When I first walked into Stephen Bulger Gallery to see Joan Lyons’s retrospective exhibition, I exclaimed without much thought: These are so contemporary!

A truly inane statement on my part, for many reasons. First, Joan Lyons is a contemporary artist who continues to make work into her 80s. Secondly, the work I was referring to was made in 1973, not the 1700s. And lastly, why would something being “contemporary” necessarily be a compliment?

Untitled (from the Artifacts Portfolio), 1973 © Joan Lyons / courtesy Stephen Bulger Gallery

I guess what I meant is that there’s an enduring quality to the work.

Photography, at its best, can capture something fundamental about the human condition. This is exactly what Lyons does. I look at her photographs, and I see myself, despite the half-century of time between us. Whether a frustrating conversation with a male doctor, a jacket that I could see myself wearing, or the faces of a woman staring unwaveringly at the camera—there I am.

In “Xerox Transfer Drawings: Women’s Portrait Series,” which spanned from 1972-1980, Lyons set out to capture historical representations of women, by women. Through multiple transfers of the Xerox machine—I recall creating similar portraits as a young girl visiting my mom at work—a single image is constructed. “They are not naturalistic, but awkward in gesture, immobile and flattened—women frozen in their representations,” writes Lyons in the accompanying description of the work. “They countermand the idea of a photographic portrait as the record of a fleeting moment. In the 1970s, I was seeking to find myself as a woman within my culture and to locate my art practice within the history of artmaking.”

“Untitled (from Womens’ Portrait Series)” 1974. © Joan Lyons / courtesy Stephen Bulger Gallery

In these photographs, the image plane is skewed at an unnatural angle.

It’s like gravity doesn’t exist. The portraits feel close, as if the bodies are pressed up against the other side of the glass. The lack of any telling historical or geographic information in these images creates an artifact that exists outside of time.

Lyons writes that she was interested in “constructing,” rather than “taking,” a photograph. This construction of a photographic image is central to most, if not all, of Lyons’s work. Her exhibition at Stephen Bulger Gallery through February 28 feels like a journey through the history of photography.

Lyons wasn’t precious about what camera she used or pledged a relentless allegiance to one brand.

Instead, she used various techniques and equipment—including Xerography, screen-printing, Diazo paper, large-format Polaroids, digital cameras and pinhole photography—as a way to communicate. Through the quirks and features of each, Lyons leans into the medium’s uses and misuses, wielding the camera to best capture not only the reality of life but also its undercurrents of emotion.

Polaroids

About her series of large-scale Polaroids from 1980, Lyons writes: “ ‘Presences’ is an investigation of photographic portraiture. The images have a lot to do with multiple selves and with faces as masks. In these long exposures, bodies move, and backgrounds are stationary.” The images are jarring at times; my mind can’t compute how they were achieved. A face is slightly disfigured with motion or seemingly collaged together. In another, a woman in the foreground is oversaturated and blurry, whereas the background is crisply in focus and well saturated. The blend of abstraction and realism compresses time. These photographs are not snapshots meant to capture a single moment. By shunning this style of capture, they capture something more viscerally close to the unusual reality of life.

Me, reflected

I couldn’t help but photograph myself within the negative space of one of the Polaroid photographs, layering my face on top of the subjects. A mask on a mask. A photograph of a photograph. Another layer of history. For the Silo, Tatum Dooley/artforecast.

Featured image- Untitled, from the “Presences” portfolio, 1980 © Joan Lyons / courtesy Stephen Bulger Gallery