Environs of Chicago 1953

Curator: Right now we’re looking at Harry Callahan’s "Environs of Chicago," a gelatin-silver print he made in 1953. It’s strikingly minimalist for a landscape. Editor: It is. The overwhelming expanse of sky makes me feel like I’m shrinking, like all my concerns are suddenly… miniature. The world seems so incredibly large, empty almost, save a thin strip of dark forest. It’s unsettling. Curator: That sense of scale is intentional, I think. Callahan was deeply interested in the contrast between the intimate and the immense. Look at the texture in the trees and foliage – little details that make the scene real. Editor: Yes! But then they're dwarfed, consumed really, by the wash of blankness above. What kind of Chicago is this, without the grit or glimmer of the city? I mean, 'environs' usually suggests at least a bit of urban spillover, right? Curator: It’s a study in absence, perhaps. The modern human experience, this pull towards isolation even within reach of metropolitan energy. I'd add, it's more interesting to know what you leave out rather than include. Editor: I agree. I’m curious though—was this minimalism a conscious aesthetic choice, or more a reflection of limitations in the photographic technology of the time? The cloud is rendered here in almost pure, impenetrable, white... Curator: Well, Callahan was a master of light and shadow. And of photographic technique—I believe it was definitely a choice. The emptiness isn't accidental. Editor: It leaves a deep impression, and the symbol for the loneliness in today´s megalopolis. I appreciate the power of Callahan’s photographic 'silence'… almost like visual haiku. Curator: Indeed, the visual haiku resonates with a lot of the pieces he's made across his lifetime. Editor: Absolutely. A stark, contemplative reminder. Thanks, Harry, for pointing us toward what's just outside our periphery, beyond the screen, and well worth reflecting upon.