Posts Tagged ‘ photogram ’

Lights, Camera, Ellen Carey: A Solo Exhibition at The Delamar… | NBMAA

Ellen Carey, Dings & Shadows, 2019, Color photogram/c-print/unique, 34 x 52 in., Courtesy of the Artist and JHB Gallery (NY, NY); Galerie Miranda (Paris, FR); M+B (LA, CA).

As part of the New Britain Museum of American Art’s partnership with the Delamar Hotel in West Hartford, we are thrilled to announce our forthcoming exhibition featuring a solo presentation by acclaimed Hartford-based artist Ellen Carey (b. 1952), who was recently named one of the leading 100 women photographers world-wide by The Royal Photographic Society.

Source: Lights, Camera, Ellen Carey: A Solo Exhibition at The Delamar… | NBMAA

Photogram by Ellen Carey and Poem by Donna Fleischer Celebrate Two Art Forms at Hundred Heroines


Dings & Shadows (2018) © Ellen Carey


Donna’s poem – “Rapture in Oneiric Blue” – celebrates Anna Atkins, whose cyanotypes produced a Prussian blue — the word “cyan” means  “blue” — and Hundred Heroines is honoring Atkins, the 19th century British pioneer, who had many firsts: first female practitioner in photography, she made the first photo-book; first to use text in and around her unique photograms of nature found in her botanical studies; and first in colour/color . . . . and Donna’s poem highlights light and color with Carey, in the 21st century, made in the  “light-tight” darkroom, where no light is allowed, except upon exposure. Thank you, Donna, for your wonderful poetry and more, on Ellen Carey’s work at or Wikipedia.  – Ellen Carey

Source: Rapture in Oneiric Blue – Hundred Heroines

The Red Photogram by Donna Fleischer from Let There Be Light: The Black Swans of Ellen Carey – Exhibition Catalogue 2014 Eastern CT State University AKUS Gallery

The Red Photogram


The unplanned for trip began as I stepped back from Ellen Carey’s
red photogram; “The shape of grief is circular,” the book reviewer
wrote of Forest Gander’s new novel; and I wonder that my avidity for
procrastination takes the shape of walking in circles. I stand still before
the red photogram for which I have no words, of relevance. But those
red swirls, they are there, every day, and they make me smile


Especially there in the late winter bone-cleaving days when I begin
to feel out my circle walks, looking out of windows, returning to a
place only to leave. My own Greek chorus. First movements, away
from a mother. Stepping back from a mirror, startled by the absence
of something. Remembering and forgetting, until it becomes me.
The it of absence already staged in the blood.


Burroughs called it “the soft typewriter of the womb” the place where
we begin to make first words. Buffering ourselves from her overloud
heartbeats, I suppose. The better words, says Rimbaud, are in the
silence of color


shadows of geese

flickering ’cross tree trunks

quiet spring morning


So there it is, Art, the ultimate road trip, with rickshaw and naked feet
and kasa strung under the chin while floats a pillow of consciousness
on last night’s dream. A painter friend’s words in an e-mail, “ — the
need to reject the written word/numbers (ego) from our thought
process … When it comes to art — I don’t know anymore,” he says.


Fleeting perceptions, apperceptions. Glory of the everyday of ordinary
things that stay as we pass by them … Those classical Chinese poets,
Wang Wei, Li Po, Han Shan, minimalist in style and so completely
embodied in their endless leaving and returning. The circle.


The first time there is Loss it’s already too late — Loss circulating
in endless loops. You look and wait, look and wait, for your love, your
lost one, to return. The sound of your own blood in your ears when
you are most alone. The sound of the earth all opened up and speaking,
and the mourner, who listens; the underworld starlit darkness of the
body emerging on the horizon of birth


Li Po’s gate

November wind


If only one could look inside this dark room of the body. See the quiet,
orderly procession of blood. Contained. Purple. A royal life of its own.
Hear the soft, murmuring canals bloom. Just stand in the sunlight and
close your eyes. Those red swirls, they’ll make you smile.


– Donna Fleischer
Let There Be Light: The Black Swans of Ellen Carey
Exhibition Catalogue 2014 Eastern CT State University

A Reading of “The Red Photogram” by Donna Fleischer on Art Note / UNregular Radio, Boston – July 17, 2011,10:30 am

Ellen Carey's "The Red Photogram" 2001

A podcast of this reading is available at Boston’s UNregular Radio. For further reading about ekphrasis, the Academy of American Poets has a fine essay, entitled, “Ekphrasis: Poetry Confronting Art“. Issa’s Untidy Hut has an introductory essay on the Japanese-derived haibun form, “The American Haibun by Donna Fleischer.

Happy Birthday! Man Ray

Man Ray Self-Portrait

Man Ray (August 27, 1890 – November 18, 1976), born Emmanuel Radnitzky, was an American artist who spent most of his career in Paris, France. Perhaps best described simply as a modernist, he was a significant contributor to both the Dada and Surrealist movements, although his ties to each were informal. Best known in the art world for his avant-garde photography, Man Ray produced major works in a variety of media and considered himself a painter above all. He was also a renowned fashion and portrait photographer. He is noted for his photograms, which he renamed “rayographs” after himself.  ~