Worth A Thousand Words: Eugene Richards

Welcome to another installment of the weekly series on my blog, where I intend to take a closer look at iconic photographs, and write 1000 words about each. I hope you find this exercise as interesting and thought provoking as I do. It has really helped me slow down and think about photography in a much more focused way (no pun intended.) As always, I encourage you to leave any comments at the end of this entry. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

This week I will discuss this energetic, summertime image by Eugene Richards, “Grandmother, Brooklyn, New York, 1993.”

First, a little bit of information about the photographer himself. To be honest, I have been aware of the work of Eugene Richards for quite some time, but I can’t say that I have ever been a huge fan of his work. I certainly appreciate the longevity of his career and the accolades his work has garnered, but I can’t say I’ve paid very close attention to his work over the years. I will fully admit that the loss is all mine. Born in 1944, Richards has been a freelance photojournalist since the 1970s. His socially conscious brand of photojournalism has won him awards such as a Guggenheim Fellowship, the W. Eugene Smith Memorial Award, a National Endowment for the Arts Grant and the International Center of Photography Infinity Award. I have seen may images of his in museums, online and in publications, but until today, I had never seen the image about which I will write further.

Which brings us to this specific photo. What do I see? It is a black and white photograph. It is a street scene in a city, and my immediate guess would be New York, possible the borough of Brooklyn. It is most likely shot with a 35mm camera and a wide-angle lens, judging by the format of the framing and the wide view, along with what looks like classic film tonality and grain. It looks like a fast shutter speed was used, since there are obvious sprays of water being frozen in time. The composition is completely off kilter, with the background framed crookedly by what appears to be the underside of a bridge, the fence and building in the background also slanting upwards. However, the rest of the composition is a dynamic thing of beauty. Starting with the stop sign that anchors the left side of the image. In a case of serendipity, it not only aligns with the bridge structure, but it also bisects one of the people sitting in a lawn chair, in an almost Lee Friedlander kind of way. The fire hydrant down in the lower right corner anchors the rest of the image, and the beautiful stream of water that sprays from it crosses the entire frame. It also draws the eye to the wonderful interplay between the two main subjects of the photo. First, we see the older woman, the grandmother of the title, sitting in a kiddie pool, heavily soaked and adjusting her sunglasses. She is oblivious to the actions of the young girl behind her, who is throwing a pot of water into a circular pattern into the air. It looks to me that Richards may have been passing by this scene and quickly shot this one frame, but not seeing the contact sheet I can’t be sure. Regardless, this fantastic moment of action is captured at exactly the right moment. The more I study this photograph, the more I see in it. Litter strewn on the street corner. Graffiti on the garage gate. The striped barrier along the edge of the street in the far background. A lone air conditioner peeking out of a window, while the rest of the windows seem covered in plywood. The stained stones of the bridge supports. Looking closer still. There are seven chairs visible, only two being used. Is this a neighborhood hangout spot? Is this a family outing? Is this the closest thing these folks have to a swimming pool, a bit of shoreline, a vacation? Clearly this is not a high-income group of people, hanging out under a city bridge on a hot summer day. But it also harkens back to a time in the past when this kind of scene was fairly common in cities across the country. It may very well be still happening this summer.

I’m now thinking about why this image speaks to me so strongly. For one thing, I grew up very close to New York City, and spent some time of my life living in similar surroundings in Hudson County, New Jersey. This kind of scene is something I have witnessed personally, although I don’t recall ever having taken part in it myself. And the joys of this kind of experience are firmly entrenched in what could be thought of as some kind of quintessential urban summer experience. At the same time, one can take a more melancholy view of the proceedings, if you’d rather be in a swimming pool, or a rural lake, or swimming in the ocean. Yet the relief from the summer heat is palpable when you gaze at this image. And perhaps these folks don’t have the choices that others may have, for recreation and relaxation. Maybe this is their only summer vacation spot. What I find most enticing about the photograph is the amount of energy Richards has shown us, in might have been dismissed as a weak photograph, when judged by the stringent parameters of a photographic purist. Those rigid aesthetes who judge the value of a photo by a balanced composition, straight lines, sharply focused, and perfectly exposed would be sorely disappointed. You might guess that I am not one of these kinds of people. Traditional photographic rules are less important to me. Out of balance framing, film grain, blurring…it can be appealing to my eyes. And if the image can convey as much as this photograph by Eugene Richards, I’ll eat it up quicker than a soft serve ice cream cone on a hot city street corner in an August heatwave.

