Phone, White House Lawn, 1970.The White House is nowhere in this photograph, though its lawn is named; what I am given instead is a run of iron palings, a hedge gone soft with shade, and a black telephone set down on the ground…
Police, Ohio, 1970.In this striking black and white photograph by Clark Winter, we're transported to a quintessential American scene from 1970 - a Delaware Police car parked at a Burger Chef drive-in during the night…
Auto Wash, New York City, 1971.Three panels of hand-lettered instruction hang at eye level across the top of the frame—BRAKE OFF, CAR IN PARK, MOTOR ON—and it is on those words that Clark Winter has built the picture.
Curlers, Ohio, 1971.A car passes, and the camera holds still long enough to let it smear: the flanks of the sedan dissolve into a gray wash of reflected trees, while the woman inside stays sharp.
Decision Time, Ohio, 1971.The road forks ahead, and a lone roadside store sits in the crook of the Y, its Marathon sign the only landmark for miles of flat Ohio farmland.
Filling Station, Sparta, Ohio, 1971.The Shell logo is the giveaway. Not the word SHELL, which any forecourt in America had, but the actual scallop hanging off a bracket bolted to the roof ridge, swinging slightly the way those things…
Gardener, Garden City, New York City, 1971.Born October 27, 1951, Winter was merely twenty years old when he captured this image, demonstrating extraordinary artistic maturity.
Pasture, New Hampshire, 1971.A piebald pony grazes in a meadow of tall summer grass, and just behind it, half-swallowed by the trees, sits an old American car, its pale body marooned where the field meets the woods.
Romance, 1971.A fairground after dark is a machine built to manufacture intimacy, and Winter’s picture takes the proposition at its word.
Atlas Seed, Mount Liberty, Ohio, 1972.The car gets there first. Its dark roof and the long curve of a door fill the bottom third of the frame, a smooth unlettered shape that the camera has rendered almost as pure tone, and behind it the…
Davos, Switzerland, 1972.What fixes this picture is not the tree but the glass in front of it.
Drive-In Church, Ohio, 1972.An empty stage is already a complete work of theatre.
Fire, 1972.Almost everything here is brown going to black: the varnished bar top, the beamed ceiling, the ranked bottles receding into shadow, the woman’s dark sleeveless dress.
Pizza, 1972.Two kinds of light divide this frame between them.
Politics, Florence, Italy, 1972.The thing you can't stop reading is the little Fiat 500 parked dead centre, the cream one, because somebody has taped VOTA COMUNISTA right across its rump, just below the rear window, as if the car…
Today's Special, Albion, New York, 1972.TO-DAY’S Special, promises the sign, the hyphen a holdover from an older America, the script flourish borrowed from a diner menu.
Vota Gucci, 1972.Whose name is on the ballot? The one running for office across this Roman-looking street is GUCCI, spelled out in fat chrome capitals above a shopfront sealed behind corrugated shutters.
White Top, Ohio, 1972.The whole picture turns on a single rhyme: the taut white vinyl of the convertible's raised top and, behind it, the pale plastered wall of a church whose lancet windows lift into pointed arches.
Halloween, Delaware, Ohio, 1973.“Halloween, Delaware, Ohio, 1973”. Clark Winter captures a poignant moment in American cultural history-a child walking alone on a chilly autumn evening in the early 1970s.
Passing Car, Illinois, 1973.Which way is the car actually going? Away from us, it turns out — drifting over into the oncoming lane, already half-past, two heads behind the windshield who will never know they became the subject…
Popeye and Pluto, 1973.The white-T-shirted man has just said something, or is about to; his mouth is parted, one hand lifted from his coffee mug as if to shape a word still in the air.
Speed Trap, New York, 1973.A grass verge in New York, where the road curves politely through trees: here the ambush is set.
Wrestling, 1973.It is the age of the console television, that piece of furniture on casters that arrived in the American living room and began performing to it around the clock.
Parking Lot, Manhattan, 1974.Asphalt Reverie: Clark Winter's "Parking Lot, Manhattan, 1974" Winter's photograph captures Manhattan during a pivotal moment—1974's oil crisis and fiscal emergency.
Street Parking, Minnesota, 1982.Clark Winter's "Street Parking, Minnesota, 1982" masterfully captures the essence of American small-town life through documentary photography's unblinking eye.
Airborne Egg, 1998.The thing about an egg is that it wants to roll.
Dancing Window, 1998.A window at night seen from outside, its panes lit from within by a flat white screen.
Driftwood Steps, 1998.The door is withheld. These steps — a stump, salvaged planks, a squared beam, two concrete slabs sunk into packed dirt — climb toward an entrance the frame declines to show, so the act of arrival…
Gathering West, 1998.André Kertész got whole novels out of the empty chairs of Paris parks, and Clark Winter works the same rich seam on a windier stage: a homemade twig armchair, a pedestal table, and a scatter of birch…
June's Forge, 1998.A window, seen from inside, divided down the middle by a heavy dark mullion.
June's Heart, 1998.Selenium cools a black-and-white print toward the mineral: blacks deepen until they are nearly blue, whites stay bone, and the greys between take on the finish of stone.
Stone Egg, 1998.A large smooth stone, the shape and the colour of a goose egg, has been balanced on top of a forked stick.
Pray For Us, 2011.Someone climbed this hill with a sack of white stones and spelled PRAY FOR US across the slope, letter by letter, large enough to be read from the road.