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What interested me most about Steve McCurry’s show at the Rubin Museum of Art was his ability to provide an extensive portrait of place. McCurry photographed a variety of people, events, and sites in India, while also ranging from more formal portraits to street shots. Color is an incredibly important tool to him—I felt he used it in a way to express the emotions and energy of his subjects, whether they were people or places. While he is clearly interested in photographing people, I was most impressed by his engagement with India as its own subject. The photographs I was most drawn to were devoid of individuals, but rather spoke to the manifestation of past, present and future in cities.
His images Agra Fort Train Station at Dusk, with Jama Masjid, the Great Mosque of Shah Jahan, in the Distance and Moonrise over Mumbai, both show a unique relationship between modernity and tradition. Having travelled to India a few times myself, this a theme that has always fascinated me. McCurry does a beautiful job of representing the interaction of historic architecture and modern technology.
In Agra Fort Train Station he photographs the train station in the foreground with the mosque in the background. The highlights on the train create a somewhat theatrical lighting, emphasizing the significance and power of the train, while the beautiful architecture rests gently in the distance. By photographing the station at sunset, and when it is relatively empty, McCurry suggests a peaceful, tranquil quality to the relationship between past and present. The smoke of the train stands out against the dark tracks, but as it rises it dissipates and dissolves into the orange sky, suggesting some sort of harmony. It feels odd to be looking at the industrial landscape of the train station so close to such a sacred site. However, McCurry makes it appear natural with his deep depth of field and the sweeping orange and yellow tones.
Similarly, in Moonrise over Mumbai, McCurry photographs a historic neighborhood while showing the chaos of cars, people, shops, and light. There is an interesting relationship between the top of the buildings, lit by the setting sun and rising moon, and the neon lights flooding onto the street from shops and stands. For me, the neon lights function similarly to the train in Agra Fort Train Station, they represent modernity and in this image, a growing sense of consumerism. The buildings stand crisply in focus while the blurred cars rush beneath them. The bottom of the frame feels incredibly crowded in comparison to the top. This seems to me to represent the way in which India is made up of different histories, traditions, and times living and remaining on top of one another.
I find there to be an interesting comparison between McCurry’s work in India and Susan Meiselas’ photographs from Nicaragua. With Meiselas’ work, though it is very much centered on a specific place, I find it to be more of a portrait of people and events rather than Nicaragua itself. Though those people and events of course make up the history of Nicaragua, and specifically the revolution, each of Meiselas’ images feel a bit more small scale—all very particular moments. This in turn creates a sense that I am receiving bits and pieces, or an understanding of a place at a very particular time. This functions very well for Meiselas’ series because it is a portrait of a revolution, rather than an elongated period of time like McCurry’s photographs from India. It is interesting to analyze how these two series feel different. McCurry’s work feels separate from a temporal context. Perhaps this is because of India’s aesthetic, or because of the way he juxtaposes modernity and antiquity.
The comparison of Meiselas and McCurry’s use of color is also interesting. Both chose to take color photographs because they felt color better matched the energy of their respective locations. However, the color palettes of their images are vastly different. Meiselas’ color feels faded in comparison to McCurry’s. This is interesting, and somewhat surprising, because when looking at her book I remember thinking the color was incredibly vivid. McCurry’s photographs are highly saturated and incredibly vibrant. His use of colors feels a bit more intentional—some of the images felt like they were taken because of the color. With Meiselas’ images, though often the colors are also vibrant, I rarely feel that the color makes the photograph. Color rather functions as a complement to her composition. This feels much subtler than McCurry’s use of color.
McCurry’s images feel very monumentalized. The photographs are not only printed largely in the show, but he also tends to aggrandize his subject. Through his color, lighting, and composition, his images feel dramatic. For example his photograph of the man in green powder from the Holi Festival in Rajasthan as well as the image of the father and daughter rowing down a canal, both have an incredible intensity to them because the subjects feel so singled out and glorified.
This created a highly symbolic nature to his images—his subjects feel more like allegorical figures than individuals. The monumentalizing adds to the sense that he is creating a large, extensive portrait of India that transcends beyond specific people, places, or moments.
