| reviews & features | galleries | art museums | schools & universities | other museums | hot links |

Natural eye

Lou Reed breaks bread in an art space

by Jon Garelick

Lou Reed held the battered cover of The Velvet Underground and Nico that had just been handed to him by former Mission of Burma songwriter Clint Conley and said before autographing it, "That's a real one." Conley was at the Photographic Resource Center last week in his current role as a producer for Channel 5's Chronicle, but -- just like the 25 or so other journalists and "invited members of the . . . public" -- he was also there as a fan. Although Lou Reed's five photographs represent a small percentage of the work being shown in "Extended Play: Between Rock and an Art Space" at the PRC (on display through August 17), they do act as a kind of cornerstone.

"I had wanted to do this exhibit for years," said PRC director and exhibit curator John Jacob. A touring show from the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, "The Velvet Years, 1965-67: Warhol's Factory, Photographs by Stephen Shore," gave him the impetus he needed. But though he had other musician-visual artists in mind for the show -- Laurie Anderson, John Cohen, Kevin Coyne, Patti Smith, Willie Alexander -- it was Lou who broke the ice. "Lou was the first one who called and said, 'What is it that you're doing and what do you want from me?' "

Contrary to one might expect of a rock celebrity and former denizen of Andy Warhol's Factory, Reed's photos are not candid backstage snaps or portraits. Except for one blurry, wide-angle self-portrait, they're cityscapes, which Reed identified reluctantly for the crowd at the PRC: "I'm sometimes loath to say what they are, where they are, just because it constricts your imagination." Nonetheless, he offered captions: a grainy, low-angled shot of a tower at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame; a blurry nocturne of a bridge over water amid the night lights of Stockholm; a narrow street and gothic architectural detail from Venice; and the one color shot, a night view of a futuristic tower and rounded pavilion, aloft like a spaceship, highlighted by dramatic reds and blacks, from Osaka, Japan. All were from 1996.

Reed reported that this was the first exhibition of his photographs, a medium he'd been scared away from ever since some embarrassing early failures with film and video. But companion Laurie Anderson reportedly encouraged him to start shooting. In his press conference, Reed gradually revealed a working process that's in keeping with his image as a sophisticated primitive, a pop star who's an artist first, proceeding by instinct, accident, and dogged determination. "I went and got a bunch of books about photography, and right off the bat they said, `One of the things you really shouldn't do is . . . ' and that was kind of the end of the book for me, because that was literally what I was doing, and I liked it, and what I like is exactly what they criticized. Or, you know, people say, 'Oh, you can't do that, it's grainy.' And I said, 'I like grainy, what's wrong with grainy?' "

Reed's untutored shutter finger is guided by an artist's sensibility -- restless, relentless activity and ruthless decision-making. Picking photos for the show? "That was easy. There weren't that many that I liked. I mean, there's hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of pictures, but there's really only four or five that I liked."

The notoriously taciturn and monosyllabic Reed was readily accessible in the 90 minutes or so he spent hanging around the PRC. First there was the press conference, then a stroll through the gallery, with film crews, journalists, and fans in tow, and more questions. And there was one incident that may have been unprecedented. When one journalist from a local 'zine, in the midst of asking a question, dropped his microcassette recorder on the floor, spilling batteries and tape, Reed said, "I know what it's like. I interviewed Václav Havel in Czechoslovakia and the tape broke. It was very hard." There it was: Lou Reed, in a public display of empathy for a journalist. In fact, Reed's audience talked themselves out before he did. In a reception room with food and fizzy water, Reed was left alone sitting in a chair while folks drifted off into different groups to chat. The great man's eyelids dropped, his chin fell on his chest, he was fast asleep. ("Meditating," he explained later when he was waked.)

As for the quietly stunning '60s photos by Stephen Shore, with their delicate formal grace, Reed offered only general insight. "They're great pictures. They capture and vibrate with something. But that's because they come with a history attached to them. Each one is like a little book. You see it and you're immediately aware of certain things. This is Warhol, this is the Factory, this is this New York scene, this is a thing that changed and reverberates even to this day. Why? I haven't a clue why. If I knew why, I'd probably own Montana."