An Exhibit in Guadalajara in May, 2008 of 72 of the photographs from "Mexico 1953"
Talk at the opening "conferencia," Guadalajara, May 8 2008, at Instituto Cabanas
I suppose the first question I should deal with is whether the photographer of all these
old images is still alive.
That is not as easy to answer as it should be.
In fact he was very young and serious about photography, but in a few years his career
took him away from still photography for many years.
I finally managed to use some of his skills as a filmmaker. I shot many documentaries
and television commercials and slide shows for my own company and others. But in
retirement, with time to review it all, I think the best work was in those early years,
when his enthusiasm and purpose was purely seeing.
I want to read you some words from the great critic and curator of photography at the
New York Museum of Modern Art, John Szarkowsky, from his book of 1977, Looking
at Photographs.
"In childhood, each of us was open to dramas of the senses, revealed in terms that
were trivial and ephemeral: the way leaves move, the lost space between the
window screen and the glass, the reflection of the sun from a hand mirror on the
dressing table, slowly tracing its elliptical course across the ceiling.
"Many of us forget the existence of such experiences when we learn to measure
the priorities of practical life, or we find that they are rare or elusive.
"A few, whom we call artists, maintain an easy intimacy with these wonders of
simple perception. In this century many of these have been photographers, and
the exploration of our fundamental sensory experience has been in large part their
work. It is photography that has continued to teach us of the pleasure and the
adventure of disinterested seeing."
2
It has been observed that the development of any adult skill may depend upon freezing
some moment of childhood. All scientists are forever four years old, wide-eyed and
self-centered. All writers are always eight years old, hyper-aware and resentful. And all
magicians and, I would say, photographers, are eternally twelve years old, having first
felt the power of making a magic box work and gaining control of people’s wayward
attention.
The magic box for us is the camera, that ultimate gadget, which finally might enable us to speak about reality with something like eloquence. And behind it stood the occult
magic of the darkroom to master.
Twelve it was for me, first with a Kodak Brownie camera. At 13 I gathered my
earnings from delivering morning newspapers and purchased a real camera, a small
Speed Graphic. In the 1940s, news photographers used Speed Graphics, only larger.
It was my rite of passage. I shot events and sports for the high school paper, and set
out to explore the city and beyond.
Or rather, he did.
3
In what sense should photography be considered art? We are all surrounded by
photographs all our lives. They do the job of communicating reality, but are they art?
In the 20th century, the idea grew that some photographs should be viewed as art.
The distinction seemed to come down to their intent. Was the photo taken to serve a
purpose, like an ad or a news or sports photo? Or was it to share a personal vision,
a way of seeing, and was that way worth experiencing?
When we view any art, this is a question we ask. Do I want to explore this artist’s mind?
The artists that produced beautiful or striking images with cameras began to shape
the world of art photography in the second quarter of the 20th century. They were my
models — I knew not why. Adams, Weston, Cartier-Bresson, Doisneau, Eugene Smith,
Walker Evans, Alvarez Bravo, Frank, and the great artists whose work Steichen
gathered in The Family of Man. Then in the 1960s and 70s their work began to be
seriously criticized, analyzed, exhibited and published. And collected. And then
photography became art.
Szarkowsky, who succeeded Steichen at the Museum of Modern Art was a key figure
in this development.
His collections and writings gave a rich meaning to the idea of noticing. of seriously
considering a photograph’s content and intent. When I discovered his work in the
1990s, it was exciting. I felt justified in all the time I had spent making images for
many years with no client or known destination. And what he said, what I would like
to say, is get close. Notice the immense amount of information in a photograph.
And notice what narrative is its apparent intent.
Mind you, the intent you find, the story you write, may not have been the
photographer’s. For Szarkowsky that did not matter. Photographers often do not
think through why they make a picture. But if they are worth watching, chances are
that their fast choice arose from a background of aesthetic learning and judgment,
and it reflects an interesting attitude toward humanity or nature: loving, angry or
dour, reverent or humorous, and a respect for design, structure and composition.
4
Your interpretation of a photograph will reflect your own life experience. If it is
interesting or touching, the photograph will have done its work.
(I then shared my own observations about a few of the photographs the
young man made.) I am in almost the same position as you, for I honestly do not
remember taking most of these photographs, although I remember the trips.
Here you are hearing what I experienced in 2004, when I first returned to this
box of 400 old negatives and began paying real attention to them.
(Since this would take the pictures out of sequence, I omit this conclusion here.)