In regards to David Reiff’s quote about Ron Haviv’s photographs, thus far I’ve found that statement to be relatively true. In researching different ways Haviv’s images from Blood and Honey have been written about and interpreted, I’ve come across mostly the same opinions and uses of the photographs. I have not found the photographs to be taken out of context, and most of the responses I’ve read use the images to supplement arguments regarding the war crimes committed during the Bosnian Genocide. I looked at articles written in The New York Times, The Huffington Post, Aljazeera, The Globe and Mail, and BBC News, as well as from Human Rights Watch, Crimes of War, and Balkan Transitional Justice.
I was intrigued by how many of these articles included Haviv’s personal story. A few different articles were as much invested in him as a photographer and how he was given access to take such stories, as they were in the events that took place and the crimes that were committed. I think this is because of Haviv’s unique position to and relationship with Arkan. For example, the article in The New York Times, from 2013, and the one in Canada’s The Globe and Mail, from 2015, both were focused on Haviv, how he was able to take these photographs, and what he wanted to accomplish with them. Centering on Haviv’s own statements, I found many of the writers emphasized how these photographs were testaments to and undeniable proof of the atrocious acts of violence committed in Bosnia. There seems to be much acknowledgment that the photographs did not initiate the change Haviv had hoped for, but still stand as important recordings of the war.
There is also a focus on how Arkan’s men have escaped punishment and justice. Both the article in Balkan Transition Justice, and AlJazeera, both from 2014, addressed how Arkan’s Tigers have not been held accountable or prosecuted for their crimes. His photographs, specifically the one of the paramilitary member kicking the dying civilian, are used as visual evidence to support the claims against Arkan’s Tigers and ask how its possible these men have not been prosecuted.
There was one essay, from 2015 in Human Rights Quarterly, which took a different perspective on the images. The authors, Martin Lukk and Keith Doubt, posed questions regarding if the presence of Haviv’s camera actually provoked Arkan’s behavior. They ask “Was Haviv’s camera a mirror through which Arkan was able to promote his terrifying images to the world and his victims’ community? Was Haviv an unwitting accomplice to Arkan’s massacre of unarmed civilians?” I think the questions posed in this essay are incredibly important to keep in mind when thinking about Haviv’s work because he was invited to photograph by Arkan. Did the camera affect Arkan’s desire to be seen and did he act upon that desire? Also, how did the camera influence the victims? Were they given false hope that the camera could prevent their death or torture? Because these images did not achieve the political change Haviv had hoped they would, I would be interested to hear from the victims of these atrocities, as well as their families, about how they value these images. Do these images function as tools to show how people, and witnesses, must be held accountable and acts like this cannot go unnoticed? Or are they reminders that the world watched as atrocities and massacres unfolded and yet did nothing about it?
SOURCES:
http://lens.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/04/02/photography-in-the-docket-as-evidence/
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/national/capturing-a-war-crime/article25016202/
http://www.balkaninsight.com/en/article/arkan-s-paramilitaries-tigers-who-escaped-justice
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/1347218.stm
http://www.crimesofwar.org/a-z-guide/paramilitaries/
http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/human_rights_quarterly/v037/37.3.lukk.html
My name is Maya Wali Richardson, I’m a senior at Gallatin doing a very Gallatin-y interdisciplinary study of images. I transferred to NYU my junior year from Barnard College. Throughout college I have done a general academic and practical study of photography and film, and recently have focused in on the politics and ethics of documentary photography. I take images myself, which you can check out at mayawalirichardson.com. I shoot on 35mm and am very happy I’ve been able to develop and print my own work at NYU. I am from Los Angeles and also spent part of my childhood in Cape Cod.
I found myself struggling to not compare VII to Magnum while exploring their website. I have been familiar with Magnum for a long time, but my first knowledge of VII came from this course. I was initially impressed with how interested VII is in concrete change and solutions. Though I think documentary photographers can easily have a hand in change, simply from bringing eyes and attention to social issues, VII gives the impression that they are concerned with taking this to a deeper level and playing a role in solution making. This comes across through their Association and Partnerships.
In my overview of VII’s different photographers and projects I was surprised to see how much personal work was exhibited on the site. I was expecting mostly editorial work, but I came across many personal projects as well. I think this shows an interest in their photographers as artists that work beyond the realm of photojournalism. I was also impressed by how many multi-media projects VII has and supports. There is a large selection of films on their website, many of which contain both still and moving images within them. I get the impression that while a passion for photography is of course a huge part of VII, at the heart of the agency there is a more general and fundamental core desire to understand and better the lives of people around the world in whatever means possible.
