This review is more a side study to a collection of essays by Takuma Nakahira than anything independently focused on the work of Walker Evans and Cynthia Rylant (the latter of which is uncredited on Goodreads for this? Hmm). I also read this on a whim over my lunch break at half priced books, so it wasn’t the most focused reading anyways. For those reasons, I don’t feel the need to rate this explicitly.
The specific essay of Nakahira’s I’m referencing here is titled “Things Crouched in Silence: On Walker Evans.” At least from the translation I’m working with (which I believe is the only English translation available as of now?), Nakahira’s use of the word “Things” here is of immediate note, as he is exceedingly preoccupied with the notion of “things” and their relation to the self, and of the world that is resultant of the conflicting gazes between the two. Nakahira’s central point in this essay on Walker is that Walker’s photographs elude reduction to some nameable quality or subject, and, in their impenetrable silence, instill in the viewer anxiety at is most base meaning. The counter example given by Nakahira is Dorothea Lange’s famous depression-era portrait of the worried woman with wrinkled forehead and children about her, which Nakahira argues “speaks only of that which is implied by the word ‘poverty’” and, due to that, “the image becomes ‘nameable;’ then, we are relieved.”
In my coincidental opportunity to survey Evans’ work in this brief collection just hours after reading Nakahira’s essay, I found that Nakahira’s interpretation of Evans’ work did in fact ring true for me (to the degree that his interpretation influenced mine; that is almost certain!). Evans’ understated approach to people and environments in an unquestionably miserable place in time is haunting. He makes no attempt to guide the viewer to narrative, he doesn’t lean on any stylistic or compositional distortions to supplement his subjects, and his subjects themselves are often vague - but always physical things that confront the viewer with their bareness. All of this, I found, does produce a certain anxiety when confronting the reality of these images.
To pivot to Cynthia Rylant’s accompanying poetry here: I liked it. It is imaginative as it is rooted in this same reality Evans’ work depicts, and it often provoked a visceral sadness in me comparable to that visceral anxiety delivered by the photographs. If I had one critique of her work here, it’s that on the whole these poems were fairly formulaic and literal to the photographs each poem was coupled to - her best work here (in my opinion, this was the short bird feeder poem) breaks free of a developed narrative of hers. But, at least in my quick reading of this, Rylant was at the unfortunate disadvantage of me having just finished Nakahira’s essay where he writes “The silence of Evans’ photography unexpectedly compels us to fill it with language. But even if one had tens of thousands of words, this would probably not be enough. Words pass straight through Evans’ things, end up somewhere, and disappear.” And, to this assertion, I agree. At the very least, as a photographer looking at this collection with the primary intention of viewing Evans’ work, Rylant’s poems were at best unnecessary and at worst a distraction. I did find the only one to actually improve an image was the aforementioned bird feeder poem (which was truly a feat on its own), although many would still work very well as stand alone poems, separate from their photographic inspirations.
Overall: very glad to have had the opportunity to read through this as a supplemental detour to Nakahira’s essays, and I came away with this wanting to both see more of Evans’ work and read more of Rylant’s - although preferably as separate experiences.