While he's not as well-known as a few other classic San Francisco street photographers (Peter Stackpole, Fred Lyon, to name two), Yavno's images are visually stunning and worthy of our attention. Maybe its enough to note that Edward Steichen selected 20 of Yavno's prints for the permanent collection at NY MOMA. Some of those are on display at NEOMODERN from Thanksgiving through New Years.
I make a big deal about Neomodern not being a gallery, meaning we generally aren't in the business of selling fine art. Still, we maintain something of a museum on the walls every day, showing iconic images that we think will inspire your picture taking. We intermix these with wonderful work from our customers—you—which we think demonstrates some amazing (and unselfconscious) art.
Today we have a group of Cartier-Bresson up, as well as Andre Kertesz, Robert Doisneau and Elliott Erwitt, all funny French street photographers. We have also just featured the work of German-American John Gutmann, a number of his prints that will remain up through Thanksgiving.
Following Gutmann, our December show will feature interesting prints of San Francisco, and particularly the work of artist Max Yavno who shot in SF and LA in the mid-20th century.
Looking ahead, our featured photographer in January will be Marion Post Wolcott, a depression-era artist who documented poverty for the government; interestingly composed images, full of heart and humor. Her work was rediscovered in the 1980s and now can be found in the Smithsonian and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. We'll add a few other fantastic women of photography through January, including Helen Levitt and Alma Lavenson.
Stay tuned for updates.
Since NEOMODERN opened this summer we've been interested in the various ways we've been starting to work with the community. Most recently we were excited to work with the Olive Seed Foundation, who have created a fundraiser for the "Friends of Massai Mara." Maasai photographer Gopala Krishnan donated some of his images to a charity auction being held in Palo Alto this evening, and NEOMODERN was able to contribute for the printing and framing.
This event supports the grassroots nonprofit Friends of Maasai Mara (FOMM), and their innovative work in wildlife conservation and environmental stewardship. FOMM is run entirely by members of the Maasai community in the village of Talek, on the edge of the Maasai Mara National Reserve in Kenya. By educating young people about conservation, FOMM is inspiring the next generation to love, respect, and become guardians of the natural world around them — vitally important in this age of increasing human-wildlife conflict and the tragic poaching crisis happening throughout Africa.
Prince Harris Taga and Amos Kipeen from FOMM will be at the Lucie Stern Community Center (1305 Middlefield Road) tonight from 5-10pm.
In the history of photography and in photographic theory, there are a few icons, a few images that are discussed in almost every book on photography that exists. One such image is André Kertész’s Meudon, 1928. [Gasket]
[From the BBC] Meudon, a quiet Paris suburb, apart from the occasional high speed train. In 1928, roughly the mid-point between the invention of photography and our own digital age, Andre Kertesz, one of the great photographers of the 20th century, came here and took some pictures.
The photographs he took that day are as unremarkable as Meudon itself. But something about the place must have caught his eye, because a few days later, he came back and turned the ordinary into something extraordinary.
Kertesz's 'Meudon' captures something of the elusive genius of photography. With a photograph we can't help but wonder who the figure in the foreground is, where he has been, what he is carrying and where he is taking it. But Kertesz's photograph has no definitive answers. How can something that reveals so much keep so much to itself?
I'd like to say something personal here. I don't love this photograph, or more correctly, it's not my favorite picture by Kertesz. I enjoy a number of things about the image—the (apparent) happy accident of a composition of the guy in the foreground and the train in the back, for instance. I like there to be a take-away from the photos shown at Neomodern, and for Meudon, it's not its historical intrigue, although that's cool. The truth is that Kertesz staged this portrait: the guy in the foreground is an artist-friend. Kertesz had likely seen this cool scene, photographed the train there, and then returned a day later with his friend to see if they could nail a cool composition. Meudon is not a "decisive moment" so much as an opportunity constructed creatively.
