Brendan, my son, and the Unisphere

My first trip to New York was in 1964, when I was 10 years old, to see the World’s Fair. I traveled from Virginia with my father in a tiny English Ford, and we camped in a state park on Long Island to save money, over an hour away from the city. We spent a couple of days at the World’s Fair, and one day visiting sites in the city like the Empire State Building. The fair made a big impression on me, especially the auto company pavillions, which presented the future as a gleamingly clean environment of high rises, green spaces, and freeways filled with swiftly moving vehicles. The fair was to a great extent a creation of Robert Moses whose efforts to reshape New York with high rises, green spaces, and freeways, is still evident today, albeit with mixed results.

The New York City Panorama, the Queen’s Museum

There are several Robert Moses exhibits on display around New York right now–one at the Queen’s Museum opposite the Unisphere, which was the centerpiece of the World’s Fair. I had hoped to see the exhibit, but my family threesome left a little late from Manhattan, so in the remaining hour before closing time we settled on seeing the newly reopened New York City Panorama. This, like the Unisphere, is a remnant of the World’s Fair and Robert Moses’ vision of New York color-coded to highlight his achievments. In 1964, one rode above the meticulously detailed scale model of the city in a mock helicopter. Today, a ramp leads visitors around the model allowing one to linger and watch a recently updated multimedia presentation. The city depicted by the model is frozen in the early 1990s, and the Twin Towers reign over Lower Manhattan. I was captivated by the Panorama back in 1964, and it’s still an awesome sight today.

From Henri Cartier-Bresson’s Scrap Book, Thames & Hudson

An interesting print in the Cartier-Bresson exhibit at ICP shows an uncropped version of the famous photo (behind St. Lazare station) in which a man leaps across a pool of water, his foot a millimeter from touching the surface with his image mirrored in it. The ICP print allows one to see how the original image was partially obscured by a fence, a fault that Cartier-Bresson immediately “corrected” by cropping in along the left side and bottom, keeping the 35mm format intact.

Cartier-Bresson, perhaps, is the photographer who originated the idea of filling the frame as determined by the camera, in his case, a Leica 35mm rangefinder. Before him, most photographers thought primarily about the finished print, which might convey an image of any proportion, manipulated in any number of ways–still a legitmate way of thinking. But for Cartier-Bresson, the 35mm frame was the image, not something to be made later. The precise geometry of his pictures, the relationship between foreground and background, and the placement and attitude of people all were played out across the frame. He worked, generally, with one fixed focal length lens. No zoom. Either the image worked as is, or it did not.

Many photographers have followed Cartier-Bresson’s example, such as Robert Frank, Helen Levitt, Lee Friedlander, Garry Winogrand, and William Eggleston–the pantheon of what is known as street photography. This aesthetic has influenced those of us who use view cameras as well. I rarely crop the 4×5 frame, and try to make the image happen in the camera as much as possible. I know, however, that with such a large piece of film, there is more latitude available for cropping. For me, that means that when shooting in the field, I sometimes keep the edges loose, with the idea of pulling in slightly when scanning or making a print later. But I still walk around with two commandments in my head: fill the frame, and move in closer. I adhere pretty strictly to the former, but I have learned over the years the vitue of maintaining ones distance. But that’s a discussion for another time.

When I was a student I wrote a report on Alfred Stieglitz, who for a while captivated me. I was chiefly interested in his urban images, especially the views from out his gallery window on the skyline of New York. One famous image of his shows the Flatiron Building at 23rd and 5th Avenue in the snow, a y-shaped split in a tree intersecting the prow of the building. It’s an extreme vertical image focused on the moment of this intersection. It’s obvious that the image was cropped. No camera that Stieglitz used would have created this proportion. Stiegltitz’s final cropping has always been considered the definitive version of that image.

