Luminous Transitions Photograms by Glenn Friedel At KFMK Gallery 515A West 29th Street www.KFMKgalleries.com Exhibition Closes January 9, 2006 Reviewed by Erin Mallay Images courtesy of the artist

I didn't expect to like Glenn Friedel's exhibit at KFMK Gallery.  While trudging the long avenues to Chelsea, bravely fighting the cold and stubbornly trying to drink my coffee while keeping my hat from blowing off my head, I found myself asking what am I doing? As an art critic, I find I don't actually like most of the art I encounter and, as a New Yorker, I harbor an aversion to excessive color.   Initially, it seemed Mr. Friedel didn't have much of a chance of impressing me.  But!

But! I found his work pleasurable.  The large format color photograms evoke an ethereal mood that draws one into the picture plane, and I found myself wondering what it would feel like to float around in that world.  I didn't want to be one of the models so much--although laying naked on top of a piece of photo paper during a variety of light exposures would be interesting--it was the fantasy world within the frame that was inviting, like an alternate dimension on the other side of the glass beckoning one through.   Friedel said he heard a lot of references about his work—under water, embryos—"it's the beauty of abstraction," he said, that draws on the imagination of the viewer to contribute to or complete the piece.  

His message is simple and universal, the process is solid, and the work is pretty.  Concerned with capturing visual incarnations of the human soul, its uniqueness and "the beauty and positivism that we all have within us," Friedel uses the singular effect of the photogram process as a metaphor for humanity. A photogram is a camera-less photograph that exposes light directly onto photographic paper and employs different objects, in this case a human body alternating with clear glass marbles, to block out light in certain areas and thus creating shapes and forms.   Since there are no negatives, each photogram is unique, like a painting made without paint or brushes.  But that's not all: the original photograms are one of three kinds of work displayed in Luminous Transitions and serving as the foundation point for each of the other two.  The second variety is the limited edition prints, which are large format transparencies of the photogram.   The third is a result of scanning these transparencies and then subtly altering or enhancing them digitally.

A significant component of my initial prejudice against the work in Luminous Transitions stemmed from an aversion to digital art.   While viewing his work online, it seemed unlikely that it was as pure a product of the photogram process as he claimed—it just looked so digital.  I need my art created with physical labor.  I think it's important that an artist use their hands and arms and body as well as their eyes and their brain, and clicking a mouse seems like such a cheap alternative.   Also, the photogram is a very old process, originating with the advent of photography itself; with so many fancy programs and technological options, why would a contemporary artist revert to a process made popular by early Man Ray?   I was suspicious.

The truth was as pleasant a surprise as the exhibition itself.  While some of the pieces were pure photograms, others were the result of digital enhancement, so the exhibition was a gradation of tradition and technology. The myth of the artist that pervades our culture is that of the solitary figure, starving, and locked away to create in their own bubble of volatile agony.   Each significant style or genre is qualified by the significant artist that invented it.  The reality, however, is quite different.   Art is constant communication between people across time and space, it is an exchanging of ideas and processes and every artist has borrowed from countless others, whether consciously or not.   The "shoulders of giants" adage is particularly apt in this case; Freidel took Man Ray's process, advanced by more recent photographers like Adam Fuss, and further extended it by using the technology offered by fancy graphic and digital art programs, thus offering another phrase in the narrative of art. "It's just another medium," he said. "It's another paint brush."

The other stigma attached to digital art is its link to commercialism.  Artists tend to shun accusations of commercial appeal; although it is quite acceptable to exploit the tenor of advertising and pop/consumer culture a la Andy Warhol, the appropriation of high art into that sphere is met with some resentment—nasty names like "sell-out" get thrown around.   However, Friedel wasn't offended when I mentioned that I could see his work in places other than on gallery walls—like in an iPod ad on the subway for instance.   Ever the believer in the communicative prerogative of art, Friedel would be happy to see his work crop up in different areas of culture. He is more interested in the universality of his message, and wants his work to reach as many people as possible. As he puts it, what he values most is “whatever positivity I can introduce into someone's life, however small it may be."  

There's optimism for you.