Until the 30th March at The Photographers' Gallery in Soho, three shows synchronise, spanning the work of Andy Warhol, William Burroughs and David Lynch. Encompassing three floors of the intimate gallery, the shows may not be extreme in size, but they serve to brilliantly compliment each other through a collection that acts as a journey through the photographic works of three exceptional artists.
Andy Warhol: Photographs 1976-1987, resembles a collection comprising of the everyday, with Warhol's interest in repeated imagery coming into play through his 'stitched' photographs. Far from being immersive, the collection allows you to take on the position of the outsider. It's as if you are bearing witness to the day-to-day of the artist's life within the 1980s -- from depictions of city streets, to intimate portraits of artists such as Basquiat occupied in the mundane task of eating. What these then display is a private look into an unattainable world, placed in the romantic light of black and white film. A zoning in on the details of a scene, through the close up nature of much of the images, gives the impression that only a glimpse of a much wider picture is being divulged. Such is that the collection becomes fraught with a curiosity that then becomes inherent to the images.
There is a similar intimacy to Taking Shots: The Photography of William S. Burroughs but this time through an inclusive look into Burroughs' artistic and creative process. Though his photography is often overlooked, with this being the first exhibition worldwide to focus on Burroughs' vast photographic collection, it better provides an insight into the depth of Burroughs' artistic character. There is a sense of following Burroughs on a journey, as if you are tracing his line of vision through the photographs. Telling of this style, Burroughs wrote of his photographic process, 'Walk down a city block with a camera and take what you notice, moving the camera around as closely as possible to follow the direction of your eyes. The point is to make the camera your eyes and take what your eyes are scanning out of the larger picture.' A series of collages use a 'cut-up' technique that is reminiscent of Stezaker, carved so intently that some take on the form of a kaleidoscope, while distorted self-portraits are fascinating more in what they hide than what they reveal. Through his manipulation of these images, Burroughs work becomes far from simply observatory. The conclusion of the show, St Louis Return 1964, a series documenting the artist's return to his hometown, resonates through a tone of degradation -- creating a bittersweetness to the collection which lingers hauntingly.
The culmination of the triad, David Lynch: The Factory Photographs, for me was the most noteworthy. Accompanied by a sound installation created by Lynch to enhance the show, you are persuaded to move round the gallery at a pace that suggests you are actually walking through an old industrial warehouse. The poignant images hold a sense of being trapped in one of Lynch's twisted dreams. We observe as the foundations are laid for his next distorted reality. To be transported into the inner workings of such an exceptional talent is certainly a fate worth bearing, even if it means the inciting of chills down your spine as you observe the perverse otherworldliness of his genius.
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