Churches Ad Hoc

New York Times review by REBECCA FAIRLEY RANEY

Even through the confusion of the last 30 years, people have managed to maintain some basic social tenets: don't hit, don't run around naked and don't laugh in church. Laughing at a church is definitely out of the question.

Perhaps that's why Herman Krieger is getting so many laughs. He made a career of making light of churches in a photo essay called "Churches ad hoc", a sort of renegade Rorschach test fit for any Sunday school.

In Krieger's eye, a statue of a Jesus without hands is "Carpal Deum." A boarded-up church is "The Pope's Answer to Luther." And a happy blond toddler on the lawn of the Zion Evangelical Lutheran Church becomes "Young Zionist."

Potential publishers turned down the photos because they were too hard to categorize -- they were either too funny to be religious or too religious to be funny -- so Krieger took them to the Web. He delights in the response; the pictures speak to the perspective of whoever sees them. Christians see devotion. Atheists see satire. Photographers see artistry.

Krieger was most surprised at the response from Christians. He thought they might take offense. "I'm not a Christian," he said, "and I got so many comments from people who thought I knew something about theology."

In more than a year since the site went up, "Churches ad hoc" has drawn more than 40 links from Christian Web sites, and pastors often ask if they can use his pictures for their calendars and newsletters. The photographs were even exhibited in the Art Rageous tent at the 1996 Cornerstone Church Festival in Illinois. After the festival, Christian chat rooms lit up with praise, and many people called the photos the best art exhibit shown.

On his own Web site, Krieger lists people's responses. "Your photography is as playful and cogent as your prose," one fan wrote. "By the way, I pastor a small church in Washington, D.C., and thoroughly enjoyed your poking through the pious facade."

Paradoxically, the response from atheists and freethinkers has been just as enthusiastic.

"Thanks for carrying on the tradition of laughing at religion!" one wrote.

"You manage to capture the essence of the hypocrisy that fuels all religions in a very clever and humorous style," another commented.

Then there are the photographers, who see only photography. "I loved your panoramic photos; I wish I had your skill so that my contemporary photos of Detroit would look even close. Care to pass along any tips?"

When his work holds such broad appeal, you have to wonder why Krieger is giving his pictures away for free. But he's 71, and his days of working for other people are gladly past. He produced the photo essay in pursuit of the bachelor's degree in fine arts he earned after he retired.

Photography has long held a fascination for Krieger. He worked for a photo lab technician during his teens in Detroit in the 1940s and did darkroom work for press photographers. During World War II, the Army put him to work as a photo lab technician.

But then his career took a turn. He went to California in 1950, earned a degree in mathematics from the University of California at Berkeley, then spent 30 years as a computer programmer in Holland. When he retired, he and his wife moved to Eugene, Ore., and he promptly enrolled for classes at the University of Oregon.

He shot the first pictures for "Churches ad hoc" in 1993. In the last four years, he took his camera wherever he went: Oregon, California, New York, Las Vegas, Arizona, Illinois, Washington state.

Krieger started shooting churches on a whim after taking a picture of a cross in a tree for a different essay. His own religious background did not prohibit him from pursuing the concept; he was raised Jewish. In fact, he thinks his upbringing helped.

"I can look at them without getting emotionally involved," he said.

The work continues to prompt comments such as: "clearly your artistry transcends ideological statements and speaks to people of all faiths, or of no faith."

To the diverse, boisterous masses of the Web, he contributed a unifying icon, an image that was a success not because he set out to make a point, but because he didn't.