However, immediate identification of a subject within a scene is not a requirement for effective imagery, and a failure to consider approaches that integrate the subject more fully in the context of an image will remove some very useful techniques from a photographer’s toolkit.  Photographers who devoutly pursue subject isolation as their holy grail frequently lapse into simplistic “one note” imagery with only single-content and heavy-handed manipulation of the viewer’s attention.   Images in which a single piece of content is promiscuously thrust forward clothed in eye-catching technique are frequently not the images with which viewers develop long-term relationships.  However, an image that “plays hard to get” with the viewer, under the right circumstances, can both generate an enticing sense of mystery and provoke a greater feeling of accomplishment as the viewer successfully interprets the image.    These more challenging images are also by their complex nature more open to multiple interpretations, which will sustain many revisitations and reconsiderations.

A deliberate effort to obscure the main subject of an image can be a very effective method of creating more complex intellectual or emotional experiences for the viewers of a photograph.  “Burying” the subject can allow a viewer to develop an interpretation of the image before he observes the most crucial piece of information, and upon perceiving the subject he is then forced to reevaluate the rest of the image in this new light.  One master of this approach is Robert Frank, in whose images are frequently hidden crucial pieces of information that ultimately transform our perception of the subject matter.

Robert Frank was born in Zurich, Switzerland, but immigrated to the United States in 1947.  One thing that is important to remember in the evaluation of his images is that he commenced his photographic training in a highly formal Swiss commercial photography world, and initially secured work in the US shooting fashion photography for Harper’s Bazaar.  Robert Frank is sometimes criticized for camera technique that deviates from standard practices, but it is important to recognize that those of his images that lack sharp focus, traditionally correct exposure, or level horizons are not presented as such out of an ignorance or inability on the part of Frank to execute “proper” technique. 

In 1955, Frank began his eponymous work “The Americans” under a Guggenheim fellowship to document his view of American culture and society.  While initially reviled by critics as both unpatriotic and devoid of technical merits, the work has gone on to become universally acknowledged as one of the preeminent monographs in the history of the medium.  With his immigrant’s perspective, Frank acutely perceived that beneath the polished veneer of post-war America in the 50’s, tensions bubbled that included racial injustice, inequality of women in society, the place and perception of homosexuality in the culture, and the fundamental accommodation of the public to becoming a consumerist nation.  With the benefit of hindsight, most can now recognize that this profound examination of American culture in the 50’s is not unpatriotic in its desire to elucidate the issues festering beneath the surface at the time.

“Canal Street– New Orleans” The Americans. (plate 19) Image by Robert Frank, 1955

The style of photography demonstrated in The Americans de-prioritizes purely technical photographic manipulations in favor of careful organization of content. Plate 19, entitled “Canal Street,” is a perfect example of using a deliberately obfuscated subject in order to heighten the complexity of the image and create a richer overall experience for the viewer. At first glance, this image reads as a fairly straightforward lateral view of a busy sidewalk. There are a number of people in the image, most focused primarily straight ahead as they mingle in opposing directions. The image seems fairly benign and quotidian upon initial examination. However, any careful viewer will ultimately stumble upon the only individual in the image who is directly engaged with the camera. On the left of the frame, there is a caucasian man whose face is diagonally obscured by the man in front of him, but who is clearly eyeing the camera with what could variously be interpreted as apprehension, suspicion, or even anger. Regardless of how one interprets this man’s expression, it introduces a layer of tension into the scene that was previously absent. This forces us to reconsider the remaining people in the scene in a new light: now they are unaware (or deliberately ignoring) this new conflict in the frame. As we examine the rest of the scene, we may also see on the opposing side of the frame that an African American woman in the crowd whose face is obscured in almost an identical pattern to the upset man, visually connecting these two subjects. It also appears that she may be looking straight at him: the only one in the crowd who is aware of him and the new tension in the scene. Combined with the preceding plate (the famous Trolley shot, also taken in New Orleans, where the African Americans sit at the rear of the trolley), this image is highly suggestive of the racial tensions bubbling beneath the superficial crust of the American 50‘s. This image serves as an excellent example of the fact that an obscured subject can be a very effective means of layering interest in a photograph, because it makes the viewer dig deeper into an image, and it can also prompt a reevaluation of the more obvious subject matter once the real subject is discovered.

