The black and white works in Self, the new solo show at Galerie BMG up this month, have a fleeting nature about them that resembles the manner in which we all acknowledge who we really are, versus who we imagine ourselves to be. They include repetitions, ghostly images, imperfections, and the sense of half-captured truths we know from seeing our own selves in mirrors, photographs, and that we can see with our own eyes looking down and around from our heads, so filled with other imagery.

In other words, there’s something innately comfortable and yet simultaneously unsettling about these intimate-yet-staged photographs by San Francisco-based Alyson Belcher, who combines the haphazard beauties of pinhole photography with improvisational performance.

“My work stems from the idea that everything we experience is stored somewhere in our bodies. Movement is one way to access and give visual form to what lies beneath the surface of the skin, Belcher writes of the ideas behind her almost surrealistic work. “The making of these photographs is an exploration of the nature of each movement and where it originates internally…The images often reveal stories that may or may not have been known to me previously. That doesn’t mean that they aren’t my stories. Often the body remembers what the mind has forgotten.”

Belcher, who gained an M.F.A. from San Francisco State University after studying humanities at UC Berkeley, is currently on the full-time faculty at the Academy of Art University in the Bay City. Her work has been exhibited throughout the country and has been the subject of articles in numerous photography publications.

She says she works with pinhole cameras because of their low-tech nature, and the fact that with no lens providing interference, as well as no viewfinder, “it’s a relatively blind process.”

“The element of time in pinhole photography allows something to arise that might never be revealed by modern photographic technology,” Belcher adds. “The long exposure times give me an opportunity to explore the space in front of the camera. I may have the impulse to move, or I may chose to remain still — although the body is never completely still, and even the smallest movements leave traces on the film.”

Self will be on display through January 11 at Galerie BMG, located at 12 Tannery Brook Road just off the town’s central parking lot. Regular gallery hours are Monday and Friday noon to 5 p.m., Saturday and Sunday 11 a.m.-6 p.m., or other times by appointment.++

For the past 10 years I have been making self-portraits that combine pinhole photography and improvisational performance. When I began this series, I was looking for a way to photograph the human body that went beyond an objective rendering of the external form. The body is a vessel that contains and channels all of our experiences, thoughts and feelings. My photographic process (the use of movement and long exposure times) has allowed me to access and give visual form to what lies beneath the surface of the skin.

During the early part of my life, athletic activities were my primary focus. I was a competitive springboard diver from the age of 6 until about 25. My family has been very involved in dance as well, so I have always been surrounded by people who are interested in movement. I was never a dancer, but I have been strongly influenced by all kinds of dance. I began to seriously take photographs when I was a teenager, and since I was always at the pool, I photographed other divers. At first, I was interested in capturing the strength and grace of the body in flight. Over the years, I realized that I was trying to convey something more subjective: the experience of diving, of being in that body flying through the air. This is what eventually led me into the studio to make self-portraits. I didn’t think I could actually make photographs that conveyed what it felt like to dive. But I might be able to convey the experience of simply being present in my body.

My first self-portraits were made in an empty studio using only natural light—nothing but me and my pinhole camera. I wanted to create an environment that was free of distractions: no props, no lights, nothing that would interfere with my experience while I was in front of the camera. This quiet, empty space was a place where I could focus inward and be fully present in each moment. I didn’t even use a timer; I counted out the seconds of each exposure. While my studio has become a bit more cluttered over the years, I still keep my shooting space very spare and empty. I use a 4 x 5 pinhole camera and Polaroid T-55 positive/negative film. I still use primarily natural light, but I sometimes have to add a little extra fill light on dark days. My exposure times range from 30 seconds to 2 minutes. And I still count the seconds rather than using a timer.

The Polaroid T-55 film has been a key element in this work. It is extremely helpful for me to see each image immediately after it’s made so that I can check composition and exposure. I have developed a system of working from one image to the next, of creating a storyboard for each day of shooting. I don’t usually have a clear idea of what I want to do when I enter the studio each day. I might have a glimpse of an idea, so that’s where I begin. It might be a gesture or a movement I want to explore, or it may be a feeling I want to convey. But wherever I begin, the work each day always unfolds in an unexpected and organic way. I make the first picture (which is often not very interesting) and I look for something that I like—it could be the way a certain movement leaves traces of the body on the film, or it could be a gesture. In the next picture, I begin with that element and build on it. And I continue that way for several hours, until I have a series of about 20 pictures that illustrate my process of unfolding and discovery for that day.

Making self-portraits with a pinhole camera is a relatively blind process. I am both the photographer and the subject. There is no viewfinder or ground glass in the camera through which I can preview the image. There are a lot of variables, but that’s what I love about working this way. I have drawn some lessons from my diving days that have allowed me to embrace the element of uncertainty. In diving you have to learn how to balance relaxation and control. You have to be relaxed enough to let your body do the dive, yet you also have to maintain control to execute the dive correctly. You have to totally trust your body and you have to have a keen sense of kinesthetic awareness—knowing where you are in time and space. These things have become key factors in the creation of my self-portraits. The pinhole camera has allowed me to incorporate the element of improvisational movement as a way of exploring both physical space and inner experience simultaneously. Combining the long exposure times with movement reduces my ability to predict how an image will turn out, and often I am pleasantly surprised. The image making process takes on a life of its own.

