Exhibition

Kevin Bennett Moore | In Person Artist Talk

Posted on March 4, 2025

March 26 @ 6:30 pm – 8:00 pm

The Griffin Museum of Photography is thrilled to host visual artist Kevin Bennett Moore for an in-depth presentation and conversation about his exhibition, Meditations in an Emergency. Moore’s eclectic staged-photography project is currently on view at the Atelier Gallery through March 30 as part of the larger exhibition, Nuclear Family, featuring artists exploring family and community from an LGBTQIA+ perspective.

Join us at the museum in Winchester for our conversation at 6.30pm on Wednesday, March 26.

Meditations in an Emergency

Influenced by my own queer experience and ideals of mid-century American culture, my work investigates a familiar environment that alludes to something more enigmatic. Creating vignettes of this space and time allows for the images to exist in reality or remain fictitious.

Initially making work about control of the environment, I am able to create a safe space for the narrative to unfold; purposely diverting from what we may consider conventional. The characters become distant protagonists as the work allows the viewer to respond as a voyeur.

“Meditations in an Emergency” explores quiet amongst chaos. By focusing on themes of disaster and tragedy I am able to address the human condition; attempting to thrive in times of turmoil.

About Kevin Bennett Moore

Kevin Bennett Moore (b. 1996) is an artist living and working in Boston. His self-portrait based projects largely discuss queerness by utilizing the past to talk about current politics. Moore is influenced greatly by films of the 1950s & 60s, gender performativity, and ideals of mid-century American culture. He graduated from the Massachusetts College of Art and Design with a degree in photography (BFA ’20)

$5.00

The Griffin Museum of Photography

Atelier 32 | Conrad Gees

Posted on September 16, 2020

We continue our focus on the talented artists of Atelier 32. Through the lens of Conrad Gees, we take a trip to Cuba and Los Habaneros.

Los Habaneros (Havanans)

I have been fortunate that for a brief period of time, travel restrictions to Cuba from the US were eased and ordinary citizens such as myself could visit the island independently without a specified itinerary. The impetus for this series was to finally begin pulling together the images taken during several trips to Havana beginning in 2015.

Born at the height of the Cold War, I was eight when the Cuban Missile Crisis occurred. Fidel Castro was the enemy and Cuba became the isolated isle. The US embargo took effect in the 60’s and the collapse of the Soviet Union Left the Cuban economy hamstrung, the effects of which are evident today. My photographs reflect that, but that is not their intended subject. What fascinated me most was how the people living in three sections of Havana, Habana Vieja, Centro Habana and the Vedado, have developed strong, vibrant neighborhoods working and living together as a community. Their homes, the means by which they get food, their jobs, and even the newly sanctioned small private enterprise ventures, left me, an American with many privileges in life, awed and humbled by the resilience and ingenuity of the “Habaneros.”

What do you hope we as viewers take away from viewing your work?

The four images chosen here could be subjects of Norman Rockwell paintings (grabbing a snack, getting a haircut, enjoying cake with a friend, coming home to a brother) but the backdrop is Cuba. These are the universal human experiences we often forget about when visiting countries vastly different from ours. In my images I want to share the commonalities we share.

Tell us what is next for you creatively.

There are ten images in this show, but ultimately my goal is to make a book.

How the Atelier has helped you hone your vision as an artist?

My second Atelier proved to be as helpful as the first one I participated in three years ago. The project I am undertaking had me frustrated by its sheer size and scope, and I was struggling for a focus. Meg Birnbaum is an excellent facilitator, and even on line she brought together a group of eight individuals, each at different points in their development, and pushed us to think deeply about what each of us is trying to convey with our photographs. At the end of the Atelier, I was left with a very strong set of ten images which helped narrow my focus, yet at the same time have also given me a frame work to expand on for this project.

About Los Habaneros –

There is truth in the statement, Havana is a city frozen in time sixty plus years ago. This is clearly evident in the American cars from the 1950’s still traveling the streets, and in many of the storefronts with their limited consumer goods, but it is also a characterization, which can lead one to a false sense of sentimentality or condescension.

