Introduction

What is The New Yorker? I know it’s a great magazine and that it’s a tremendous source of pleasure in my life. But what exactly is it? This blog’s premise is that The New Yorker is a work of art, as worthy of comment and analysis as, say, Keats’s “Ode on a Grecian Urn.” Each week I review one or more aspects of the magazine’s latest issue. I suppose it’s possible to describe and analyze an entire issue, but I prefer to keep my reviews brief, and so I usually focus on just one or two pieces, to explore in each the signature style of its author. A piece by Nick Paumgarten is not like a piece by Jill Lepore, and neither is like a piece by Ian Frazier. One could not mistake Collins for Seabrook, or Bilger for Galchen, or Mogelson for Kolbert. Each has found a style, and it is that style that I respond to as I read, and want to understand and describe.

Saturday, April 4, 2020

Eren Orbey's "A Photographer's Parents Wave Farewell"


Deanna Dikeman, "Leaving and Waving 7" (1991)
















Eren Orbey’s “A Photographer’s Parents Wave Farewell” (newyorker.com, March 4, 2020) is one of my favorite newyorker.com posts of the year (so far). It’s a review of Deanna Dikeman’s portrait series “Leaving and Waving,” currently on view at deannadikeman.com. An artfully condensed version of Orbey’s piece appears in this week’s New Yorker (“Goings on About Town: Art: Deanna Dikeman”). It’s worth quoting in full:

In 1990, when this photographer’s parents were in their early seventies, they sold her childhood home, in Sioux City, Iowa, and moved to a bright-red ranch house in the same town. At the end of their daughter’s visits, they would stand outside as she drove away, arms rising together in a farewell wave. For years, Dikeman captured those departing moments; the resulting portrait series, “Leaving and Waving,” compresses nearly three decades of adieux into a deft and affecting chronology. The pair recede into the warm glow of the garage on rainy evenings and laugh under the eaves in better weather. In summer, they blow kisses from the driveway. In winter, they wear scarves and stand behind snowbanks. Inevitably, they age. A few pictures, cropped to include the car’s interior, convey the parallel progress of Dikeman’s own life. Early images show the blurred face of a baby, who, in later shots, as a young man, takes the wheel while Dikeman photographs her elderly parents from the passenger seat.

That “The pair recede into the warm glow of the garage on rainy evenings and laugh under the eaves in better weather” is wonderful. The entire note is wonderful – a poignant reminder of “time’s relentless melt” (Susan Sontag). 

1 comment:

  1. Like they watch us grow up we watch them age and then no one is waving back. Tears at the heart.
    Beautiful work.

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