Riddell’s Photo Book “The Range of Memory” Warrants Comparisons to Adams

By Todd Wilkinson, 4-06-06

I have a cherished signed copy of Ansel Adam's 1950 picture book "My Camera in the National Parks" given to me by my mother in law.

Right there, black and white image No. 22, is Adams' famous portrait "The Teton Range and the Snake River," one of five clicks of the Tetons he made during a thunderstorm at the overlook north of the town with the elk antler archways adorning its city park. It is reportedly the most widely circulated impression of these mountains ever made. His work commands the distinction with many landmarks.

Of Adams own approach to nature photography, he commented: "I begin with the primal aspects of the world and end just before the naturalist takes over." His point was that human explanation need not always get in the way of illumination that is perfectly clear. But sometimes, it requires an artistic shaman to slow down the circus merry-go-round and make the rest of us stop, just long enough, to commit extraordinary visions into our conscious memories.

Along with Edward Weston and Eliot Porter, Adams is remembered as one of America's greatest landscape photographers. While the 20th century, which belonged to them, is now gone, they have a spiritual heir in Edward Riddell of Jackson Hole.

In the new photo book "The Range of Memory", we are treated to 58 of Riddell's finest images composed in the decades since Weston, Porter and Adams left the scene. In style, panache, restraint, simplicity, and devotion to the tradition of photography as a fine art medium, Riddell's work is reminiscent of Adams on the master's finest days afield.

What Adams communicated as a non-verbal linguist proclaiming the moods and majesty of U.S. national parks in the West, Riddell in this book establishes himself as the pre-eminent interpreter of Yellowstone, Grand Teton and the surrounding environs. "I've always been fascinated by the concept of natural beauty. Yes, I know this is dangerous ground," Riddell writes. "Many people see the search for beauty in art as archaic and sentimental. Despite this I continue to be drawn to moments of grace in the natural world. If my search is sentimental, so be it. More than ever before, I believe the world needs moments of beauty, if for no other reason than to keep our lives in balance."

The book's dramatic cover shot, a swirl of stormy atmospherics and careful composition, portrays the Tetons from behind the arch of a terminal moraine, a mesmerizing distillation of the organic, geological and ambient elements that have come to distinguish Riddell's eye. On the following pages, there is much more to swoon over in a collection that is part haiku and part reflection. Behind the camera, Riddell possesses the power to hypnotically hold our attention, indeed to engulf us and cause us to daydream, as any great landscape painter does.

It's only fitting that not only is "The Range of Memory" published by Livingston, Montana-based Clark City Press which is owned by painter Russell Chatham, but that Riddell's visual canon is accompanied by essays from Terry Tempest Williams, the high priestess of American contemporary nature writing who recently settled in Jackson Hole from Utah.

"Much of photography today is about style, celebrity, shock value, and pessimism," Williams writes. However, with Riddell, there is wonderment born of humility and hope. The same kind of poetic tonalism evident in Chatham's paintings flows through Riddell and Williams whose pairing in this volume makes for an ideal match. As Williams, who has been making trips to the Tetons for 30 years, notes: "If Henri Cartier-Bresson captures 'the decisive moment' then Ed Riddell captures wild peace.'"

Indeed it is the unflinching peaceful grace of nature, whether one applies spiritual shades to the analogy or not, that is the essence of what some might call artistic timelessless——i.e. that great aesthetic force of yearning that unites people of differing eras, affinities, and beliefs together.

Aside from Williams' elegant narrative, this book isn't meant to be another star turn for her. The glory here belongs to Riddell. As his corpus reminds us, nature can be about truth or it can convey mystery; it can exude sublime beauty or it can elicit a forlorn sigh. Or, when conveyed in the hands of a brilliant photographer, it can suggest all of the above in the same frame. Like "My Camera in the National Parks," "The Range of Memory" is certain to become a photographic classic. On my shelf today, there's another volume rising next to the ones by Adams, Weston and Porter.

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