Anthony Hernandez: Waiting For Los Angeles
Take as a starting point the cover of this book; Anthony Hernandez’s wonderful photograph of square, colourful ceramic tiles could be almost anything you might imagine it to be. A Mondrian-like painting, a random pattern, a city grid, or perhaps the work of an anonymous tile setter, brightening up the facade of a government building in South Central Los Angeles. With the passage of time, these vibrant squares have been lost beneath a coat of anti-graffiti paint. Anthony Hernandez is a photographer for whom waiting has long been a theme, with his bus stop pictures in the late 1970s, and his fishing photographs in the 1980s. Hernandez’s vision is both abstract and documentary, and there is a pattern to his work in every sense of that word – whether he is focusing on an empty waiting room, a phone hanging in a booth, or random scribbles etched on a sheet of glass. Hernandez skillfully draws attention to the simple geometric beauty that can be found in even the most utilitarian fence, wall, or window. There is not a soul in sight, but there is a strong sense that someone has been here, and there is enough to grip the attention until, perhaps, they return. With a beautifully written and provocative essay by photographer, writer and critic Allan Sekula.
Description
Take as a starting point the cover of this book; Anthony Hernandez’s wonderful photograph of square, colourful ceramic tiles could be almost anything you might imagine it to be. A Mondrian-like painting, a random pattern, a city grid, or perhaps the work of an anonymous tile setter, brightening up the facade of a government building in South Central Los Angeles. With the passage of time, these vibrant squares have been lost beneath a coat of anti-graffiti paint. Anthony Hernandez is a photographer for whom waiting has long been a theme, with his bus stop pictures in the late 1970s, and his fishing photographs in the 1980s. Hernandez’s vision is both abstract and documentary, and there is a pattern to his work in every sense of that word – whether he is focusing on an empty waiting room, a phone hanging in a booth, or random scribbles etched on a sheet of glass. Hernandez skillfully draws attention to the simple geometric beauty that can be found in even the most utilitarian fence, wall, or window. There is not a soul in sight, but there is a strong sense that someone has been here, and there is enough to grip the attention until, perhaps, they return. With a beautifully written and provocative essay by photographer, writer and critic Allan Sekula.