One photographer I was drawn to is Sarker Potrick. Potrick is a member of VII based in Bangladesh. He became interested in photography during his graduate studies and is both a full time photographer and teacher. When I was looking at the “Photographers” page on the site his featured photograph caught my eye. The photograph was from his project What Remains which is a collection if photographs of his grandparents. I really like his introduction to the project in which he writes “I was sitting on my grandpa’s couch. The door was slightly open and I saw light coming through, washed out between the white door and white walls. All of a sudden it all started making sense. I could relate what I was seeing with what I felt.” I appreciated this last sentence because over the past year I have been struggling to take photographs that feel like an internal reflection. It is clear that this is the aesthetic motivation for Potrick’s What Remains. The images of his grandparents are very white-washed; they have a light blue hue and feel very minimal.
This image for example, taken of one of his grandparents in the bathroom, feels very bare and quiet. He frames the image so that the frame is mostly made up of white walls. This is very similar to the other photographs in the project—they have minimal and bare compositions that make the space a sort of unspecific transitional location, reminiscent of a doctor’s waiting room. The palette of the images translates a very quiet, simple life isolated from the outside world, in a sort of limbo. Along with the title of the project, this relays a feeling of time passing and comes across as a very genuine attempt to visually capture the sentiments of being so entwined with old age, and as Potrick writes himself, a life occupied by waiting.
What draws me to Potrick’s images is his use of color. I normally tend towards liking black and white images more than color ones because I often either find color images to have too harsh of an aesthetic for my taste or they feel very digitalized and filter-y. However, I like the very soft and faded feeling of Potrick’s color. In his project Of River of Lost Lands, there is a similar aesthetic to What Remains in that many of the images seem slightly overexposed, making them appear gentle on the eyes. In Of River of Lost Lands Potrick photographed villages around the Padma river in Bangladesh and explored the people’s relationship to the river that both gives and takes away life.
That idea is seen in his photograph of a river scene in which a fallen building, mostly submerged in the water, rests in front of a moving boat. The fog makes the river and air one texture and color. This gives the whole image a very calm and quiet feeling. The image expresses the duality of the river—in it exists both destruction and activity. The soft tones of the images takes away any sense of violence from the destruction caused by the river. The color also highlights the murkiness of the water, emphasizing the mystifying quality of the river.
Another photographer who interests me from VII is Ed Kashi. I was drawn to his portfolio because I recognized a few of his editorial stories. Kashi is based in New York and focuses his work on social and political issues. A project of his that I am interested in is It’ll Be Better Next Year. For this project Kashi spent almost two weeks in Cimarron County in Oklahoma photographing a community of farmers whose lives have been severely effected by drought. The area was “the epicenter of the 1930s Dust Bowl” and his photographs are reminiscent of images taken by FSA photographers during the Great Depression.
For example, this image reminds me, and I’m sure must be in reference to, Arthur Rothstein’s image Fleeing a Dust Storm. Its pretty incredible to compare the two and how drastically similar the landscape appears. This project interests me because I think farming like this is often thought of as something of the past. I found the images in which Kashi allowed modernity to be seen more powerful than the ones that felt timeless, such as the one above.
For example I was really struck by this image of Casey Murdock driving along side his horse. The blur at the bottom of the image paired with the frozen movement of the horse and car immediately caught my eye and attention. The truck brings the image into the present and allows the struggles the farmers are currently facing to be understood as present struggles—not ones we only think of in the past. It made me wonder about what these images would be like if they were in color. Perhaps color would increase the sense of modernity and give them a life separate from FSA images. This is of course all based on my bias of being very familiar with FSA images and also having grown up in cities making farming and ranching seem like either an abstract concept, or something of the past. While, as I expressed earlier, I am normally drawn to black and white images, I think this project could possibly benefit from color.
Trying to articulate a concise response to the Magnum website is difficult because of the massive amount of work these photographers have produced. The collective is clearly incredibly successful and influential. It seems Magnum is most focused on supporting their photographers. This comes across in the way that the site displays not only journalistic photo-essays, but commercial work as well. The website provides each photographer with ample space to show a variety of projects. This highlights the diversity of work that Magnum photographers are producing—both in content and in form. Looking at the multi-photographer portfolios and stories, its clear Magnum photographers are incredibly skilled and have a range of styles and aesthetics. I was disappointed by how the collective is predominantly made up of white men, and mostly Europeans and North Americans. However, perhaps that will change in the future, or is in the process of changing, seeing as many of the female photographers are relatively young and new to the agency.
