Developing The Art Of Photography: 'Man Ray In The Age Of Electricity'

There is, however, far more to the images on view at the Heckscher than technical acrobatics. The abstract rayographs and sensuous portraits in which solarization imbues mere mortals with the glow of Olympians say as much about Paris in the 1920s and 1930 as they do about art.

The accident that gave birth to the rayographs occurred one night in 1922 while Man Ray was making contact prints for his day job as fashion photographer for the couturier Paul Poiret. A sheet of unexposed light-sensitive paper accidentally made its way into the developing tray. While the photographer waited for an image to come up, he slipped into the tray a funnel, tube and thermometer. Looking at the paper under electric light, Man Ray saw that the objects had burned in. Their images were ambiguous and refracted, white against a black background. Not only that, they appeared to be three-dimensional. In short, they had become art.

Enthralled with the possibilities, he repeated the process throughout the night using whatever was handy, including his room key - which is how we know he had room 37. Embellishing his technique, the artist soon discovered that he did not have to dip objects into liquid developer. He could create art simply by placing items on dry paper and exposing them to the light.

By the time dawn arrived, Man Ray had christened the process rayographs.

The rayographs (or rayograms, as they are sometimes called) became overnight sensations. Tristan Tzara, champion of Dadaism, claimed them as prime examples of the movement. Poiret paid cash for two. Jean Cocteau wrote, "Your mysterious arrangements are superior to all the still lifes that seek to overcome the flat canvas and the prestigious mix of colors." Vanity Fair touted the new technique with a rayograph titled "Composition of Objects Selected with Both Eyes Closed."

A decade later, a French electric company (La Campagnie Parisiene de Distribution d'Électricité) commissioned Man Ray to create a portfolio of ten rayographs for promotional use. Man Ray designed the packaging. Rayographs are by their very nature unique. The unique rayographs in "Electricité," a limited edition portfolio of 400 (perhaps 450; reports vary) were duplicated in photogravure. Only a few editions survive today. One of them is on display at the Heckscher, a loan from Williams College Museum of Art.

Eighty-four years after the invention of the rayograph, the prints are uncannily modern looking. One outstanding example - untitled, as are many - features a comb, straight razor, blade, needles and other forms. Another is composed of hand, scarf, brush and cotton. Wayne explained, "There seems to be no rhyme or reason to combining a can opener and a comb and a bullet and a razor, but by putting them together they become interesting. And that was what the Dadaists were about - they felt the world had gone mad [with World War I], so why pretend to be rational and logical and reasonable? Let's celebrate chance and absurdity, they said."

And so they did for a while, pushing and pulling against the encroaching draw of surrealism. (The philosophic battles frequently ended up in fistfights. Man Ray was able to walk a fine line between the two because, armed with camera, he managed to stage an objective purchase on the outside of the circles, although he was fully accepted as being a member of both camps.) In 1923, however, Man Ray was called upon by Tzara to make a movie for what became Dada's last stand - an evening of contemporary works, with music by Stravinsky, Milhaurd, Auric and Satie, a film by Man Ray, a poetry reading and an absurd play Tzara had penned.

Man Ray reluctantly agreed to compile some unrelated scenes, products of his experimentation with a small automatic camera that could capture only a few seconds of motion. Tzara convinced him to add rayographs to lengthen the film to at least three minutes of nonsense. Called Return to Reason, it will be shown on Sunday, June 6, at the Cinema Arts Center in Huntington, along with other Man Ray films, including Emak Bakia. The collaboration between the Cinema Arts Center and the Heckscher Museum of Art includes a talk by Wayne before the film, brunch and a tour of "Man Ray in the Age of Electricity."

Moving on, as time and technique will, the second focus of the show is on Man Ray's solarization.

In solarization, nothing changes in the way the photographer captures the image on film; the trick is in the developing.

As with rayographs, solarization stemmed from a darkroom accident. Lee Miller, one of Man Ray's assistants, quixotically took responsibility for causing the initial accident. Letting out a yell when something crawled across her foot in the darkroom, she panicked and turned on the lights. In the developing tank were a dozen nearly fully developed negatives of a nude against a black background. Thinking fast, Man Ray plunged the negatives into the hypo, and when he later examined the prints, he found that the light had exposed the black background.

Man Ray considered the effect the studied application of a process Alfred Stieglitz had exhibited long before. However, he liked it enough to give it a name - solarization - and adopted it as his own.

"We were very lucky to get loans from all the great museums," Wayne commented. "We have solarized portraits, some nudes, two pictures of Kiki of Montparnasse, both stunning. One is from 1928, another a bit later. There's a self-portrait. Two photos of Picasso. A great photo of Georges Braque. Juan Gris, the Cubist painter. Those are the more famous portraits."

The solarized images appear to fit neatly into the category of surrealism. As Wayne explained, "A good example is the photograph of Kiki sleeping." (Many readers will know Kiki of Montparnasse as the nude whose back is touched up to resemble a violin in the famous work "Violon d'Ingres," 1924.) "Basically, the solarizations are surreal in that the figures glow. You don't get that documentary, straightforward photograph. The figures seem to be almost extraterrestrial or ultra- or superhuman. They sort of glow - which gives them that extra quality or edge. The same with 'Calla Lilies,' another photo in the show. You look at them and then you look some more because they keep glowing. There seems to be some special quality to them. That's what makes them surreal."

Although Man Ray continued to employ the technique throughout his long career, the most outstanding examples date to the 1930s and 1940s.

Looking beyond the techniques of rayography and solarization, one glimpses the aura of the era. Man Ray was the first artist to sling a camera with a painterly eye. He was part of the avant-garde but flirted easily with the leisure class. He is responsible for the famous death portrait of Marcel Proust and the man who captured Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas at home in front of the fire and the art. Marcel Duchamp was his closest friend and chess opponent. Picasso, Piccabia, Breton and so many others were indebted to him for seeing their personalities through the lens and exposing their personas on paper.

He took one of the first pictures of Coco Chanel, just days after she introduced "the little black dress," which his old employer, Poiret, called "undernourished."

Wherever Man Ray traveled creatively, he returned with photographic icons that demand attention.

The vintage photographs at the Heckscher are on loan from MoMA, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Williams College Museum of Art, the Man Ray Trust and several private collectors and dealers.

Because of the fragility of the images - they must be shown under light restrictions - the show will not travel. To Man Ray aficionados, this may be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see the rayographs and solarizations together in one place.

The Heckscher Museum of Art is at Two Prime Avenue. For information, 631-351-3250 or www.heckscher.org.