Another Country for Sure...

 

Everyone uses the camera to freeze their memories, thoughts, feelings, experiences and overall expectations on both sides of this device, all at the same time, and I’m no exception to that desire. But that hoping and searching for the decisive moment is not much revealed in Another Country: British Documentary Photography Since 1945. 

PICTURES

By using an abundance of irrelevant imagery, unrelated to both the accepted spirit and approach of the documentary tradition, this book’s farfetched view is mostly a combination of personal ‘redefined’ thinking and the un-credible. Presented in a way that tells us from the cover alone that words are clearly more important than images, and current issues more significant then this area of photographic practice, it is topped off with a packaging presentation that would have Alexy Brodovitch turning in his grave. Although it does manage to deliver a few deserving moments, those photographers selected were generally represented equally, yet some were obviously considered more equal than others.

This obviously tells us the authors don’t care about this area of communicative endeavour, or haven’t yet acquired the ability to read the differences between all these areas of different approach and practice. At the same time they try to convince the world that Britain not only has a vibrant documentary tradition, but one that is larger, more advanced, and more up-to-date than both Europe and North America combined.

This might indeed have come to pass in time, if Britain in the early 1970s used the opportunity that the instigation of a British Arts Council photographic programme provided. That is to appoint an appropriate informed and passionate outsider with the wisdom and proven commitment to instigate a clear programme of intent, not unlike the FSA and Photo League. That would have encouraged a focused and hopefully socially concerned agenda, which some of us photographers had hoped and lobbied for.

Astonishingly, the starting point of this distorted island presentation compiled by Gerry Badger, Thames & Hudson and Martin Parr, leaves out key early British contributors to this kind of thinking. Badger & Co instead chose to concentrate their efforts on a mismatch of more recent unrelated imagery, alongside some who aspire to be represented by the art market. So the question that needs to be asked is: “Where are today’s equivalents to socially committed documentary photographers?” If indeed they do exist in the UK in this quantity and diversity, then why are we not seeing the necessary visual dialogue that is universally accepted as part of this practice? That is, a concentration on a body or bodies of work that reflect ongoing commitment.

The answer is simple: this kind of understanding has never existed here, where words are predominant in storytelling, and images are mostly just editorial illustration. Writers and curators in the UK are allowed to have and express a point of view, while those doing the viewing are discouraged from having voiced images.

So this attempt to deliver a view of personal commitment to subject is not seen, partly because this kind of approach was never encouraged. But even if it was, here we are offered too few images by too many photographers, denying us any form of personal connected context. 

This large volume, therefore, presents an inadequate view of a complex discipline. This selection of photographs, which appears to have been chosen by committee, is a mix of press and protest content, as well as some examples of conceptual art. Now those who’ve been previously celebrated in other categories have been relabelled as documentary photographers simply because every photograph is a form of document. It seems in part we’re being asked to accept a general overview of British photographic expression reintroduced as British documentary photography.

It’s all accompanied by humongous blocks of dense text that’s all icing and no cake, serving to distract readers from their distorted view of the discipline that is represented in this perceived pot of golden plenty that delivers only a few worthy nuggets. I can only congratulate the designer for making the text easy to avoid.

This compiled, ‘redefined’ view of Britain’s social and cultural history fails to deliver the necessary evidence of serious commitment to subject or subjects displayed. Furthermore, the views represent outtakes from different organisational groups, individual involvements and old short-lived earning needs, minded folks will need to see something more than one or two examples, and viewed from across a larger time span, from all of us contributors. This small selection of visuals just won’t cut it.  I thought that Badger knew that documentary photography was not a style but a calling, not unlike the priesthood. Looking at this bogus effort, it seems like none of us photographers involved don’t even go to church, let alone know how to preach to the wiser photographic congregation. So whatever else is said about this seriously flawed effort, it remains nothing much more than a form of Badger bunting for “We’re Backing Britain”.

It’s good to see a little leadership in British photography for a change, but it should be kept in reserve for iconic moments relevant to the subject and not squandered on the hope of capturing minority interest: most people respond to the content of imagery not the ethnicity or celebrity of those behind or in front of the camera.

Additional Thoughts

One may wonder then why I am represented in this book: well, the simple answer is my presence was asked for, and my conditions were met, so I agreed.  At the time, it purported to represent my area of commitment to this way of approach, from cover to cover. So viewer/readers would experience images that defined how this practice differs from other forms of visual expression.

More recently, I discovered that Badger had expanded his view to include his personal photographic likes, as well as, it seems, making space for those that might be career helpful, while also going along with his publisher’s attempt to cash in on contemporary issues. So this new evaluation of a universally accepted definition now includes just about every Tom, Dick and Harriet who uses a camera, as well as those who haven’t.

A TRUER VIEW

A much truer view of this almost redundant practice can be found in the Time Life series on photography first published in 1971, in its volume on documentary photography (broken down into six sections: The Authentic View / Crusaders with Cameras / The Photo League / Honouring Humanity / Critics of Complacency & The Personal Document). Fifty years on now, everything has changed, and nothing much of those headings can be applied to many of the limited short-lived involvements displayed in this production.

