Essays: Harry Morey Callahan

Harry Morey Callahan (1912–1999) was an American photographer whose images offer glimpses of the ordinary elements of life in a modernist style, and whose influence on contemporary photography cannot be understated. His photographs, whilst graphically strong, possess a strangeness: subjects, whether objects or people, seem out of context and enigmatic – yet they are grounded in reality in a way that surrealism never was.

Best known for his black and white images, Callahan was also one of the first photographers, like his contemporary William Eggleston, to experiment with colour film, and, after retiring in the late 1970s from his teaching post at the Rhode Island School of Design, he focused primarily on colour photography. It is these latter images that interest me: although they retain his trademark hyper-reality, colour is now an integral component.

Interestingly, although Callahan went out almost every day with his camera, taking numerous photographs of his city, he produced no more than half a dozen final images a year, each carefully chosen.

Kansas City (1981)

I've admired Callahan’s work ever since I encountered Kansas City, which remains one of my favourite photographs.

Kansas City (1981) – click here to see a larger version

So, what were my thoughts when I first saw Kansas City? I was struck immediately by inactivity and warmth: the industrial outskirts of a city, on a torpid afternoon in spring? (It can’t be summer as the tree is leafless.) After that first impression, I started to notice details such as the oppressive shadows, and began to ask questions: Why is everything painted? What is the building used for? Why is no one about?

Kansas City is an ordinary building made extraordinary. Confronted with a face-on view of a building, we try and make sense of it; a difficult task, as everything is painted dull red – the walls, the doors, even the window panes – and our eye wanders around the frame, overwhelmed by this solid mass of colour. However, features soon resolve: the harsh shadows of the telegraph poles and the tree, the door to the right with the two odd panes, the dark opening to the left with the white box-like object, and, importantly, the small white cup in the centre.

Each element in Kansas City is essential: take one away, and the image collapses. On a technical level, they provide dynamism to the composition as the eye travels between them – without this dissonance the scene would be lacklustre and unmemorable; and the white cup (supported by the shadow of the tree) acts as the main focal point, where the eye finally rests. Emotionally, these elements are also crucial to the impact of the photograph, as, starkly isolated, they appear full of meaning - albeit something unknowable and enigmatic.

And everything revolves around that small white cup: it’s just a carelessly discarded cup, yet why does it seem so important?