Photos from Dog Days Bogotá

Minneapolis-based photographer Alec Soth is fast at work at becoming a modern master. Since his big splash at the 2004 Whitney Biennial and the appearance of his sensational debut book, Sleeping by the Mississippi (Steidl, 2004), Soth has been a steady contributor for numerous glossy magazines and his languorous landscapes and still-waters portraits much ballyhooed. With another four monographs and several major exhibitions under his belt since he continues to do much more than fulfill the promise of auspicious beginnings–40 year old Alec Soth is officially (because I say so) one of the greats.

As he prepares for an exhibition at his hometown’s Walker Art Center–amid a zillion other projects–we found a moment to talk with the photographer about his process, the creative community and his new work.

Chris Wallace: Dog Days is incredible. Tell me about that experience.

Alec Soth: Dog Days Bogotá is a book that holds a very special place for me. In 2002 my wife and I went to Colombia to adopt a baby girl. We ended up staying for a couple of months while the courts processed our paperwork. I had a lot of time on my hands, so I started taking pictures. But I had no intention of doing a book-length photography project. Mostly I was just photographing as a way to understand this place where my daughter came from.

CW: How did that change you, your eye?

AS: I ended up loving the work, but I was nervous to publish it. I mean, I still feel like I know next to nothing about Bogota. This is just a personal little series. But I’ve come to realize that there is something powerful about working in this very loose and personal way. I think about how I often prefer looking at an artist’s sketchbook than at their finished paintings.

CW: I first came in contact with your work when I saw Sleeping by the Mississippi at a Chicago Art Show and just flipped for it. The mythos, the iconography, the mise-en-scene gave me such a charge. I felt like I’d seen the work of a contemporary Robert Frank or Walker Evans–names that are almost always thrown around in your bio–but where do you come from, aesthetically? How did you come to photography?

AS: As a kid, I was creative, but not in a traditional way. I built forts and had a rich imaginary world with pretend friends and so on. Years later, after discovering contemporary art, I fell in love with British earthworks artists like Richard Long and Andy Goldsworthy. I started doing very similar work to theirs. I’d do outdoor sculptures then document them photographically. This led me to photography as a medium. But this spirit of moving through the landscape and creating my own little story was the original impulse. And I think this is something you can also see in the American road photography tradition. So, yeah, I was really inspired by those iconic photographers. I’ve since been exposed to so many other photographic traditions that my horizons have really broadened.

CW: I’m intrigued by the structuring of the books Sleeping and Niagara–or, at least, their both having a wet geographical tether point. How did you conceive of these projects? Did you have an outline you were following or at outcome you were anticipating? I know you’ve called Niagara dark, and there is a really painful tone to both the books–do you think they have a common emotional thread? A Soth-ness?

AS: Soth-ness, yikes. Makes me think of the Sothness Monster. I guess I’m not comfortable making this kind of generalized analysis. I would say there is often a feeling of longing in the work, but then I’d say that is true for so a great deal of photography. There is something about the medium that is good about touching on feelings of voyeurism and yearning. I suppose that has a lot to do with my attraction to the medium.

Niagara is indeed a dark book. But I actually don’t think of Sleeping by the Mississippi that way. The making of that work was so liberating. And I think the book ends quite optimistically with a bunch of references to Spring and Easter. But I understand why other people might read the pictures a different way.

CW: It is obvious in reading your blog that you are a fan of the game and you can get as giddy and geeky as any wonk. As a fan what gets you really jazzed?

AS: For me, all of the energy comes from books. Along with loving to make them, I get a real thrill in collecting books. Lately I’ve been collecting photographically illustrated children’s books, most of which are 50+ years old. Most of these books are totally unknown and unappreciated. I’ve found some real treasures. More importantly, I’ve learned a lot about my bookmaking from these discoveries.

CW: Along those same lines, you have talked a bit about teaching photography, are you still teaching?  How does that feed you, your work?

AS: I don’t do much formal teaching. But I’m currently a mentor to two students, one from New York and the other from San Francisco. I really enjoy working one and one with people. It isn’t about grades and administrative bs. We’re really able to sink our teeth into a single project. I feel more like a doula than a teacher.

CW: I love that you’re not afraid to jump in the discussion and mix it up on controversial topics like Larry Clark’s Teenage Lust. What is that discourse like in your world? Do you get a lot of feedback from colleagues? Can you imagine Stieglitz and Frank talking shop on their blogs?

AS: Since I don’t work at institution, I don’t have much contact with colleagues. And, while we have an excellent community of photographers here in the Twin Cities, I don’t have much time to see anybody due to the demands of family and travel. So I guess blogs help fill that void a little bit. The critic Jerry Saltz calls Facebook his Cedar Bar. I sort of understand that.

CW: I know it’s difficult to talk about aesthetics but I’d really love to hear what you think about the dynamism of your work; are you constructing narratives with your subjects in Portraits, say, or is the work spontaneous…?  A combination?  I just did a feature on Jim Harrison and would love to hear about your process in shooting one of my heroes.  And the process of shooting one of your own in Eggleston.

AS: Most of my work is conceived and executed as a book. For me the Portraits functioned as a sort of vacation from that complicated way of working. The picture is meant to be the whole enchilada. These portraits came about in different ways. The Harrison picture was an assignment. I shot Eggleston while traveling on a personal project. Each one has a story. I remember having lunch at Harrison’s house. While we ate a magnificent lunch he received a huge FedEx delivery of wine and cheese. It really gave me a peek into the way the good life is lived. The peek into Eggleston’s world was something different. And I’m afraid it isn’t the kind of story I can share here.

CW: What’s running through your mind now?  What’s next?

AS: Most of this year is being consumed by the preparation for a big exhibition at the Walker Art Center. The show is going to focus on American pictures. Along with Mississippi and Niagara, there will be some much older work and about 30% new stuff. I’m waiting to talk about this new work until it is released.
 But while I’m preparing for that show, I’m still shooting. As we speak I’m preparing the first episode of a monthly slideshow I’m going to be doing for the The New York Times. These will be little first person stories about my various travels.
 On top of that I recently launched my DIY publishing venture: Little Brown Mushroom. This is a way for me to publish other people’s books and have some fun.