A rarely used medium, animated lenticular photography sits somewhere between a still image, and film, creating an illusion of animation on a flat photograph. The word lenticular is light, thin and neatly articulated. It suggests something almost steampunk. While not of another era, photo artist Tina Fiveash’s use of animated lenticular photography in her latest exhibition, GRACE, certainly emulates something eerie and nostalgic.
When I enter Kudos Gallery, I notice Tina has displayed the exhibition with great attention to balance and space, meaning the eye can concentrate on one piece without being disturbed by others. Lenticular works stand alone in the centre of the room, while the gallery’s four walls feature still images taken from the central pieces. Before leaving me to explore, Tina explains, ‘A lot of people have had an emotional reaction to some of the photographs in the collection.’ It’s apparent why. I am struck by the subtle movements animated lenticular photography gives to an image. For example, Grace, the work that lends the exhibition its name, is a portrait-style photo of a young lady standing on an overcast beach. As I pass the photo, the girl’s eyelid’s close and reopen, and a brief crack of lightening against the waning pink sky flickers in and out of the image. The impression is haunting, and the picture seems to exist without time or space imposing.
Again, a piece titled, The Man Who Dreamed He Could Fly hypnotises the viewer. I stare at the lines in the image: a man’s open arm span as his arms flap up and down, the direction of passing trains in the background, and the angle of the tracks and looming wires. Most striking is the stillness of the figure’s chest among the train and arm movement – it seems to hold the image together between frames. Each of Tina’s works posses this removal from reality and the temporal. Like a dream, the audience can replay a single motion endlessly by positioning themselves differently in front of an image. Changes are slight, singular, and consequently draw the audiences’ eye.
At the back of the gallery, all of Tina’s lenticular works are projected like short films in a loop against a stage wall. There is one sequence during the loop that is omitted from the central exhibition due to the darkness and slight movement of the shot; Dream Sequence II features a close up of a man’s head lying against the ground in the dark, his eyes opening and closing, pupils and iris glistening in some unseen half-light – both elusive and melancholy to watch. Accompanying the loop are short soundscapes, echoing throughout the entire exhibition, all calming and hypnotic; waves rushing against one another, the rise and fall of a whistling wind, or a deep, meditative hum. Again, like a dream, Fiveash has created sensory limitation, heightening sound and sight and leaving the viewer yearning smell and touch. The combination of intensity and remoteness is pleasantly unnerving.
Despite the collection of subtly moving figures, my favourite work is one of the stills that couldn’t be developed into a lenticular animation. Dream Sequence – contrasting shadows against a murky-pale, placid Hudson River – drew the eye to black shapes protruding from the water, and the silhouette of a wire fence netted over the scene. It is apparent Tina has a great eye for the salient, and an exciting flair for creating visceral impact using uncomplicated, understated movements in an image. I’m sitting tight for her next venture using this innovative medium.
Tina’s exhibition is free, and runs until March 5th in Sydney at Kudos Gallery, 6 Napier Street, Paddington, Wed-Fri 11am-6pm; Sat 11am-4pm.
