An alluring aspect of the exhibition at the Fondation Cartier is its suggestion of what photographs of cars absent of people can convey.

PARIS — When accompanied by human figures, cars in photography inevitably become objects of desire. Their owners, lounging on the wide leather seats of vintage models or posing with their new shiny purchases on suburban streets, exude a sense of glee, confidence, and newfound freedom that is intimately linked to their physical proximity to a well-oiled driving machine. Autophoto, an exhibition at the Fondation Cartier for Contemporary Art in Paris that traces how the car has transformed into a fixture of photography, offers a largely rosy view of our attachment to these longtime signifiers of social status. But its numerous photos of solitary cars, devoid of human presence, also suggest that there is a certain elegance to these vehicles that emerges only when aspirations for exclusivity are cut out of the picture.

Lee Friedlander, “California,” (2008), from America by Carseries, gelatin silver print, 37.5 × 37.5 cm (courtesy Fraenkel Gallery, San Francisco)
Lee Friedlander, “California,” (2008), from America by Carseries, gelatin silver print, 37.5 × 37.5 cm (courtesy Fraenkel Gallery, San Francisco) © Lee Friedlander

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The most alluring aspect of the exhibition, however, is its suggestion of what photographs of cars absent of people can convey. Outside of human contact and the projection of our material desires, cars resting on the side of the road elicit an unexpectedly pleasant feeling of contemplation. Bernhard Fuchs’s series of abandoned automobiles in the countryside, set against misty skies, reads as a meditation on lost human ambition and the occasional willingness to discard objects that carry significant social worth. The appearance of the small red three-wheeler in “Rotes kleines Auto, Helfenberg-Haslach” (2001), for example, jars with the hilly meadow behind it, and yet it was carefully parked along the side of the road, as though its owner wanted to give it a formal resting place. In the 1970s, Langdon Clay turned his camera on cars dawdling on New York City corners at nightfall, in the few hours before the city reemerged from sleep. The vehicles are weathered, with dents and doors held together by masking tape, echoing the trash-strewn streets of midtown Manhattan. They paint an untidy portrait of the city, one that cared little for glossy storefronts and sanitized sidewalks.

By eliminating the energy and movement of human bodies, photographers were able to draw out the beauty of these automobiles. Yasuhiro Ishimoto captured the calming sight of soft, untouched snow settling on parked cars in the Chicago winter. Ray Metzker’s high-contrast photos highlight the geometry formed by cars within their urban surroundings, like in “Philadelphia” (1964), which plays up a trio of white lines formed by the gleam of an open car door, the light emanating from street lamps, and the lane divider on the pavement. Lee Friedlander, using the interior of his rental car to frame his America by Car series (1995-2009), tapped into the smooth curves of the dashboard and windshield, as well as the play of reflection in the side-view mirror.

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