Showing posts with label masters of photography. Show all posts
Showing posts with label masters of photography. Show all posts

Friday, February 18, 2011

"Atget is the father of a huge branch of photographers"

The record-setting gelatin silver chloride print "Joueur d'orgue," 1898-99, for which a European collector paid $686,500 at Christie's New York last April

Art & Auction Magazine
By Kris Wilton

Via ARTINFO

The small sign on the door of Eugène Atget’s modest Montparnasse studio read Documents pour Artistes. In the 1890s photography was not considered an artistic medium, nor did Atget think of himself as an artist. Rather, he established himself as a documenter of a Paris that he saw threatened by modernity, and he sold his images — of the city’s streets, buildings, parks, and characters — to "actual" artists to use as aides-mémoires for their own works, as well as to architects and historians. Today, thanks to the championing of the American photographer Berenice Abbott, Atget has risen in status to forebear of modern photography, with influence and auction results to match.


"Atget is the father of a huge branch of photographers," says Matthieu Humery, specialist and head of sale for photographs at Christie’s New York, where last April the photographer’s proto-Surreal "Joueur d’orgue," 1898-99, earned an artist record $686,500. "When you look at his work and then the work of Walker Evans, Lee Friedlander, Brassaï, William Eggleston — you can see the link."

By the time he turned to photography, Atget had lived many lives, although we have scant information about them. Born in 1857 and orphaned at an early age, he was brought up by an uncle in the port city of Bordeaux, where he became a sailor. Atget made his way to Paris, surviving for a while as an actor by taking bit parts with second-tier repertory and touring companies. "As he had rather hard features, he was given unflattering roles," his theater friend André Calmettes wrote in a letter to Abbott in 1927. Eventually even these dwindled, and Atget was forced to seek a new way to support himself and his companion, the actress Valentine Delafosse.

After a brief foray into painting, Atget turned to photography, hoping to create a font of images, Calmettes writes, "of all that both in Paris and its surroundings was artistic and picturesque." He invested in the necessary equipment and plates and diligently hit the streets each day at dawn with his 18-by-24-centimeter view camera, gradually building a client base. But it wasn’t until 1925 that Abbott discovered Atget’s photographs through Man Ray, who had published several (uncredited) in the journal "La révolution surréaliste," and recognized the work as art for the first time. "The subjects were not sensational but nevertheless shocking in their very familiarity," she wrote in her 1964 book "The World of Atget." "The real world, seen with wonderment and surprise, was mirrored in each print." Abbott began visiting Atget regularly, buying as many prints as she could afford.


In 1927, Abbott asked Atget, then a widower, whom she described as "tired, sad, remote, appealing," to sit for a portrait. When she went to show him the prints, she learned that he had died, at the age of 70. Fearing that his work would be lost, she tracked down Calmettes, his de facto executor, and arranged to purchase about half of the thousands of prints and plates that remained. Later she brought on the New York dealer Julien Levy as a partner, and together they promoted Atget in the United States — Abbott, through articles and by showing the prints to friends, including Walker Evans; Levy, through exhibitions. In 1968, Abbott sold her trove of more than 5,000 prints to the Museum of Modern Art in New York for $50,000. To this day, most of the photographer’s works in U.S. collections can be traced to Abbott.


+ Atget originally sold his prints for pennies, gradually increasing his prices over the years. Berenice Abbott wrote that they ranged during his career from 0.25 to 13 francs.



+ In the 1920s, Man Ray offered to print Atget's images on modern paper to achieve clearler tones, but Atget refused, preferring his more antiquated methods.


+ In the last decades of his life, Atget subsisted on an unusual diet, composed primarily of bread and milk, that is thought to have contributed to his death. "He had very personal ideas on everything, which he imposed with extraordinary violence," wrote his friend André Calmettes.


+Abbott modeled her careerlong photographic project to document a rapidly changing New York City on Atget's work.


It is estimated that Atget produced as many as 8,500 images during his 35-year career. Given their vast numbers, it’s not surprising that they vary considerably in quality and desirability. "He took lots of photographs of door knockers and ornamental ironwork, and not all of that rewards a second viewing," says Christopher Philips, who curated "Atget, Archivist of Paris" at the International Center for Photography, in New York, last year. "But maybe 15 percent of this enormous output does seem to have remarkable lyrical and poetic quality, and that’s really what explains the long-term interest in Atget."

