THE AWFULLY BIG ADVENTURE

EXHIBITING SIGNS OF AGE
On view at Colby College Museum of Art
in Waterville, Maine
From February 12 to March 28, 2004

Reviewed by Laurie Meunier Graves

If to be old and merry be a sin, then many an old host that I know is damned.
—Sir John Falstaff, Henry IV, Part One

The process might be natural, but the numbers are still staggering. Consider these statistics, taken from a booklet that goes with Colby College Museum of Art’s excellent Exhibiting Signs of Age, an exhibition of photographs and works on paper that explores old age. “By 2030, the number of Americans age 65 and older will double to make up 20 percent of the population.” Then, after reflecting on this, keep in mind that right now “One out of four households in America cares for an older relative or friend…” In 2030, how many households will be caring for elders? One out of two?

We live in curious times. In the United States, never have there been so many old people, and never have we been in such a state of anxiety and denial about aging. Sagging breasts and buttocks, wrinkled faces, and gray hair are sins to be fought and, if possible, eliminated. If not eliminated, than at least covered. It’s almost as though we can’t stand facing ourselves as we age. (A similar contradiction exists with our country’s abundance of food and our obsession with weight. Being fat is as much of a sin as looking old.)

In Exhibiting Signs of Age, eleven artists, mostly photographers, have focused their attention on what so many of us will not—that, is growing old. They have approached the subject from many angles and show us a wide spectrum: warts and wrinkles, beauty and wisdom, vigor and infirmity. In addition, this small but fascinating exhibit comprises work of the highest quality, and those who live within driving distance of Waterville, Maine, should not miss this show.

With such a terrific exhibit, it is nearly impossible to pick a few favorites to write about. Instead, I’m going to focus on work that, when taken together, illustrates a wide range in point of view. In the end, these points of view come together to give us something approaching wholeness, a rarity even in the best of exhibits.

In Ed Kashi’s Beauty Pageant at the Pow Wow, Pine Ridge, SD, two old women sit in lawn chairs. They are in the foreground, and their faces are ancient and wrinkled. They look as though they could have been in those very chairs and in that very spot for a century or more. Just behind them stands a young woman with a smooth, fresh face and a crown on her head. With lips parted, she looks into the distance. She is the queen of the new generation, waiting for her turn. But not yet. The old women are still there. They are not quite ready to cede their places.

For a more personal yet abstract approach, John Coplans turns the camera on his own aging, hairy body. This intense focus requires a type of unflinching courage that few of us possess. How many of us, especially as we age, would like to expose our naked backs and buttocks? And at such close range? However, the most fascinating photograph is a shot of his heel and toes. On foot rests on another. They are blown up so large that they are nearly unrecognizable and look as tough and as dark as elephant skin.

Chester Higgins Jr. gives us a completely different view. His series of crisp, black and white portraits of elders are joyful and luminous. Especially striking is Stephanie Burns, with her beautiful white, braided hair, large silver earrings, and dignified profile. It looks as though she has accepted old age but, at the same time, she has not let it crush her spirit. She is still very much alive.

Robert Mapplethorpe’s Katherine Cebrian is another woman who has refused to let age crush her spirit. However, the effect is quite different from that of Stephanie Burns, even though both women are shown in profile. Katherine Cebrian is an old, stick-thin woman in black flowing garments and a black, glittery turban. She is all hard angles, and the viewer learns that Cebrian is so wealthy that she doesn’t even have to butter her own bread. “I consider that cooking.” For those of us who have to butter our own bread, Cebrian looks like an alien bird creature straight out of the movie The Dark Crystal.

For a more melancholy view of old age, there is a series of pastel and charcoal portraits by George Segal. The focus is on the face—on two women and one man, who all look sad—and these big, striking pictures capture the weight of aging.

Four vivid color photographs by Nikki S. Lee, who has puckishly disguised herself as an old woman and has included herself in the pictures, look as though they were shot in New York City. Sometimes Lee is alone; sometimes she is with other elderly women, and I honestly must confess that I didn’t know she was an “imposter” until I read the exhibit’s booklet. At any rate, these women, young or old, look as though they can take care of themselves. I know I wouldn’t want to cross them. While they don’t exactly look tough, they all radiate a hard vitality.

Finally, Jim Goldberg’s The Nursing Home Series chronicles the end that so many of us dread and so many of us will have. That is, the end of life in an institution, where the biggest excitement is meal time and family visits. In Goldberg’s photographs, triumph and vitality have been replaced by waiting, waiting, waiting.

In a song by the rock group They Might Be Giants, there’s the line, “ And I hope that I get old before I die.” Indeed, it’s what most of us hope. Yet, we approach old age with a certain amount of trepidation. No matter how long we live, we know what the outcome is. But as Exhibiting Signs of Age illustrates, old age is not a subject that should be hidden, ignored, or denied. It is a part of life, and baby boomers, in particular, need to acknowledge this.

 

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