In a contemporary age where attention spans are measured in seconds and kilobytes, and where the rich texture of human experience is typically sacrificed on the altar of convenience, most photographers are unable or unwilling to consider the idea of forcing their viewers to work harder and to gamble that a work of less profligate charms will retain their interest long enough for its subtler qualities to reveal themselves. However, a thoughtful and calculated organization of worthwhile content will ultimately retain its value and interest much longer than a technique-driven image in which a thoughtful examination of content is secondary.

Self portrait by Vivian Maier, courtesy of John Maloof

There are various theories floating around as to why Ms. Maier’s work languished in obscurity for so long. It seems clear that she was an intensely private person, who jealously guarded her personal space and made no effort to share her work with acquaintances. Some have suggested that either sexism or fear of sexism kept her from pursuing greater recognition during her lifetime, although there is little evidence to support this. It is telling, however, that she left so much of her work undeveloped and unprinted. It suggests to me that for her, photography might not have just been a process by which one produces prints.

Image by Vivian Maier, courtesy of John Maloof

For many artists, the act of creation goes hand in hand with the desire to communicate. Personally, I have always associated art with communication, to the point where I typically evaluate art upon its ability to share the unique perspective of the artist. Whether musician, painter, or photographer one typically sees a drive to share one’s creations with others. But in this model of the artistic process, what must one think of the solitary artist, who toils at her work with no desire for others to experience it? And further, what does it mean for an artist to leave her work in such a state where even she cannot experience it directly?

Image by Vivian Maier, courtesy of John Maloof

This story draws me toward a concept of photography as an art more analogous to the practice of martial arts than one inextricably linked to the act of creation of a thing. For instance, in the practice of Kyudo (Japanese Archery), the goal is not primarily to hit the target, but rather the pursuit of Truth, Goodness, and Beauty. It is believed by practitioners of Kyudo that the discipline and mental preparation for the archery is its own reward, and that actually striking one’s arrow into the target is simply the inevitable physical expression of a greater truth. Thus it might be strange to see a practitioner of Kyudo who felt that the primary purpose of her art was to create a target full of arrows.

Image by Vivian Maier, courtesy of John Maloof

Returning to photography for a moment, it is fascinating to consider the idea that perhaps Ms. Maier did not use her camera as a tool to create prints. Rather, she may have viewed the practice of photography as a disciplined methodology by which one might teach herself to see in a highly developed manner. Perhaps for her, the use of a camera was more of a meditative act by which she might crystallize and refine her worldview. Cartier-Bresson was known to comment that for him, his work was done after he clicked the shutter: perhaps Ms. Maier’s methodology is the logical extension of the philosophy where all that matters is the recognition of the decisive moment. The moment is recognized and the photographer achieves a sense of communion with it in the instant the shutter clicks open, and a fine image later is at most secondary to the exercise of perception. In this philosophy, the perfect realization of the practice might be photography in which the camera is no longer necessary.

Image by Vivian Maier, courtesy of John Maloof

I am a results-oriented person, and I tend to value the tangible as a physical guarantee of authenticity. I have an inherent bias that the purpose of photography is to produce prints, and the purpose of prints is to communicate my worldview to others. It is intensely foreign to me to consider a practice of photography that is less about what it produces in the “real” world and more about what it produces in the photographer, in the same way that I cannot imagine picking up a bow and arrow without my primary purpose being to strike the target.

Image by Vivian Maier, courtesy of John Maloof

Of course all of this is speculation, and may have nothing to do with Vivian Maier’s actual reasons for working the way she did. However, in a world that increasingly values ends above means, and in which the method of production is irrelevant compared to its finished product, it is perhaps instructive to consider that in any activity, the effects of what we do are often secondary to the effects on ourselves of how it is done.

If you would like to learn more about Vivian Maier, you can do so at http://vivianmaier.blogspot.com/. Thank you to John Maloof for permitting me to re-post these images.

Meanwhile, in a fish market in Tokyo, Chef Jiro Ono negotiates with vendors for the freshest and most perfect fish imaginable. Chef Ono has spent a significant portion of his eight decades on this earth learning how to identify the perfect fish, and how to prepare it in a fashion that brings out every nuance of its flavor and texture. Subtleties of knife technique that would humble a Samurai, exacting attention to details like minute variations in temperature, and the exquisite preparation of rice ensure that each mouthful is the most pure experience of that particular fish possible.

