Book Review

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With a Hungarian expatriate about to win the French elections – not hard when you are running against an idiot who never read Economics 101, meaning an opponent whose cure for unemployment is to create half a million new government jobs – it seems appropriate to focus today’s journal entry on a Parisian expatriate photographer who also happened to be Hungarian, none other than the great André Kertesz. Kertesz at least had the good sense to leave Paris before the forces of evil took over, a similar sitiuation to that prevailing today in the world’s most gorgeous city. The difference this time is that a more insular America is not about to bail out a country cursed with the muddle headed socialism of fifty years of the Fifth Republic. Like the worthless doorman in my New York apartment of days yore, the only thing most French workers seem good at is walking around, hand outstretched, palm upwards.

The Paris of Kertész’s day was a better place.

This large format 302 page book, available from Amazon, is not cheap but as, to my amazement, I had no definitive Kertesz monograph in my library, I paid up the not inconsiderable price of entry and have to say it was worth every penny.

The book has its frustrations – the difficulty of finding the right illustrations to match the text, the sheer pig headed idiocy of reproducing miniscule prints of his early work sorrounded by acres of white – are the two worst. However, the narrative, broken into the three main periods of Kertesz’s life, is priceless, something you will rarely encounter in any art book. Special note has to be made of Sarah Greenough’s writing in her two essays which address his formative years in Hungary (1894-1925), and the key years in Paris (1925-1936). Erudite, deeply researched and incredibly informative yet never condescending, it’s art writing at its very best.

Anyone growing up with black and white photography – which means largely people my age and older – cannot have but been affected by Kertesz’s work. His unusual compositions, original points of view and tightness of framing all make for compelling imagery.

Kertész by Pindelski, South Bank, London, 1973. Leica M3, 50mm Elmar, TriX

I cannot count the number of my early images I made by looking up or down at severe angles – Kertész’s influence at work.

A key book for any photographer’s collection.

Book review

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This is a charming and inexpensive introduction to some of Evans’s most interesting work. Highly recommended.

Book review

Recent comments by reader Giovanni Maggiora in response to a couple of journal entries here (1 and 2) saw recommendations for the color work of Saul Leiter, a photographer I had never heard of.

Paso Robles hot rod show, 2007. Canon 5D, 24-105.

So I hopped over to Amazon and a few days later Early Color by Leiter was in my hands. You will understand the level of trust I place in my readers when I admit to having blown $45 on this small volume, which is some sort of record given that I ordinarily only buy remaindered photography books. A remaindered Brassai is a cheap Brassai, after all.

Leiter’s work uses color sparingly in these pictures, taken during 1948-60; frequently, the colors are faded. The style is somewhere between Ralph Gibson (Leiter’s work being far more approachable) and Andre Kertesz, which is funny when you recall how much Kertesz denigrated color photography. As much as I (mostly) denigrate monochrome today. Stated differently, the style is street photography, but has nothing to do with the Decisive Moment school. People often feature in Leiter’s streetscapes, but as an architectural adjunct, seldom as a subject. As the text suggests, he would have done more color but couldn’t afford it. Boy, do I know how he felt.

I found the work wonderfully fresh and inspiring to look at, not least because my own style of street snap is very reminiscent of Leiter’s work. I say that unselfconsciously, having never heard of him until now. So while I can honestly report that Leiter’s work did not influence me one bit, the similarities are striking.

I make some disclosures below about the copyright aspects of reproducing Leiter’s work here; bottom line, I make no money from it and, hopefully, he will when you buy his book. Additionally, I have added an imprint on his pictures to make things clear. Then, compare his work with some of my color street snaps over the ages:

Madison Avenue, NYC 1982. Leica M3, 35mm Summaron. Kodachrome 64

Leiter’s version, 1960

Stanford University campus, 2002. Olympus C-5050 digital

Leiter’s version, 1956

Union Square, San Francisco, 1999. Leica M2, 90mm Asph Summicron, Kodak Gold 100.

Leiter’s version, 1954

Chinatown, San Francisco, 2000. Leica M2, 35mm Asph Summicron. Kodak Gold 100.

Leiter’s version, 1956

Eiffel Tower, 1977. Leica M3, 35mm Summaron. GAF Ansco 500

Leiter’s version, 1959

If this “street/color” genre appeals to you, do take a look at Leiter’s book. And thank you, Giovanni, for putting me on to Saul Leiter’s work.

Update:

Leiter passed away, aged 89, on November 26, 2013. The New Yorker has a thoughtful obituary here.

An extraordinary book by Peter Keetman.

What the Leica is to rangefinder cameras and the Nikon F to SLRs, so is the VW Beetle to cars. Each is an icon which transcends time and criticism. Each was the very best that its respective designers and engineers had to offer.

The photography in this book is exceptional. The cover picture is a foretaste of what is to come. Keetman, who spent a week in the VW facory in 1953 without a commission or pay, does not document workers toiling in tough conditions making thousands of cars. Social statements are not his interest. Rather, everywhere he points his camera he sees geometrical forms, shapes repeated, industrial beauty of the highest order.

Hundreds of differential gears look like so many flowers in a meadow. Stacked body panels create beautiful, repetitive designs. Cylinder heads look like nothing so much as immense, expressionist buildings – think of the Capitol Records building in Los Angeles or the BMW headquarters in Munich.

An exceptionally honest essay by Rolf Sachsse pulls no punches as to the provenance of the Beetle and Armin Kley provides a useful technical piece on the development of this cultural icon – the iPod of its day.

You do not need to like cars to love the great photography in this ninety page paperback, first published in the US in 1992. Amazon lists used copies for very little. Rush out and get one before they are gone.