If you want to get introduced to Kertesz, check out his photos at his friend's home, the artist Piet Mondrian (some of my favorite photographs ever). And later his enigmatic "Martinique." (Neomodern will do a Kertesz exhibit early next year.) Still, Meudon is quite classic and it's rare to get to see a signed print. Here are an assortment of links about the image and artist:
Gasket essay by Johannes Rigal
Essay by Bowdoin student
Excellent comparison of Kertesz and Cartier-Bresson
Up this weekend (and on display until November 13) are a new group of photographs by photographer John Gutmann (1905-1998). Here's some background from wikipedia:
A painter turned photographer, Gutmann began working as a photojournalist in 1933. Being Jewish, in 1936 he fled Nazi Germany to the United States where he worked as a photographer for various German magazines. Gutmann's main subject matter was the American way of life, especially the Jazz music scene. He enjoyed taking photos of ordinary things and making them seem special.
His images are mesmerizing and iconic; after years of looking at them, i never tire of his observations of America. Neomodern will be showing a half dozen prints from Gutmann's first portfolio.
We see so many amazing photographs it's difficult to select favorites, but this week we certainly were stopped in our tracks. Not an eclipse, lightning or a stellar sunset. It was quieter than that. A mat tucked under her arm, a woman walked into the gallery on her way to Yoga Flow upstairs and wondered what we thought of this shot from her recent vacation. She flipped through images on her phone for a few minutes and then showed us this. We were floored.
Katie Hughes took this photo with her iPhone7+ a few weeks ago. This simple image of her boyfriend's less-than-perfect dive in Camden Harbor continues to make us smile. Why do we like it so much? It's not any one thing: it works on a number of levels. Aesthetically, the colors are cool and muted, it doesn't shout for attention. The composition is clean. There's a crispness to the diver, the splash, the position of the legs. The fog is a great environmental fill—it keeps the top portion of the picture from being too detailed, from drawing your eye away from the subject, but it's just enough, with the mist lightly revealing the boats in the background. And the gradient from clear in the front to hazy in the back... it's seamless and smooth, which also serves to make the subject and splash all the stronger. The elements combine to make for an elegant photograph.
The printmaster, Carlos in this case, did relatively little post production. He removed some adjustments Katie had initially made when she posted it on her social media. He restored the smooth green tint across the image. And he did one small bit of retouching, to remove some bubbles that looked like a scratch on the image. The photo worked either way, but Katie felt the bubbles looked like a mistake. It was a nominal adjustment.
But here's the high bar: we weren't on this vacation. we don't know this diver or this place. All of those factors are key for Katie perhaps, but to the rest of us, it could be anyone, anywhere, and yet it has a sort of universal quality. It's the universalness of the image that we're attracted to. Content-wise, it's just anonymous enough to let us be included. Visually it's elegant. Uncluttered. And when these elements are combined in an image that has the more important quality of being something personal and emotional for the photographer... that's a fantastic combination.
It could almost have been taken by any number of masters: Hellen Levitt or Elliott Erwitt maybe. So it's a classic kind of image, beautiful and universal and still intimate. We see a lot of beautiful images get printed, but a few linger in mind, fun, hard to forget. Iconic. This is a great example.
The hairs stand up on my neck when i hear the expression "photo op" as in "you should go to Burning Man; good photo ops there." The term isn't meant to be pejorative: there are always legitimately cool environments and events that are hard not to point a camera at—full of interesting things to look at. I certainly love any foggy day in San Francisco, where light is diffuse and sexy, and objects fade off magically into distances... i guess, for me any overcast day is a photo op.
Of course, those obvious photo ops—whether sunsets or Burning Man—are going to have lots of cameras trained on them, which means it's that much harder to find your unique view of this thing. There is thinking that the best photos couldn't have been taken by another person even a moment before or after: they're unique combinations of time and place. So personally i try to avoid taking my camera out when everyone is taking pictures.
But there's this other negative side. As if photography is about the subject matter and not the photographer. There's a line in Susan Sontag's classic "On Photography" where she points out the distinction between a beautiful photograph and a photograph of a beautiful thing. Artist after artist repeat this notion in their own words. Bernice Abbott described it as "learning to see" and Elliott Erwitt said "...i've found it has little to do with the things you see and everything to do with the way you see them."
