Die perfekte Inszenierung
Gregory Crewdsons kinematografische Fotografie
Den 1962 in Brooklyn geborenen Gregory Crewdson als Fotograf zu bezeichnen greift eigentlich zu kurz. Eigentlich ist er ein Geschichtenerzähler, ein Filmemacher, der sich in das Medium der Fotografie verirrt hat. Crewdson inszeniert kinematografische (Alb)- Träume: Da gibt es etwa eine Farbfotografie, die ein gänzlich mit Wasser bedecktes Wohnzimmer zeigt. Ein Plüschsofa, eine Tapete mit Blümchen, eine Stehlampe. Eine Frau in weißer Unterwäsche liegt im Wasser – und starrt zur Decke. Ist sie das Opfer eines Mordes? Alle seine großen, perfekten Hochglanzfotografien zeigen Abgründe und Albträume – und sind gleichzeitig so schön, dass der Betrachter in ihnen verschwinden möchte. Schon seit Mitte der 80er Jahre arbeitet Crewdson an seiner Mischung aus Schönheit und Schrecken. Und selten kamen sich Film und Fotografie so nah wie hier: Es gibt ein (imaginäres) Vorher und Nachher in diesen Fotografien. Stets rätselt der Betrachter, was passiert ist – und was gleich passieren wird.
Marc Peschke
Gregory Crewdsons kinematografische Fotografie
Den 1962 in Brooklyn geborenen Gregory Crewdson als Fotograf zu bezeichnen greift eigentlich zu kurz. Eigentlich ist er ein Geschichtenerzähler, ein Filmemacher, der sich in das Medium der Fotografie verirrt hat. Crewdson inszeniert kinematografische (Alb)- Träume: Da gibt es etwa eine Farbfotografie, die ein gänzlich mit Wasser bedecktes Wohnzimmer zeigt. Ein Plüschsofa, eine Tapete mit Blümchen, eine Stehlampe. Eine Frau in weißer Unterwäsche liegt im Wasser – und starrt zur Decke. Ist sie das Opfer eines Mordes? Alle seine großen, perfekten Hochglanzfotografien zeigen Abgründe und Albträume – und sind gleichzeitig so schön, dass der Betrachter in ihnen verschwinden möchte. Schon seit Mitte der 80er Jahre arbeitet Crewdson an seiner Mischung aus Schönheit und Schrecken. Und selten kamen sich Film und Fotografie so nah wie hier: Es gibt ein (imaginäres) Vorher und Nachher in diesen Fotografien. Stets rätselt der Betrachter, was passiert ist – und was gleich passieren wird.
Marc Peschke
You once said:What scares me most is reality. On the other hand you also said that you consider yourself to be a realist. Could you explain this contradiction?
I don’t see this as a contradiction, as I confront the anxieties and fears that I have through my work. To me, reality or artifice is less important than creating a world that is complete unto itself.
What does beauty mean to you and how is it connected with the search for perfection, that one can find in almost all of your images?
My endeavor is really just to make the most beautiful picture I can. I try to create a sense of complicated beauty, not a beauty that is purely seductive or elegant.My pictures reside in the collision between my irrational need to make a perfect world, and the impossibility of doing so.
How would you describe the role of nature in your work?
I feel that my photographs concentrate on a tension between domesticity and nature. I try to use the iconography of the American suburban landscape and nature, to reveal certain psychological anxieties, fears, and longings. The inclusion of domestic items and situations plays on our fears about tampering with the balance of nature. Many of my photos are located in a setting where nature meets domesticity. For me, this is a perfect location for the possibility of mystery and wonder.
There is obviously a strong cinematographic atmosphere in your work with direct references to Steven Spielberg or David Lynch. What do you want to achieve by condensing the narration of films into the still-life of one single photographer?
One of the things I love about a photograph, as opposed to a film or other narrative form, is that the viewer will always bring their own story to the images, as they are ultimately
unresolved. Although my work is influenced by film, I’m very struck by the still image. I am interested in the limitations of a photograph in terms of its narrative capacity to present an image that is eternally frozen, where there is no before or after. I try to use that limitation as a kind of strength.
It seems that all of your work is connected with the atmosphere of isolation and loneliness. Is there also hope and optimism?
Although my work does induce a psychological feeling of loneliness and isolation, I feel that this does merge with an underlying sense of hope. For me, light always suggests a sense of possibility and transcendence.
To what extent do you feel influenced by painting?
Although I am influenced by painters, such as Edward Hopper, I ultimately think in very photographic terms. I do try,however, to use color and light, as a narrative code, to tell the story. Would you agree that the subtext in many of your images is about death and mortality? In terms of the content of my pictures, I would say that it is not really conscious. I think there is an internal vision of some sort, like with all artists, and the struggle is to try to present it or represent it in the world, as best they can.
I don’t see this as a contradiction, as I confront the anxieties and fears that I have through my work. To me, reality or artifice is less important than creating a world that is complete unto itself.
What does beauty mean to you and how is it connected with the search for perfection, that one can find in almost all of your images?
My endeavor is really just to make the most beautiful picture I can. I try to create a sense of complicated beauty, not a beauty that is purely seductive or elegant.My pictures reside in the collision between my irrational need to make a perfect world, and the impossibility of doing so.
How would you describe the role of nature in your work?
I feel that my photographs concentrate on a tension between domesticity and nature. I try to use the iconography of the American suburban landscape and nature, to reveal certain psychological anxieties, fears, and longings. The inclusion of domestic items and situations plays on our fears about tampering with the balance of nature. Many of my photos are located in a setting where nature meets domesticity. For me, this is a perfect location for the possibility of mystery and wonder.
There is obviously a strong cinematographic atmosphere in your work with direct references to Steven Spielberg or David Lynch. What do you want to achieve by condensing the narration of films into the still-life of one single photographer?
One of the things I love about a photograph, as opposed to a film or other narrative form, is that the viewer will always bring their own story to the images, as they are ultimately
unresolved. Although my work is influenced by film, I’m very struck by the still image. I am interested in the limitations of a photograph in terms of its narrative capacity to present an image that is eternally frozen, where there is no before or after. I try to use that limitation as a kind of strength.
It seems that all of your work is connected with the atmosphere of isolation and loneliness. Is there also hope and optimism?
Although my work does induce a psychological feeling of loneliness and isolation, I feel that this does merge with an underlying sense of hope. For me, light always suggests a sense of possibility and transcendence.
To what extent do you feel influenced by painting?
Although I am influenced by painters, such as Edward Hopper, I ultimately think in very photographic terms. I do try,however, to use color and light, as a narrative code, to tell the story. Would you agree that the subtext in many of your images is about death and mortality? In terms of the content of my pictures, I would say that it is not really conscious. I think there is an internal vision of some sort, like with all artists, and the struggle is to try to present it or represent it in the world, as best they can.