Both Chefs are luminaries in their respective fields, earning accolades from peers and countless publications including the prestigious Michelin Guide. However, if one were to expose the average layperson (particularly the average American) to the cuisines of both men, I have no doubt that such a person would identify Chef Dufresne as “more skilled.” It is clear to even the most casual observer that the remarkable transformation of food that occurs in Chef Dufresne’s kitchen is beyond the skill of any but a select cadre of culinary artists. Love the food or hate it, molecular gastronomy is a conspicuous achievement of technical wizardry. However, were you to suggest to Chef Ono that he had transformed a piece of Toro into something completely different, I suspect he might even be insulted. The subtlety of interpretation in Chef Ono’s art inherently limits its appreciation to those who already possess a firm grasp of what makes great sushi, and the layperson may have trouble differentiating Chef Ono’s peerless sushi from that of his merely competent peers.

Why am I babbling on about food on a photo blog? First, its a topic with which I am quite familiar thanks to the tutelage of my brilliant brother Andrew Zimmerman, Executive Chef at Sepia Restaurant in Chicago. Second, I find that food is an apt metaphor to illustrate what I mean by the concepts of interpretive and transformative art. Interpretive and transformative qualities are both present in most art forms, but frequently an artist or medium tends toward one approach or the other.

Transformative art is God-like. The transformative artist looks at the world before him as raw materials that may be mutable in countless variations, and produces miraculous re-envisionings of reality. A transformative photographer may take a scene before him and utilize some combination of perspective, camera technique, lighting effects, or post production to render it nearly unrecognizable from its original incarnation. A subject who has experienced transformative photography might exclaim: “That’s AMAZING! It looked nothing like that!” Transformative photography is the land of fantasy and archetypal beauty. For this reason, transformative photography is also inherently more marketable to the average consumer, as it will never be confused with a standard “snap shot” by even the most unlettered. Dave Hill would be an example of a photographer who is primarily known for his transformative work.

On the other hand, the interpretive artist does not seek to transmute the world into something different: he or she seeks to show it most exactly how it is. Anyone who has ever seen a portrait and exclaimed “that look is SO [name here]” has experienced the impact of interpretive art. I refer to this as interpretive art rather than something like “objective” art, because all art is informed by the perspective of the artist. We all inherently apply our own slant and interpretation on the world before us. The difference between the transformative artist and the interpretive is that the former seeks to conform reality to his vision, and the latter seeks to reflect in his vision a perspective of objective truth.** Robert Frank might be considered an example of a photographer who is primarily interpretive, as so might most of the great photojournalists. Much of Avedon’s portrait work might also be considered far more interpretive than transformative.

Interpretive art is innately more subtle, and will typically go unappreciated by those without the context to appreciate it. The impulse of interpretive art may also be felt as counter to the individualistic impulse that Americans are typically known for. Interpretive art requires a certain sublimation of the ego: resisting the impulse to alter the subject matter with an overt artistic imprint. I remember a good friend of mine telling me that he hates shooting natural light because he feels he hasn’t “done anything to [the picture].”

Both the transformative and interpretive approaches are valid, and indeed one might argue that both qualities are present to varying degrees in most photographs. However, I feel that within the commercial photography sector, the desire to differentiate one’s self with work that clearly stands out as “professional,” combined with our own inherent cultural prejudices, have placed an overwhelming emphasis on the transformative approach over the interpretive. This is particularly true for retail photographers (wedding, portrait). A photographer who deftly interprets interactions, gestures, and expressions to purely reflect his subjects may have a great value to his clients, but the fidelity of these interpretations may be lost on other potential clients who don’t know these subjects and therefore lack the context to appreciate this authenticity of vision.

My point, which is primarily directed towards the photographers who frequent my website, is that while transformative art is seductive and marketable, its pursuit may frequently lead one down a path that is largely stripped of authentic meaning to its consumers. I have eaten at Chef Dufresne’s restaurant, and sampled the work of a number of other notable chefs in that field, and I can tell you the best of them never forget that cuisine is supposed to taste good above all else. In some cases, its been clear that the Chef has become so enamored of his wizardry in transformation that concepts such as “flavor” were largely forgotten. Similarly, photography stripped of its interpretive qualities may be impressive, but it will seldom be meaningful.

***

*Many chefs consider the term “molecular gastronomy” to be awkward, uncool, or inaccurate to describe what they do. My apologies, but it is the most expedient manner to describe this general group of approaches to cuisine.
**I know some wannabe epistemologist is going to fuss with me about “objective truth.” You know what I mean. That’s a whole other argument.

