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Todd Hido's Dark Days

By Peggy Roalf   Friday September 11, 2009

On the first Thursday of September, Chelsea art galleries spring back to life after a quiet August - for gallery hoppers, at least. Last night, Bruce Silverstein Gallery opened a solo exhibition of recent work by Todd Hido to a big crowd that filled the generous space to overflowing. For those who mainly know his portraits of young women, photographed in anonymous hotel rooms, the photographs on view here are a departure.

Hido creates a surreal atmosphere of longing and loss that escapes nostalgia by virtue of a few simple choices: what time of day, what weather, what natural features (few and far between) he includes in the frame.

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Three by Todd Hido from The Road Divided. Copyright the artist; courtesy Bruce Silverstein Gallery.

I caught up with Todd by phone this morning for an interview.

Peggy Roalf: What is there about driving around on dark days that leads you to the subject of your work - which seems to be a physical manifestation of loneliness and dislocation?
Todd Hido: That kind of moody day, when I wake up and look out the window, I'm compelled to go out and take pictures. Living out in California, in the land of blue skies, I find myself attracted to the opposite. I actually never shoot on bright sunny days.

PR: When did you begin working on The Road Divided and over what period of time?
TH: The pictures that are hung in the show are from the last two to three years. It's an extension of an earlier series called Roaming (ed note: mysterious landscapes generally photogtaphed under rainy skies and recently seen in New York at Julie Saul Gallery). I wanted to push the new series into a more painterly, atmospheric direction.

PR:  Are there any painters whose work has inspired your choices?
TH: I don't look at very much painting, but I know what I like when I see it. Gerhard Richter, for example and Turner {J.M.W. Turner, 1775-1851). In Turner, I like the way that you can feel the light and the air in his paintings.

PR:  In The Road Divided, you've traveled to unpopulated roadsides, visual wastelands, where nobody in their right mind would get out of their vehicle.
TH: I'm very much attracted to those kinds of places. There's a surreal quality and a bit of a thrill to be in a place where nobody else is.

PR:  You have used the book format effectively in the past. What do you feel are the possibilities offered by tuning pages that are missed - or different - with a gallery exhibition?
TH: A gallery exhibition and a book are obviously two completely different beasts. Each one of them has to be approached with a different point of view. What works in a book doesn't necessarily translate to the wall. But I often figure out the editing of my work, even for a gallery show, by making a book dummy. It slows down your pace. Turning pages is kind of like walking through a room.

PR: The prints currently on view at Bruce Silverstein Gallery are quite large, mostly 38-by-48 inches.. How do you adapt your thinking for the book page format?
TH:
Large photographs on the wall in a large space invite viewers into the picture. With a book, when you're holding it in your hands, you're already in that space. I feel that a book, or anything that you hold, doesn't have to be monstrously large to be effective. Sometimes even a post card does the trick.

PR: What's the significance of the title: The Road Divided?
TH: I settled on this idea last October before Obama was elected - there was a real feeling of a divide across the country. And ironically, I feel that the present healthcare debate is more of the same, and were stuck in the mud.

PR: What's next for you in the way of books and exhibitions?

TH:  Nazraeli Press will be publishing The Road Divided in January 2010. And then in the spring, I'll be in a show at Houston Photofest, curated by Aaron Schulman of Seesaw Magazine.

The Road Divided continues at Bruce Silverstein Gallery through October 24, 2009. 535 West 24th Street, New York, NY. 212-627-3930. Click to see a video of Todd Hido, produced by KQED San Francisco.


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