The Ghosts of Georgia’s Coast: A Dialogue Across Time in Photography
There’s something haunting about coastal Georgia—a place where the past and present seem to blur like fog over a marsh. This is the essence captured in the current exhibit at Laney Contemporary in Savannah, where the works of Jack Leigh and Parker Stewart, two photographers who never met, are displayed side by side. What makes this particularly fascinating is how their images, separated by decades, engage in a silent conversation about the enduring soul of the South.
The Unseen Connection Between Two Artists
On the surface, Leigh and Stewart couldn’t be more different. Leigh, a pioneer of coastal photography, is known for his timeless black-and-white landscapes, while Stewart’s work leans into the raw, often gritty, textures of modern Georgia. Yet, when you step back and think about it, their shared fascination with the region’s quiet beauty is undeniable. Leigh’s Sunken Shrimp Boat (1987) and Stewart’s Old Water Tower, Estill (2021) both evoke a sense of decay and resilience—a reminder that time moves differently here.
Personally, I think what binds these artists is their ability to see beyond the obvious. Leigh’s photographs often feel like relics from another era, while Stewart’s work is unmistakably contemporary. But both capture the same haunting stillness, as if the land itself is holding its breath. This raises a deeper question: Can a place’s essence truly transcend time, or are we just projecting our own nostalgia onto it?
The Power of Decay and Resilience
One thing that immediately stands out is how both photographers are drawn to the imperfect. Leigh’s Nets & Doors (1986) and Stewart’s Overhanging Oak, Skidaway Island (2021) both feature subjects that are crumbling, yet undeniably alive. What many people don’t realize is that this focus on decay isn’t just aesthetic—it’s a commentary on the fragility of the coastal ecosystem.
From my perspective, this obsession with impermanence is what makes their work so compelling. It’s not just about capturing a moment; it’s about capturing a feeling. Leigh’s Midnight, Bonaventure Cemetery (1993) is a perfect example. The photograph isn’t just a graveyard; it’s a meditation on mortality and memory. Stewart’s work, meanwhile, often feels like a call to action—a reminder that these landscapes are disappearing faster than we realize.
Why Coastal Georgia?
What this really suggests is that coastal Georgia isn’t just a setting for these artists—it’s a character. The marshes, the cemeteries, the abandoned structures—they all tell a story that’s both personal and universal. A detail that I find especially interesting is how both photographers seem to avoid the picturesque in favor of the poignant. Stewart’s Old Water Tower isn’t just a relic of the past; it’s a symbol of a community’s struggle to survive.
If you take a step back and think about it, this region has always been a place of contradictions. It’s beautiful and brutal, serene and haunting. Leigh and Stewart both tap into this duality, but in their own ways. Leigh’s work feels like a love letter to a disappearing world, while Stewart’s feels like a warning.
The Future of the Past
What makes this exhibit truly remarkable is its ability to make you question your own relationship with place and time. Personally, I left the gallery feeling both inspired and uneasy. Inspired by the beauty of these images, but uneasy about what they imply for the future. Stewart’s photographs, in particular, feel like a snapshot of a world on the brink—a world that Leigh’s work reminds us we’re already losing.
This raises a provocative idea: Can art save a place? Probably not. But it can make us feel something, and that’s no small feat. Leigh and Stewart’s photographs aren’t just images—they’re invitations to care. And in a world where so much is fleeting, that’s a powerful thing.
Takeaway:
In my opinion, the true genius of this exhibit lies in its ability to make the past feel present and the present feel urgent. Leigh and Stewart may have never met, but their dialogue across time is a reminder that some stories are too important to be forgotten. If you’re in Savannah before August 1, 2026, I urge you to see this exhibit. It’s not just about photography—it’s about what it means to bear witness to a world that’s slipping away.
