Thursday, August 03, 2006
A bit more about William Christenberry
Remember William Christenberry? I wrote this a couple weeks ago about my encounter with Christenberry's work on the Fourth of July:
Wood's Radio-TV Service, 1964: During William Christenberry's childhood, this building in Greensboro, Ala., housed Wood's Radio-TV Service. It later became a juke joint for African-Americans. Christenberry says you can get "better barbecue and better blues" at a juke joint than at a honky-tonk, which is frequented by whites. (William Christenberry/Aperture Foundation)
BBQ Inn, 1971: When Christenberry returned in 1971, Wood's had become the BBQ Inn, which it would remain for many years. (William Christenberry/Aperture Foundation)
BBQ Inn, 1983: A decade later, the BBQ Inn is still in business: The door is open, the Coca-Cola signs are still up, and the building has been painted chrome yellow. (William Christenberry/Aperture Foundation)
BBQ Inn, 1989: Christenberry returned in 1989 to find that a fire had burned the juke joint's inside; there was a gaping hole where firemen had gone in to fight the fire. Talk in the community gave Christenberry hope that the BBQ Inn would be restored. (William Christenberry/Aperture Foundation)
Site of BBQ Inn, 1991: In the end, no one restored the burned-out juke joint, and the building was demolished. The empty concrete slab is all that remains of the BBQ Inn. (William Christenberry/Aperture Foundation)
I think Christenberry's work appeals to me for two reasons. First, he has an appreciation for place and landscape that I share. The Deep South and the Plains may not have a lot in common at first blush, but if you'll permit me to make an unscientific observation about regionalism in America, I do think Southerners and Midwesterners have a greater appreciation for "home" than people from other parts of the country. Maybe it's because we're always defending the place we grew up as something other than boring, empty, fly-over country (in my case) or racist, confederate-loving hillbilly land (the South).
Second, I find Christenberry's work so relatable. There's a quote from Christenberry on a wall at the National Portrait Gallery that reads something like, "Living outside the Deep South gives me a perspective on where I'm from. I need that distance."
I've brought my camera back to South Dakota with me a few times over the last couple years and I always end up taking photos of familiar things that used to seem mundane and unremarkable. Now, with a little perspective, they seem unique and full of history. A rusty license plate nailed to a barn wall once seemed ordinary, but now looks like a work of art. And a long shuttered gas station, steadily deteriorating, once seemed an eyesore, but now has a story to tell.
If imitation truly is the sincerest form of flattery, Christenberry should be flattered. I'm taking my camera with me next time I go home and then again and again. Maybe you'll see my work at the National Portrait Gallery in 2046.
[The National Portrait Gallery] is unequivocally my new favorite museum in DC. The gallery deserves its own posting, especially William Christenberry's exhibit. Hopefully I can find the time to tell you a little bit more about him at a later date.NPR ran a brief piece on Christenberry yesterday afternoon. Their story began with this lede:
Artist William Christenberry now lives in Washington, D.C., but he grew up in Hale County, Ala. Since 1961, he has returned there each summer, revisiting the same places in forgotten corners of the region. Through his photos, paintings and sculptures, he documents how the places of his youth have changed -- and chronicles the passage of time.Here's an example of how Christenberry documents time and change:
Wood's Radio-TV Service, 1964: During William Christenberry's childhood, this building in Greensboro, Ala., housed Wood's Radio-TV Service. It later became a juke joint for African-Americans. Christenberry says you can get "better barbecue and better blues" at a juke joint than at a honky-tonk, which is frequented by whites. (William Christenberry/Aperture Foundation)
BBQ Inn, 1971: When Christenberry returned in 1971, Wood's had become the BBQ Inn, which it would remain for many years. (William Christenberry/Aperture Foundation)
BBQ Inn, 1983: A decade later, the BBQ Inn is still in business: The door is open, the Coca-Cola signs are still up, and the building has been painted chrome yellow. (William Christenberry/Aperture Foundation)
BBQ Inn, 1989: Christenberry returned in 1989 to find that a fire had burned the juke joint's inside; there was a gaping hole where firemen had gone in to fight the fire. Talk in the community gave Christenberry hope that the BBQ Inn would be restored. (William Christenberry/Aperture Foundation)
Site of BBQ Inn, 1991: In the end, no one restored the burned-out juke joint, and the building was demolished. The empty concrete slab is all that remains of the BBQ Inn. (William Christenberry/Aperture Foundation) I think Christenberry's work appeals to me for two reasons. First, he has an appreciation for place and landscape that I share. The Deep South and the Plains may not have a lot in common at first blush, but if you'll permit me to make an unscientific observation about regionalism in America, I do think Southerners and Midwesterners have a greater appreciation for "home" than people from other parts of the country. Maybe it's because we're always defending the place we grew up as something other than boring, empty, fly-over country (in my case) or racist, confederate-loving hillbilly land (the South).
Second, I find Christenberry's work so relatable. There's a quote from Christenberry on a wall at the National Portrait Gallery that reads something like, "Living outside the Deep South gives me a perspective on where I'm from. I need that distance."
I've brought my camera back to South Dakota with me a few times over the last couple years and I always end up taking photos of familiar things that used to seem mundane and unremarkable. Now, with a little perspective, they seem unique and full of history. A rusty license plate nailed to a barn wall once seemed ordinary, but now looks like a work of art. And a long shuttered gas station, steadily deteriorating, once seemed an eyesore, but now has a story to tell.
If imitation truly is the sincerest form of flattery, Christenberry should be flattered. I'm taking my camera with me next time I go home and then again and again. Maybe you'll see my work at the National Portrait Gallery in 2046.
posted by The Head Kid at 5:37 PM
1 Comments:
I would love that!