First and foremost, its important to recognize that a wedding photographer is typically called upon to work within a variety of disciplines throughout a wedding day. Almost all wedding photographers these days offer a blend of photojournalism, contemporary portraiture, traditional portraiture, and detail shots. However, photographers may diverge wildly regarding the actual composition of this blend, and the priority they place on each component. You may find that one or two of these disciplines are much more important to you than the others, and it is important to find a photographer who shares your priorities.

Photojournalism:
This may also be referred to as “candid” or “documentary” photography, and it describes wedding photos that have not been set up in any way by the photographer. Photojournalism seeks to document the day as it happens with minimal interference. Almost all wedding photographers these days *claim* to offer some sort of photojournalistic component to their coverage. However, many will present candid-looking contemporary portraiture as their “photojournalism.” Quality photojournalism is not merely snapshots of events as they unfold, but carefully considered storytelling that typically incorporates multiple content elements into a cohesive narrative.

Contemporary Portraiture:
Contemporary Portraiture may be described as “fashion-inspired,” “editorial,” or even “rock-star.” Contemporary wedding portraiture is NOT photojournalistic in nature, but it may appear to be so. Modern wedding photographers are skilled at either posing subjects, or placing subjects in situations/interactions that will yield dramatic portraits that do not appear “posed” as with traditional portraiture. Some shots may feature extremely stylized posing, either for group or individual portraits. Contemporary portraiture frequently incorporates dramatic lighting, photoshop effects, special lens effects, and a variety of other techniques. The vast majority of top-tier wedding photographers emphasize contemporary portraiture in their advertising, because it is usually the most eye-catching and dramatic style of wedding photography.

Traditional Portraiture:
Traditional portraiture has been, and will continue to be, and important part of what most wedding photographers offer. Traditional portraiture may be referred to by some as “formals,” or “the group photos,” but it may also include traditionally posed individual portraits. Most professional photographers these days minimize this part of their coverage in their portfolios and as they make sales presentations, however it is rare for a client to choose coverage completely devoid of this style. When executed well, traditional portraits serve as a document of family and friends’ presence, and make all of the subjects look good. A photographer skilled in traditional portraiture will ensure that all subjects are posed and lit in a flattering, if usually somewhat static manner.

Detail Shots:
Detail shots are the primary focus of most bridal blogs and magazines, and are an extremely important element to many couples. Couples will spend countless hours selecting specific colors, centerpieces, cakes, flowers, and other details. Skilled wedding photographers apply many techniques from commercial product photography to document each of these details in an exciting fashion. Some photographers become well-known for their ring shots, flower shots, or other detail-focused images.

First off, let me assure you all that I still really enjoy shooting digital. I love digital. Digital can create wonderful and special images. Many of the best images I’ve ever captured are on digital. But my first love will always be film.

The best explanation that I can offer you is that the difference between film and digital is something I measure with my heart rather than with my head. I love the classic, organic look of a great fiber print, and you just can’t make digital prints look like that. If you wanted to argue that modern 35mm digital cameras offer better resolution, practically grainless low-light capability, easier and more comprehensive post-processing available, and various other objective advantages of digital, I wouldn’t argue with you. However, when it comes to putting an image on paper, the traditional film and silver-gelatin process creates gripping prints with a unique depth and grace. You can try to simulate the appearance of film and classic printing processes with modern digital technology, but you’ll never completely replicate the look. Even if you get close, the best you’ll ever be able to say is that you’ve created good fake film.

In the end, authenticity is what matters to me. I love the look of vintage black & white, but if I get there through digital trickery, I will always know that my work is pretending to be something that it is not.

If you’re a car lover, I have an analogy for you:

Some people lust after the 2010 Shelby GT500 Mustang, because its faster, handles better, and wins almost all of the objective measurements of car performance, comfort, and reliability.

Some people love the 1967 Shelby GT500 Mustang, and will accept no substitutes. It’s not about a top-speed measurement, or modern air conditioning. Its about the unique growl of the engine under the hood, or the solid feel when you close the driver’s door. Its a passion.

And of course, some people will settle for replicas of the ’67. They’re nice cars, and might even fool the folks on the street. They might be fun to drive, and there is nothing wrong with them. But deep down, they’ll never be a real ’67.

I believe in classic cars.
I believe that Champagne only comes from Northern France.
I believe in products that are hand-made, the old fashioned way.
I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter.

And I believe in black and white film.

First off, I love teaching. In my former life, I was a Special Forces soldier in the US Army. And while for many of you, this has connotations of door-kicking, gun-shooting, and various secret-squirrel activities, another big part of my job was teaching. I taught both US and Iraqi troops in a variety of disciplines from medicine to marksmanship, and I’ve retained a great love for helping people grow and improve in their fields of choice.

