Christopher Taylor in Céret
By Ellen Turner Hall
Birds in flight, wings tipped with sunlight against a murky sky. An ordinary sight perhaps, but an exceptional photograph in the hands of Christopher Taylor. His black and white photographs of people, their homes, churches, tables or bowls reflect their stark Icelandic setting.
Narrating his wife’s family history, Taylor explores the landscape for the stories it reveals. One of the most intriguing portraits is of his wife, gazing into her grandmother’s mirror. Because only one eye and a bit of nose istouched by the light, we are left to imagine the rest. Taylor uses light not so much to illuminate his subjects as to draw us into the shadows.
The landscapes are bleak. Above a desolate shore, a single white cloud hovers over a line of stones. Clouds filter the light and alter the moods of the omnipresent sea. In a ruined interior with the flat sea seen through a broken window a neglected wooden table becomes a study in endurance.
Lit from above, an egg of a Guillemot ( a seabird native to Iceland) becomes a mysterious planet of dark squiggles and dots. A script of an ancient civilization? Or a coded message from outer space ? The lower half remains in shadow, defying us to probe its meaning.
A house with a collapsing turf roof dips at an odd angle. Precariously balanced on the remaining wooden beams, leaning into the undergrowth, it resembles a furry animal either rising from its lair or sinking into the earth. Embracing paradox, Christopher Taylor’s images are photographed with great precision and attention to every nuance of light and shade. What may strike you as melancholy, reveals something heroic. What appears as austere, is in fact a celebration of time and place.
Christopher Taylors’s photographs can be seen at Lumière d’encre in Céret until 12 October. For further details: lumieredencre.fr.
