David Rackley is a photographer, foremost, and a painter – and a teller of stories. Originally from Alaska and a world traveler, David’s luminous mixed media works celebrate, rather than simply document, the more intimate nature of how ‘we’ interact with our society and culture no matter where we live. His work is exhibited frequently throughout Arkansas and beyond. More of David’s work can be viewed at Gallery 26 in Little Rock and on his website davidrackleyart.com.

AAS: David, I believe you grew up in Alaska. What was that like and how did you end up in Arkansas? 

DR: I did spend most of my formative years in Alaska, but I was actually born in Arkansas. My family moved to Alaska when I was 6 or 7 years old. For a kid who loved the outdoors, Alaska was an amazing place. In the mid-summer it never really got dark and in the winter it was often a crystalline, almost other worldly, wonderland. I loved taking pictures, although I’m sure none of them were very good. I think having a camera just caused me to look at the world more closely. 
My life has never followed a very straight path. After high school I attended college at Arizona State. I drove from Alaska to Arizona and back for several years, then lived in Arizona for several more years before returning to Alaska. I ran a vegetarian restaurant in Anchorage, worked pipeline construction from the Yukon River to the tip of the Aleutian Islands, and did some extensive traveling in Central and South America. I eventually returned to Arkansas to visit family and ended up running a small coffee shop and art gallery in Russellville – I always thought that espresso and art go together. I then moved to Louisiana where my wife was a professor of theatre and after several years there, I went to the University of South Carolina, earning a master’s degree in education. Eventually, I made it back to Arkansas where the whole journey started. It sounds like a lot of moving around, and it was, but it offered me so many opportunities to photograph.

AAS: Tell me more about your studies in photography and painting.

DR: Driving down from Alaska to Arizona to start my freshman year of college, I stopped in Los Angeles and happened upon a poster for a Minor White photography exhibit. I didn’t know who Minor White was and had never been to a photography exhibit before, so I went. I hadn’t realized that black and white photography could be so striking. His work had such a profound effect on me that I signed up for a photography class my second semester. I have had a couple of photography classes over the years, but I am primarily self-taught. I earned my degree in anthropology with a minor in art history. After graduating, I travelled in Mexico and Guatemala for about five months to photograph Mayan ceremonial centers. I soon discovered that there was so much more to experience and found myself photographing the people as much as the pyramids. At one point, I was stranded in a tiny village on the Passion River in the middle of the Peten Jungle, swinging my hammock among the black tarantulas (they were more scary than dangerous). Later, I was robbed and lost all my film except what was in my camera. So, my first extensive photographic excursion was a bust, but it ended up being the most adventurous one I would ever take. I made another trip to the Yucatan and Guatemala a few years later with better photographic results. 
I have come to realize that I am neither a nature photographer nor a photojournalist. I am not a documentarian. I shoot whatever interests me, regardless of subject matter. Occasionally, I will take something with the intent of making a good black and white print and leaving it at that, but often, I choose what to shoot and how to shoot it with the knowledge that it will be painted. If I’m going to paint it, I have to be cognizant of how the exposure of different areas will affect the painting.

AAS: You have lived and travelled all over the world. Do you think images you captured during those years still influence your current work?

DR: Traveling with a camera provides the opportunity to capture moments in time. When I was younger, I always lamented missing those shots because I was unprepared or they happened too quickly, but I have learned to take it in stride, appreciate the scene, the moment, and move on. Sometimes you can capture a moment in time that is meaningful, the “decisive moment” that Henri Cartier-Bresson described  and illustrated with such brilliance. I had the opportunity to visit the Cartier-Bresson Institute in Paris and view his photographs taken in China in the 1940’s. What he was able to do consistently over such a long career, I have managed to only approach, and sporadically at that. But when it works, it is rewarding.
A piece that has a lot of meaning for me is In the Plaza. Children are playing with abandon in a plaza in Paris. They were of several different ethnicities and to emphasize their egalitarian nature, I blackened them all uniformly. The huge graffiti Dali with his finger to his lips seems to be telling them to be quiet which they, of course, are totally ignoring. Sometimes it is not so much the serendipity of being at the right place at the right time to catch that Cartier-Bresson decisive moment as it is patience and perseverance.
I think my approach to capturing images in my earlier work can be seen reflected in my work today. I’ve had a pretty consistent vision for a long time. My subject matter is always eclectic, but my approach to composition, light and form, and my predominant use of available natural light still remain prominent characteristics.

