Manuel Alvarez Bravo
views into acute poetry. "One has to put blinders on him till the destination of the day is reached, or he is out of film before he gets there," a friend has observed.
Though acclaimed by colleagues around the world as a master photographer, and the recipient of several prestigious awards, Alvarez Bravo one of whose prints recently sold for $54,970 remains so little known that even the UMMA misspelled his name on its exhibit publicity. Tucked in a closetlike, nearly hidden space around the corner from a prominently displayed Ansel Adams exhibit, the works don't draw many visitors. Given that probably every Ann Arborite has at one point owned an Ansel Adams calendar, T-shirt, or tote bag, I wish the museum had chosen instead to spotlight Alvarez Bravo's differently beautiful but equally deserving work.
The sinister Box of Visions presents a woman holding a cloth like a tent over her head, her body encased in a festively decorated box into which three battered viewing boxes are inset. How Small the World Is depicts a tiny woman and man on a vast sidewalk next to a wall over which hang pennants of immaculate white laundry, hinting at commonalities connecting separate lives. Window to the Choir (left) shows a tiny window deeply set in a narrow street of hill-shaped houses seemingly carved and smoothed from solid rock. It prompts an immediate desire to climb the inches-wide stairs and touch the sun-warmed domelike wall.