Worth A Thousand Words: Josef Koudelka

This is the second installment of the new weekly series on my blog, where I intend to take a closer look at iconic photographs, and write 1000 words about each. For those readers who have returned after last week’s entry about Diane Arbus, I say “thank you.” And to those new readers… welcome. I hope you find this exercise as interesting and as thought provoking as I do. I encourage you to leave any comments at the end of this entry. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

This week I will discuss this fantastic image by Josef Koudelka, “Czechoslovakia 1966. Straznice. Festival of gypsy music.” First some background information on the artist himself. From the Magnum Photos website:

“Josef Koudelka, born in Moravia, made his first photographs while a student in the 1950s. About the same time that he started his career as an aeronautical engineer in 1961 he also began photographing Gypsies in Czechoslovakia and theater in Prague. He turned full-time to photography in 1967. The following year, Koudelka photographed the Soviet invasion of Prague, publishing his photographs under the initials P. P. (Prague Photographer) for fear of reprisal to him and his family. Koudelka left Czechoslovakia for political asylum in 1970 and shortly thereafter joined Magnum Photos.”

I believe so much can be gleaned from knowing the biographical details of a particular artist, and how these details affect their creative work. This is especially true when looking at the photographs of Koudelka. His history of challenging political oppression and his ultimate exile most definitely inform his work.

Which brings us to this specific photo. What do I see? I see a black and white photograph. It is a street scene. Most likely shot with a 35mm camera and a wide-angle lens, judging by the format of the framing and the wide view. It looks as though it was shot during some kind of public event or celebration, perhaps a parade or a festival. Without any previous information about the location, I would say that the location is either in Europe or possibly Central or South America. The appearance of the musicians looks vaguely Mediterranean, but they seem to be from somewhere different than the crowd of people behind them. The composition of the photo brings the attention of the viewer firstly to the three musicians in the foreground; two violinists and an upright bass player. The crowd that spreads out behind them fills most of the remaining frame, and most of the people seem to be looking off at another situation, not paying attention to the three musicians that have caught Koudelka’s eye. Lastly, I keep studying the crooked tilt of the lines of the building in the far background. The lack of alignment with the edge of the film frame is creating a feeling of unease in my mind. Now, to dive deeper into the main subjects of the photo. The three musicians have a striking difference of appearance. They do not appear to be related to each other. The man on the far right is darker skinned than the others, and he is resting his chin on his instrument, revealing his amazing teeth in what looks like the beginnings of a smile. His eyes though, seem slightly lost in his own world, slightly introspective. The musician in the middle looks like an Italian to me, with his hair slicked back, and his causal white shirt slightly unbuttoned, collar tucked under his jacket. His hand on the neck of the bass is gripping delicately. His gaze, though. Looking directly at the viewer. He doesn’t look sad, but perhaps a bit tired? A trace of pride? A look of longing, but for what? Now we look at the musician on the left. Older than the other two men. Balding. Wrinkles visible around his eyes, mouth and across his forehead. A striped suit that does not match the wardrobe of the other two men; this is no formal band uniform. He looks as though he is in the middle of playing a piece of music, judging by the position of his hands and the bow on the strings of his violin. He is looking out of frame, either in his own world of the music, or looking as if he is lost in his own thoughts. It is striking to me that the three subjects of the photo seem not only disconnected from the crowd around them, but also disconnected from each other.