The 1961 US embargo did, in one sense, freeze Havana and cut it off from consumer goods progress, and severely limited its economic development, but the Havana of today is not the Havana of 1961. Havana today is the outgrowth of the 1959 Revolution, the US embargo and the Cold War which forced the inhabitants of this city, just 90 miles off the US coast to develop in ways they can speak of with great pride and in ways which leave them longing for more.

In 2015 I traveled through Mexico to Havana for the first time. Although restrictions on travel from the US to Cuba had just been eased, I was one of very few Americans on the streets of Havana not tied to a tour. The excitement and openness expressed to me by the Habaneros was infectious and led to my returning three additional times.

While concentrating on the sections of Havana known as “Habana Vieja,” and “Centro Habana”, now United Nations World Heritage Sites being renovated and brought back to life, I decided to document not only the buildings but the people living in these currently run-down sections of the city. Their homes, the means by which they get food, their jobs, and even the newly sanctioned small private enterprise ventures, left me, an American with many privileges in life, awed and humbled by the resilience and ingenuity of the Habaneros.

The images in this body of work grew out of, and helped me to develop, a deeper understanding of Havana and its people. Havana is truly a city of resilience.

See more of Conrad Gees‘ work on his website.

Ryan Zoghlin | Lacus Plasticus

Posted on June 17, 2020

The Griffin Museum of Photography is pleased to announce a new exhibition from artist Ryan Zoghlin. Known for his use of alternative photographic processes, Zoghlin has created a series blending creativity, science, technology and the environment building a fanciful series call Lacus Plasticus.

plastic under black — “lacus plasticus 27”, © Ryan Zoghlin

Many artists look to our surroundings to explore their creativity, and Zoghlin has found that inspiration off the shores of Lake Michigan. Repurposing plastics to create unique underwater environments using the light of the sun with the Photogram process, these one of a kind images tell the story of a natural habitat from unnatural sources.

Hanging in our Atelier Gallery, Lacus Plasticus is a creative adventure of exploration.

royal plastic — “lacus plasticus 31”, © Ryan Zoghlin

In anticipation of his Artist Talk happening Thursday June 18th, we asked Ryan a few questions about his work.

Your whole body of work seems to come from a place of art as object, that each piece is unique and handmade. What drew you to use alternative and historic processes to complete your vision?

“Porthole 1′, © Ryan Zoghlin

I have always been interested in the perceived power of objects. Rabbits feet for luck or an evil eye to ward off bad luck. Even more so with personal objects. Objects owned by lost relatives or the famous seem to have greater gravity. I used to collect daguerreotype cases. Most had portraits in them. How important these pieces must have been to those who knew the folks photographed. Now their value is mostly in the case. The power of these images has been greatly diminished by the loss of personal attachment over time. For me the process I choose is one that I think will best support the subject. I also love to see the hand of the artist in the work. Historical processes lend themselves to this better. I am not against contemporary ways of image capture at all. For my aesthetic, though, I find there are instances where I see it as too perfect.

How did you decide on the photogram process for Lacus Plasticus?

“lacus plasticus 23”, © Ryan Zoghlin

A previous series of work I did titled “Bagged” was done as cyanotype photograms also. These pieces where made to document objects organized in clear plastic storage bags. The shadows created very three dimensional reproductions of the objects in the bag. With Lacus Plasticus, I wanted to be able to translate the plastic pieces’ dimensionality onto the flat paper.

I love the stories that you tell with these objects, yet there is no clear storyline in your titles? Why not?

“lacus plasticus 29”, © Ryan Zoghlin

When I first started Lacus Plasticus, I went to the Shedd Aquarium in Chicago to get a better feel for the behavior of aquatic animals. Many of the exhibits are about the same size and shape, very much like windows. Also the descriptions are very scientific, lots of Latin. I wanted the same tone. One of scientific discovery or method. The titles are more about documentation than narrative.

What do you want us as viewers to walk away with after seeing your work?

“Porthole 4”, © Ryan Zoghlin

My work is always personal to me. As the saying goes, what is personal is universal. As an individual views the work, I hope they can relate on their own personal level and make their own decisions about the subject. Some may care about plastics in our fresh water lakes. Some may not care at all. My goal is to present issues that concern me. My hope is it will concern others.

