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Art Papers The lines separating truth from falsehood and possibility from impossibility blur in Nate Larson's deadpan inquiries into out desire to believe and the human affinity to deception. In Miracle Pennies and Other Stories: Photography and Video by Nate Larson, the artist spoofs - or doesn't, your call - miraculous events, dream logic, fortune cookies, and questions of identity [Alice F. and Harris K. Weston Art Gallery; January 25 - March 30, 2008]. The use of photography to question truth, rather than to illustrate it, to fabricate instead of document, is a subversive strategy Larson finds exactly to his purpose. The exhibition consists of two photographic series and four video works, all meticulously executed. An active presence in his own work, Larson appears in both still images and videos wearing clothes that establish his persona: khaki slacks, short-sleeved white dress shirt with striped tie, eyeglasses delicately rimmed at top but rimless below. His hair is almost burr-cut; as is to counter that, he has a tiny suggestion of beard. In short, excepting the beard, he wears a costume from a period before he was born, the mid-twentieth century. His appearance underlines the general ambiguity of his works. A chance encounter apparently set off the Miracle Pennies series, 2006, whose narrative rewards close attention. Ten sets of photographs document receipt of an amazing letter, containing prayer-anointed miracle pennies and complicated instructions on their disposal in order to receive fiscal rewards. In the course of documenting his response, Larson lets us know that his "Secret Money Place," where a miracle penny is to go, is a box of Tarot cards that, kept in the "t's" on his bookshelf, already contains a roll of twenty-dollar bills. The final photograph shows one such bill - from the roll, perhaps? - inserted into the return envelope - his acquiescence to a requested donation, purported to ensure results and bring forth further instructions. As this is the final panel, we must assume that neither results nor instructions ensued. Larson's elaborate stagings and stories remind us of our need to believe. One of the videos, Five Explanations for a White Spot on a Grey Floor, presents a range of answers, from the supernatural to the trickster and the mundane. While the mundane is likely and the trickster possible, the supernatural is certainly most alluring. Photography, a medium we've traditionally associated with truth, now shows us truth as a slippery proposition. Larson is an adept practitioner in the field. The above text is excerpted from a longer article. Please click here to read the full review. |
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City Beat (Cincinnati) A well-dressed peddler steps into the Weston Gallery and opens a bag of tricks. Poof! A cloud of smoke, and out flies holy water, fortune cookies and wax ears. Larson tries his luck in "Fortune Cookie." He has read an article in which 110 people won the lotto by playing the numbers from their fortune cookies. Larson saved his fortunes and played the numbers in the Illinois lottery. He wins $35.50 after playing the numbers in six different fortunes. The messages in these fortunes begin to roll around in my head until I am forming strange connections. "There are no ordinary moments," one fortune reads. "God gave man limited ability, but unlimited ambition and desire," another says. Is that not the theme of this show? Larson cannot really walk on water, communicate with the spirit world or miraculously fall into wealth, but he can try. "Sell your ideas, they are totally acceptable," the cookie says. And so Larson sells us his miracles, and we gladly buy them. The above text is excerpted from a longer article. Please click here to read the full review. |
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The Enquirer (Cincinnati) Nate Larson's "Miracle Pennies and Other Stories" exhibition at the Weston Art Gallery has a In the title sequence, also published as a book, he receives a mysterious letter. The return address bears the name "Prophet Peter Popoff." Scrawled across the front of the envelope, in red, is this message: "God wants to give 'you' two special miracles. Open now. Urgent!" We follow his response to the letter, which requests that he take the five coins enclosed - the "Miracle Pennies" - and complete a task with each. He's told that if he obeys, he "shall eat the good of the land." It's an obvious send-up of chain letters, sweepstakes and other entreaties promising a bountiful reward in return for completing a seemingly small act, even one that appears ridiculous. For example, he is asked to throw one penny into a body of water that contains fish and to put another in a dish into which he has poured oil. At first, the series appears glib or cynical or, worse yet, gimmicky. But the Chicago artist turns it into a thoughtful exploration of trying to construct meaning in contemporary culture, and does it so effectively that you're compelled to find out what's next. But the exhibition serves another purpose: examining the tenuous relationship of photography to the truth. When viewed without the text, the photos appear to document reality. In a sense, they do. He does dip one penny in oil and throw another into a lake. The above text is excerpted from a longer article. Please click here to read the full review. (PDF) |
