From the Director Walter Anderson described himself as an “artist who prefers nature to art”.  Nature was his passion, and it is the same for photographer Stephen Kirkpatrick.  He does not approach photography through its mechanics, but prefers to merge himself with nature.  Walter Anderson believed that to be a successful artist, “art and nature must become one.”    This is only one of the many parallels that can be drawn between Walter Inglis Anderson and photographer Stephen Kirkpatrick.  Through the photographs and words of Stephen Kirkpatrick, the art and writings of Walter Anderson, and the collaboration of Marlo Kirkpatrick this exhibition allows the viewer to “realize” nature in new and more intimate ways.   Save-the-date WAMA Annual Gala, Friday, April 7, 2006 We are extremely grateful for the enthusiasm and generosity of Stephen and Marlo Kirkpatrick, and for their careful selection of the photographs to be included in this exhibition.  The museum had originally planned this exhibition for the fall of 2005, but Hurricane Katrina delayed our plans.  Despite personal losses that all of the staff of the Museum suffered each one has done their part to make this exhibition a reality.  Staff Curator Patricia Pinson continued to guide the project in her usual thoughtful and careful manner.  Our Registrar Dennis Walker worked with her, preparing the galleries and hanging the show.   Realizing that following Katrina the Museum’s staff was smaller Mary Anderson Pickard volunteered to develop the school age curriculum for the exhibition, and we are so very grateful.  In addition, to the loan of the Kirkpatrick photographs, the exhibition includes works of art from the Museum’s permanent collection, from the family of Walter Inglis Anderson, from the Christopher and Kristen Hogan Collection, and from the Lehman Collection.  Of course, without the sponsorship of the Chevron Corporation this exhibition would not be possible. –– Gayle Petty-Johnson, Executive Director

From the Curator It was like listening to Walter Anderson speak when I first heard Stephen Kirkpatrick present a program.  The ideas were so in tune with each other that they even sang with similar language.  Respect for and fascination with nature permeated both.    Whether looking through a lens of the camera or of the eye, both artists explore the world with abandon, immersing themselves within its water, forests, clouds and light. “To see the world in a grain of sand and a heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour,” William Blake’s words still capture the mysteries of  artistic vision regardless of the century of origin. –– Patricia Pinson, Curator

From Stephen Kirkpatrick

Years ago, I discovered an enchanted bog in Jackson County, Mississippi, bursting with pitcher plants and vibrant flowers. Camera in hand, I hiked into the bog, found a spot I liked, and settled in, consumed with capturing the natural wonder before me on film.

Hours later, I noticed an older gentleman approaching me from the road. Reluctantly, I tore myself from my subject and walked out to meet him. I learned he was the owner of the land on which I was shooting, and I explained that to a photographer like me, his little bog was a source of riches.

“You remind me of another fellow I used to see out here years ago, when I was just a boy,” he said. “A young man would ride his bicycle down that road and park it near the edge of the grass. He’d walk into the bog, just about where we’re standing now, and set up an old canvas stool and easel. That young man would sit here and paint, sometimes all day.”

“I guess this beautiful bog just inspires people,” I said, pointing out the dew-covered plants in the magical morning light.

“You know, it is pretty. I’ve never really looked at this place that way before.” He shook his head and gave me a smile. “You artist types sure are strange.”

“I’m not an artist,” I said, smiling back. “I’m a photographer.”

“Oh yes, that’s right.”

He invited me to stay as long as I liked, then turned back toward the road. As I gazed over the bog, it wasn’t hard for me to understand how the painter he’d described could be caught up in this beauty for hours.

Then it hit me. A painter. A strange artist. Arriving on a bicycle.

I turned and called to the man.

“Hey, that fellow who used to paint here. Did you by chance catch his name?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “His name was Walter Anderson. He sat about where you are now.”

I paused, stirred by the image of the gifted Anderson painting the same bog I was now photographing. Then I called to the man, “Does that mean I’m a strange artist type after all?”

“No,” he yelled back with a grin. “You’re a photographer.”

