You’ve Loved Me Before: Shane Hallinan
Raindrops on windshields, hands outstretched towards toll booth operators, taillights wash otherwise dimly lit interiors
The cover of You’ve Loved Me Before depicts a nighttime car backseat; a common scene in this autobiographical collection. Other variants include raindrops on windshields, hands outstretched towards toll booth operators, taillights wash otherwise dimly lit interiors. Special events are celebrated and mundane moments documented.
Hallinan captures light beautifully. In many cases we see combinations of warm and cool artificial lighting in late-night bars. The tonal shifts create separation between different image depths. In one, a woman whispers into a man’s ear. Their faces are cast in a warm red, but behind an out of focus television emits a green. In the last image of the book we see a hand yanked upwards in the foreground. Three women are pictured cast in cool lighting while the background, in this case, is warm. The grasper pulls the other towards something out of frame behind the camera. Their facial expressions convey alternative impressions. One inquisitive, another determined, and another concerned.
A woman wearing a green velvet top leaned over in bed looks over her shoulder towards the camera. Her crystalline velvet green shirt radiates light in the image, but hidden in shadow lies a handgun next to her pillow. The majority of photographs here are charming slice of life scenes, but this image and neighbor are haunting. They depict two sides of violence. On the right we contemplate how the weapon may be used, and on the left one hand holds another arm to examine scalded skin. It goes to show that even the most joyful recollections must face harsh realities.