new-york

Robert Adams

Matthew Marks Gallery

When looking at Robert Adams’s work, I often think about one of the other great Roberts of twentieth-century photography—Robert Frank—and the different relationships the two artists have with time. The restless clip of Frank’s cinematic images in The Americans (1958) differs vastly from Adams’s slow gait in a specific area—whether in Colorado, his home for thirty-five years, or around western Oregon, where he now resides. “Summer Nights, Walking,” 1976–82, recently on view at Matthew Marks Gallery, is Adams’s somber suite of fifty nocturnal scenes captured in the environs of Denver, many in Longmont, on the eastern edge of the Rocky Mountain National Park. Perhaps the slowest, most meditative photographs he has made over the past five decades, they are an elegy for walking.

The impulse for the series came in part from the few pictures Adams had previously taken at night, offsetting the

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