Book Review: In Pursuit of Magic
By Campbell George
The journey from amateur to auteur is never simple and is rarely so carefully chronicled. Portioned into eras, with essays detailing the journey, In Pursuit of Magic delves into the life and work of photographer Nathan Lyons. Across more than 250 images, Lyons makes a substantial case for the idea that photography is its own language.
In 1960, Lyons proclaimed, “The eye and the camera see more than the mind knows.” His body of work provides a testament to that; the street corners, signs, buildings, graffiti, and parks we pass everyday are made up of the extraordinary. Sometimes, it takes another’s eye to understand the wonders that ours are insufficient to see. Lyons is only too happy to furnish that eye.
Nathan Lyons (American, 1930–2016). Untitled from Notations in Passing, 1963–1973. Gelatin silver print. Loan from the Estate of Nathan Lyons. © Estate of Nathan Lyons
As a young man, Lyons was in awe of the abstract. Devoid of human touch or influence, the world he shows us is bleak in its infancy, as if the people who built it are gone and what’s left is waiting to be inherited by a more worthy heir. After all, who could coexist in a world depleted of its congenital verve at the hands of polluters and politicians? Even the paper dolls and mannequins behind windows seem as if they could take to life at any moment. They’d certainly be welcome additions to a 20th century cast of faded posters, lonely bicycles, and tenement stucco.
Nathan Lyons (American, 1930–2016). Untitled from Notations in Passing, 1963–1973. Gelatin silver print. Loan from the Estate of Nathan Lyons. © Estate of Nathan Lyons
Upon crossing the 9/11 threshold that bridges a career from the old millennium to the new, Lyons finds himself adrift amidst the best and basest human tendencies New Yorkers have to offer. A paper flag of drawings glued together by school children reminds the reader thankfully, if somberly, that purity exists in a world where, the next block over, there hangs a sign advertising the closest beer to ground zero. We cope with tragedy in different ways. Some need to remember; others need to forget. In keeping with his work that rounded out the last century, Lyons furthers his focus, photographing depictions of the written word in the physical world.
Nathan Lyons (American, 1930–2016). Untitled from After 9/11, 2001–2002. Gelatin silver prints. Loan from the Estate of Nathan Lyons. © Estate of Nathan Lyons
Nathan Lyons (American, 1930–2016). Untitled from After 9/11, 2001–2002. Gelatin silver prints. Loan from the Estate of Nathan Lyons. © Estate of Nathan Lyons
Hesitant for years to include color in his photography, Lyons shed all such apprehensions this decade. Wholeheartedly embracing hue, he commands the rainbow as one wont to wielding it. His past recalcitrance works to his advantage; colors pop with the vibrancy of an artist making up for lost time. Out on the town, Lyons finds fresh inspiration in murals, expanding a pantheon of street art previously dominated by political graffiti. Though grim reminders of what’s rotten in Denmark continue to pock the pages of In Pursuit of Magic, we’re also allowed to lay on the grass and take in the sky.
Nathan Lyons (American, 1930–2016). Untitled (Philadelphia), 2010. Inkjet print. Loan from the Estate of Nathan Lyons. © Estate of Nathan Lyons
Lyons’ mentor, Professor John Wood, encouraged him to “think past the single image”. One need pause on any page to see how closely Lyons kept those words to his heart. Reflect on any of the photographs in this volume and breathe slowly. In and out. Close your eyes. Picture the street corner, the sign, the building, the graffiti, the park. Wherever you call home, you can imagine Lyons’ camera there. The magic we find, ultimately, is the magic we quietly make in our own lives, not merely existing, but living.
Nathan Lyons (American, 1930–2016). Untitled (Vermont), 2015. Inkjet print. Loan from the Estate of Nathan Lyons. © Estate of Nathan Lyons