While it’s true I’m a photographer and not a painter, and while I would never presume to compare my own work with Walter Anderson’s undeniable genius, I am often struck by similarities in our artistic philosophies. We may not share a medium, but we definitely share a passion. 

Anderson wrote of nature’s need of a human witness to “realize” its order, power, and beauty. Years later, when I read Anderson’s logs, I often feel I am standing there with him, seeing what he saw, experiencing the subject as he experienced it, sharing his passion for the work at hand.

The photographs chosen for “To Climb a Blade of Grass” echo the sentiments Walter Anderson expressed in his own realizations.

“What could be more delectable than to climb a blade of grass with the dew still on it and spend the morning swinging in the wind?”

There is something magical about a dew-covered field in the cool, early morning. Tiny dew droplets transform spider webs, flowers, and butterflies into delicate, sparkling jewels. The moisture burdens as well as beautifies its subject, creating a breathtaking, short-lived display that melts away with the freeing rays of the rising sun.

It all begins here. The basics of any photograph or painting are space, form, color, and shape. The starting point in illustrating a subject is communicating these most powerful, elemental aspects of its nature. 

“The artist knows that for him to be successful, art and nature must become one.”

Nature itself is art. It’s the job of the artist to gather it together, to take a slice that moves the artist, separate it from the rest of the masterpiece, and present it for others to see.

“One image succeeds another with surprising regularity on Horn Island. Whether they could be shared is another matter – people need different things.”

When I work on Horn Island, I often wonder if I am standing in Walter Anderson’s very footsteps, photographing the same landscapes he painted, sharing his passion for ghost crabs, porpoises, and pelicans, battling the same mosquitoes for the sake of the art. Most people see the island only as pine trees, sand, and water. But like Walter Anderson, I see Horn Island as a never-ending source of new subjects to capture. This is the joy of becoming intimately acquainted with a place – a deeper understanding that’s heightened week-by-week, day-by-day, moment-by-moment.

“It is approaching the magic hour before sunset, when all things are related, and are organized thru (sic) color.”

For an artist – painter or photographer – light is everything. As absolutely predictable as they are, every sunset, every breathtaking, magic hour display is unique. Captured by brush or on film, the fleeting light of a sunset breathes warmth and life into any illustration.

“Nature does not like to be anticipated – it too often means death, I suppose – but loves to surprise; in fact, seems to justify itself to man in that way, restoring his youth to him each time.”

Every time we step into a field, hike into the forest, or set foot on a sandy beach, nature hands us something new. In a world that changes so fast, nature’s surprises are the essence of its consistency. The same endless sense of discovery that nature inspired in your grandfather, in your father, and in you will be there to be shared by your children, your children’s children, and all the generations to come.

“More fog this morning. It is an element like paint. One feels or tends to feel that everything is made of fog.”

Fog is a paint found only in nature’s palette – a temporary varnish that lends a ghostly, softening effect, and just for a moment, a profound sense of quiet.

“I waded in and found the bottom soft with about two feet of water. So I crawled with hands and feet, and went surprisingly fast. I must have been a great surprise to the two men, appearing ‘round a point with just my head showing.”

Anderson’s unorthodox artistic methods – crawling through thickets on his hands and knees, wading chest-deep into alligator infested lagoons, climbing trees to peer into birds’ nests – are the same techniques I use in my own work.

For me, it’s not enough to simply view nature. I must venture in. I must become a part of it in order to truly see and experience – to fully realize – what it is I’m being shown. As Anderson wrote in his Horn Island logs in 1956, “Such is the life of an artist who prefers nature to art – he really should cultivate art more, but feels that his love of art will take care of itself if it has things to feed upon.”

I am honored to think there may be similarities between my photography and the incredible art produced by Walter Anderson. But the facets of Anderson’s art that resonate the deepest within me reach beyond mere technique. When Anderson writes of his desire “to climb a blade of grass with the dew still on it and spend the morning swinging in the wind,” I know that I share Walter Anderson’s pure passion for the natural world.

–– Stephen Kirkpatrick

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