Talk at the opening "conferencia," Guadalajara, May 8 2008, at Instituto Cabanas
I suppose the first question I should deal with is whether the photographer of all these
old images is still alive.
That is not as easy to answer as it should be.
In fact he was very young and serious about photography, but in a few years his career
took him away from still photography for many years.
I finally managed to use some of his skills as a filmmaker. I shot many documentaries
and television commercials and slide shows for my own company and others. But in
retirement, with time to review it all, I think the best work was in those early years,
when his enthusiasm and purpose was purely seeing.
I want to read you some words from the great critic and curator of photography at the
New York Museum of Modern Art, John Szarkowsky, from his book of 1977, Looking
at Photographs.
"In childhood, each of us was open to dramas of the senses, revealed in terms that
were trivial and ephemeral: the way leaves move, the lost space between the
window screen and the glass, the reflection of the sun from a hand mirror on the
dressing table, slowly tracing its elliptical course across the ceiling.
"Many of us forget the existence of such experiences when we learn to measure
the priorities of practical life, or we find that they are rare or elusive.
"A few, whom we call artists, maintain an easy intimacy with these wonders of
simple perception. In this century many of these have been photographers, and
the exploration of our fundamental sensory experience has been in large part their
work. It is photography that has continued to teach us of the pleasure and the
adventure of disinterested seeing."
2
It has been observed that the development of any adult skill may depend upon freezing
some moment of childhood. All scientists are forever four years old, wide-eyed and
self-centered. All writers are always eight years old, hyper-aware and resentful. And all
magicians and, I would say, photographers, are eternally twelve years old, having first
felt the power of making a magic box work and gaining control of people’s wayward
attention.
The magic box for us is the camera, that ultimate gadget, which finally might enable us to speak about reality with something like eloquence. And behind it stood the occult
magic of the darkroom to master.
Twelve it was for me, first with a Kodak Brownie camera. At 13 I gathered my
earnings from delivering morning newspapers and purchased a real camera, a small
Speed Graphic. In the 1940s, news photographers used Speed Graphics, only larger.
It was my rite of passage. I shot events and sports for the high school paper, and set
out to explore the city and beyond.
Or rather, he did.
3
In what sense should photography be considered art? We are all surrounded by
photographs all our lives. They do the job of communicating reality, but are they art?
In the 20th century, the idea grew that some photographs should be viewed as art.
The distinction seemed to come down to their intent. Was the photo taken to serve a
purpose, like an ad or a news or sports photo? Or was it to share a personal vision,
a way of seeing, and was that way worth experiencing?
When we view any art, this is a question we ask. Do I want to explore this artist’s mind?
The artists that produced beautiful or striking images with cameras began to shape
the world of art photography in the second quarter of the 20th century. They were my
models — I knew not why. Adams, Weston, Cartier-Bresson, Doisneau, Eugene Smith,
Walker Evans, Alvarez Bravo, Frank, and the great artists whose work Steichen
gathered in The Family of Man. Then in the 1960s and 70s their work began to be
seriously criticized, analyzed, exhibited and published. And collected. And then
photography became art.
Szarkowsky, who succeeded Steichen at the Museum of Modern Art was a key figure
in this development.
His collections and writings gave a rich meaning to the idea of noticing. of seriously
considering a photograph’s content and intent. When I discovered his work in the
1990s, it was exciting. I felt justified in all the time I had spent making images for
many years with no client or known destination. And what he said, what I would like
to say, is get close. Notice the immense amount of information in a photograph.
And notice what narrative is its apparent intent.
Mind you, the intent you find, the story you write, may not have been the
photographer’s. For Szarkowsky that did not matter. Photographers often do not
think through why they make a picture. But if they are worth watching, chances are
that their fast choice arose from a background of aesthetic learning and judgment,
and it reflects an interesting attitude toward humanity or nature: loving, angry or
dour, reverent or humorous, and a respect for design, structure and composition.
4
Your interpretation of a photograph will reflect your own life experience. If it is
interesting or touching, the photograph will have done its work.
(I then shared my own observations about a few of the photographs the
young man made.) I am in almost the same position as you, for I honestly do not
remember taking most of these photographs, although I remember the trips.
Here you are hearing what I experienced in 2004, when I first returned to this
box of 400 old negatives and began paying real attention to them.
(Since this would take the pictures out of sequence, I omit this conclusion here.)
posted by Roger Hagan at 8:09 AM
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