I have a few important philosophies of teaching. First, if you are expecting my classes to focus on giving you “tricks” and “shortcuts” to taking better photos, you’ll be disappointed. While I am teaching the lighting section, I have absolutely no interest in telling you where to put your lights, and to what settings they should be adjusted. I’m not interested in selling you on one particular style of lighting or piece of gear. My goal for this curriculum is to arm you with a series of principles and properties that will enable you to make your own decisions with regards to lighting, whether you prefer strobes, windows, monolights, video lights, reflectors, or the sun. Along the way, I’ll be happy if you are inspired to experiment with a new type of gear or approach… but it is NOT my goal to provide you with a lighting “system” that you can simply plug your own clients into and achieve “rockstar” effects.

Another principle that I find very important is that I’m coming to this workshop to teach you, not impress you. I will certainly be providing demonstrations of certain techniques where it is appropriate. However, I have seen (and attended) workshops where the instructor creates a killer photo, and then simply cycles the students through that setup and allows them to “trace” the instructor’s photo. It is my belief that this is of limited value to students, even if they are excited by the quality of work they may imagine that “they” are producing. Wherever and whenever it is possible, I am going to make YOU the students do all the work. I will be there to guide you, but I want YOU to be placing the lights and YOU to be deciding on settings, because even if the shot might be a little more polished if I did it for you, I want you to take home skills that you can actually reproduce on your own. I believe that you will retain the skills you learn through a hands-on approach.

Be prepared for me to ask you questions. I don’t like to give you answers, at least without forcing you to think about them first. In many cases I don’t expect you to be able to answer my questions right away, so you should never be embarrassed by not knowing the answer. I’m not doing it to put you on the spot. I believe that answers that you find through your own mental sweat will be retained longer and more richly than formulas that I might ask you to recite by rote, so I’m going to push you to do your own thinking wherever possible.

In the end, I want you all to finish the workshop with a feeling of light as paintbrushes of different types. I don’t want you to be “strobists” or “natural light shooters,” I want you to be students of light.

And in closing I want you to say that I am truly humbled by the responsibility with which you have entrusted me and the other instructors. You have invested with us both your hard-earned money, and more importantly your dreams for growing as a photographer and business. I am fully committed to honoring that trust.

© 2009 Elliott Erwitt/Magnum Photos/Courtesy AMMO Books

The book measures 8.25″ by 10.25″, and sits about 1″ thick including the cover. The printing is crisp and attractive, and the layout is well executed. The brief biographical sketches and contextual information for the shots is presented in 4 languages: English, French, German, and Spanish. The volume is published by AMMO Books, who were kind enough to authorize my reproduction of the selections from the book as illustration for my review.

© 1999 George Georgiou/Courtesy AMMO Books

© 1999 George Georgiou/Courtesy AMMO Books

An excellent example of the insights in the book is the chapter that presents George Georgiou’s photo-journalistic image of a wedding in Kosovo, circa 1999. The image was taken very soon after the end of hostilities, of a bride who was marrying a Kosovar Albanian that lived in Belgium. According to the photographer, it is the tradition there that the bride is supposed to maintain a solemn demeanor, while the party goes on around her. It is fascinating to see Georgiou work this one composition for an entire roll of Tri-X, looking for the one shot where the arms around the bride form the perfect zig-zag composition and the expressions are all clearly visible. One common theme that I noticed in this chapter and throughout the book is that the selected image was seldom the very last image taken… usually the photographer doesn’t know when he or she gets “the shot.” This fact was especially pronounced to me in the Doisneau chapter, where the photographer’s iconic “Le Basier de L’hotel de Ville” was presented. Based on the numbering of the contacts, Doisneau continued to pursue an inferior variation of his famous shot where the couple is on the back of a bus after the fateful frame was captured.

I find the fact that these photographers frequently didn’t realize (or weren’t confident) that they had “it” jibes with my own experience, and reinforces for me the subconscious nature of photography. Some might interpret the fact that photographers often don’t realize that they have the shot in the can to imply that they arrive at these great photographs by luck, or simply by playing the laws of probability to create enough volume of shots that statistics will ensure success. However, this view is refuted by the consistency of the really great photographers and by the inability of prolific journeymen to produce truly mind-blowing work. I rather interpret this trend to suggest that all photography combines aspects of conscious and unconscious thought. Frequently, our unconscious may achieve the instantaneous recognition of the “decisive moment,” expression, or composition before our conscious mind is prepared to recognize it. Our conscious selves may be so wrapped up in our stylistic concerns, our preconceived notions, that we overlook the greatness understood my our more instinctive selves.

