It was a mild November day in the Northeast and yet I was in Siberia.
There were men, women and children bundled in layers of furs, in a caravan, covering vast expanses of snow and ice in fierce wind, sun barely coming through the fog and clouds. Beautiful and stark, the images sent a chill through me as I stood before them.
Transported, I’ll tell you, right there at the International Center of Photography (ICP) in New York City. An exhibit called Genesis featuring the work of photographer Sebastiao Salgado took my friend and me from Antarctica to Brazil to Madagascar to Indonesia to the South Sandwich Islands. Around each corner, another surprise.
Desert, volcano, mountain, sky reflected in rivers.
So often when we visit a museum or become acquainted with works of art, it opens us up to possibilities about places we might want to visit. This was different. Salgado opens up the world to us, mostly in places we know we’ll never visit. We can’t even believe he was there, embedding himself so thoroughly as to get intimate and revelatory photographs like the ones before us.
Indigenous peoples, wildlife, seascapes.
How did he get a photo of the inside of their home, built precariously high in a tree? Did they invite him in? What must that be like? Once in, how did he make them forget he was there? How does one blend into the woodwork, so to speak?
Sand dunes. Rock formations. Pristine rows of trees that look almost fake. Lines of clouds that frame and divide landscapes. Glassy icebergs.
Salgado has us in helicopters and balloons, or at least living vicariously through him as he points his lens and captures the Earth in ways beyond comprehension. How long did he wait for just the right light and angle?
Penguins hanging out, as far as the eye can see, occupying expanses so vast they appear endless. Sea lions, too. Hundreds. No, thousands. This is their world. Salgado is a short-term visitor giving us a slice of their life.
And while for those shots the wide lens allows us to see multitudes, perhaps nothing is more striking than when Salgado gains the trust of one animal. We now have an idea what it’s like to look into the eyes of a ready-to-pounce leopard or a massive, charging elephant. From across the room I see what appears to be a whale’s tail, so up close it’s daunting. I cross the room to inspect it and the placard says it’s a Southern Right whale in the Valdes Peninsula, Argentina. I can almost feel the spray of water it kicks up.
I live riveted to consistently and persistently letting in the immense talent of my fellow humans, allowing it to take me on a breathtaking journey for a few minutes or an afternoon. I go with that flow and it always makes me feel like I am living and engaging fully.
How often do I find myself looking at an elephant in the mist in Zambia?
A window on the world like no other.
By Nancy Colasurdo
