Violence, nudity, and the occult collide in the photographs of William Mortensen, an American photographer who gained prominence in the 1930s and ’40s but today largely exists as an obscure name in the medium’s history. William Mortensen: American Grotesque, which recently opened at Stephen Romano Gallery, revisits Mortensen’s oeuvre in a solo show featuring over 50 of the artist’s works, some displayed for the first time. On view are scenes of impending murder, sensual witches on brooms, and many portraits of young, nude women throwing coy glances at the camera.
Before he fully turned his lens on the risqué, Mortensen built a reputation as a commercial photographer in Hollywood, where his unceasing interest in highly staged settings, post-production effects, and the growing cinematic genre of horror had its roots. Aside from shooting glamorous portraits of stars from Jean Harlow to Fay Wray, he also captured stills on active film sets and set up his own tableaux in his studio at the landmark Western Costume Company, which granted him access to a trove of costumes and props.
Organized chronologically in neat rows, William Mortensen: American Grotesque begins with such images, including an orientalist series from Ferdinand Pinney Earle’s The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam film; though less shocking than Mortensen’s later work, these pictures reflect his growing interest in crafting fantasy scenes rather than straight documentation — to the chagrin of photographers devout to reality. Photographer Ansel Adams, leading Group f/64, once remarked: “For us, Mortensen was the antichrist.”
Viewing the exhibition, it’s clear why Mortensen clashed with the so-called purists. (The rivalry was so heated it led to his exclusion from prominent exhibitions and books, such as Beaumont Newhall’s 1949 momentous tome, The History of Photography, From 1839 to the Present Day.) Following his Hollywood series are darker works, each meticulously staged as visual representations of the grotesque. For Mortensen, the concept of the grotesque was manifest in trauma and loss — grounded particularly in fear and death — making his photographs the stuff of nightmares rather than of reality.
One of the more unsettling images includes the dramatically lit “An Episode of the Barbary Coast” (1932), showing a man grinning as he dips a woman in his arms, as if dancing. His raised hand, however, clutches a spike aimed at her exposed chest; her mouth is wide open, and her shriek seems almost audible. The allure of Mortensen’s work lies in this pairing of the horrific with the beautiful — such as the sensual, graceful figure of the female nude — provoking both repulsion and an odd sense of unbefitting pleasure.
In another print, untitled and dating to 1927, a naked witch awaits a fiery fate at the stake, although her elegant figure remains calm against the post. Below, her eager prosecutors cloaked in black appear more malevolent than her, their expressions as disturbing as the horrific punishment. The grotesque appears not only through physical action; it also resides within us. The later “Johan the Mad” (1931) echoes this conceit: the sitter’s mental state is already evident in the illlustrated title, but even without the glaring description, her turned head, twisted scarf, and staring eyes allude to her psychological trauma.
Still, while the word “grotesque” may apply to most of the exhibition’s images, many of the standard, simple nude portraits on display don’t quite spur unease. One wall devoted entirely to these portraits seems more like a shrine celebrating the beauty of the female body. In one, a woman lies down and arches her back, concealing her face but offering her body to the lens; another shows Mortensen’s wife and frequent model Myrdith Monaghan posing as “Adelita” (1932), her blouse half-worn to reveal her breasts. Here, the show suddenly jumps into more natural, relaxed scenes that evoke the mood of erotic snapshots far from the previous nightmares.
Especially striking of Mortensen’s photographs is that at first glance, they appear as etchings or drawings due to his heavy manipulation of his images. Describing his photographic style as “creative pictorialism,” he often scraped the surfaces of his prints and negatives with a razor blade, penciled in marks, or used self-invented texture screens to lend his images a sketch-like quality.
This blurring of mediums begs closer examination of his work, for which Mortensen obsessively strove: in 1937, he published “The Command To Look,” his detailed and highly popular guide to create photographs that capture viewers’ attentions and trigger strong psychological responses. In it, Mortensen lays out a three-step formula to produce such “effective” pictures; he also describes specific picture patterns that arouse fear and lists various subjects that carry the most emotional appeal.
In conjunction with the exhibition’s opening, Feral House recently republished The Command to Look along with American Grotesque: The Life and Art of William Mortensen, a collection of the artist’s photographs and related essays. The new version of Mortensen’s own book includes additional texts on his career as well as an in-depth exploration of his impact on Anton LaVey. LaVey, influenced by Mortensen’s theories of visual manipulation, included the photographer in the dedication page of his Satanic Bible.
American Grotesque: The Life and Art of William Mortensen offers a more comprehensive biography of the long-disregarded Mortensen along with his own manifesto on creative pictorialism and a survey of his painstaking technical methods. The compendium also includes over 100 plates of his work divided into themes like “Propaganda,” “The Occult,” and “Character Studies”; many of the images are published here for the first time.
Although Mortensen’s works appeared in major publications and his Mortensen School of Photography drew thousands of students over the years, critics of his unconventional techniques still managed to nearly scrub his name from the roster of established photographers. But as today’s widespread fixation with Photoshop and other processes of image manipulation indicate, Mortensen with his meticulous methods was a true pioneer of his era.
William Mortensen: American Grotesque continues at Stephen Romano Gallery (111 Front Street, Suite 208, DUMBO, Brooklyn) through November 30.
To understand contemporary art, it is necessary to investigate the connections that are sometimes omitted or undervalued in art history.
Gearhart founded a print gallery with her sisters and was at the center of the Arts and Crafts movement in southern California.
Featuring underwater recordings from around the world, this immersive, site-specific installation is on view at the Lenfest Center for the Arts in NYC from February 3 to 13.
Video art was something you watched “with the lights on,” as França insisted, without pretenses of high art.
PHASE 2 would emerge as an innovator in New York’s burgeoning subway art movement, creating elaborate murals that would shape the evolution of both the spray can and the art form.
BRIC’s multidisciplinary program in Brooklyn has cohorts in Contemporary Art, Film & TV, Performing Arts, and Video Art. Applications are due March 10.
While the South Asian diaspora is one of the largest and most widely dispersed in the world, the Indo-Caribbean community is often overlooked and excluded from discussions of South Asian art.
The Bay Area artist believed in shaping artists rather than relaying rules.
Open-ended, community based, and collaborative, “esolangs” serve as a reminder that digital art has other histories and other futures.
Working with what they had, Cass Corridor artists scrapped and repurposed anything they could get their hands on, attempting to find some salvation for their city through a literal process of salvage and reuse.
Throughout the 1970s and into the ’80s, artists in Los Angeles created organizations and exhibition spaces to develop the resources they lacked.