The Contact Sheet is a modestly sized book that is crammed full of realizations and insights such as those above. Its reasonable price tag enables this book to be a painless investment in professional development, or a wonderful Christmas gift for your favorite photographer.

The first room was, for me, dominated by the selections of Brassai’s night photography. Brassai published a book in 1933 called Paris de Nuit that broke new ground by capturing the dense, dramatic feel of this great city’s nocturnal form. Interestingly, Brassai’s remarkable image of the city as seen from the roof of Notre Dame, with a gargoyle in near silhouette in the foreground, was not actually a part of this book although it certainly fits in thematically. Brassai’s photographs evoke dreamscapes, and are clearly the spiritual cousins of the surrealist painters’ works.

Subsequent galleries explore the deconstruction and demystification of Parisian landmarks such as La Tour Eiffel, and then the female nude form. For instance, Ilse Bing’s images of the Eiffel Tower demonstrate the significant ambivalence that Parisians felt toward the huge structure for many years. In this image, you can see how Bing has truncated the bottom of the tower, and then confined it below the arch. Then, the lantern takes nearly equivalent precedence in the image due to the perspective chosen by the photographer. The composition is both striking and vaguely abstract, and it defies the conventional approach to venerating landmarks in photographs.

Ilse Bing. Tour Eiffel, vue du Pont Birk-Hakeim, Paris, 1932.

Kertesz went even further in his deconstruction of the tower, by focusing on its immense and intricate shadow, and upon the shadows of the people who pass underneath. The placard in the display makes the observation that the shadows in this image appear to be more real than the people themselves. This image again shows that even a less manipulated “straight” image may take on surrealist dream-like qualities.

Kertesz’s “Grotesques,” female nudes shot using fun-house mirrors, are an excellent example of the section dealing with the abstraction and manipulation of images of the female form. These images distort the nudes into fantastic, and sometimes discomfiting shapes.

A notable inclusion in this exhibit is a number of periodicals and publications that demonstrate the interplay between fine art and popular culture during this period, where the line between could become blurry indeed. Commercial work from many of the main photographers are included, and much of it is invigorated by their fine art pursuits. These printed works also serve to provide an additional layer of insight into the culture that surrounded the burgeoning surrealist movement.

One fascinating aside is the exhibit’s emphasis on the influence of Atget on Man Ray, Brassai, Kertesz, and many others. Atget was a relative unknown during his lifetime, who sought primarily to document the Paris that he viewed as losing its fight against modernity and homogenization. Atget focused primarily on long exposure images of details of the city both famous and obscure, and took a profoundly imperfect and personal approach to the imagery. His work was discovered by the art community (led by Man Ray) after his death, and was elevated to the pantheon of photographic greats. In many parts of the exhibit, the curator chose to place images by Man Ray and others beside Atget’s work in such a way to make the influence clear.

Much of the work in the exhibit, both still and video, featured the use of lens and darkroom manipulation to distort and stylize the subject matter. Images and films by Man Ray in particular demonstrate techniques such as the use of gel-smeared lenses and solarization to transform subject matter in the images to figments and archetypes.

One quibble about the exhibit is that some of the video display was of poor quality, and made it less watchable. La petite Marchande d’Allumettes was a 1928 film on projected display in the gallery, but much of the movie was so pixellated and blown that it was sometimes difficult to watch. It is possible this is due to the limits of the extensive restoration needed to bring this film to modern audiences, but much of the issue appeared to digital rather than organic degradation. In any case, I would have loved an introduction or more extensive explanation on the placard discussing the restoration of the film, and the challenges of reproducing it.

The exhibit flowed nicely, and featured the work of some of my favorite photographers. The presentation was excellent saving the video issues mentioned above. Be aware that some mature themes are presented in the photographs and films, so it may not be a suitable exhibition for all museum-goers. If you are in Nashville and have a few hours, I highly recommend checking this exhibit out!

The Frist Center – http://fristcenter.org

The most recent acquisition to my photography book collection is Edward Steichen: In High Fashion (The Conde Nast Years 1923-1937). Physically, the book is a hefty 12.3 x 10.4 x 1.3 inches , with 4 lengthy essays and 242 quad-tone images. The print quality is uniformly excellent, which prompts a disclaimer in the introduction that certain retouch-marks may be visible in this edition that would not have been seen in the original printings of these images due to the poorer print quality. The essays are solidly written in a style accessible to the layperson without an MFA in art history. They are generally celebratory, but provide useful context in which to place the collection of images.