Why did Koudelka take this photograph? I think there is plenty of information within the image itself to answer this question. The three men, it turns out, are gypsy musicians. They are performing as part of a music festival in Moravia. The year is 1966, but to me, it looks like it could be at least a decade or more before that date. The musician’s are part of a transient population, and thus, do not have a specific homeland to call their own. By their appearance, they look as if they are together by circumstance, not bound by familial connections, or even a specific ethnic / geographic background, in my opinion. They are not part of the crowd that surrounds them. They are not the focus of the crowd’s attention, but certainly Koudelka felt a connection with them. Are they strangers in a strange land, as they appear to be? This must be the connection Koudelka felt when he took this picture. The photographer himself was exploring a theme that he most definitely was feeling himself. Relating to the rootless nature of the gypsy life, which he went on to document more deeply over the years that followed this photograph. And, of course, then Koudelka himself became an exile, a stranger in a strange land himself. Unmoored from his homeland, for what ended up being most of his life, to date. He, no doubt, related completely with the wandering artists he shows us here.

The work of Koudelka was a revelation for me when I first discovered it. It introduced me to another world, literally. Though my familial roots are European (Italian and Sicilian) my life in middle-class America is very different from the people and places that Koudelka shows. Imagining the lives of others, who are struggling beneath oppressive regimes, or are living a life on the margins of society for whatever reason, these photos expanded my world view, and are a lesson in empathy. From a more strictly photographic standpoint, the work of Koudelka is an inspiration to dive deep into the world, with a camera in hand, and try to see the things that are universal to all of us, regardless of where we live, what we own, or where we call “home.”

Worth A Thousand Words: Diane Arbus

Today I am starting a new series on my blog. I intend to take a closer look at iconic photographs, and write 1000 words about each. I hope to do this once a week, not only as a writing exercise, or a stab at more formal photo criticism, but also to give my mind and my eyes time to really study the images that have resonated for me personally for most of my photographic life.

I start with this powerful image by Dianne Arbus, “Child With Toy Hand Grenade in Central Park, 1962.” What do I see?  A black and white photograph. The main subject is set slightly off from the center of the frame. There is shallow depth of field. There is slight fog along the left-hand edge of the film. There is a dapple of tree and leaf shadow spreading out on the ground around the young boy. Two trees sit behind the boy, mimicking the boy’s suspenders. A soft figure stands behind the boy. A stranger? His mother? Another woman walks with a small child further down the path, wandering unknowingly into a moment in photo history. The boy’s forward foot sits just inside the bottom of the framing, and is close to a wooden ice cream spoon sitting on the ground, the kind they used to include in Italian ice, probably sold by a vendor in the park.

Now, studying the boy himself. His sneakers are beat up, and tied haphazardly. His socks are bunched up around his ankles. His knees are dirty. His shorts held up with a pair of suspenders, but one strap hangs off his shoulder, down around his elbow. His shirt has a pattern of emblems, but to my eye they resemble fingerprints. His one hand holds a toy hand grenade, and his other hand is empty, but looks like it is gripping an imaginary object, or is atrophied for some reason. Or is the boy suffering from so kind of muscle disease? We gaze upon his face, which looks disturbed, not frightened, but haunted and haunting. His mouth forms a grimace. His eyes, dark pools. His hair, slightly messy, maybe outgrown from a bowl cut.

Why did Arbus take this photograph? I think it is obvious that the young boy makes for a striking subject. He falls well within the oeuvre we have now come to know from the masterful photographer. He seems alone in the world. His body language and appearance is a mix of fright, anxiety, and mental unease. The loose suspender further conveys a feeling of instability in the subject matter. He is playing with a very realistic looking “toy.” To the casual viewer, it could be an actual hand grenade. An implement of war, destruction, death. The image was made while the Vietnam War was simmering. Was this also on the artist’s mind when she took the photo? How does this photo compare with the famous news photograph of Vietnamese children running from a napalm attack ten years later? I also wonder the impact of the photograph had the young boy been seen holding a toy gun instead. And our understanding that we, as viewers of the future, would be much more concerned now if we came across a youth in a park holding a toy weapon. Never mind the possible reaction of a contemporary police officer. The photo also has echoes of the Munch painting “The Scream” to my eye. A solitary figure in a moment of distress.

