“Let there be a vault between the waters to separate water from water.”
-Genesis
Hiroshi Sugimoto’s series Seascapes majestically captures the infinitesimal nature of two of life’s building blocks— water and air—at times sharpening the horizon that delineates the two, at others blurring them together into a seamless, formless entity. By leaving a prolonged exposure on his camera, Sugimoto successfully collapses any of the instantaneous associations with the field of photography, turning each final image into an ethereal time capsule. The images in the series, therefore, are less about the physical attributes of the seas and more about their metaphysical essence. Accuracy in form is usurped by a spiritual presence. As such, the images are untethered to notions of time or even location. Indeed, outside the titles, Sugimoto removes any allusions to human presence. No vessels floating nearby, no visible terrains in the horizons. Despite their titles, the Seascapes are not about locations, but rather, the most stripped-down and minimalist portrayal thereof. They predate humanity. They are primordial.
In the current lot, Tyrrhenian sea, Mount Polo (Morning, day, night), Sugimoto presents a triptych—the only one from the Seascapes series—whose impact far exceeds the mere combination of three distinct images. Each image, presumably photographed from the same elevated position but at different times of the day, presents an image devoid of any distinction between sea and water. This creates a further dilution of an already stark scene, transporting the viewers back to a time that precedes even the existence of seas and sky, when all that existed was light; Day One of Creation. Accordingly, Sugimoto has stated, “I’m inviting the spirits into my photography. It’s an act of God.” And yet, Tyrrhenian sea, Mount Polo (Morning, day, night), is not about religion. Rather, it is an invocation of the beginning, of what existed before there were divisions of land and sea and countries. It is the distillation of a place to peaceful purity. Moreover, as a triptych, its strength lies in the passage of time, fading from translucent light to complete darkness, marking the sole boundaries by which the passage of time can be measured.
The serenity of the Tyrrhenian sea, Mount Polo (Morning, day, night) is owed to its meditation on tonality, removing any reference to form. In that regard, the triptych shares much in common with the works of American Post-War artists Ad Reinhardt and Mark Rothko, who reduced their paintings to nearly formless expressions of mood and atmosphere by turning color into the sole focal point of their art. Indeed, Sugimoto’s Tyrrhenian sea, Mount Polo (Morning, day, night) packs a contemplative and monumental impact that exceeds its physical qualities, imbued with a sacred tranquility.