Philip Heying's Hoarfrost
Reflecting on the seasons as we coast into spring. Plus, an essay about photography and consciousness.
“On a lonely winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a silence.”
— John Keats
Is it spring yet?
Many of you know that I’m a sucker for winter pictures. I’ve written about them here previously. For whatever reason, this has been a very mild winter. In January, we had an enormous dump of snow, and I shoveled daily. Then things dried up. It’s been cold but not wet, which means very little snow. For the most part, that’s fine. But I can’t help but feel like we’re losing something important.
Back in December, I asked Philip Heying to send me some of his winter pictures. Philip is one of my favorite photographers. Do you know his work? I love reading his Facebook posts because he’s so thoughtful about photography. And obviously, he’s a hell of an imagemaker. Philip sent a small batch of winter images, and I pulled them out today. It’s sunny and pushing forty-five degrees Fahrenheit in Madison this afternoon. That’s good for all of the reasons you’d expect, but I found myself missing the winters of my childhood as I looked at Philip’s photos today.
I asked him to tell me about this one. It’s an extraordinary picture and an ethereal representation of the natural world. This is what I love about Philip’s photography: he sees beauty everywhere, and he's not ashamed to show it. I think you’ll agree this one’s a stunner. Here’s how he described it:
I made this picture about 500 yards from my house, looking off the bridge over the South Fork Cottonwood River just east of Matfield Green, Kansas, at 10:47 a.m. on January 23, 2023.
I noticed the hoarfrost early in the morning when I woke up and went out to photograph it before the fog that formed the frost lifted. But those first pictures didn't work out. They seemed too simple and obvious. Only later in the morning, when the sun hit the frost crystals, I started to see things that interested me. The sunlight made many more things happen.
I'm reluctant to pin the picture's meaning down too much. I can say that the basic premise of much of my work is a search for visual evidence of fundamental structures in Nature in the hope of figuring out how we all fit between sunlight (starlight), ice crystals (H2O), air, vegetation, space, time… where I am and where we all might be going. It's a straightforward premise, but it's also so fundamental and infinitely mysterious, too often under-appreciated or taken for granted, that it keeps a hold on me and constantly surprises me.
Gorgeous, right? I hope you’ll explore Philip’s website when you have time. He’s working on an exciting new body of work now. There’s lots to see there.
About the photographer
Philip Heying, born in 1959 in Kansas City, Missouri, learned the basics of photography in middle school. In 1983, he earned a BFA in painting from the University of Kansas. During college, Philip was introduced to William S. Burroughs and met Albert Hoffman, Allen Ginsberg, Brion Gysin, and Timothy Leary.
In 1985, he crossed the Atlantic on a coal freighter to live in Paris. The experience of learning a new language and culture had a profound effect on his photography. His first solo exhibition was in 1989 at Galerie Agathe Gaillard in Paris. He has continued exhibiting and publishing his work internationally since then.
In 2008, Philip returned to Kansas. He became a professor of photography at Johnson County Community College, teaching three curricula and managing the photo facility. He has completed eleven books and had prints acquired by the Nelson Atkins Museum of Art and Spencer Museum of Art and other significant collections.
In the spring of 2022, he was awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship in Photography. He lives in Matfield Green, Kansas.
One more thing…
In addition to being a thoughtful photographer, Philip is an inquisitive writer. He’s constantly suggesting things for me to read, and I always appreciate his perspective. You might, too. Please review his “Thoughts On Photography and Consciousness” essay and let me know your thoughts. Enjoy!
Thank you for introducing me to his work. Philip's life has a lot of connections to my own—born and raised in and around KC, went to KU, and now lives in the same county that my father grew up in (Chase County). I'll need to look at more of his shots.
Thanks for bringing us a taste of Philip's work. I've never heard of hoarfrost before, it looks to be a wonderous experience and I hope to get to see one someday.