AAS: You have done several self-portraits. Two that are about as different as possible are Under the Mask and Self-Portrait with Family. I am always curious about what an artist is thinking when preparing for a self-portrait. What were you thinking when you did those two (Ha)?

DR: These two self-portraits were done several years apart. Self-portrait with Family was taken when I was living in my one-room cabin in Alaska. It was just me and my wolfhound, Nurse Ratched, and Quaker Oats Man. I wouldn’t say I was a hermit (after all, I had my surrogate family), but it was definitely a time of reflection and introspection.
Under the Mask was taken several years later after I had converted my cabin into a rather large house with all the civilized amenities and had begun to paint my black and white prints. I also had decided to change the light source on my enlarger which left me with two large condenser lenses to play with. I thought a self-portrait with me behind one of the lenses would be interesting. Through the years, I’ve often used masks in my work. The mask gives another persona to the subject. They become more enigmatic. This self-portrait also has significance for me because it was just the second piece I did painting a black and white photograph.

AAS: Would you talk about your technique of painting, essentially colorizing, black and white photographs? It creates a wonderful mood, like in Apothecary at the Window.

DR: I usually describe what I do as mixed media because the painting is often such an integral and important part of the finished piece. All my work is shot on black and white film and processed and printed in the darkroom. When I get the print that I want, I can start the painting process. I use oil paints and some colored pencils for detail work. It’s a reductive process. I generally apply the paint thickly and then wipe it down to reveal the texture and form. It’s a finesse between revealing form and leaving sufficient pigment to give a color that is rich and saturated. In Apothecary at the Window, I chose to paint the background rather dark and with minimal detail in order to accentuate the subject who is illuminated by the window light. I took this several years ago in Louisiana when my wife was director of theatre at the Alexandria campus of LSU. The model for this was Belle Rollins, who was in charge of costuming and also played the part of the apothecary in a production of Romeo and Juliet. When I saw Belle in this costume, I knew I wanted to photograph her. It wasn’t just the costume. Belle had a face that expressed so much sensitivity and authenticity which was even enhanced by the natural window light. Unfortunately, we lost Belle last year, so this piece has particular significance for me.

AAS: Your interest in anthropology is evident in many of your photographs. Your dramatic, and a little melancholy, photograph of Boos Kajun Korner in Helena comes to mind.

DR: I have photographed many culturally historic places; however, there are so many other, lesser known, communities that have undergone dramatic change over the past few decades. I am sure there are many in what is known as the Rust Belt, but there is something about the delta that draws me to these places. Helena is one of these places. Once a thriving port town on the Mississippi, its downtown is largely abandoned. I’m sure Booz Kajun Korner was once a happening place; now the building no longer exists. Things like that happen in places like Helena. That’s why I photograph some of these places in the delta and intend to do more soon – not so much to document, but rather to capture some of the feel of the place and the people who lived and still live there. For me, this photograph of Booz Kajun Korner exudes both nostalgia and sadness.

AAS: I lived in Charleston, South Carolina for a while and so I was instantly drawn to your image of Port Royal, titled Paris Avenue. What is the story behind that piece?

DR: When I first became interested in photography I bought a book of black and white photography by Clarence John Laughlin. Laughlin was known for his evocative photographs of the South. His images had a nostalgic and romantic and sometimes surrealistic feel, and since first seeing them I’ve had the desire to capture some of that essence of the South. I used to pass by this building on Paris Avenue almost every day. The long white planks, the scrolling around the doorway, the single window reflecting the sky all called out to be photographed. But the bench was always empty. It needed the right person to be sitting there to make my idea of an image complete. I found that in Diane, a woman who had a hat and just the right dress and who was gracious enough to sit for me. The expanse of the historic white building sets off the colorful figure and her holding her hat against the wind is the perfect pose. I’ve photographed many historic buildings and ruins in other parts of the world but there is something about the South that feels different to me. Maybe it’s my closer connection to it. Whatever it is, I think it is what Laughlin felt, too.