The Flatiron Building,
Alfred Stieglitz

While researching my paper, I traveled down to the National Gallery in Washington, D.C., and went through their extensive collection of Stieglitz prints. What I found, along with the usual narrowly vertical print, was an uncropped Flatiron image showing more of the pathway and benches of Madison Square Park and more sky around the building. I’ve never seen this print exhibited or published, and I do not know whether Stieglitz ever commented about the existence of the full frame version. To my eye–perhaps conditioned by Cartier-Bresson’s dictim of filling the frame, or Walker Evans’ example, which allowed for anecdotal details to register without necessarily focusing on them–I found the uncropped Flatiron image less willfully artful, and therefore, better than the Stieglitz final. At least that’s how I remember it. I wish I could show it here, but as far as I know the only existing image lies in a flat file in the photography department of the National Gallery.

The Empire State Building from 6th Avenue and 42nd Street (near ICP)

Given the current preference for very large exhibition prints, the Henri Cartier-Bresson exhibit at ICP is exceptional in that most of the prints are no more than 9×12 centimeters–smaller than 4×5 inches. The prints were originally made for a scrapbook that Cartier-Bresson created to present an overview of his work in preparation for an exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art in 1946. His work was already well-known, but his whereabouts, just at the end of World War II was not. MoMA had begun organizing a posthumous exhibition when Cartier-Bresson emerged from hiding in France after his escape from a German prisoner-of-war camp.

The prints were originally pasted in a large scrapbook bought in New York and kept by Cartier-Bresson until the book’s pages of cheap paper began to fall apart. The ICP exhibit is a reconstruction of the book–not the layout of the pages–but the sequence of images. In many cases, the sequence includes outtakes of famous images taken seconds or minutes apart. Choosing “the best” is not always immediately obvious, and seeing multiples versions of the same scene changes my way of thinking about these images. I am struck by the cinematic nature of his work–these are like frames of a movie–slices of life as it unfolded before him.

I’ve always thought of Cartier-Bresson first in formal terms, his way of framing and composing, which was groundbreaking, and although he has been described as a surrealist, I’ve never really seen much in that. These are purely photographic juxtapositions that lend a surreal aspect to some of the images, and such visual playfulness appears, perhaps, less startling now. On the other had, this exhibit reminds one that Cartier-Bresson was often working on assignment, and that stories were important to his way of working. Rather than random note taking, Cartier-Bresson was seeking a coherent, if idiosyncratic, narrative in his work.

Henri Cartier-Bresson’s Scrapbook: Photographs, 1932-46, ICP

A few comments on the exhibition itself. Because the prints are so small, bring reading glasses, or even a magnifying glass. I saw a man with one while I was there. Make an effort to go when the museum is less crowded. Since people are almost pressing their noses to the prints, there’s not much room to share with your immediate neighbors. On the Saturday I was there, the place was jammed, which I consider remarkable for such a serious minded exhibition. And finally, as I’ve complained before, you are not allowed to use a camera in the ICP galleries. I’m sure they have their reasons, but the ban on cameras seems particularly ungenerous in the context of Cartier-Bresson, a cat burglar with a Leica. The photo above was taken with my little black Ricoh spy camera.

ICP window with Cartier-Bresson photograph

I went up to ICP (the International Center of Photography) today to see the Henri Cartier-Bresson exhibit. It’s actually paired with an exhibit of Martin Munkacsi, a photographer who influenced Bresson, and who became fabulously successful doing fashion and magazine work. No doubt, Munkacsi made numerous vivid images–dancers, athletes, and Nazis. The latter he treated with the same sense of style as he did the former. But it eventually became obvious that he, a Hungarian Jew, was better off working for Carmel Snow at Harper’s Bazaar in New York. His best work expresses an optimistic sense of modernism and absolutely deserves to be seen.