This work has benefitted from my willingness to put myself in emotionally and physically challenging situations. I am drawn to things that challenge me, to things that put me off balance. Initially, there was a fear in exposing myself. Like most people, I am uncomfortable in front of the camera. When I began this work, I wanted to see what would happen if I allowed myself to fully experience that discomfort, how it might shift and change over time. I have also been known to create physical situations for myself that are very difficult, if not impossible, to hold for the entire two minute exposure time. As I count out the time and my body strains to hold a position, unexpected movements are recorded on the film. These images are some of my favorites, for they surprise me the most when I peel apart the film.

One of the themes that has emerged in my self-portraits is the relationship between stillness and movement. Where does a movement or a gesture originate internally? Is it possible to ever be completely still? I have attempted to remain completely still for an entire exposure, but it’s really not possible. Even if I am just standing in front of the camera, I’m breathing and my heart is beating. Those subtle movements are recorded in the image.

Another theme in my work is the presence of multiple figures in a single image. These figures contribute a narrative quality to the work. In some photographs I appear to be interacting with myself, or there appears to be another person in the frame. Some viewers think that there are several different people in these photographs, but the figures are all me. The presence of multiple figures can represent the duality of the self, or different parts of myself interacting with one another.

When I’m moving in front of the camera, I have to move very slowly in order for any image to show up on the film. I have to remain still for about 10 seconds if I want the film to record any trace of my body. If I want my body to leave a more solid impression on the film then I may have to remain still for 30-45 seconds. So in the images where there are multiple figures, I held each one of those positions for at least 30 seconds. The movement is a slow, moving meditation in which I remain acutely aware of my body and my position in front of the camera. I do not mark out my positioning ahead of time. Rather, I trust my instincts to tell me when, how, and where to move.

This series of pinhole self-portraits began as an experiment and it has evolved into an ongoing visual journal. The focus for me has always been more on the process than the product. If I focus too much on getting a “good picture”, nothing works. When I am able to let go of expectations and leave room for the unexpected, the results are filled with mystery and magic. The best photographs have been the result of spontaneity and improvisation.

--Robert Hirsch

"Ceding a percentage of the choreography to chance has been the metier of such artists as John Cage, Jackson Pollock, Boccioni, and Robert Altman, with alternately mixed and transcendent results. Chance operations often lead to more choices in the editing process, as there is a tendency for the work to move toward abstraction; however, the images that succeed from this process have a vitality unlike anything in the more stage-managed, static world. Belcher is searching for that elusive time-lapse trouvaille ('lucky find') through assiduous looking and trial-and-error. Ironically, the first image on this page is not an overt action portrait, but that of a somber trio of women, staring impassively at us through the ether like a mythological trinity, vis a vis the Graiae, the Gorgons, or the Fates. Are the figures in black antipodal to the trio in white in picture six (who call to mind the Hesperides)? Religious and mythological archetypes pervade Belcher's work, whether by design or sublimation, particularly those of Adam and Eve (pictures two, three, and five). Image four hints at the reenactment of some Christ-like story: Is the woman on the right acknowledging the stigmata on the other woman's arm? Is the woman on the left being healed? Is she being admonished by the risen Christ (ala 'Noli Me Tangere!')? Going back to a classical analysis, image seven conjures the specter of Hades taking hold of a mortified Persephone; and image eight, the last of the larger thumbnails, references Orestes besieged by the Furies (and more particularly, Munch's 'Scream'). One could even perceive Hindu archetypes in the repititious silhouettes: a four-faced Brahma, the multifarious arms of Durga, and so on.

"Belcher's aesthetic 'stems from the idea that everything we experience is stored somewhere in our bodies. Movement is one way to access and give visual form to what lies beneath the surface of the skin. Often the body remembers what the mind has forgotten.' Her figures are charged with these kinetic memories and recursive emotions, at once anticipating and releasing them, simultaneously turning away and moving toward one another (or the viewer). In the second image, the figure in profile could be turning away from the woman's touch, or turning to acknowledge it. In the third image, the figures' hands are either falling away or surreptitiously reaching behind to connect. What results is an emotional mystery, fueled by the ambiguity of suggested movement. The element of time creates a mutability in the form, as the alternating opacity and translucence defining the path of action leaves one final image, a meta-silhouette (one could hazard to call it the actual figure over time). There is also a mutability in the transference of energy: a fast motion equates to more transparent and variegated images, a slow motion guarantees more homogenous, opaque forms. Belcher has captured the duende of the dance through the invisible dynamism of overlapping timings (and therefore, the dualism of each participant). Here's Belcher's take on the technical aspects of her craft:

'The pinhole camera is low tech; it is the most basic tool for making a photographic image. There is no lens to interfere with the light as it travels from the subject to the film. Because there is no viewfinder through which to preview the image, it's a relatively blind process. The element of time in pinhole photography allows something to arise that might never be revealed by modern photographic technology. The long exposure times give me an opportunity to explore the space in front of the camera. I may have the impulse to move, or I may chose to remain still—although the body is never completely still, and even the smallest movements leave traces on the film.'"

--Jazno Francoeur

http://jazno.net/recentwork/2007/12/02/alyson-belchers-continuum-of-secrets/

–-Isaac Amala

"Alyson Belcher's work is a surreal, supple mixture. The results are black and white, soft and surprisingly dynamic."

--Palo Alto Weekly