About Lacus Plasticus –

For almost 40 years, I’ve been sailing off the beaches of Lake Michigan. As a kid and now a father with children, I’ve always loved the shore. As time has marched on, I’ve noticed the increase in plastics on the beach year after year. A few years ago, I started collecting and disposing of the plastic bits I would find. Now I collect plastic to create photogram photographs. The images depict plastic parts and pieces as underwater creatures. The pieces dramatize, for now, a fictitious state where plastics displace nature.

“lacus plasticus 12”, © Ryan Zoghlin

About Ryan Zoghlin –

My memory of a love for photography started early on. Using my father’s Pentax Spotmatic during a family road trip to Cape Canaveral, I clearly remember taking photographs of an early rocket sitting on its launch pad. By 14, I had my own darkroom and was very fortunate to have a very good photography department in my high school. This gave me the tools to move on to Rochester Institute of Technology, where I gained a solid technical background in photographic illustration. Wishing to explore photography as fine art and art in general, I moved on to study at The School of the Art Institute of Chicago, where I received a BFA in photography and sculpture in 1991.

so much plastic — “lacus plasticus 31”, © Ryan Zoghlin

My personal pursuits in photography have not waned through the years. Though my subject matter is varied, the intensity and thought put into each project is the same. While some work has been produced as digital prints from both color negatives and digital files, most of my work is done traditionally in a personal darkroom that I’ve maintained for the last 35 years. In the same time, I’ve used many alternative processes such as kallitypes, ambrotypes, cyanotypes, and orotones in my art. My work in orotones has been included in the Getty Conservation Institute’s Research on the Conservation of Photographs project.My work has been a part of the Museum of Contemporary Photography’s Midwest Photographers Project in Chicago and is in the collection of the Museum of Fine Art in Houston, TX. A recipient of an Illinois Art Council Fellowship and a Buhl Foundation Grant, I have also been featured in publications including Black & White Magazine, Photography Quarterly, Diffusion Magazine, Camera Arts Magazine and Photo District News, as well as many others. I am currently represented by Etherton Gallery in Tucson, AZ and Obscura Gallery in Santa Fe, NM.

Rick Wright | Vessels of the Late Petroleum Age

Posted on April 7, 2020

In light of our quarantined exhibitions, we want to make sure you don’t miss out on the great works on the walls of the Griffin, and our satellite exhibitions across the Greater Boston area. Our satellite space at WinCam, The Winchester Community Access & Media Channel features the clever work of Rick Wright. His series Vessels of the Late Petroleum Age is a wry, humorous look at how we view and interpret objects as well as questioning the idea of permanence and what we leave behind.

From Left to Right – #4, #17, #19

Rick Wright practices photography as a malleable and sculptural medium. This Philadelphia photographer inhabits the persona of a c. 4300 CE archaeologist: a scientist stumbling onto a cache of preserved vessels crafted out of an unknown synthetic material. This Dada series of catalogued “artifacts” explores how a future society might interpret contemporary plastic containers. The project is driven by Wright’s creative lens work; the objects taking on new form, expression, and meaning.

#174

Wright states, “Over the course of a full year, I ventured out into my Philadelphia neighborhood on recycling night. The purpose of my stroll was to dig through the blue bins piled high with plastic containers. The street lamps provided the perfect overhead lighting – akin to that original laundry room bulb – by which to preview the “personality” of each vessel. Wright goes on to say, “Photography suffers the unfortunate condition of looking like reality and it is the first thing to transcend as a photographer.”

We had a few questions.

The images are unnamed, using only catalog numbers. Why the numbering system, and not something like archeological field notes?

Numbering (only) was my way to stay-out-of-the-way and let the viewer overlay their own typology, reactions, mapping, whatnot. I felt there was enough in the images without getting too careful or cute with the titles; the danger in making the project purely funny, or too joke-like. It’s not. It’s both: serious/dark, yet amusing.