Steichen is a fascinating character: in the early 1920′s he stood at the pinnacle of the fine art photography world when he was approached by Conde Nast to be chief photographer for their fashion and society magazines, most notably Vogue and Vanity Fair. Steichen’s fine arts colleagues urged him to decline the job offer, as fashion and commercial photography were not considered fertile ground for a true artist. Steichen was broadly derided as a sell-out for accepting the position. However, Steichen anticipated the immense power of images in print publications, and blazed a trail for a new era of dynamic imagery that blurred the lines between art and commerce. Indeed, subsequent photographers such as Penn, Avedon, Demarchelier, and Leibovitz all owe a debt to Steichen for being among the first to blend fine art and mass media.

There are two things that really stand out to me in Steichen’s work for Conde Nast: his ability to infuse fashion photographs with the personality of the subjects (this was completely revolutionary at the time), and his willingness to apply unconventional “fine art” compositions and lighting to fashion images. Many of the images in the book seem downright abstracted by commercial standards, yet they remain accessable.

If you have any interest at all in classic photography, I’d definitely put this book on your shopping list. Its certainly having an influence on my work.

AP Photo/Eddie Adams 1968

Tonight Amanda and I will attend a screening of An Unlikely Weapon, a documentary on the great photojournalist Eddie Adams. The film will apparently focus on the circumstances and ramifications of his Pulitzer-Prize winning photograph depicting the execution of Vietcong prisoner Nguyễn Văn Lém by police chief general Nguyễn Ngọc Loan during the 1968 Tet offensive.

“The general killed the Viet Cong; I killed the general with my camera. Still photographs are the most powerful weapon in the world. People believe them; but photographs do lie, even without manipulation. They are only half-truths. … What the photograph didn’t say was, ‘What would you do if you were the general at that time and place on that hot day, and you caught the so-called bad guy after he blew away one, two or three American people?”

-Eddie Adams

I will make sure to report back on what I think of the documentary, and any philosophical or ethical questions that it raises.

Part 2

Eddie Adams, AP Photo

Hi, everyone: Amanda Baines here. Evan asked that I “guest blog” for Part II of his coverage of “An Unlikely Weapon: The Eddie Adams Story” to get an alternate perspective. The layman’s terms of it, perhaps? I said, “Fine. Cheeseburger first, then blogging.” So, after a lovely nosh of cheeseburger and fries at Five Guys, here I am.

I came to this film out of a desire to find something over which Evan and I could bond. I’m really into highbrow stuff (grammar jokes, esoteric subtitled films, etc.) and Evan is, of course, a photographer’s photographer…a student of the world of it who can’t get enough of it. He’s tried to teach me things and I’ve learned a little. Trouble is, my head is already so full of other technical information that I don’t know what to do with F-Stops and ISO’s and what have you.

When I shoot, which is rare (I’m a ham, what can I say? I prefer to be the focus of the picture, not the one focusing), I usually bring along a Holga. Point, Shoot, Pray: that’s a good enough MO for me. Leave the real photography to the professional in the family.

Anyway, I heard that this film was playing and got really excited. A few months back, Evan and I had attended a photography exhibition at the Frist Center here in Nashville, where we’d seen some of Eddie Adams’ prints, in person. I remember being instantly familiar with the shot when I saw it in person. I remember thinking to myself how horrible it was…and how lucky. Not lucky for Eddie in the sense that it granted him any wishes or fulfilled any dreams, and certainly it was bad luck for the shooter and victim in many ways afterwards, but lucky in a timing sense.

Working with Evan and other photographers, I’ve learned that timing is absolutely vital to all that they do. Understanding this, how purely lucky it is that the photo even exists. How many factors had to have merged to allow that shot to be captured at all.

In the film we meet Eddie as an older man, gruff, funny, and a bit of a rascal. I liked him immediately, much like most people who met him probably did. He seemed to have a affable sense of humor, an approachable vibe, and a self-deprecating manner that resulted in true honesty, made you want to know him, made you want him to want to know you, too, in a way.

Eddie Adams is best known for his combat photography, specifically during Vietnam. While there, Adams was placing himself in harm’s way along with the Soldiers, going on runs with them in helicopters, through the jungles of Vietnam. He knew, having been a soldier himself once, that this was the only way to win their respect.

