Christopher L. Morris is a photographer who has so carefully honed his craft that he can’t help but pay homage to his predecessors (you just have to see his “Artist’s Statement”). It’s as if he’s part of the same tribe, understands the same language, and those who are gone come to life from behind the shadows. Some say it’s all been done before, but Morris still manages to make each black and white uniquely his own.
In a tightly cropped photo an elderly woman clasps her hands above her head as if fatigue has driven her almost to prayer. In the picture, viewers can find the same reverence for the human spirit paired with a stark reality once exhibited by Dorothea Lange in her Depression-era photos. Morris, however, goes on to celebrate the human form for its purely aesthetic beauty, and frames the woman’s delicate hands, rendered in shades of gray and light, so they rise like a sculpture from the center of the page.
In another compelling photograph, a still life of melons resting on what appears to be the metal of a truck, viewers may recall the graphic, patterned representation of everyday items made popular by Paul Strand in the early 1900s. Yet, the beauty of Morris’ photo lies in the tension that is created between abstract patterns that almost threaten to obscure the recognizable objects (think Escher), but never completely do (unlike Strand’s).
Also included in this show is Morris’ poignant image of a mother embracing her daughter set squarely against the backdrop of a distant house. The picture is reminiscent of the work by the renowned Walker Evans, a man known for his frontal, documentary-style photos. Yet, where Evans’ images were often signs and strangers, the people and their land in Morris’ photos are obviously known and beloved by the artist.
Morris acknowledges that these pictures are part of a “photographic essay” and its apparent that he builds connections not only to innovators of the past, but also between his own photos. The circle motif is repeated in many images: Eggs, cabbages and melons each fill separate picture frames. An old shed is the backdrop in a couple of shots to reflect the shadows of tree limbs and people just beyond the lens. And hands are frequently featured—just like the old woman’s—reaching forward yet back in time. —Karrie Bos
C – VILLE Weekly, August 22 – 28, 2006, Charlottesville Culture Bin, “The Strength of the Human Spirit”
In a tightly cropped photo an elderly woman clasps her hands above her head as if fatigue has driven her almost to prayer. In the picture, viewers can find the same reverence for the human spirit paired with a stark reality once exhibited by Dorothea Lange in her Depression-era photos. Morris, however, goes on to celebrate the human form for its purely aesthetic beauty, and frames the woman’s delicate hands, rendered in shades of gray and light, so they rise like a sculpture from the center of the page.
In another compelling photograph, a still life of melons resting on what appears to be the metal of a truck, viewers may recall the graphic, patterned representation of everyday items made popular by Paul Strand in the early 1900s. Yet, the beauty of Morris’ photo lies in the tension that is created between abstract patterns that almost threaten to obscure the recognizable objects (think Escher), but never completely do (unlike Strand’s).
Also included in this show is Morris’ poignant image of a mother embracing her daughter set squarely against the backdrop of a distant house. The picture is reminiscent of the work by the renowned Walker Evans, a man known for his frontal, documentary-style photos. Yet, where Evans’ images were often signs and strangers, the people and their land in Morris’ photos are obviously known and beloved by the artist.
Morris acknowledges that these pictures are part of a “photographic essay” and its apparent that he builds connections not only to innovators of the past, but also between his own photos. The circle motif is repeated in many images: Eggs, cabbages and melons each fill separate picture frames. An old shed is the backdrop in a couple of shots to reflect the shadows of tree limbs and people just beyond the lens. And hands are frequently featured—just like the old woman’s—reaching forward yet back in time. —Karrie Bos
C – VILLE Weekly, August 22 – 28, 2006, Charlottesville Culture Bin, “The Strength of the Human Spirit”