I avoided Field Notes and over-describing the objects, hence the plain catalog numbers. I’m trying to leave a viewer plenty of room-to-roam about in the weight/reality of our ubiquitous and unseen over-use of plastic. (Though, really, not so “unseen” anymore.)

#77

Without text to accompany each image, like field notes, what do you want the viewer to understand about the permanent culture we live in?

The whole project, effectively, is about taking a look back from the far future. (well, far human future). We’re in the 41st Century and our archaeologist/scientist is struggling to sort these plastic vessels out (these Vessels holding: elixirs, potions, balms, aphrodisiacs, immortality). What caused the end of the Petroleum Age, effectively?

What do you hope the viewer walks away with in terms of understanding the project?

I’d like them to laugh, then perhaps cry. Certainly to reflect, without me (or the work) being heavy-handed or chastising.

What is the one vessel your anthropologist treasures most, but has yet to find. In Indiana Jones terms, his own Holy Grail.

While any or all of these “visages” might be good candidates for The Shaman, The Medicine Man, The Seer, I think I remain on the lookout for that super particular type. I’d know him/her when I saw them.

The Vessels of the Late Petroleum Age was featured on the cover of LensWork #144 magazine (Sept.-Oct. 2019); along with a 16-page spread. The work has also appeared online in Float Magazine and garnered a Fleisher Faculty Fellowship Award. Wright is currently collaborating with a writer on a book of this series.

The Griffin Museum crafted a catalogue to accompany the exhibition and it is now available for purchase. For more information see our website for details.

Included in the book are the astute observations of art historian, scholar and independent curator in the field of photography, Alison Nordström, who gets to the heart of the series and its place in photography.

“Positioned, framed, composed, lit, and presented like art objects, Wright’s images elevate, isolate, and transform the ordinary as photography is uniquely equipped to do. There is plenty to consider in this aspect of the work alone, but, taken as a whole, the series goes beyond visual description by encouraging interpretations on so many levels that it underscores a wide range of the many things photography can do. Simultaneously legerdemain, joke, science, typology, aesthetic study, symbol, sign, social commentary, and artifact, these photographs contain multitudes; the series is slippery, challenging, and memorable.”

Our own Paula Tognarelli interviewed Rick during an episode of Optics interview at WinCam in Winchester, Massachusetts. Take a look and a listen.

From Left to Right – #33, #48, #51

About Rick Wright

Rick Wright practices photography as a malleable and sculptural medium. He states, “photography suffers the unfortunate condition of looking like reality and it is the first thing to transcend as a photographer.” His primary training as a painter at Princeton and Columbia Universities (BA and MFA) later morphed into photographic studies at ICP in NY with John Loengard, Susan Meiselas, Nan Goldin, and Dorit Cypis.

Rick shows his work locally and nationally. Along with his ongoing history as an artist-using-photography, he also photographs architecture professionally. His works resides in several permanent collections; most recently added to the Houston Museum of Fine Art and Philadelphia Museum of Art. Wright keeps a studio in Philadelphia (past 12 years) and teaches photography at: Philadelphia Photo Arts, Fleisher Art Memorial, Peter’s Valley School of Art & Craft, The Halide Project.

#99

Several of his photographs reside in permanent collections: Houston Museum of Fine Art, Philadelphia Museum of Art, The Creon Collection, Johnson & Johnson Collection, and The University of Pennsylvania. Wright keeps his studio in Philadelphia (past 13 years) and teaches photography at Fleisher Art Memorial, Peter’s Valley School of Art & Craft, and The Halide Project.

“Photography is 93% of my life,” says Wright. “The other 7% is occupied by typewriter repair, short story writing, and life model sketching. I chose photography over painting for its speed, joy, and unexpected bends of reality.”

See more of Rick Wright‘s creativity on his website.

Jim Lustenader | City Streets

Posted on April 6, 2020

At The Races

The streets of Boston are empty, with COVID-19 Stay at Home orders, but the interwebs remain a space for creativity and connection between us all. In an effort to showcase the exhibitions that we all cannot visit in person, we are bringing them to you online. Today’s view is the city streets as viewed through the lens of Jim Lustenader. Jim’s black and white photographs have the ability to bring us all together to celebrate humanity in its diversity, humor and uniqueness. On view (through windows) at the Griffin @ SOWA, Jim’s work reflects the view of the street he seeks to capture.