Today sharpness, price and celebrity status pass for content. Art dealers give further value to rarity, size, and redundant processes. So only the truly committed take up this seeing approach; that’s partly why there are so few of us out there still operating. That’s why the numbers stated to be involved in this factious practice in the UK alone is ridiculous. Looking beyond that falsehood, if Badger also believes in what Lewis Boltz espoused, that creative expression lies in a narrow but deep area between cinema and the novel, then why are we being denied the storytelling dialogue associated with this practice? I’m sure I’m not alone in wanting, for example, to see more of David Hurn’s concern for working girls in Soho and Phillip Jones-Griffith’s concern for disturbed children; that kind of proven subject involvement would be the way to put more fat on the slim pickings that actually represents this kind of approach to seeing. Viewer/readers would also enjoy experiencing David Bailey’s fly-on-the-wall investigation into the world of fashion and celebrity and likewise Lewis Morley’s extended peep into the sleazy world of sex and politics. Sadly, however, those extended views don’t exist, so then why are these images being presented, which have nothing much to do with the documentary approach?

Surely Badger could have presented more believable examples for this imaginary British school. I do realise that there is no fixed size and formula to telling a story in pictures; as I see and approach this practice it’s a kind of an instinctive personal melody of thoughts and feelings working to seek a relevant outcome, firstly in my viewfinder and lastly on the page. So there is no fixed kind of opening, establishing or end shot to my dialog, it begins from where I want to begin, and ends where I want it to end. There is no cast of irrelevant absent outsiders, waiting to do the choosing, juxtaposing and designing of the finished look of my personal quest for understanding

Now, because individuals like me are rare indeed, there is nothing much like me breathing here in the UK, so nothing like this kind of visual dialogue to be found here either. However, if I am wrong, and they do exist, why are we not experiencing something of that extended commitment presented in this overgenerous volume?    

We all know we were never going to see that, because this kind of thinking was never encouraged or supported. So this book then is really all about what Badger is hoping we will believe.

No amount of extended dialogue can validate of this twisted, mostly irrelevant definition of documentary photography, any more than a politician rolling up his or her shirtsleeves or putting on a hard hat will serve to convince us that they are working.

A FOOTNOTE ON THE COVER

Perhaps the intention of the cover photo was to show how boys in the 1970s decorated their beloved “chopper” bikes, often with flags, bunting, and cards clipped to rattle in the spokes. Perhaps the intention was to highlight the racial diversity of modern Britain. In both cases, the photo fails because it lacks drama, energy, and voice. It lacks the strength and power of story, one of the most important aspects of documentary photography. It fails to inspire the curiosity to motivate one to pick up the book, let alone open it.

Here are two images taken by me that are not in the book that might have worked in those capacities:

Jubilee Day, 1977, Central London

Chiswick Garden, London, 1979

Talking About Talking in Seeing

The Quiet Man Pub (aka The Cop Shop) Midtown Manhattan 1985

In a recent correspondence with a fellow Brodovitch student from the early 60’s, talking about applying one’s opinion and personality in one’s imagery, I was quickly reminded by him of what Dorothea Lange had tacked to her darkroom door: “To contemplate things as they are without error or confusion, without substitution or imposture, is in itself a nobler thing than a whole harvest of invention".

I can only suppose he felt that my kind of approach was an intervention that tampered with reality. In response to that, I can only say that what I know, think and feel is no less important than what I see, so I work to reveal something of that in the moments I take from time’s stream. Some might think that projecting my own voice in my visual responses is simply swapping the truth for my truth, and that imposing something of my visual vocabulary is nothing more than imitating. I openly admit to borrowing from a multitude of talents from this glorious history, being that it enhances my understanding and appreciation of the past, while working in the present for the future. It also reminds me and the viewer that visual communication began with man’s earliest scratchings on the walls of caves, so I feel free, even compelled, to allow something of that to work its additional magic on my imagination and the public's.   

My intention here is to articulate and show something of this outlook and its outcomes, as when more than just the eye is open to experience, an abundance of new possibilities become available to explore and capture. Dorothea's reminder to herself “to contemplate” is to think about what you're trying to say and to whom. In my case, it helps me to make the necessary adjustments in terms of inclusions, exclusions, distance, angle of view and timing. It has also helped me to expand my input and output while speeding up my reflexes.

This kind of manoeuvring around the subject clarifies not only my message but hopefully the reading enjoyment of others, while getting me closer to the truth as I see it. This is not tampering with reality. It's clarifying personal meaning while guaranteeing viewer attention and response. My overall goal is to show something of how mindedness and borrowings on my part helped aid me in ways that continue to surprise and inspire me. The first two images, from my ongoing investigation of St Patrick's People, started in March of 1978, were partly triggered by Dorothea Lange - see “Migrant Mother (4)" Nipomo California 1936 and “White Angel Bread Line”, San Francisco 1933. These images of mine were from this large and still ongoing project.

