The man was a God, but why the pretentiousness?

Proving yet again that there’s no money to be made in Art Books, I splashed out the princely sum of $31.50 on “Irving Penn Platinum Prints”. This book had no expense spared at the altar of authenticity.

Now before you accuse me of being unduly critical, a quick check of my earlier piece on Penn’s fine book “Worlds in a Small Room” may be found here.

The man, clearly, is a God in the history of twentieth century photography.

So when I decided to blow serious coin on “Platinum Prints” it was not without foreboding. I have always eyed anything which purports to apply Secret Sauce to a common or garden process with deep suspicion. And, sadly, skepticism was more than justified in this case.

Yes, the famous pictures are all there – that old fraud Picasso, the future Mrs. Penn (well, at least the guy was straight, or it was one hell of a cover), that great black and white Vogue cover of the mesh vail, the Harley Hell’s Angels disguised as Greek gods, the mud people, Cecil(y) Beaton, all those neo-Sander portraits of horny handed sons of toil, those foul/smelly/gorgeous cigarette butts. In other words, Penn’s finest. No question, the reproduction quality of the prints is beyond criticism.

Then, over that height of civilized existence, the evening vodka Martini, I chanced on the back cover of the book only to see the following solemn inscription: “Over the years I have spent thousands of hours silently brushing on the liquid coatings, preparing each sheet in anticipation of reaching the perfect print. Irving Penn”.

Phew!

So the guy:

1 – Despite working for Vogue with all its resources, values his time so little that he has to make his own prints. Something a trained monkey can do reasonably well.

2 – He elects to waste thousands (thousands – do you believe that?) of hours in a darkroom rather than share more of his great vision with the world.

3 – An exotic process is clearly involved. Do I smell snake oil?

I yield to no one in my admiration for Irving Penn. Unlike his fake contemporary, Richard Avedon, Penn had an eye for what he believed in, not for what would sell. He was the Real Thing.

But then he has to go and tell the world that he is using some inane, archaic process to make his prints. They are no better for the fact that he wasted thousands of hours on them, and that means they really are awfully good. Buy the book, disregard the blurb.

Just because the printing process is complex does not mean the print is a good picture. Thank goodness Penn’s work transcends the nonsense this book propounds.

The English satirical magazine Private Eye has long published a column named Pseuds Corner where pretentious nonsense is reprinted in all its glory. For example:

“The sheer courage of these pieces is breathtaking. The space inside, the gap between the walls, narrows, widens, breathes in and out (if you can speak of massive iron “breathing”, which in Serra’s work you can) and eventually rewards you with an inner chamber, from which you have to follow the same route out each emphasizes the ancient Greek philosopher’s Zen-like adage: hodos ano kato mia kai hote, “the way up and the way down are one and the same.” A maze would be fussy; it would interfere with the stupendous directness and logic of Serra’s spatial language. Robert Hughes on the Richard Serra installation at the Bilbao Guggenheim.

Phew!

Well, I never cease to be amused by the vast volume of Pseuds’ Corner prose that the world of photography attracts. Here are some recent examples – the names of the authors and publications have been suppressed to protect the pretentious.

“After a small quantity of test rolls (about 25 in all), both my regular Tri-X, some Lucky 400 made in China and Fuji Acros my personal feeling is: If you already have a later version of the Summicron 50 (and who doesn’t) or a clean 50DR Summicron you would not see much difference on your negatives (from pictures taken with the lens under review).”

From a a self-proclaimed Leica “expert” whose claim to fame seems to be ownership of dozens, if not hundreds of lenses for his Leicas (such fame is certainly not based on the quality of his photographic output).

“As W became better known, he was forced to try to explain in words matters that he knew could not be explained at all, but that might with luck be demonstrated in pictures.”

From the introduction to a book of photographs of a vastly overrated machine gun shooter whose demise caused many a moist eye in the accounting department at Kodak.

“Dualities have always been a feature in M’s life and work. He speaks of a “dark Manichaean flavor” in his earlier urban subjects, but that is not an element in his landscape work.”

From the notes to a book of M’s landscape photographs which prove without a shadow of a doubt that he should have stuck to street shooting.

“E’s affection for photography began at the time when he was starting a new life of sobriety. It is almost as if photography, with its directness, truth, and poignancy, became symbolic of this new life.”

From the introduction to a book about a manic collector of seemingly every famous photograph under the sun.

“Michael works in a special place; on the edge of darkness and light. His images hold a mirror to each viewer’s soul and conscience.”

From the introduction to a book of photographs by a darling of the collector set who has basically taken the same photograph a thousand times over the past twenty years.

“For his simplicity and his unbridled passion for his art, for all that has gone before and for all kinds of other reasons, a lot of which have nothing to do with photography, but a lot to do with art, and for never knowing when to stop chasing rainbows, B is a hero to his own generation and beyond.”

Introduction to a book of photographs by a famous fashion photographer.

“Technical fetishism also has its theoretical counterpart, namely the art of photographing.”

Introduction to a book of one of the most famous street photographers.

* * * * *

I didn’t make these up. Honest. I just went to the largest photography books in my library. The larger the format of the book the more of this sort of clap-trap is to be found in its pages. That does not mean you should stop buying large format books, only that you should look at the pictures and disregard the turgid prose. And remember – no Pseud ever took a good picture.

You think of yourself as a decent photographer. Your work gets better and you expose it regularly to peer groups for constructive criticism.

Now and then fortune smiles upon you and you find yourself with some spare cash. Money to blow. Like photographers through the ages, your thoughts turn to that new body, lens, gadget, whatever.

Stop.

None of those will make your pictures better.

Instead, buy some books showing others’ work. They will teach you more in a pleasurable hour or two than that new camera/lens/gadget ever will. Plus, as X. Trapnel famously remarks, somewhat the worse for a couple of glasses of wine, in Anthony Powell’s ˜A Dance to the Music of Time”, ‘Books do furnish a room’. So if you are a real philistine, at least you end up with nice decorations even if you don’t read the book. Do remember to take the plastic cover off, though.

Ridiculous, you say. Have you seen the price of picture books recently?

Well, if you are a Wall Street investment banker then, yes, by all means go to Rizzoli’s on Fifth Avenue in New York and pay retail. I, however, will be buying the same book remaindered some 6-12 months later at 25 cents on the dollar. Suddenly, that $100 tome is the price of four visits to Starbucks.

Here’s where I get mine:

1 – Strand Books in NYC. Its eight miles of books qualifies it as the eight wonder of the world. Next time you are in New York, forget the obligatory visit to the excess that is B&H and go here instead. Sales tax to the poor residents of NY only, and any walk-in. For philistines, Strand will even sell you ˜Books by the Foot™ (no kidding) so you can impress your friends while watching sports on your large screen television.

2 – Powell’s Books in Oregon. No sales tax to anywhere. And you thought the Left Coast was full of Fruits and Nuts, eh?

3 – Edward R Hamilton. OK, so they are still in the nineteenth century and accept mail orders only, but at 20 cents on the dollar you can wait a couple of weeks no?

Here are this week’s deliveries – these averaged under $25 each: