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Show 1 Ten O'Clock Whistle I by David Fleisher Picturing Park City in a new book It's been quite some time since I wrote a book review, however I came across a recently-published book about Park City that I think deserves closer scrutiny. Now before you read further, it would only be fair to inform you that a more sophisticated review of this book, not written by me, appears in Section B of this issue of the paper. The book, entitled PARK CITlf, consists of over one hundred pages of photographs and several pages of essay. It is handsomely bound; the pages are thick and slick; all of the photographs are black and white, making them easy to see for people who are color blind; and the book costs $75, making it difficult to buy for people on a fixed income. The photographs were taken by nationally-renowned photographer Lewis Baltz, who spent over two years in Park City recording what he saw. I'll tell you what he saw in a moment, but let me first say that I think the quality of Mr. Baltz' s work is exceptional. He has mastered the art of putting his finger on the clicker and making the shutter open and close. He has yet to master, however the art of pointing the lens in the right direction. Although this heavy, expensive book is called, PARK CITY, a more appropriate title might be, Prospector Square, because most, if not all, of the photographs were taken in this part of town. And they were taken when Prospector Square was being constructed. Do you know what Prospector Square looked like before it was built? It wasn't very attractive; in fact, it was quite ugly, actually. And that, essentially, is what this book is all about: ugliness. - Here's a random sampling of a few photographs in PARK CITY: On the first page, you see an aerial view of Prospector Square with a few scattered houses and empty parking lots. On page six, hillsides, twisted wire, and dirt. On page nine, more dirt. On page fourteen, more dirt, lumber and a fence. On page eighteen mounds of dirt, and a house.' Turning to page thirty-eight, you have rocks, crevaces and dirt. On page forty-two, five pieces of lumber on top of a relatively small mound of dirt. On page sixty, dirt in a surrealistic setting, reminiscent of the movie, APOCALYPSE NOW. On page sixty-five, there's an exhilirating photograph depicting a worn-out paint bucket, a concoction of trash and loose newspapers. On pages seventy to seventy-five, the photographer went clicky-clicky on wiring in a yet-to-be-built house. If you happen to get tired of looking at wires, turn two pages and you can see four nails, all of which are crooked as opposed to straight. And on page eighty-two we're back to the dirt scenes. There's a rather interesting shot of an empty bath tub on page eight-four; and on page ninety-six, the bath tub, still unoccupied, is wrapped in plastic. Turning to page ninety-eight, you have two closets, also unoccupied. And finally, on page one hundred and one, there's a close-up shot of two apparently empty sacks and two light bulb containers, one empty and the other one possibly full. . Assuming one has the stamina to look at all of these , photographs, still more stamina is required because On page two-hundred and seventeen, a vast array of words, 'also in black and white, appear and continue for nearly thirty more pages to the end of the book. Although moderately interesting at times, the most that can be said about the text is that it doesn't contain any dirt. However, parts of the text are so esoteric that they are barely comprehensible to the average person. Here's a brief example: "I do not believe that photographs are self-contained, at least not in the formalist sense of being autonomous worlds (like paintings) or monads (like individuals). I take one consequence of this belief to set the task of writing about photographs as being that of placing, and often replacing, them in the world (from which they came), and, by implication, of also placing ourselves relative to them, together in the middest." If any of that stuff makes any sense to you, I'd appreciate your writing and letting me know exactly what it means. In all fairness, it should be noted again that the text contains no dirt and the words are in balck and white, two definite pluses, one for people who hate dirt, and the other for people who are color blind. This book may serve two good purposes: (1) as a conversation piece, and (2) for short people who want to sit higher up in a chair. As I walk up Main Street, I hear the Ten O'Clock Whistle. |