He saw six friends die in the war, all photojournalists. After a particularly unfortunate incident (four photographers he knew were killed in a single helicopter crash) he called the president of the AP and asked to be sent home. He had already been in country for perhaps years by that time, photographing the day to day monotony and weariness of the Soldiers and citizens along with the drama and agony of the war. It was too much: he was spent. But when he got back home to New York City, he couldn’t relate to anyone who hadn’t experienced what he had. He felt detached, annoyed that no one seemed to care that there were people dying in Vietnam. He realized he had to go back the day he saw a disabled Vet on crutches nearly run down by a New York City cab. He called the president of the AP and asked to be sent back again.

The shot Eddie Adams became so famous for, the Shot That Turned The Tide In Vietnam, as it was dubbed by some interviewees in the film, was taken during this second tour. Things in Vietnam had gone from really bad to a lot worse since he’d been away. When that shot was taken, it was during of a Vietcong raid on Saigon where the US Embassy had been nearly destroyed and thousands Vietnamese citizens and US Troops alike dead or injured. On day two of the attacks, during the cleanup, Eddie Adams explained that he saw someone shackled: a prisoner, and saw more people with guns moving him down a street. As a photographer, his instinct was to follow, to see what happened, expecting to see the Soldiers cart him off to a paddy wagon and away.

Instead, the General simply stood the Vietcong up in the street and shot him, minimal fanfare, minimal fuss. The accompanying video footage, interspersed with the three photos Eddie Adams took, was very graphic, a “water fountain” of blood issuing from the wound in the grainy color film. Strangely, I was less shocked by the footage than I was by the photos. The footage was taken at the exact same time as the photographs and yet, it was somehow too surreal for me to grasp, to follow. The director, Susan Morgan Cooper, said later in the Q&A that for her, photographs are something that we can stare at, can be made to live with.

Eddie Adams had to live with it, too. When he finally left Vietnam, the photograph was everywhere, haunting him. He barely seemed to want anything to do with it. Later in the movie, he commented in his self-deprecating way that, “It’s not even a good photograph. For one thing, it’s the wrong time of day…composition is awful…”

He would go on to cover nearly a dozen wars and through all of them, the press began to look to him to “take the one shot,” the shot that would serve as the touchstone for the conflict, encapsulating it and representing it to the rest of the world.

The thing that struck me so much about him, beyond the comments about how “everyone is…we’re all dying, so what does it matter what you do?” was that he really wanted to understand his subjects. He wanted to understand and empathize with the General in the photo he took, seeming to understand on some level that he was doing what he had to do. Later, he wanted to understand Fidel Castro (after he bossed him around a little bit), trying to put him into a situation where he was Fidel, not Fidel Castro Menace of the Caribbean. All of his subjects, from tyrants to philanthropists to actors, he seemed to empathize with all of them, treating them and photographing them with a true sense of sensitivity and class.

Hilariously, his attitude toward the media was one of amusement and disdain. He only published one book of his work in his lifetime in partnership with Kerry Kennedy. Adams had some strong words for their collaboration, “Speak Truth to Power,” saying: “What the f*** does that even mean? I think it’s a stupid title. I wanted to call it ‘Soldiers Without Guns.’ People could understand that, not this s***.”

He was honest, he was raw, and for all the trash-talk, it seemed obvious he did respect the work and people in it. His comments about the photos therein were dry and deadpan, “They’re in focus.” Like many photographers I know, he never seemed satisfied with any shot, getting tired of them over and over again. He also bemoaned his contemporaries: other photographers. He grumbles, walking through the streets of New York with the director, “You know what I really hate? Other photographers. They’re too f***ing good. It pisses me off.”

After the film, I was full of questions that I wanted to ask about this guy. The one I got to ask the director was, “How did you prepare for your first meeting with him?”

She said, more or less, “I was a little nervous, but he was very kind and we had a beer together and we looked at photos he had taken of this little boy with Progeria meeting another little boy with the same disease, both of them never before having seen someone who looked like they did. We looked at those photos and drank beer and cried and bonded.”

I have still more questions about this man, and find myself mourning his passing. I wanted to ask “What was he like with his family? How did he work? Was he patient behind the camera, was he demanding?” The film gave us a beautiful picture window to look through and yet, I still want more.

Eddie Adams’ sense of duty to his subjects and his empathy stay with me, even though I feel I have some unanswered questions. I really liked the film. If it’s going to be at a film festival near you, please try to see it. If not, we’ll likely have a screening party soon with the festival copy we were able to purchase soon. Come on over.