Tim Bradley earned his BFA and MFA degrees in photography from Art Center College of Design in Pasadena, California. After Art Center he pursued dual interests as a photographer and teacher, exhibiting his work through the Jan Turner gallery in Los Angeles and joining the Visual Arts faculty at Cal State, Northridge. In 1991, Bradley was appointed chair of photography at Art Center. He served as chair until 2000, when he left to open a freelance studio where he completed projects for The Advocate, Esquire, Fortune, Oprah and other editorial clients. He is currently teaching in the new MFA program in photography at Brooks Institute and he also chairs the visual arts department at an independent high school outside of Los Angeles.
In December of 2012, Craig Krull Gallery will present an exhibition of Bradley's photography from 1978- 1981 titled California Dwelling.
Artist's Statement:
California Dwelling
From 1978 to 1981, I photographed in a neighborhood that had an uncanny visual presence. The layering of ancient bungalows, postwar apartments, outdated cars, and contemporary suburban life made the place look like no one knew what decade it was. Sunlight burnished surfaces with a pastel vibrance and night brought out illuminated doorbells and impossible shadows, projecting a feeling of theatricality.
The view from the sidewalk could be disarming. It seemed as though time was holding its breath to accommodate the incidental arrangements of a suburban tableau. Looking at the groundglass I often felt that I was engulfed in a virtual space rather than aiming at a subject, as if I had stumbled onto a stage set or into someone else’s memory.
For four years I looked and photographed. My interest was aesthetic at first, inspired by the color photography emerging during the 70s and the unexpected beauty of my surroundings. But I soon realized that I was also documenting a fragile corner of southern California that would soon be overwritten. I made prints from about one hundred negatives and put everything into storage for thirty years.
In 2010, I brought some of the negatives to Chip Leavitt at Lumiere Editions in Burbank. Chip prints for William Eggleston, Richard Misrach, John Baldessari, and other artists. He began the process of scanning and digitally restoring the negatives, bringing them back to life. My weekly drive to Lumiere takes me on a freeway over the neighborhood where I once shot.
The distant memory I sensed long ago has turned out to be my own.
In December of 2012, Craig Krull Gallery will present an exhibition of Bradley's photography from 1978- 1981 titled California Dwelling.
From 1978 to 1981, I photographed in a neighborhood that had an uncanny visual presence. The layering of ancient bungalows, postwar apartments, outdated cars, and contemporary suburban life made the place look like no one knew what decade it was. Sunlight burnished surfaces with a pastel vibrance and night brought out illuminated doorbells and impossible shadows, projecting a feeling of theatricality.
The view from the sidewalk could be disarming. It seemed as though time was holding its breath to accommodate the incidental arrangements of a suburban tableau. Looking at the groundglass I often felt that I was engulfed in a virtual space rather than aiming at a subject, as if I had stumbled onto a stage set or into someone else’s memory.
For four years I looked and photographed. My interest was aesthetic at first, inspired by the color photography emerging during the 70s and the unexpected beauty of my surroundings. But I soon realized that I was also documenting a fragile corner of southern California that would soon be overwritten. I made prints from about one hundred negatives and put everything into storage for thirty years.
In 2010, I brought some of the negatives to Chip Leavitt at Lumiere Editions in Burbank. Chip prints for William Eggleston, Richard Misrach, John Baldessari, and other artists. He began the process of scanning and digitally restoring the negatives, bringing them back to life. My weekly drive to Lumiere takes me on a freeway over the neighborhood where I once shot.
The distant memory I sensed long ago has turned out to be my own.