Solo Show: Peter Riesett

A Conversation with Peter Riesett by Julie Fishkin

Every time I visit my grandma in her Brighton Beach apartment, I think about the accumulated objects that define her, the ornate chandelier that hangs just above the garishly lacquered coffee table upon which sits that day’s paper and a vase. Her apartment is a testament to the generations this great woman has seen and nurtured. In all its familiarity, Testament, Peter Riesett’s highly personal yet completely accessible project about the objects in his grandparent’s old house, creates a complicated visual dialogue. The images become a non-linear exploration of family history, speaking to pride and commemoration in a photographic assemblage of objects, with resounding impact.

JF: This is a very melancholic, personal project. You’re providing af testament to a lie’s worth of objects that are, in their unique way, often as beautiful as the photograph itself. How do you avoid sentimentality within the visual viewpoint?

PR: Sentimentality is the last thing that concerns me when I’m driven to photograph a space. My process is an intuitive one, dictated by my life experiences.

I always had a bone to pick with Steichen because I find his work so unabashedly romantic, which to me is a contrived trope and has no place in photography. Do you think there is a place for sentimentality and nostalgia in photography?

Nostalgia refers to a longing for the past, which is not my intent. I can relate to what Walker Evans said about nostalgia while being interviewed by Leslie Katz in 1971. “To be interested in what you see that is passing out of history, even if it’s a trolley car you’ve found, that’s not an act of nostalgia.” I think that to say that there is no place for romanticism or sentimentality in photography, or art, is in a sense saying that art must be devoid of certain emotions. I think the way art is perceived depends on the viewer and the work’s context. Sites also play a role in how works are read, such as in a museum or commercial gallery setting, on a billboard or in book format.

Is your visual dialogue so personal that it becomes simply images devoid of the actual story or is there a distinct narrative?

Although there is a personal connection to the spaces and people that lived in them, that serves merely as a jumping off point to what leads to a universal connection. The objects in the images serve to create portraits of a time, culture, and one’s personality through the things that are collected. Sequencing anything invariably creates a kind of narrative thread that will be interpreted differently by viewers, depending on their own personal experiences.

Tell me about the physical space you inhabit within this house full of objects. Does your 4×5 become an objective lens that mediates your personal vision and the deadpan, detached glance?

I do take on an objective approach but operate intuitively during the process of shooting. Once I enter the house, I get into a zone and find myself having wordless conversations with the objects and the space. Working with a large format camera intensifies and slows down the viewing and shooting process. I really enjoy this. Looking through the ground glass of the 4×5 and seeing the world upside down and backward seems to work with my dyslexia. I’m interested in the idea of order and disorder and of making sense of it through different compositions. At the same time, I question how others make sense of it thru their collecting and organizing objects. Idiosyncrasies are often revealed as well as unexpected relationships through the placement of objects, text and the scale of the scene.

Is this a project of exploration, not unlike landscape photography that explore the expansive spaces through which the photographer travels?

Exploration is definitely part of the process for me. It’s through that wandering that I take in the impressions left behind. I am interested in exploring American culture by looking at what is acquired, collected and often cherished. I am also interested in how we as people deal with consumption and their discarded stuff.

As I travel through these spaces, I recognize that the objects themselves also present the idea of travel…travel in the sense of looking within others and myself by exploring ones’ surroundings and personal space. I’m very interested in the idea of the – sense of place.

This testament is at once a testament to a time in the past but through the collected images of the present. How does this notion of time – the past versus the present – manifest itself visually in your work?

This work is a reflection of the generation in which my grandfathers were born. A place in time. A visual anthropology. The houses can be viewed as time capsules of their lives, experiences and place in the world. Inherently, those who lived through the Depression have a different mindset than those growing up in our current, more consumerist and plastic throwaway society. My grandparents kept everything and used everything. Things were made to last. That mentality seems almost alien to today’s young people. Our era is a much more disposable one. Things break after only six months, become technologically outdated, or are rendered obsolete by popular culture. My work creates a juxtaposition–between selected older, vintage objects and a contemporary point of view.

The worn pathways on a carpet and the outline of a crucifix become remnants and marks of time. Another example is directly apparent in several images that depict stains as evidence of the duration an object was on the wall. The images become personal to how little someone maintained the paint on the wall or looked at a specific object.

You touch upon issues of memory, loss, and death. Is this a bigger idea that goes past the personal family history?

Regardless of one’s background – memory, loss, and death are universal. The notion of home calls to mind the idea of comfort, safety and security – a sanctuary. Memories often surface when we see familiar objects from our past. Whether they are souvenirs or everyday object, after we see, smell or touch them our senses brings back memories.

Did you keep many of these objects?

Like my grandparents and many others, I keep certain objects from my life and travels. Some of the things I’ve kept aren’t actually in any of the Testament photographs.

While digging through years of what had accumulated in the attic, one of my aunts yelled for me to come look at something they’d found. It was a nutcracker, which figuratively and literally took the shape of a woman’s legs–ready to bust a nut. It was a priceless moment and a good laugh.

Whether an item from a loved one, a souvenir, or something that’s pulled off the street–I connect to different things through my interests, memory, humor, culture, irony, and sometimes solely for their craftsmanship.

The notion or adage of “one person’s trash is another person’s treasure” is one that interests me psychologically and culturally on many levels.

You mentioned printing these photographs true to life, reflecting that actual size of the object. Do they take on a sculptural element within the photograph itself?

Yes, they do. How the exhibition prints are sized is a calculated decision. Through this use of scale, the spaces open up to the viewer. The relationships and juxtapositions become more apparent. The relationship of those exhibition prints to the architecture the work enters into also interests me, since its placement can play off its surroundings.

Will the Testament continue past these two series?

At this point, I have no plans to continue the series. It may be something that I consider exploring again someday in a new way.