You don't need any particular subject to explore how to see it, how it looks around the prevailing light, how it moves in a visual space. You can do this in your bedroom. You can do this in your town. While it's fun to go to Burning Man, you don't need wedding or spectacle to take some photos. The idea of a "photo op" puts the ownership in the wrong place, and i guess that's why it irks me.
When people ask themselves the question: what makes a great photo," i'd suggest it's only partly about the the external thing, it's BETTER when it's has something of you in it, your relationship with this thing you're looking at, and not just seeing. The best photos have both: you and the subject. So don't blame (or rely) on beautiful subjects to make your best images—any odd thing might be the subject of your best work.
The term synecdoche (pronounced si-nek-da-key) is a literary construct introduced in ancient Greece where a word describing part of something is used to represent all of something. People say "a part for the whole"; it's a kind of shorthand.* Common examples include:
- "Hired hands" to mean "workers" or "Lend me a hand" when you want more than a hand;
- "Wheels" to mean "a car"
- "The Pentagon", a building, used to represent the institution of the military;
- "Capital Hill" generally being used to represent houses of government;
- "Kleenex" used generically for all facial tissues.**
Synecdoche is a marginally interesting literary form, but i'd suggest it's the very essence of photography. When we take a photograph we are selecting a very small piece of visual space and cutting it out of our 360 view of the world, and saving it. It's not a comprehensive surveillance of some moment or scene, it's just a tiny slice; we're not (usually) journalists documenting every angle of a news story, we're just selecting a small moment that will represent a larger event.
We also might not show a subject in its entirety: every portrait isn't a head-to-toe, front lit, face shot. We might just show someone in silhouette, or just their eye or legs. This is another kind of synecdoche: a part of a body to represent the entire person. A part of a building to represent the entire building (or city, or vacation...)
In time as well: video (or 360 VR) might be considered a fuller representation of something, and yet we take a surreal slice in time, a fraction of a second, and we expect it to capture something much longer.
Everything about photography is about synecdoche. I'd suggest that the art of photography is in the creative application of this process—how to chose what slice in space and time is going to well-represent this other thing we want to show. Can one image capture a person's spirit? an entire vacation? The wedding? And when you're really good, the question might be: can a single image represent your childhood? Your hometown? Freedom? The better the photographer's ability to produce synecdoche could be the very core of "great" photography—it's more than a documentary recording; it's more nuanced, it's more poetic, it's generalized such that the photo is iconic.
That word "iconic" speaks to synecdoche. In some ways this is also the effort that brand creators and graphic designers do when making a logo—a small visual element they hope will represent an idea for consumers. Great photographs are often described as iconic: they get pulled into popular culture and become something maybe the photographer hadn't intended, representative of a larger zeitgeist.
Your iconic photograph doesn't have to capture the national mood, but it could still represent your love for your children or your sense of adventure. Icons come in all sizes.
This is precisely why editing is so important to the definition of photography: it's not enough to take a bunch of pictures, and as photographers we abdicate our responsibility by simply producing hundreds of images of events or people and say "here, pour through my feed..." The process of printing is so challenging in part because our pictures don't stand alone very often, and selecting "the one" is either painful or impossible. But it's also essential. When i say "it isn't photography if you don't print it" i'm not only saying that photography is about the creation of a photographic object, but that the selection process itself (since it takes effort and some money to print just one or a few) is part of the creative work.
Next time you take a whole bunch of pictures of something, see if you can boil it down--first to just 5 images, and then from five to ONE IMAGE that represents all those shots: both content and composition would come together, beautiful and meaningful. And if you do that work then you can truly call yourself a photographer.
I'm speaking and giving workshops on these topics at the VIEW Conference in Turin Italy this October. Come work on your photographic "synecdoche." And if you can't make it to Italy, just come to Neomodern to let us help you with this work.
*It also works in reverse, where the general larger thing is used to represent the smaller.
**It's what happens when a branded product name gets appropriated as the generic name for a class of products ("Band Aid" "Zipper" or "Google")—something legal-business people refer to as "genericide" because that sort of use can kill a trademark.