James Archambeault, locally renowned nature photographer, recently passed with a nice article in the paper, and testimonials reflected the larger community’s view of his work. Six books of photographs and many calendars, he took photographs of just what was there. ‘I didn’t invent Kentucky,’ he’d often say, modest in his craft. Even so, it’s said he’d wait for hours for the right light, a favorable angle of the sun, and with patience and a loving eye he produced his pictures.
His photographs were of nothing special, and that’s sort of interesting. Mares with foals at their side are grazing as the mist rolls away while traffic congests on the way to work every weekday, who notices? Sunlight falls through the trees and dapples the creek as ATVs bounce down a cowpath, it’s always there. Jim was thinking abstractly, the sky in a pond against the weathered paint of the barn, beguiling the attention, but he used visual terms that were already familiar to any citizen who drives just a few miles out of town. Having once seen at his work, people look the same things but see them differently, and in some cases, see them at all. So many of their statements boil down to ‘he made me see and appreciate’ what was and is always there, day by day.
What artist wants more than that? Oh, I suppose having glamorous associates must be fun, and oodles of money with open afternoons sounds great, but that’s business, amusing the rich, and art is more serious than that. Some folks actually believe that seeing the physical world with more clarity enhances an individual’s sense of self, a far-fetched theory at this point, but just a new appreciation for the quality of light down by the lake at dusk would be enough. Whatever image goes in through the eyes, art’s attempt is to penetrate the forehead, to alter perception, if only by example. People look to artists like James Archambeault to verify their own experience, and to help them find commonality with others who share a sense of values beyond the lowest-denominator sensationalism found in commercial media.
His photographs were of nothing special, and that’s sort of interesting. Mares with foals at their side are grazing as the mist rolls away while traffic congests on the way to work every weekday, who notices? Sunlight falls through the trees and dapples the creek as ATVs bounce down a cowpath, it’s always there. Jim was thinking abstractly, the sky in a pond against the weathered paint of the barn, beguiling the attention, but he used visual terms that were already familiar to any citizen who drives just a few miles out of town. Having once seen at his work, people look the same things but see them differently, and in some cases, see them at all. So many of their statements boil down to ‘he made me see and appreciate’ what was and is always there, day by day.
What artist wants more than that? Oh, I suppose having glamorous associates must be fun, and oodles of money with open afternoons sounds great, but that’s business, amusing the rich, and art is more serious than that. Some folks actually believe that seeing the physical world with more clarity enhances an individual’s sense of self, a far-fetched theory at this point, but just a new appreciation for the quality of light down by the lake at dusk would be enough. Whatever image goes in through the eyes, art’s attempt is to penetrate the forehead, to alter perception, if only by example. People look to artists like James Archambeault to verify their own experience, and to help them find commonality with others who share a sense of values beyond the lowest-denominator sensationalism found in commercial media.
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