2019: 12 (Magnum: Contact Sheets)

I made two resolutions this past New Year’s Day. One was that I would write a blog entry on this website once a week. I have kept this up for 12 weeks, so I consider it a good start as we round the corner on the first quarter of 2019. The other resolution I made was to purchase at least one photo book every month. I was excited when the most recent purchase arrived in the mail. As you can see it is “Magnum: Contact Sheets.”

The book is a fantastic look “behind the curtain,” so to speak; to see the rolls of film that have yielded so many historic, incredibly memorable icons of 20th-century photography. Looking through this book triggered so many memories for me, recalling the days when I was strictly a film photographer. Exposing 36 exposure rolls of film, developing the film myself, and then finally making a contact sheet of each roll. Finally seeing all of the images I captured with my camera. There is still a feeling of magic for me when I look at contact sheets. Hence my joy of adding “Magnum: Contact Sheets” to my library. I love looking throughout the book and seeing the photographers’ markings… isolating the specific image that they chose to print, seeing that frame on the contact sheet marked in bold grease pencil.

Though shooting digital photographs has many advantages, there is something lost when there is not a tangible record of the photos that came before or after the ones we choose to show the world. I highly recommend this book. It should be part of any serious photographers personal library. It might even inspire you to grab a roll of film and shoot “old school.”

Worth A Thousand Words: Bruce Davidson

Time to jump back into my series of blog posts that take a closer look at some iconic photographs. Today, I'm looking at and discussing the work of Bruce Davidson. Specifically, an image that graced the cover of his landmark book of color photographs titled "Subway."

To begin, let's take a trip back in time to the 1970s in New York City. The city was a dangerous place. Crime was rampant, blight was everywhere, and when to city declared it was nearing bankruptcy, the message received from then President Gerald Ford was "Drop Dead."

As the Rolling Stones sang "bite the Big Apple, don't mind the maggots," the denizens of the city went about their daily lives, which for many included a daily descent into the graffiti covered subway system. If there was one thing that best represented the sad state of urban life in 1970s NYC, it was the filthy, crime ridden train system. It was into this world that acclaimed Magnum photographer Bruce Davidson descended as he embarked on a project that would become a landmark book of color photographs.

Davidson was no stranger to the streets of New York City. He had been shooting street gangs and poor neighborhoods throughout the five boroughs for some time. In the preface for the "Subway" book, he discusses how dangerous it was to be working alone in this subterranean environment. He had equipment stolen and had been harassed when he got too close to certain subjects or situations. Yet, he was driven to explore the world that existed below street level, and persisted to create a truly stunning body of work.

Up to this point, most of Davidson's previous work had been shot in black and white. The decision to shoot color for the Subway project was a wise choice. The different sources of light, both natural and artificial, the variety of skin tones and clothing color palettes, the smattering of spray painted graffiti... these needed to be seen in full color. 

“I wanted to transform the subway from its dark, degrading, and impersonal reality into images that open up our experience again to the color, sensuality, and vitality of the individual souls that ride it each day.”

— Bruce Davidson

The image that I'd like to spend time discussing in further detail happens to be the cover image from the book. So, what do we see? A color image, shot inside a subway car. The composition is solid, with the main subject, a shirtless man, slightly off center, and rows of florescent lights angling down on either side of him, pulling the viewer's attention right to the middle of the frame. We then can focus our gaze on the gold necklaces hanging around the man's neck, with a cross sitting squarely in the middle of his muscular chest. The man's face is obscured in shadow, but we can clearly make out a mustache above his upper lip. Judging by his skin tone, and the religious jewelry, I am making the assumption that he is a Hispanic male, most likely in his late teens or early 20s.

Firstly, what I find striking about this image is how close to his subject Davidson got to take this photo. It was surely shot with a wide-angle lens, so I would guess that he was standing within a foot or so of his subject. This is no "on the sly" hipshot. The subject certainly knew he was being photographed. What makes this image so intriguing to me is when I start to consider who this shirtless man may be, what kind of personality might he possess? He has the machismo to be riding the subway shirtless, which is a bold statement of non-conformity and a disregard of the likely rules against doing so. He is also showing off jewelry that I'm sure has some monetary value. One would think a quick grab from a thief would garner items that could be sold on the street for a decent amount of cash. However, who would dare make this kind of move? Is the shirtless man challenging those around him with this kind of flaunting? Is he daring other to try to make a move on him? Is there any irony in the fact that he is showing symbols of his religious faith in an environment that many would argue is devoid of God's presence?

I would guess that many riders in that particular subway car were averting their eyes from this man, as most New Yorkers will tell you is one way to survive in the city... never make eye contact with anyone. Davidson is doing almost the same thing here. We don't actually see the man's eyes. They are mostly hidden. Yet, the photographer does not shy away from a different kind of confrontation in this picture. He did not turn away, but instead took the photo. This is creative bravery on display. 

Again, I must revisit the fact that this image was shot on color film. As much as I prefer to shoot in black and white for most of my own work, I do recognize that there is a time and a place for color photographs. I doubt that this Bruce Davidson photo would have the same impact if it were shot in black and white. The beautiful skin tones that inform so much, the pop of the gold chains, the sickly bluish green of the rows of florescent lights, the cool chrome of the straps; all gain so much by being seem in glorious color.

I highly recommend Bruce Davidson's book "Subway" to any lover of street photography. It is work that utilizes the documentary style that earned him a place along the other masters of Magnum, but merges it will a more artistic exploration of light and color. And it harkens back to the pre-Giuliani days when New York City was a seedy, dangerous, yet still exciting place to venture. The days when a quasi-vigilante group like the Guardian Angels were seen as a sensible reaction to the crime filling the streets and the subways. Maybe the good old days were a bit closer to bad old days, but something was definitely lost as the city cleaned itself up. 

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.”