an older one not shot through latticework — a blue/gray grid of chains and shadows takes on the soft appearance of a woven towel or blanket.
All the photos are presented without wall text, inviting multiple interpretations.
Anderson says Iris gallery curator William Messer also advised him years ago to “lose the cutesy titles” that he used to assign his pictures. Now he simply names a work “Cincinnati #9” or “Elk Grove #6.” Maybe that’s unacceptable to some viewers, but Anderson says he loves bending rules as he elevates overlooked places.
“These are very mundane objects when you get right down to it,” he says. “But, for starters, the mere act of isolating these things in a frame ennobles them. And that sort of makes them art.”
LARS ANDERSON: PLANES, LATTICES AND INTERSTICES is up through Aug. 25 at Iris BookCafé, 1331 Main St., Over-the-Rhine. More info: irisbookcafe.com.
This article appears in Jul 5-12, 2017.