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The
New York Times Much of photography's credibility as a popular art form relies on its promise of visual truth, embodied in the axiom that the camera never lies. Seeing, you might say, is believing. But the camera does lie, and frequently, and it is from this starting point that Mr. Larson begins to craft his elaborate photographic fictions. His images, radically, work a tension between a desire to believe and the skeptical rational mind. Mr. Larson's photographs are meant to be read in an order, from left to right, like language. But it does not really matter how you look at them. Each depicts the artist in white shirt and striped tie posing as a sort of ''everyman'' experiencing supernatural occurrences. The experiences range from being stalked by a shadow person to taking psychic photographs. Each of the 12 display images is a composite of several images relating to the experience; much like a performance artist, Mr. Larson treats the documentation of the experience as the artwork. Each of these composite images tells a little story, showing or telling us how and often where the so-called paranormal events took place. In this way, he creates the pretense of providing factual information. None of this, of course, is real, although that is hardly the point. We believe it is real, given the apparent authenticity of the images and their documentary presentation. But simultaneously our mind knows that the things we are looking at are invented. It is this disconnect of image and reality that makes these photographs so fascinating. Mr. Larson is not the only artist to stake out this territory. A recent exhibition at the Neuberger Museum of Art in Purchase, N.Y., surveyed a genre of new photography characterized by ''fabricated melodrama'' -- set-up situations in which the artist or actors feign emotional intensity for the camera. Formally, Mr. Larson's photography fits very much within this emerging tradition. Paranormal photography also has myriad historical precedents. We might point to spirit photographs by late 19th-century artists in England and France, many of whom were in fact real-life tricksters and charlatans. Mr. Larson is just pretending, his psychically-attuned photographs surveying the limits of belief and truth. The above text is excerpted from a longer article. Please click here to read the full review |
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Ten
by Ten, Uber.com ... Larson doesn’t just examine the fringes of credulity. He also takes on less laughable indicators that admittedly enrich or help to guide our science and tech-driven lives. Why not let a fortune cookie decide your lotto numbers? Who doesn’t feel a special bond with someone who has your same name or birthday? Whether coincidence is a sign of a higher power or just a statistical probability, we can’t help but interpret it as having some meaning, whether delightful or ominous. This, in and of itself, reflects the human need for signposts—of any kind—along our unscripted journey. The believer will see Larson’s photographs as testament; the skeptic as ironic postmodern exercise. But one reading is clear: No matter how rational and scientific we are, there will always be wiggle room for the unexplained—it’s what keeps life interesting. The above text is excerpted from a longer article. Please click here to read the full review |
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Monday
Magazine One of the highlights—Chicago-based artist Nate Larson’s piece “Miracle Pennies”—is comprised of six framed photographs, each roughly divided into quarters. Together, the images tell the story of Larson’s actions following the reception of a letter from “Prophet Peter Popoff” who informs him that he is “just two faith steps away from your miracle for special help with some money problems you’re facing.” Though failure seems imminent in this mail-order scheme (considerably too clever and laborious to be real), the viewer is left pondering how the artist’s quest for money by way of a “special help” miracle comes out, as the final quarter image in this photo series shows his business reply mail envelope being dropped into a red mailbox. |
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Rittenhouse