Papal Mass - Limerick, Ireland - Sept 1979

“Something for the Boys” Dublin Ireland - 17 March 1979

The first of the second two images have to do with looking at the starting points of this great annual Irish parade. The first of them came about while I was in the process of searching New York's midtown side streets looking to see where my father’s county were forming up to join the march up 5th Avenue. I found them outside the Roosevelt Hotel, a few city blocks east of 5th. What I discovered immediately dictated both the composition and timing of this amazing moment, starting with the significance I gave the crosswalk in the forefront of this image. To my mind's eye, it was also the crossroad between Irish-America and Ireland, and the damaged stripes which I read as my shadow between those worlds. The father holding the hands of his two children (who represented both Irelands) was also a dead ringer for Eamon de Valera, an early president of Ireland, but more mind blowing than that was the portrait on my father’s county banner - to my amazement it was the spitting image of my father when he himself arrived in America from the Old Country in 1931.

The second of these images was taken at the start of the Denver, Colorado parade in 2001. Now although I was half prepared for the absurdity of this moment being that I’m always on the look out, to capture interesting images of people in the process of pointing at this greenest event on the Irish calendar. However I never imagined that a pointing man would descend into the centre of my picture frame (in a bucket) into a group of Parade Marshals involved discussing the parade route. Surely, St Patrick himself had to have a hand in this small miracle. 

My imagery is, admittedly, about me but only very indirectly. Firstly, they are all about my knowledge, understanding, and in this case the influence of my family and extended family history. But most importantly they are about the story I choose to tell, and the reaction I am working towards from the public - they should be astonished, entertained and informed. This would not be possible if this or any other book I choose to do was simply all about me. 

County Leitrim Contingent - New York March 1991

Starting Point. St Patrick's Day - Denver Colorado - March 2001

This is what is mostly missing from books that attempt to converse with images without a subject and story plan, and/or because the photographer is willing to surrender authorship to an editor. What brought these last two images into being was a very personal reaction to a voice behind me in the first instance and a response to what was before me in the second. This first image came about as I turned around to respond to what sounded like my father’s voice saying, "OK boys, it's time to march up the avenue."

This was the way my father would push my friends out of our family’s living space in the South Bronx at the end of the day. He would say,"OK boys it’s time to hit the hay, tomorrow's another day and another dollar". It’s a saying that I always found remarkably funny since I was only one of a dozen kids in our family and a dollar a day would never cover it. But editors believe, like fathers, that they know best, possibly because Robert Delpire managed to salvage Robert Frank’s view of “The Americans” from oblivion by lending it something of his personal angst. It gave Robert's view a greater degree of lucidity, but really the truth in this kind of personal insightful story telling is that the photographer’s voice is king.

Naturally I remain at the forefront of this communication process, which may explain my modest celebrity. It’s my understanding, intellect, opinion, and attitude and experience that powers my motor and delivers this kind of achievement. Only the informed author is able to recognise the significant pieces of life’s puzzle when they are revealed, and is able to put them in an appropriate alignment to lucidly enhance meaning.  Here then is the second in this pairing that I was so excited to capture. It was to my mind, heart and eye as if "The King of the Green Himself" was garnishing this Dubliner with shamrocks. 

"OK Boys, its time to march up the avenue" NYC 2000

Being garnished with shamrocks by The King of the Green Himself NYC 2002

Since I started out reminiscing with another Brodovitch Boy from my past, I'm kind of surprised that "The Brod" liked me, since I gave him more of a hard time than he gave me. When I gate-crashed his class looking for some really tough criticism, he mostly had only nice things to say about my seeing by stating on that first contact and as next in the queue to show my work: "Now he understood the assignment".

Brodovitch himself admitted that he could not say what good photojournalistic photography is, partly because he actually believed that what is regarded to be good today may very well be considered a cliché tomorrow. This is not all that surprising being he was first and foremost a graphic designer primarily in the commercial packaging business. I remember he would simply apply two pieces of L-shaped black cardboard to a photographer’s finished prints to guide him to what he found to be the most interesting composition. However, I've always understood that the minded photographer uses the desired message and the camera viewfinder as a guide to reflect and capture the relevant moment.

For the first 28 years of this investigation I thought the Irish were colourful enough without resorting to additional colouring, but in 2006 I decided to add yet another dimension to this unique exploration. So over the last 8 years I've starting applying rainbow that everyone knows emanates form the Leprechaun's pot of gold at it's end, and applying it to telling of this quest for understanding on both sides of the Atlantic divide.   

Mother and Child - Long Beach, Long Island, New York - 3 October 2009

Giant Leprechaun being measured by a Small Pirate Woman - Seattle Washington -15 March 2013

Irish Ballerina - Trafalgar Square, London - 16 March 2014

John Patrick Gerald Aloysious Benton-Harris himself
Pearl River, NY 19 March 2006