Exploring what remains of the American landscape—while using an antiquated photographic process that relies on light and chemicals to produce a print—is David Benjamin Sherry’s fool’s errand. Of course, landscape is not disappearing, nor is photography, but both of these “endangered territories” are undergoing acute alteration caused by manic human industry and technological advancement. One might imagine such pictures to be dark, dour, bleak, accusatory. But no, they are happy, sunny, druggy, romantic. Sherry’s photographs capture faintly eroticized, dewy, and transcendent beauty in a climate of extinction. They are the painted face of Candy Darling, Warhol’s muse, on her deathbed, exaltedly lovely at her greatest moment of tragedy.
The allusion is not random, for Sherry’s colors—ochre, magenta, cerulean— are quietly flamboyant. Not Jeff Koons– flamboyant, offering every flavor in a…