We asked Jim about his process and his images for his series, City Streets.

Sniffers

Street Photography takes patience, yet also a sense of immediacy of capturing the moment. How do you balance the waiting with the spontaneity? How do you find your subject or do you believe your subject finds you?

In most cases, my subjects find me. While I sometimes haunt a location because the setting is interesting (e.g., large poster or wall art) or it relates to a series I’m working on (e.g., people in museums), I really prefer to react instinctively and intuitively to what’s happening around me. Sometimes the results really surprise me, as with the photo “Sniffers.” On a trip to London, I noticed this elderly couple walking behind St. James’s Palace; they were dressed up and out for the evening, figures from another age. I turned away to look for another shot and when I turned back they had stopped to admire the Queen’s roses, seemingly kept behind bars in their window boxes. They leaned in to take a sniff and I managed to grab one frame. Because I use film I didn’t see the result for about three weeks, so I was delighted to find out I had caught a moment that told a story.

Lap Dance

What are your favorite places to photograph? Is it a mood, or a certain consistency in the creativity that draws you there?

I most enjoy working in cities like New York, Boston, London and Paris but I have had good luck in much smaller environments. It’s really the mood of a place that draws me: the heat and bustle of New York, the poetry and romanticism of Paris. Being consciously open to that particular mood gets me into the rhythm of a location and its people. Another photographer told me years ago that having a tune in mind when shooting helps keep him in the moment; now that has become something of a ritual for me: Piaf for Paris, Gershwin and Porter for New York!

As an observer of the quirks in the everyday, how has this measure of capture changed your routine and how you look at life?

Metro Bride

When I started shooting street, I tended to stay back from my subjects, using a zoom lens that allowed me to capture (some would say spy on) them while being uninvolved. In many cases, this resulted in shots that were often cramped, narrow and one-dimensional. To freshen my perspective, I took a street class with photojournalist Peter Turnley, who insisted I get into the midst of the action and use nothing longer than a 50mm lens, preferably a 24mm. I was petrified: now I would have to get close to people if I wanted to get the shot. However, I quickly found that the normal or wide format created greater context for my subjects, adding interest and dimension by showing them in relationship to their surroundings. A whole new approach opened up, one that seeks out visual tension among elements in a broader scene and tells a more multi-faceted story about what makes us human—and, for me, that’s where the fun of street is. I view life as bits of theatrical business and am aware of potential shots even when I don’t have my camera.

What do you want us as viewers to walk away with after seeing your photographs?

Hands Up

I think my most successful photos are those that are somewhat open ended, inviting viewers to pause and decipher possible meanings, to exercise their own imaginations. I also hope that viewers would share the same sense of amusement that I get from catching human nature at work, the serendipity of coincidence, the irony and absurdity of daily life.

What has it meant to work with the Griffin and to show your work through the museum?

Showing at the Griffin has meant a great deal since it has been a goal of mine for a long time. I became familiar with the museum about thirteen years ago when I visited to see an exhibition of Arthur Griffin’s photos. This great facility dedicated to photography totally impressed me and I wanted to create work that was good enough to be shown there. Later at Houston’s FotoFest, I had the first of what would become several photo reviews with Paula Tognarelli, whose constructive critiques guided me in refining my vision and producing a more cohesive portfolio. I consider being on the Griffin’s walls a true career highlight.

What is next for you creatively? Since travel is restricted, for the time being, how will you fill your creative needs?

Lust

A number of galleries (including Soho Photo Gallery in New York, where I’m a member) are running virtual exhibitions on the theme of isolation so I’ve been able to submit work from my archives that reflect a sense “alone-ness” akin to what we all feel right now. Living in a small town in New Hampshire where things are pretty quiet anyway, I certainly miss being able to get to the big cities. That said, I drive around looking for ways to capture the pandemic experience from a rural perspective, which is definitely challenging and requires using those longer lenses that I put away years ago because I can’t get close.