After a brief foray into painting, Atget turned to photography, hoping to create a font of images, Calmettes writes, "of all that both in Paris and its surroundings was artistic and picturesque." He invested in the necessary equipment and plates and diligently hit the streets each day at dawn with his 18-by-24-centimeter view camera, gradually building a client base. But it wasn’t until 1925 that Abbott discovered Atget’s photographs through Man Ray, who had published several (uncredited) in the journal "La révolution surréaliste," and recognized the work as art for the first time. "The subjects were not sensational but nevertheless shocking in their very familiarity," she wrote in her 1964 book "The World of Atget." "The real world, seen with wonderment and surprise, was mirrored in each print." Abbott began visiting Atget regularly, buying as many prints as she could afford.


In 1927, Abbott asked Atget, then a widower, whom she described as "tired, sad, remote, appealing," to sit for a portrait. When she went to show him the prints, she learned that he had died, at the age of 70. Fearing that his work would be lost, she tracked down Calmettes, his de facto executor, and arranged to purchase about half of the thousands of prints and plates that remained. Later she brought on the New York dealer Julien Levy as a partner, and together they promoted Atget in the United States — Abbott, through articles and by showing the prints to friends, including Walker Evans; Levy, through exhibitions. In 1968, Abbott sold her trove of more than 5,000 prints to the Museum of Modern Art in New York for $50,000. To this day, most of the photographer’s works in U.S. collections can be traced to Abbott.

It is estimated that Atget produced as many as 8,500 images during his 35-year career. Given their vast numbers, it’s not surprising that they vary considerably in quality and desirability. "He took lots of photographs of door knockers and ornamental ironwork, and not all of that rewards a second viewing," says Christopher Philips, who curated "Atget, Archivist of Paris" at the International Center for Photography, in New York, last year. "But maybe 15 percent of this enormous output does seem to have remarkable lyrical and poetic quality, and that’s really what explains the long-term interest in Atget."

According to the New York dealer Edwynn Houk, who mounted his first Atget show in 1981, the typical collector is "someone who’s pretty sophisticated and certainly has an informed eye." Connoisseurship is key because Atget used three print techniques with mixed results. Generally, says Boston dealer Robert Klein, "the arrowroot prints are more valuable than the silver-chloride prints, and the silver-chloride prints are maybe more valuable than the albumen prints, depending on the condition."


Although Atgets regularly appear on the auction block, prices like those fetched by "Joueur d’orgue" last April and by the previous record holder — "Femme," a 1925 arrowroot print that earned €444,750 ($663,000), more than 10 times its high estimate at Sotheby’s Paris in November 2009 — are not the norm, resulting from the convergence of top print quality and desirable subject matter. "Femme," points out Simone Klein, head of photographs for Sotheby’s Europe, is from one of the artist’s smallest and most sought-after series, of prostitutes; is one of only two known prints; and had spent the past 80 years safely tucked in a book. "Joueur d’orgue’s" depiction of a dour blind organ grinder alongside a radiant singer captures a fleeting incongruity that appealed to Surrealists like Tristan Tzara, who commissioned the well-preserved print.

Those auction high-water marks also owe much to MoMA, whose former photography department head, John Szarkowski, brought Atget to the public’s attention in four exhibitions, accompanied by catalogues, mounted between 1981 and 1985. The museum also played a role in the last major spike in his market, in the early 2000s, when, to benefit its acquisitions fund, it deaccessioned duplicates in its Atget collection, beginning with 225 prints at Sotheby’s New York in 2001, which made a total of $4 million, and then by offering 1,000 more through an impartial middleman, the Upper East Side dealer David Tunick, well known for his trade in Old Master prints. Tunick examined the works and, with the museum’s approval, assigned each to a price category ranging from $3,000 to $150,000, based on subject, condition, and rarity.