Square Revue In the nearby 1401 Gallery, the very funny but very thought-provoking Chicago artist Nate Larson offers us Burden of Proof. This is a collection of images of the artist himself, often with props, which are juxtaposed with narrative quips meant to be both autobiographical and an illustration of the current state of American culture. “For me,” he expresses, “the overarching issue in my work is belief…the belief in science, politics, consumerism and mythology…I am interested in how people come to believe the things that they believe and how they integrate their internal belief system into the larger culture.” One photo is a montage of a hand holding bullets, an American flag, and the artist with his bruised back to the camera. The narrative proclaims “I had a dream recently that I was shot four times by a man with a pistol. The dream continued independent of this event. When I woke, I examined my body and found four bruises.” This, of course, bespeaks our culture’s fascination with paranormal activity, which by its nature forces us to confront what we are willing or able to believe, but Larson adds a layer by offering a photograph of his back with the corresponding four bruises, asking us what we are willing or able to believe in light of photographic proof. Another photograph is a short but rather detailed account of his father’s unfortunate fall down a flight of basement steps. There is a photo of the staircase; the artist holding schematics of the staircase, a photo of someone who I assume is his father and a short verbal account of his father’s experience. It is rather amusing and I can only wonder if it, or any part of it, ever happened. I could have very easily asked the artist, in our communication, if any of these things actually happened, but for some reason, I didn’t want to know. Larson was raised in the Associated Bible Students faith, a non-traditional Christian organization. He wants us to know that much of his work is influenced by religion. “Part of my work,” he tells us “has been a struggle to ascertain my own belief system, amongst a myriad of influences. “The artwork, he continues, “reflects this tension between a desire to believe in something concrete and larger than oneself and the skeptical rational mind.” It appears as if Larson would like to take some of that tension, curiosity and uncertainty and lend it to us. It is all done, however, with the greatest of skill and the best of humor. |
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Hartford
Advocate The exhibition features Larson's recent works, a series of photographic documentations of what he terms the "supernormal." Clad in a white shirt and tie, Larson poses in the photographs as an ordinary character who experiences depicted events, such as miracles. His work focuses on exposing the tension between photographs serving as visual "proof" of an occurence and the process of constructing ones system of belief. |
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Gallery
44: Centre for Contemporary Photography Larson insists that his work seeks to expose the workings of, rather than disprove, religious and supernatural beliefs.1 In this series of photographs titled Stories (2002- ), the banal is taken as a sign of wonder, an indication of supernatural presence, and the photograph acts as a document of truth. These humorous and touching photographs evoke the power of belief: an acceptance of the role of divine intervention requires a suspension of the unrelenting criticality that characterizes contemporary life. In these photographs, a sense of belief, imagination and connection is suggested. Empirical truth here is irrelevant, and truth itself, relative. |
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Now
Toronto Here is an extraordinary little show about the ordinary. Four artists and a clever curator put the everyday on display, including the kitchen sink. Nate Larson 's Stories occupy the vitrines outside the gallery. Each case holds a photo-based piece mixing a picture with a story. For example, there's a shot of Larson's chin jutting toward the camera. On its tip is a scar. The story tells us that while eating a slice of pizza, Larson was burned by the sauce. The burn resembles South America. (This can happen – I once had Australia sunburned onto my back.) Larson refers to it as a "sign." Each story toys with superstition. In another, an amulet helps explain why people keep seeing him in other cities even though he couldn't possibly have been there. It's a fun look at how we use our beliefs to create meaning in our lives. Like knock on wood. |
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Columbus
Alive At the Gallery Hop opening of Nate Larson’s latest show of photography, the lights flickered and died briefly, leaving the artist, his work and about a half-dozen admirers in the dark. “I don’t know what that was,” Larson said, “but maybe there’s something to that.” The occurrence,
like Larson’s work, depends on what you read into it. In blank-background,
black-and-white photos that have the same surreal quality as the
infamous shot of Uri Geller and his bent spoon, the photographer
records the evidence of events in his life that may have paranormal
or spiritual significance—or then again, may not. “I’m
interested in how people make meaning of the world around them,”
