Pix of Hicks? Nix.

It was the first art opening that I've ever been to where the cheese was not served as little cubes impaled on toothpicks.

It was the first art opening that I've ever been to where they had a playroom set up for the kids.

It was the first art opening that I've ever been to where almost no one wore black.

+ + + + +

I have known Justin Kimball for some years now, and he has shown me samples of his work from time to time.

The first thing I ever thought when I saw his photographs was, "How does anyone take pictures that are so in focus?"

The second thing I thought was, "Boy, there sure are a lot of ugly people in this country."

The third thing I thought was, "At least I'm not that fat. (Phew.)"

+ + + + +

It has been said that all good art should offer a challenge, and there is no doubt that Justin's work meets that standard.

Justin takes pictures of people who are, most decidedly, not beautiful. These people are captured in natural settings that are, most decidedly, stunning. There is something surreal about the pictures in their crispness and their contrast. The people have bad clothes, worse hair, and big flabby bellies. They are often frowning or slack-jawed, or looking at each other with suspicion. The children in the pictures are marginally more fetching, but they usually aren't cute. To look at them is to remember feeling all knees and elbows, tugging at a sand-filled bathing suit that never quite fit.

At first glance, the people in the pictures look like intruders, as welcome as an oil spill on a beach. I used to wonder if Justin saw H. sapiens as an infestation of Mother Earth.

After I found a few that I liked a little more than the rest, and was able to take a longer look, I became of the opinion that Justin knows, far better than I, how to see the good in ordinary people. It is probably not too much of a stretch to say that he can see the extraordinary.

Like most Americans of the early 21st century, I am used to looking at only a few kinds of photos of people: snaps of friends and family (warm and familiar), glossies of athletes and actors (obvious hotties), and comical shots of puppies and kittens (pure candy).

Every now and then, I'll catch a look at some horrific scenes of war, or natural disaster, or desperate poverty, and of course, I'll feel something. But these photographs, too, are immediately accessible in their own way. I know that I'm looking at something that is supposed to be dramatic.

Mine, I have come to realize from looking at Justin's pictures, is an unschooled and lazy eye. I only have experience looking at the familiar, the immediately attractive, the patently visceral.

It is a bit disturbing to be well into the second half of life, and to suddenly realize: Wow, I sure have a lot to learn.

It is also, curiously, somewhat comforting.

+ + + + +

You can see some samples and learn more at JustinKimballPhotography.com.

As nice as Justin's web site is, it's worth making a trip to see his work full-size. Go to the Jerome Liebling Center for Film, Photo and Video, at Hampshire College, (Sun-Thur 1-9, Fri and Sat 1-6, through March 31, ph: 413-549-4600), or the Arcadia Coffee Company in Old Greenwich, CT (9am-8pm, through March 17, ph: 203-637-8766).

Justin has just released a monograph of his work, called Where We Find Ourselves. You can buy it from Amazon, and at a couple of bookstores in New England: Jeffery Amherst Bookshop (ph: 413-253-3381), and Just Books, Too (ph: 203-637-0707).

You missed last night's book signing, but there will be another one at the Arcadia Coffee Company, on March 11, at 3:30. If you miss that one, too, and want your copy signed, just get in touch with him through his web site, and I'm sure he'll take care of you.

He's a good guy.