John Goodman’s “HomeTown” is hanging at the back of the Miller Yezerski Gallery. The show runs through Feb. 3. It takes up about as little space as 53 photographs, most of them in the vicinity of 8½ inches by 11 inches, could take up. Those photographs are tightly clustered in two facing groups. The smaller consists of 21 color photographs. The larger has 31, in black and white.
The photographs may not require much wall, but they summon many memories. Nearly all portraits, they extend over four decades (from 1974 to 2008) and pack a lot of personality. Or, more accurately, personalities. They offer a kind of gapped history of Boston and environs over those years as seen in many faces, most familiar, a few not. Sometimes the history doesn’t belong just to Boston, and sometimes the face in front of Goodman’s camera became familiar later. Consider, as a for-instance, Harvard law student Barack Obama, in 1990.
Like the groupings, the subjects often come in pairs: two Magliozzi brothers (in the same picture); two documentary filmmakers (Errol Morris, Frederick Wiseman); two classical musicians (Seiji Ozawa, Leon Kirchner); two mayors (Ray Flynn, Thomas Menino); two governors (William Weld, Deval Patrick); two “Tonight Show” hosts (Jay Leno, Conan O’Brien); two preachers (Rev. Charles Stith, an anonymous one at the corner of Arlington and Boylston streets); two Red Sox pitchers (Roger Clemens, Lee Smith).
Smith is a bit of a ringer. Without the caption, it would be hard to identify him. He’s seated on a dugout bench at Fenway, our view of his face cut off by the roof. The roof elegantly bisects the image: Smith below, a bunch of fans above. It’s an example of what a fine, understated eye Goodman has. That eye’s handiwork can be seen in the subtle shadow effect Goodman gets in the Obama portrait or the moodily atmospheric inclusion of a pair of headlights in the background of a 1983 portrait of Mike Barnicle. Who know Fort Point could look so noirish?
There’s another pair of ringers. Yes, both Chrissie Hynde and Cyndi Lauper are female rockers; but they’re not local. That’s OK, since the local rock front gets covered by Aimee Mann and the Del Fuegos.
Larry Bird, draped over a basketball in 1983, looks impossibly young and dreamy. John Updike, three years later, stands in a meadow, balancing a hat on his head. Looking rather more traditional, author-wise, are Jayne Anne Phillips and Robert B. Parker. Todd English poses with what appears to be a fig in front of his lips (makes sense, Figs being the name of one of his plethora of restaurants). He has the louche look of a model auditioning for a Caravaggio canvas.
Goodman is interested in local institutions, or at least ones with personality, as well as in people. So employees of James Hook and Company, Harry the Greek’s, and Locke-Ober show up, too. Understandably, photographers also interest Goodman. The Starn twins make an appearance, as do MIT’s Harold “Doc” Edgerton, the celebrated war photographer James Nachtwey (looking young enough to be a draftee), and Goodman himself. That’s as it should be. If a host can’t invite himself to a festive neighborhood gathering, who can?
Mark Feeney can be reached at mfeeney@globe.com.