Her black and white photographs line the walls in neat and orderly rows, exactly at eye level, forming a tight band around the interior of the gallery space. "How typically unoriginal," | think to myself, "an ideal muse- um display." Scores of people stand in neat little rows opposite the photographs, admiring the works with that quaint smirk, their hands neatly clasped behind their backs, slowly sidestepping from one photo to another. | know at this point there is no escape, so with a sigh, | hold my breath and dive into the queue. With my usual jaded cynicism | approach the assembly line of photographs on the wall, passing by a couple of well photographed Parisian fashion models taken by the artist in the late 1930's. No surprise, then, to discover that the artist was at the time a photographer for Vogue magazine. Under normal circumstances, this in itself would send me running from the gallery screaming, but what | see next stops me cold. You scan the images of fashion and wealth, contemplat- ing the meaninglessness of such excesses, and suddenly you're staring at a photograph of burned human remains in the crematorium furnace of a Nazi gas cham- ber. Human bones lay piled waist high as the prisoners look down upon them knowing their fate. We see Europe as it was in the thick of the Second World War; soldiers horribly burned, the looks on the surgeons faces as they work feverishly in a triage tent. We see Nazi soldiers disguised in civilian garb, having been caught and beaten, their swollen and bruised faces begging for mercy. We see the downfall of the Third Reich, Hitler's house in Wachenfeld engulfed in flames. Images of such pain and suffering that are so immediate it seems as though they just happened moments ago. The works are not distanced by irony or the cold eyes of an observer, here to capture the moments of utmost agony, or to satisfy our need to vicariously experience the suffering of others. The emotion of the artist and of the events themselves is clearly present in these pho- tographs. This strange collection of fashion models and wartime suffering continues to get even more bizarre. Still dumbstruck by the images of horror and suffering, that are photographed with the clarity and vividness of a fashion layout, | come across an image of a playful Max Ernst posing as a menacing giant, looming over a land- scape, and grabbing a fearful waist-high Dorothea Tanning by the hair. The juxtaposition of such images gives the exhibit comic relief from the tension of the war photographs. | came to be astounded not only by Miller's talent as an artist, but also by the range of noted artists whom she knew and. photographed - everyone from her mentor Man Ray to Georges Limbour, Jean Dubuffet, Picasso and Joan Miro, to name a few. My only question regarding her work is one of authen- ticity. Some of the images feel so real, perhaps too real. One can only guess at how the images were manipulat- ed, and in what way. Yet even this does not detract form the sincere quality of her photographs. | was struck by Miller's strange diversity, breadth and depth. She was a fashion photographer, a war core- spondent (the only female photographic war corespon- dent in the Second World War), and a surrealist. In work that spans both intellectual and topographic dis- tances, her attention to detail is incredible. Through her photography, Lee Miller demonstrates "an exquisite sense of finding the extraordinary in the ordinary." The Legendary Lee Miller: Photographs 1929 - 1964 Feviewed by Somerted McDonald @2 {Wl Instataion photos by Mare Hebert lal || | Not knowing what to expect from a half-hour bus ride into the unexplored veldt of North Vancouver, | wonder if making the long trek to the Presentation House Gallery will be worth enduring public transit. | get off the bus in the middle of a residential jungle, wondering why the hell anyone would stick a gallery in the middle of this suburban no man's land, After walking over twelve blocks from the 240 bus stop, | finally stumble ‘onto the front porch of Presentation House. (I find out later that the gallery is in fact only three blocks from the Sea Bus terminal. Serves me right for asking "Translink™ for directions, fuck.) enter with the most minimal of expectations, noting the exhibit is some sort of retro- spective of photographer Lee Miller Her black and white photographs line the walls in neat and orderly rows, exactly at eye level, forming a tight band around the interior of the gallery space. "How typically unoriginal," | think to myself, “an ideal muse- um display." Scores of people stand in neat litle rows opposite the photographs, admiring the works with that quaint smirk, their hands neatly clasped behind their backs, slowly sidestepping from one photo to another. | know at this point there is no escape, so with a sigh, 1 hold my breath and dive into the queue. With my usual jaded cynicism | approach the assembly line of photographs on the wall, passing by a couple of well photographed Parisian fashion models taken by the artist in the late 1930's. No surprise, then, to discover that the artist was at the time a photographer for Vogue magazine. Under normal circumstances, ths in itself would send me running from the gallery screaming, but what I see next stops me cold. You scan the images of fashion and wealth, contemplat- ing the meaninglessness of such excesses, and suddenly you're staring at a photograph of burned human remains in the crematorium furnace of a Nazi gas cham- ber. Human bones lay piled waist high as the prisoners look down upon them knowing their fate. We see Europe as it was in the thick of the Second World War, soldiers horribly bumed, the looks on the surgeons faces as they work feverishly in a triage tent. We:see Nazi soldiers disguised in civilian garb, having been caught mj ale and beaten, their swollen and bruised faces begging for mercy. We see the downfall of the Third Reich, Hitler's house in Wachenfeld engulfed in flames. Images of such pain and suffering that are so immediate it seems as though they just happened moments ago. The works are not distanced by irony or the cold eyes of an observer, here to capture the moments of utmost agony, or to satisfy our need to vicariously experience the suffering of others. The emotion of the artist and of the events themselves is clearly present in these pho- tographs. This strange collection of fashion models and wartime suffering continues to get even more bizarre. Still dumbstruck by the images of horror and suffering, that are photographed with the clarity and vividness of a fashion layout, | come across an image of a playful Max Emst posing as a menacing giant, looming over a land- scape, and grabbing a fearful waist-high Dorothea Tanning by the hair. The juxtaposition of such images gives the exhibit comic relief from the tension of the War photographs. | came to be astounded not only by Miller's talent as an artist, but also by the range of noted artists whom she knew and photographed - everyone from her mentor Man Ray to Georges Limbour, Jean Dubuffet, Picasso and Joan Miro, to name a few. ‘My only question regarding her work is one of authen- ticity. Some of the images feel so real, perhaps too real ‘One can only guess at how the images were manipulat- ed, and in what way. Yet even this does not detract form the sincere quality of her photographs. Iwas struck by Miller's strange diversity, breadth and depth. She was a fashion photographer, a war core- spondent (the only female photographic war corespon- dent in the Second World War), and a surrealist. In work that spans both intellectual and topographic dis- tances, her attention to deta is incredible. Through her photography, Lee Miller demonstrates "an exquisite sense of finding the extraordinary in the ordinary."