AAS: Oranges in the Marketplace was chosen for the Arkansas Arts Council 2022 Small Works On Paper Exhibition. The geometry in the image is wonderful. You seem to like to capture form and repetition. Is that a fair statement?

DR: Yes, I think that is a fair assessment. Much of my work is characterized by different planes of color that give emphasis to the form of the subject. This is particularly true of my still life work, but also to some of my more narrative pieces with human figures. I think you’re right about the repetition too, and balance in a classical sense. I photographed the oranges in Oranges in the Marketplace in Pizac, Peru at a time when I was strictly a black and white guy. It wasn’t until recently that I decided to resurrect this negative with the intention of painting it. I’m not sure how the vendor was able to stack these, but it was impressive. To me, they look like models of molecules floating in space. 
The Arts Council’s Small Works on Paper Exhibition has been a great venue for me. I have two pieces in this year, Oranges in the Marketplace and Jenna and another two pieces accepted last year. The fact that this show travels throughout the state every year is great exposure for artists and I am always pleased to be in it.

AAS: Intense color and saturation and almost a surreal look come to mind when I think of your work. Has that always been your esthetic?

DR: I suppose some might think it odd that a person who was such a black and white purist like myself would turn to painting his work with such bold and dramatic colors. Well, it’s a long story. To make it short, I went from the Ansel Adams rigorous scientific method to what I call the Jerry Garcia approach. That is, the experiment, synthesize, let it flow, and see what happens approach. I didn’t know anything about painting photographs when I started and I probably still don’t do anything the recommended way, but I saw an image in a dream that I wanted to create, so I went about working on it until it came out the way I had seen it subconsciously. I always pay attention to my dreams. Several years ago, I had a half-awake dream of a girl in a white dress floating up out of a chair. I got a model, took the photograph, and painted it. It [Angel in the Jungle Room] was exhibited in the Delta at the Arts Center the next year. Maybe one of the reasons my palette looks the way it does is that I dream in vivid colors and there is often some burnt sienna involved. 
In View from St. Paul Asylum I wanted to use some intense color to dramatic effect. This is probably the view Van Gogh would have seen out the back door of the hospital where he stayed toward the end of his life. As an homage to Van Gogh, I wanted the lavender to be intense and the sky to have some of his characteristic movement. For me, it is never really important to depict reality as it is but rather to have an intuitive connection with what I am working with.

AAS: Your work has been in many juried shows and solo and group exhibitions. What do you hear from people who see your work for the first time? People I know who have your work were attracted to the subtle interactions between the person or persons in the photograph and their surroundings.

DR: A lot of my work is characterized by a narrative quality. I tend to leave this fairly open-ended, allowing the viewer to interpret and fill in their own narrative. I have had some people tell me their interpretation or response to a piece that wasn’t my intention at all. I think that should be expected in almost any art form. I may be interested in certain aspects of line, form or composition, but it is the overall effect that is important. I’m always looking for situations and scenes that depict a person’s relationship with the world they live in, but I also often stage scenes that reveal characteristics of a persona or offer a narrative that I can relate to, accepting that the viewer may have a different reaction. The strength of the image is paramount. The interpretation and the building of an internal narrative come later.

ASS: David what is next for you?

DR: I am hoping to get back to the delta region and do some serious looking around. I will definitely return to Helena and cross the river into Mississippi. I’ve been intending to do some work in southern Louisiana for some time, so I plan on doing that before the weather gets too hideous this summer. I have also been seeing images in my head of solitary figures in darkened backgrounds with swatches of intense colors – sort of a Caravaggio type of thing – and I want to produce some images along those lines and do an encaustic treatment with them. I met a photographer in the south of France, Kamil Vojnar, who used this technique and gave me a brief description of the process involved. I know it will take a lot of experimentation, but this is something that I will be working on for some time.