Cartier-Bresson is the far more complex and important photographer, and I have a number of things to say about the exhibit and his work in general. A personal note, first. I began studying photography at age 18 with Virgil Rowe, who offered classes in his tiny clapboard house in Williamsburg, Virginia, the town I grew up in. Virgil was a photographer himself, though I never saw much of his work and can’t say that it was exceptional. But he was an exceptional teacher. I learned basic black and white developing and printing from him–I can still remember fumbling with my first roll of film in the dark trying to thread it onto a steel spool. What Virgil did best, however, was to convey a sense of passion and possibility. He believed that photographs could reach the highest levels of art just like painting or music. And his favorite photographer was a Frenchman who I had never heard of named Cartier-Bresson.

Thanks to my first teacher, Cartier-Bresson became the photographer I most identified with, and his well-known concept of the decisive moment was something that I quickly and instinctively absorbed. Although I’ve moved through all kinds of influences over the years, Cartier-Bresson’s way of taking in the visual world remains embedded in my approach to photography.

To be continued…

Renée, my wife, on the roof of our building

Just a quick post to note that we are now fully moved to New York and open for business. It’s been a difficult couple of months locating an apartment, finding a school for our son Brendan, packing up in Amsterdam, and then moving into our place in the city. A few words of advice for furniture and household wares shoppers:

Forget Ikea. It’s always tempting because of the low prices. But by the time you rent a car, pay the tolls, realize your car is not big enough so you have to ship stuff to NY, get a parking ticket in front of your building, and then–after everything–still have to put the stuff together yourself, well, just don’t do it. There are alternatives.

Design Within Reach is a wonderful source for modern furniture. Shipping is inexpensive, unlike Ikea, and most everything is in stock. However, if you buy stuff on sale, make sure they actually have it. Twice, we had orders cancelled a week or more after the fact because they ran out of the items they sold to us. A customer service representative did not apologize and said that we were competing with hundreds of others for the same sale items. We had to order something else for more money. This is called bait and switch.

The Container Store is a brilliant concept, especially in an urban context, where space is limited, and people are looking for efficient ways to store, organize, and contain their otherwise unruly lives. Delivery is cheap and fast. Store personnel helpful and friendly. Go there.

End of public service announcements. Back to photography, etc.

IAC building

Walking downtown through Chelsea–the Frank Gehry IAC building momentarily stands alone above the Highline rail viaduct and vacant lots. This is an area destined to change radically in the next few years. The Highline, which is being developed as an elevated slender ribbon of park (and other amenities) will be, if I may go out on a limb, the single most notable legacy of Mayor Bloomberg’s adminstration.

Delancey and Forsythe Streets

I’ve been going through the negatives of my Lower East Side work, scanning promising images, and in general, trying to get a handle on where the project is at the moment. There are a lot of negatives. Some of the photographs show specific places or point to the changes occuring in the neighborhood. But others, like the picture above, are more about the feel and flow of the street.

Working with the view camera there is a tendency to overcontrol the frame–every line or patch of color is located precisely–and as a result the images can become static, emptied out of vitality. One way I attempt to keep things loose is to allow random movement within the frame, whether it’s people walking, cars passing through, or simply the quiver of leaves in the wind.

Although the Lower East Side is a busy place with lots of people on the street, if you stop everything for a 1/15 of a second, the scene can appear rather empty. In real time, the flow of people is constant, and twenty people may go by in a few seconds, but in still photography time it may be two individuals, or none at all.

With a small camera it’s possible to move with that flow of people and shoot rapidly. With the view camera I necessarily set up the frame and then let things happen within it. I wait rather than chase. What I strive for is the feel of spontaneity while still keeping a tight grip on composition and framing. I’d like the photographs to have some of the spirit of small camera photography while at the same time containing the consideration of detail that is only possible with the view camera.

Brendan grabs a slice

Rainy day in New York. We’re finally getting settled in after the move. Made a little excursion to the Noguchi Museum in Queens. Pizza for lunch. R train and a walk on Broadway–not the Great White Way–the one in Astoria.