he explained. Larson appears in each of the 12 pictures on display, wearing his trademark short-sleeve shirt and tie, explaining in a simple typewriter font the possible connection between his breakup with a longtime girlfriend and the divorce of Elvis and Priscilla Presley, or how a plastic Jesus figure from the Sacred Heart Auto League may have saved his life. In other shots, Larson focuses on the powers within, manifested through his own bent spoons and an ability to get the amount of condiment packets he wants from a fast food drive-through employee with thought projection. His stories may be—well, probably are—embellished, but Larson prefers to keep the line between truth and fiction hidden in the plain sight of his medium. How he expresses them visually is more admirable for its clean precision than its aesthetic beauty, but his work lingers with the viewer regardless. It leaves you laughing, and questioning everything. |
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Columbus
Alive Nate Larson moved to Columbus two years ago to attend graduate school. His girlfriend lived in his home state of Indiana, however, and the 24-year-old photographer would occasionally make the long drive back home to visit her, usually very late at night, when the Midwest highways were dark and lonely. The perfect conditions for a UFO abduction, really. Or, at the very least, the perfect conditions to turn to AM talk radio for company, to listen to stories of other people’s UFO abductions and other too-obscure-for-daylight topics. On one such trip, Larson heard about someone who had cut a baked potato in half and found glowing crosses on either side of the potato’s surface. The report of this miraculous manifestation heralded the beginning of his research into—and photographic recreation of—paranormal occurrences. The resulting body of work, which he has been creating for almost two years, is about 60 pieces strong, and 24 of them can be seen this month at Gallery 853 in the Short North (many others, including a picture of the potato that started it all, can be seen online at natelarson.com). The current show, Curiosities and Wonders, is a fine example of what happens when someone with ability tackles interesting subject matter. Larson appears throughout the show as a sort of actor in the pictures, but it’s what he’s doing or looking at that’s usually the true focus. We see Larson as a snake handler, joyously cradling a huge black snake to his chest while his head tilts upward, his eyes closed in rapture. We see Larson in a shirt and tie, levitating above a driveway. We see the face of Jesus appearing in a tortilla, lying in a pan atop a stove. Much of the show is devoted to the phenomenon of UFOs, with blurry metal disks captured hovering above familiar Columbus buildings. The strange craft are definitely of the flying saucer variety, most looking as if they’ve flown directly out of a no-budget sci-fi flick from the 1950s or ’60s, when resourceful filmmakers would simply glue two pie tins together. But at the same time, their fuzzy black and white reality, appearing as they do in the solid, clear context of a Columbus skyline, gives them a sort of ambiguous hyper-reality. In several pieces, Larson poses as a sort of UFOlogist, crouched on the ground of a landing sight or standing below a giant, disk-shaped shadow cast by some floating object beyond the frame of the photo. Were they not hanging on a gallery’s wall, many of the photos would evoke a sort of journalistic, documentary feeling. Unlike the covers of supermarket tabloids like The Weekly World News, which you can glance at for a moment and declare authoritatively “Photoshop,” the fakery of Larson’s work isn’t immediate, or even apparent. Almost without exception the pictures ask questions, mainly, “Wait, is that real or not?” and “Just how the heck did he do that?” I studied Gift of the Spirit (Levitation), the picture in which Larson appears to be floating a few inches off the ground, for a few minutes last week, scrutinizing it for wires or signs of computer trickery, but couldn’t see anything. Having given up, I later asked Larson how he took the picture.“Can I assume from your question that you don’t believe I was really levitating?” he asked right back. And that’s part of the appeal of his work. His photos are so artfully done that no matter how cynical you might be of UFOs or levitation, they’re hard to dismiss as pure artifice. Like good magic tricks, you can’t easily disprove them, whether you believe them or not. For the record, Larson has a great affection for the photos of The Weekly World News. “Just this week in the tabloids I saw something about the Dale Earnhardt goat,” Larson said excitedly. “There was this goat that was born near where he had died, and it has a patch of fur that looks like the number three, which was Dale Earnhardt’s number, and now race fans are doing pilgrimages to it. They had two profiles of the goat, with the number three on one side and a blob-like shape on the other side which they said looked like his face.” Larson hasn’t attempted to make a photograph of the Dale Earnhardt goat (yet, anyway), but that’s exactly how he gets his ideas, collecting such tales. Every time he shows his work somewhere, he hears more of them from the people who come to check it out. “I’ve been doing this for two years and I feel like I’m just getting started,” he said. “The more stories I hear, the more I want to do.” |
