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A serious man who earned his living as a teacher, Karl
Blossfeldt (1865-1932) seems an unlikely candidate for aesthetic canonization.
But his photographs of plants, which he took in the thousands over more
than thirty years, reveal a formally rigorous talent whose precision and
dedication bridge the nineteenth and twentieth century worlds of image
making. Beautifully but starkly composed against plain cardboard backgrounds,
Blossfeldt's images, relying on a northern light for their sense of volume,
reveal nothing of the man but everything of themselves. They are still-lifes,
piercingly final statements on their subject, and have endured owing to
their technical brilliance and the ongoing fascination of students and
photographers. Like their maker, they are quietly and lastingly effective.
The author:
Hans Christian Adam works as a photographic consultant in Gottingen. He
has published many articles and various books on photography, including
TASCHEN’s Edward S. Curtis: The North American Indian.
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