Tim
Simmons
du 11 mai au 2 juin 2005
On first seeing these pictures, one is compelled to ask what is going
on? What is the photographer doing in the woods at night? What does
he see that he wants us to see?
In Intervention: Work in Progress,
Tim Simmons appears to be gathering
a body of photographic evidence in order to prove to us that something
is going on, at night, when no one is around; when ordinary folk are
safely tucked up in their beds. But exactly what is going on is hard
to say.
In Victoria Falls, Scotland, in the foreground, the earth appears
to be haemorrhaging; whilst in the middle ground, on the right of the
picture, a stump is evidence of a missing tree – cleanly taken,
with no sign of a struggle. In Sheldaig Trench, the haemorrhaging has
got worse, and there is a fence - a recurring theme – but what
is it for? What perimeter does it mark? Who’s territory? Does
it contain something, or keep something out? Is it to protect what
is enclosed, or to protect the outside world from what is within?
The Hawaii Fence, which is plainly inadequate for keeping back the
encroaching rubble, is a rubicon, or line, which, if crossed, bodes
serious consequences. Palm Springs Fence is meant to prohibit access,
but we have no means of determining whether we are on the inside or
the outside. Are we safe, or at risk? Accepted or excluded? Phoenix
Fence is an enclosure, and perhaps not very strange at all, if not
for the red lights on top of the tall pylons, and the trail of something
moving across the night sky.
Is someone tidying up? Methodically arranging things in anticipation
of an impending visitation or inspection? In Phoenix Car Port the lights
are switched on in expectation of something, or somebody, arriving.
Tucson Rock Pile and Palm Springs Cactus Wall are deranged zen gardens
for the eternal contemplation of the serene boulder head between the
cactuses.
And then there are things moving around, in Alabama Hills and Mauna
Lani, Hawaii. It seems to be some nocturnal transportation system,
with prescribed routes, as in Leaplish Light Path. But what is it transporting?
And from where to where?
If we were to go to these places our selves, would the strangeness
be self evident? Or can we only witness these things through the eyes
of the photographer? And, with the first light of dawn, do these places
slip back to normality – to be passed by during the day
without a second look?
Malcolm Southward 2005
Tim Simmons was born in London, England in 1955. He has been making
photographs for over thirty years.
All images are 110 x 75.5 cm
Mounted in white box frames 141.5 x 106.5
cm
Framed 5.000 £ plus tax per image
Unframed 4.500 £ plus
tax per image
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