On the way to the Noguchi Museum

Art on the way to Noguchi

More art on the way

We went to both Socrates Sculpture Park and the Noguchi Museum. The park is a somewhat ragged, but cool landscape dotted with outdoor art, originally created by Mark di Suvero, a master of steel sculpture. The Noguchi Museum is nearby occupying a brick factory building and a modern annex. It’s a totally unassuming structure, almost invisible, among a motley collection of sheds and warehouses, many covered with grafitti. Within the museum, the city disappears, and one is immersed in the world of one of the great sculptors of the 20th century. It is well-worth the trip out of Manhattan. Unfortunately, I forgot to take pictures while in the museum.

Brendan back outside

A couple of months ago I posted a digital image of Essex and Delancey Streets on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Here is the 4×5 version, shrunk down and low-rez for the web, of course. This image and the following text is also on my homepage in the Outtakes section.

Essex and Delancey Streets (4×5 negative)

Rising out of the tumult of the Lower East Side amid the discount stores of Delancey Street is Blue, a condominum designed by architect Bernard Tschumi.

For the moment, sneaker shops and fast food hold sway–but for how long? The icy blue-on- blue, glass-against-sky, tower looms above the riff-raff and roaring traffic of the Williamsburg Bridge.

As I continue to photograph the Lower East Side, I return to such architectural icons, unthinkable just a few years ago, as touchstones of New York’s present gilded age.

Running around town doing errands I snapped a picture of the ubiquitous hawkers of images and icons of New York. In this case, the Statue of Liberty against an American flag, Bow Bridge in Central Park with its backdrop of apartment buildings, the Brooklyn Bridge with the Twin Towers forever etched in the sky, and the Imagine mosaic in Central Park dedicated to the memory of John Lennon. The latter two depict relatively recent tragic events that have transformed the collective iconography of the city.

Sixth Avenue, Rockefeller Center

Architect Santiago Calatrava who has designed the PATH station soon to be built on a part of ground zero said this:

New York, in my eyes, was a young, very vital city. But suddenly with Sept. 11, after an enormous tragedy happens, things change. Suddenly New York is no longer a young city. It plays in another league now, like Athens, Rome, Jerusalem. A city that has been burned down and rebuilt. New York now has this depth. It is not the same thing to build here as it was before. It is like building in Jerusalem.

Fortune, 8 November 2006
Interview with Julie Schlosser

Airtrain, JFK Airport

Life in transition. I’m back after several weeks of making the move from Amsterdam to New York. We are still eating on a cardboard box, but have generally made a successful landing in a beautiful apartment in the West Village near the Hudson River. For me, it’s less of a momentous move than for my wife Renée and son Brendan. After all, I’ve been commuting back and forth between Amsterdam and NYC for a long time. For all of us it’s an opportunity for a fresh start with new career and life opportunities. And I should now be able to pursue my art projects and architectural photography without the constant interruptions and dislocations of the past 10 years. I also hope to renew my ties with the New York songwriting scene that I used to be an active part of. So, stay tuned for lots more reports here and about town in 2007.

Back in Amsterdam. Busy packing and taking care of a million things to make our move to New York. As most of you know I’ve been commuting back and forth for a number of years. That will finally come to an end in January. In the meantime, journal posts may be somewhat sparser than usual.

Temple Emanu-El, New York

I’ve uploaded a web page of my Temple Emanu-El photos.

Photo by Rodger Kingston

I met Rodger not too long ago–a terrific photographer and Walker Evans scholar. Recently he volunteered his eye and digital camera to the Deval Patrick gubernatorial campaign in Massachusetts. Rodger photographed various public events, covering the speakers and notables like Barak Obama admirably, but his best moments were when he turned his camera away from the podium and interacted with the crowd. I say interacted because Rodger was both documenter and participant in the unfolding drama of the campaign, which culminated in Patrick’s victory. Go here.