Something striking about the work displayed on the site is that most of it seems to exist in a space somewhere between art and journalism—or perhaps, as both. Much of the work in the editorial stories seems concerned with the importance of both what the story is and how it is being told. Most of the photographs I saw were both stylistically interesting to look at while also being informative and adding to a sense of the story, place, or people within the image. I get the sense that Magnum photographers are highly aware of their balance between art and journalism, and how that affects the significance of their work. In the site’s basic description of the agency it says, “With powerful individual vision, Magnum photographers chronicle the world and interpret its peoples, events, issues, and personalities.” I find this statement to be incredibly important; specifically by recognizing the “individual vision” of its photographers and their acts of interpretation, Magnum is not attempting to claim any singular truth through the photographs, but rather, speak to the complexity of photographic objectivity and highlight how these specific individuals are seeing and experiencing the world.
One of the photographers whose work interests me is Alessandra Sanguinetti. She was born in New York in 1968 and grew up and lived in Argentina from 1970 to 2003. She is a recipient of the Guggenheim Foundation fellowship and joined Magnum in 2007. Most of her work is done is color, asides from one portfolio entitled Sweet Expectations. I was drawn to her work because of how intimate her images are. In the first project I looked at, The Adventures of Guille and Belinda and the Enigmatic Meaning of their Dreams, Sanguinetti photographed two sisters, Guille and Belinda, who live in the farmlands near Buenos Aires. She met them while working on a different project, but eventually began photographing them and creating a separate portfolio of work that is both a documentation of their lives and a collaboration with them to delve into, what Sanguinetti calls, their “imaginary spaces.”
There is a very cinematic quality to her photographs, both in the images where the girls dress up and play out fantasies or dreams as well as the more day-to-day moments. I think this reflects the imaginative nature of childhood. In The Madonna, and many of the other photographs of the girls, Sanguinetti photographs the girls from either eye level or looking up at them. This increases my feelings of intimacy with the subjects and aggrandizes their presence. In The Madonna, Sanguinetti shows the girls in their costumes posing in some sort of open-structure. By photographing them with contextual detail, like the dirt floor, the pig, the chopped wood, and buckets, Sanguinetti balances Guille and Belinda’s imagination and reality. She allows us to see into both their physical and psychical world.
Sanguinetti continued to photograph the girls as the got older, but maintained a similar aesthetic. Though the images became less about the girls’ dreams, they retain a quiet and delicate feeling. Her photograph Tomatoes is an example of this. She uses soft light, and though the girls have entered into adulthood (Guille is pregnant) the photograph perpetuates the playful, dreamy impression of the earlier childhood images.
Another photographer whose work interests me is Raghu Rai. He is an Indian photographer, born in 1942, and was nominated by Henri Cartier-Bresson to join Magnum in 1977. Through their textured high-contrast appearance, Rai’s photographs remind me of Cartier-Bresson’s work in India. Its seems he must have been influenced by Cartier-Bresson. Prior to joining Magnum, Rai photographed for various Indian newspapers, and then continued to produce most of his work for the agency in India. His projects range from street scenes to images of weddings to a documentary project on a chemical disaster. He photographs both in black and white and color. I am interested in how he plays with movement and the crowded spaces of India.
Some of his images I recognize, such as Local commuters at Church Gate railway station. Mumbai. 1995.
In this image he uses a long exposure so that that the men sitting still reading the newspaper are in focus, while the rushing commuters surrounding them are captured as blurs. This image strongly relays a feeling of business and chaos, and yet there is something oddly peaceful about the calm, quiet space the three men exist in within the middle of the frame. Similarly, in At a bus stop, Ahmedabad 1994 Rai captures a street scene in which the people in the foreground are still and in focus while the moving truck and motorcycle in the background blur by. Rai captures the coexistence of these dichotomies. The movement of the background makes the image more aesthetically interesting than had he used a quick exposure to freeze the moving vehicles. I enjoy his street photography; there is subtlety to the images that allow me to feel like I am within the scene without being obtrusive.
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