Often, a reliable indicator of a community`s vitality is the extent to
which it replaces the old with the new, eliminating obsolescence and
providing for the possibility of progress. These images can document the
thoughtless abandonment of outdated buildings, railway lines and heavy
machinery that now characterizes so much of the northeastern landscape.
The pathos of these pictures seems strangely connected to the manner in
which the archetypal `small town` is perceived in the heart of American
sentiment. Political candidates build campaigns on `family values` and
`town hall` meetings, calculated to evoke images of timeless stability
that have always been more American Dream than American Reality. The
rural landscape is assumed to be somehow immune to the inevitable boom
and bust cycle of urban industrialism, just as it is not subject to the
sensual excess and vice of the big city. In reality though, an
overwhelming number of real American towns stand as monuments to the
often fickle and transitory nature of capital, and to change itself.
In the past, photographic work revealing the American rust belt has
usually adopted the objective approach, meant to be viewed as detached
documentary. Further, many such portfolios have concentrated on large
urban areas. I wanted my images to explore something beyond `The Decline
of the American Empire` theme. That such places existed was not of
primary concern to me; neither were the details of when they were built,
why they were abandoned, or how many people were displaced from their
jobs and homes. My primary artistic concern was that the subjects chosen
varied greatly, and provided a more comprehensive and aesthetic sample
than if I had surveyed one or two urban industrial sites. It was
important to me that my
photographs not impart a taciturn or objective response; I wanted them
to portray a strong sense of silence
and emptiness, a resonant sadness.
Ultimately, I think of these places as museums. So many of them have
never been dismantled, and remain as stark reminders of a moment in
America`s history. There are no plaques to read or tourist centres to
visit, just the vestiges, the relics, of a bygone era.
Philip Coman
1995.
Edited by Stuart Royal
As the world surges toward the end of the twentieth century, photographs like those by Philip Coman serve as records of rapidly disappearing heavy industry. They capture a time and a way of life that for much of the western world no longer exists. Coman's photographs represent an archive of the decay of industry in a particular section of the United States - an analysis of commerce, its rise and decline in the once prosperous mining and mill towns of New England. Specific locations though are unimportant. The scenes captured by Coman could be anywhere and, indeed, the documental nature of the work is only a part of his statement.More crucial is Coman's commitment to the formal elements of photography. Compositional devices insure that the viewer's eye wanders throughout the image, absorbing details. The overall tonal range of the works is enhanced by a measured response to light and shadow. When approaching his subjects, Coman carefully selects the time of day and weather conditions - grey and overcast. Once the conditions are right he employs an intuitive sense of composition and symmetry to produce images that are balanced, yet seductive.
Finally, this exhibition is a statement about society and the nature of prosperity. One is struck by the complete lack of human presence in Coman's photographs. The works are not devoid of humanity though; it is there like a ghost of habitation, a sense of a way of life that is now gone. They are sites full of melancholy and regret, of lost hopes and dreams unfulfilled. His photographs are a metaphor for the history of industrialization which parallels the lives of the people who once worked and lived in these cities and towns. The photographs are a testament to loss of opportunity, not only in the small towns of the American northeast, but in communities everywhere.
OFDA: You seem to have taken your images through a definite poetic process.
This process seems in its essence about changing something ordinary, and maybe
even ugly into something beautiful and evocative. The more unlikely the
transformation, the more powerful seems the effect often. One of the processes of art is
perhaps to see beauty in the ordinary. Do you agree with this, because this seems
evident in your work?
COMAN: Maybe there's a very sad feeling in many of these images, as
you've described, and I wanted
them to have that actually, this is how I respond to these kinds of mostly abandoned places. I see
industrial ruin in the same way that some people might view the ruins of an old
church or monastery. Both are very evocative in that they hint at long
gone rituals and beliefs that sustained people in an earlier age. This is as true of
such a place as Benson Mines in New York State, as it is of some moss-covered British
monastery.
The owners and workers at Benson Mines likely all believed in the power of
capital, the importance of Industry over Nature, and in the same way as any
church, they too went through their daily rituals, punching the clock, and
following the commands of the work whistle.
35 photographs, each 6x13.5 inches, mounted and matted 16x20.
Several images from Small Towns
5x7 Century camera, Tri-X
Philip Coman
118 Centre Street North
Brampton, Ontario, Canada
L6V 2Z3
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Philip Coman