Deval Patrick, photo by Rodger Kingston

Photo by Rodger Kingston

Midtown Manhattan

I spent two days on the 50th and 51st floors of a Midtown office building photographing the executive suite of a large international bank. Great views on all sides. Looking northwest, and standing amid a forest of mostly mediocre skyscrapers, is Norman Foster’s newly completed Hearst Tower. It’s the one with the diagonal bracing. For more information and photos go here.

I haven’t posted much lately because I’ve been hoofing it all over lower Manhattan looking for an apartment for my family. It’s been an incredibly frustrating experience. It’s not just that prices are high–that was a given–but that there’s so little available for rent at any price. One loft in Tribeca that I loved was snatched from under me by someone with a blazing checkbook. I’ve been using several brokers, a New York necessary evil, who have been very nice and have tried to find me a suitable place. So far, they, and I, have failed. But earlier today I applied, without a broker, for a loft in a building in the West Village near PS 3, a school that would be great for my son Brendan.
Hopefully, I will snag this one.

Walking back to my East Side apartment I passed by Moss, a terrific design store on Houston Street.

Moss on Houston Street

David Byrne not exhibiting photographs at Pace/MacGill, New York Times

I don’t know quite what to make of today’s New York Times article about photography galleries. Philip Gefter alerts us that traditional photo galleries are now occasionally showing other media. He writes:

It may not be a revolution, but it is a significant change in the gallery landscape. These are the places that helped to establish photography’s viability as an art form as well as to create a business model. Having proven their point, they are now at liberty to experiment.

When I came to New York in the late ’70s, photography was relegated to a group of galleries that exclusively exhibited photographic prints. The most prominent at the time was Light Gallery, which did much to elevate the status of photograhy in the art world. John Szarkowski at the Museum of Modern Art did even more by showing photographs in the context of the canon of 20th century art. MoMA’s photo galleries may have been separate, as they are now, but the prominent inclusion of photography in the museum signalled the arrival of the medium under the big top. Even so, the promiment art galleries in New York mostly showed photographs by artists known for other things. Warhol and Hockney are two obvious examples. I remember well when Jan Groover was exhibited at a mainstream art gallery on West Broadway back when the scene was still centered in Soho. This was a big deal to me because I saw her work as intrinsically photographic–4×5 still lifes of kitchen utensils–printed on conventional photo paper. She had broken through the photo/art Iron Curtain.

Eventually photography became an equal player, though as a print medium there are different market forces at work. The galleries–and the photographers–have tried to enhance the value of photographs by making them bigger or by creating work that pushes the envelope of what is thought of as conventional photography. Think Cindy Sherman or Andreas Gursky. But I think one of main reasons for the continued existence of separate photography galleries is that they cater to a different set of collectors. Nowadays there’s some overlap among the collectors, hence some overlap in the galleries as well. Will the boundaries blur further? Maybe, maybe not. Does it matter?

Anyway,the phenomenon is worth noting, I suppose, but I’d rather have read a perceptive article about Esko Mannikko’s exhibit at Yancey Ricardson. A photo of the gallery illustrates the NYT article and is captioned as photographs with a nonphotographic look. Mmm. And, by the way, the Times misspelled his name.

What follows are four very intense views made along the Bowery and Delancey Street. It will be interesting to see how these come out in 4×5.

The Bowery and Spring Street

Dwyane Wade poster on the Bowery

Delancey Street

Essex and Delancey Street, Blue Condominium, Bernard Tschumi, architect

The Bowery

Walking down the Bowery one comes across all kinds of stuff displayed on the streets. Between Houston and Delancey it’s the restaurant supply business with stainless steel cooking equipment being cleaned on the sidewalk, bulky pizza ovens and refrigerator units hoisted by forklifts on and off trucks. Chairs and bar stools are stacked in front of storefronts, and even decorating bric-a-brac is available. The way things are going, however, this raw working Bowery is doomed.

The Bowery

As usual, I am working with the 4×5 view camera, and these images were made with a small digital camera to preview what I’m doing and encourage a somewhat different way of looking at things.