Cassandra Klos’ Abductees
by Emily Avery-Miller
“Photos or it didn’t happen.”
Cassandra Klos, a 25-year-old fine art photographer from Boston, calls that mantra into question by following it to its next logical step. If there are photos, did it happen? And what was “it,” exactly?
In Klos’s “The Abductees,” on view at The Griffin Museum of Photography this summer, “it” appears to be an encounter with another kind. The story seems to start with “U.S Route 3 II,” as a mid-century Chevy climbs a mountain road. “The Arrival” shows the backs of a man and a woman silhouetted against a white oblong vessel in a forest clearing, skirted with a green glow. “Betty” shows the woman face-on, wearing the blank shock of one who, like the viewer, has seen something she does not quite understand. There are crumpled typewritten documents. A view of the night sky in autumn. An investigation unfolds.
Klos uses a field camera and 4×5 film to produce large, crisp prints that invite viewers to have a closer look at her mysterious subjects. In so doing, she draws viewers into a questioning space: is this real? “As long as they have that moment,” Klos said, “I did my job.”