The Death of the Authentic Experience

On the Stephen Shore exhibit at MOMA (5/2018)

Before the handheld camera became ubiquitous in society, Stephen Shore took to capturing his own life. From photographs of diner plates and breakfast to blurry shots of a group of people, Shore thrived in the field of capturing the everyday and seemingly mundane. Yet his art raises profound questions about the authenticity of our everyday experiences and what they were influenced by, implicitly or explicitly. Is it chance that I place my fork and knife, on the left and right, respectively, separate and ever-so-slightly angled towards each other, or is it due the fact that I’ve constantly seen utensils placed in such a manner, whether in movies, TV, or diners I’ve frequented?

It is impossible to discuss Stephen Shore without mentioning his iconic mentor, Andy Warhol, as many of Shore’s early photographs were taken of and around Warhol. Shot in black-and-white, Shore’s early years start with photographs in proximity of 42nd street, and eventually move to Warhol’s Factory. His subject matter is a mix of action shots, portraits, scenes, and meticulous compositions. The stark contrast of intention between photographs in the same year indicates that Shore was still discovering styles and methods and hadn’t yet settled on honing his own technique. When comparing a photo of Warhol posing on the balcony of the Factory and an image of Rene Ricard on a bed smiling deliriously towards the camera directly in front of a passionate couple, it comes as a small surprise that both photos were taken in the same year. I found myself feeling slight revulsion when my eyes passed over the exquisitely composed portrait photos, as I find myself diametrically opposed to the concept of posing for a photo.

In Don Delillo’s fantastic postmodern novel White Noise, a fellow professor of the main character mentions “the most photographed barn in the whole world”. This barn, having been advertised as such on the path to the barn itself, ceases to exist as a barn and solely exists as how it has been described, photographed and imagined prior. Likewise, after being shot, Andy Warhol is famously quoted as stating that “…The movies make emotions look so strong and real, whereas when these things really do happen, it’s like watching television – you don’t feel anything.” The philosophy Warhol embodies, and that Delillo puts more eloquently, is that of the “genuine” intention of capturing a moment with a photograph simply not existing.

The reason I found those photos unsightly to look at was due to the fact that Shore clearly understood that theme. A 1970 collection of portraits of his mother and father, one with them dressed up, and one in their undershirts, clearly is a commentary on the falseness of the posed photo, and a humorous attempt at a more “realistic” portrayal. The action shots, while seemingly authentic, cannot genuinely be considered “real”: simply knowing and accepting the possibility of being photographed, as anyone visiting Factory surely would be, renders the moment influenced, and staged. It’s also worth noting that truly authentic photography, with unknowing participants, is severely unethical. As such, the most authentic photograph of the entire early years, ironically enough, is what we currently call a “selfie”, of Warhol and Shore in Factory in 1965.

Shore, transitioning out of his Factory years, decided to divert from Warhol’s tutelage and influence and take on a realm of his own with Uncommon Places. Most notably, Shore transitioned into color photography, starting with smaller prints, and later on moving to large prints. In this series, Shore moves on from Factory to the USA, traveling around, albeit still taking photos of the commonplace and the mundane. Shore’s devotion to composition is evident – indeed, his photo Lookout Hotel, 1974 of a jigsaw puzzle on what appears to be a yellow-quilted table is simultaneously the pinnacle of banality (seriously, who does jigsaw puzzles anymore?) yet supremely pleasing to view. The concept of a moment captured being inauthentic is rendered immaterial in the face of the photograph’s aesthetic. By twisting the angle and paying subtle attention to what natural scenes provide aesthetic flavor, Shore disregards the seemingly virtuous importance of having an unadulterated experience in favor of painstakingly draining the beauty from the mundane. One of my particular favorites of Shore’s larger prints is Breakfast, Trail’s End Restaurant, Kanab, Utah 1973, a snapshot of his breakfast, a plate of pancakes, a canteloupe, milk, and apple juice, laying, waiting for a consumer, photographed at a near-45-degree angle. Part of my satisfaction comes from amusement, having cringed at far too many people at brunch photographing their food whilst standing on a chair (to get a birds-eye-view photo), as I imagine the reaction of someone in the seventies seeing someone take such photos, let alone now. Most of the satisfaction, apart from the eye-pleasing contrast from the orange cantaloupe to the whiteness of the milk and the table-cover, comes from the fact that I would never imagine taking such a photo at such an angle. Though the “tilt” is present in plenty of other photographs of Shore’s, it’s a strange, new experience to view food in a manner that doesn’t begin with what’s placed directly in front of you. Breakfast is such a rote experience that one doesn’t consider it worth seeking an authentic version of – however, the photograph introduces a raw, novel perspective to the equation.

Shore’s later subjects become scenes, rather than things. While still focusing on relatively blasé landscapes, Shore highlights the idyllic beauty of nature in these scenes. Here, his talent for composing photos shines, as he captures the vast expanse of Scotland, Texas, and other locations. The scenes, however, don’t promote a sense of grandeur and awe-inspiring beauty of the natural landscape, as paintings such as Cole’s A view of Two Lakes and Mountain House, Catskills, 1844 do, but, in the vein of his other work, relish in reimagining the commonplace. An “authentic” glance out of the car window goes ignored – hell, this is the landscape where the term “flyover country” originates from – but as a photograph, the afterthought is shoved to the forefront.

Shore, though exhibiting clear influences in thought from Warhol’s assessment of consumerism and purpose within art (famously claiming that “Making money is art, and working is art, and good business is the best art”), comments more pointedly on what it means to photograph. In a near-absurdist sense, he starts from the point of “no scene is any more picturesque than another”, and thus, that a “pointless” scene is just as photogenic as a “picturesque” scene. He creates meaning through the act of taking the photo, and a compositional lilt that constructs a unique from the usual. As I was leaving MoMA, I walked through the courtyard, where I could not find a single grouping of people without a phone out and taking pictures. A sight that would have normally elicited annoyance and an inner eye-roll instead resulted in sympathy, and maybe even a slight sense of exclusion. Perhaps I was incapable of comprehending the essence of Shore – that taking a picture, in a sense, was the whole experience.