Back to the artist’s possible intention in this photograph. I have included a copy of the contact sheet (remember those?) from that day. One would instantly notice that the boy does not appear the same in subsequent images from that roll of film. In a few shots, he is smiling, happy, and looking far from disheveled or disturbed. It is the choice of the photographer to show the viewer their own vision of the world, of course. Are any of the other photographs from that roll as powerful as the image we are so familiar with? I’d say emphatically “no.” The famous image falls squarely in the style and subject matter that we know and expect from a Dianne Arbus photograph. Her body of work contextualizes how we as viewers receive the information in this image. In a gallery filled with images of outcasts, marginalized people, subcultures, the mentally or physically ill, or sideshow freaks…this photo of a young boy playing with a toy looks positively unsettling. Perhaps that was her agenda all along. Possibly she knew full well that she could manipulate the viewer’s response.

Why does this photograph speak so strongly to me? I often have thought that image could be lifted from a dream. Not a nightmare, but perhaps a more standard “bad dream” or a reverie of a lost childhood moment that I was witness to myself. I grew up not far from New York City, and I spent many weekend days running through Lincoln Park in Jersey City, which has similar features to those of Central Park. The smell of sycamore trees still sends me back to those days of my youth. I could have very well happened upon a similar situation back then. Of course, being a child I was year’s away from seeing the world in photographic terms, but nonetheless, this photograph provokes deep, visceral feelings in me. I wonder as I look at this photo what ever happened to this boy. He appears to be perhaps five or six years old in the photo, which would make him sixty years old or so today. I wonder if he or his family ever saw the final photograph, and how they may have reacted to it. Proud? Sad? Embarrassed? Angry? A moment of his youth, forever etched into our collective consciousness. Hanging on a museum wall and published numerous times. Provoking thoughts from complete strangers. All the result of a day of playing in the park on a summer day.

Making Lists

I find that a key element to self-motivation is making lists. If I put something in writing, and keep it visible, I am more prone to get things done. By the looks of it, I'm setting myself up for a couple of busy months. I guess its like they say "Get busy living, or get busy dying." I'm looking forward to showing the fruits of my labor here as the summer progresses. Stay tuned.

Robert Frank: Look Out For Hope

We live in desperate times. But haven't we always? Are we more aware of the world's problems now because we have this incessant, 24 hour a day internet torrent of bad news washing over us? Or are things really worse now than ever before? Global warming, terrorism, economic disparity, people being dragged out of their cars and beaten by the police, or shot at the slightest provocation for no reason at all, millions of war refugees, political leaders who don't represent the good of all their constituents, people on almost every street corner holding signs begging for some change (monetary or otherwise.) Some days it's just harder to keep going. And to look in the mirror and ask "what am I doing?" to make the world a better place. To help others. To have empathy. To give a shit. To keep my feet firmly on the side of the positive. To stay where I am and keep fighting. To put my art in the world. To not let negativity win. To not let the fuckers get me down. To not let the darkness of the evil doers win. My mind goes to the artists, the writers, the film makers, the poets, the singers, the comedians...those who are the light in the darkness. Like Robert Frank, who has been a creative inspiration for me for well over 30 years, and whose photograph I sat and pondered this morning. "Look Out For Hope." When I first saw that image in college, I didn't know exactly what it meant. Or what Frank's work really meant. I was still in school and thought that Ansel Adams was the pinnacle of photographic expression (oh, youth...) Little did I know that Frank's daughter had died in a plane crash. Or that years later, his son would suffer mental breakdowns and eventually die. Or that we all fucking suffer in our own way. As he said in another photograph "The wind will blow the fire of pain across everyone in time." Death, divorce, physical pain, loneliness, alienation, bankruptcy, homelessness, substance abuse and addiction, random violence. And various other losses both great and small. But what do we do? Give up? Or find a way to fight, every fucking day. To awaken, still breathing and still looking out for hope.