"It was a feeding frenzy," says Tunick. "Scores, if not hundreds [of buyers] wanted a piece of the history of photography, wanted something by this great photography artist and documentarian." And, notes the New York dealer Charles Isaacs, "once MoMA opened its vault and people realized how few of the really great things there were, the top of the market was reinforced."

Indeed, the years since have seen six auction records for the artist. Only three of these, however, topped $200,000, and the bulk of sales have been for less than $100,000. Moreover, cautions Houk, "it’s strictly in the auction market that Atgets have gone that high. The gallery prices have remained the same." Here the spread is even wider, from $1,500 to $250,000. Within Atget’s much-published Saint-Cloud series, for example, Hans P. Kraus, of New York, says he has "some very nice studies" priced between $25,000 and $60,000, while Isaacs is offering the 1924 arrowroot print "Saint-Cloud, fin août," 6 1/2h. for $175,000.

The heftier prices, says dealer Klein, tend to go to "pictures that approach Surrealism or nudity or the forbidden," such as the uncanny images of shop windows or statues in Versailles and Saint-Cloud, the frank nudes of prostitutes, and the sweeping views of Paris. On the lower end are the architectural studies. "You can find very beautiful Atget images for $10,000," says Simone Klein, of Sotheby’s, who believes that abstract details of trees and blossoms are particularly undervalued, at between $10,000 and $25,000. The German gallery Kicken Berlin is seeing interest in these images from collectors of modernist and New Vision photography.

Klein, who expects to have some Atgets in the May sale at Sotheby’s London, sees room for growth in his market, particularly as owners of his works see how his images perform at auction. "There are some very high prices, and then there’s nothing, and then there are very low prices," she says. "I think this middle range will be filled in the next couple of years. I think there are a few surprises left."

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

REMEMBERING CARL MYDANS

On the occasion the exhibition "Carl Mydans: The Early Years", we look back and share this article
published  at the time of Carl's death in 2004.

Carl Mydans


©The Digital Journalist
September 2004
by Dirck Halstead


Modern photojournalism has had a relatively short life. If you start with the premise that the profession that came with the big picture magazines really is only about eight decades old, it is not surprising that the giants who emerged during this period are beginning to die.

In the past month, two of the greatest have left us. First, it was Henri Cartier-Bresson, who more than any photographer defined "the decisive moment," then in August, Carl Mydans, who was without doubt one of the greatest of the original Life photographers.

It was interesting that both photographers received huge obits on the pages of The New York Times. The sheer scope of these obituaries was generally reserved for great writers, poets, designers and heads of state.

Carl Mydans was often overlooked when compared with some of his more colorful colleagues, such as Alfred Eisenstaedt, Margaret Bourke-White and Gordon Parks. Some critics called his work ordinary. But for those who knew better, Carl was without doubt the best photojournalist of them all.


Carl Mydans: Senator John F. Kennedy Campaigning with his Wife in Boston (©Time, Inc.)

What made his work so special was that Carl was first and always a journalist. He viewed his job as being a witness to history. To Carl, the written word was as important as the photography. In a closet in his Larchmont N.Y., home, which he shared with his wife Shelley until she died several years ago, were thousands of reporter's notebooks. He made a lifetime habit of sitting down at the end of every day and meticulously recording what he saw and heard. These notebooks are a huge legacy to historians.

He was the consummate journalist. Time-Life recognized this when they made him bureau chief in Tokyo following World War II. He is the only photographer in that company's history to be accorded this recognition.



On th
On The 6:25 fromGrand Central to Stamford, CT, November 22, 1963 :

A decade ago, the Amon Carter Museum in Fort Worth, Texas, turned over its walls to a major retrospective of Carl's work. When the full extent of his remarkable career could be seen in one place, the result was breathtaking.

Like his colleague and friend, Alfred Eisenstaedt, into his '90s, Carl remained engaged in the world. He still had the curiosity of a child. Even though he could barely hear, he made the trek to his office on the 28th floor of the Time-Life building until the mid-'90s.

In 1945, General George McArthur sent a plane to pick up Carl, who was then busy covering the defeat of Nazi Germany, to return him to the Pacific theatre so that Carl could accompany him on his return to the Philippines. The general knew that Carl had remained behind with the defenders of Corregidor when they were overrun by the Japanese, and the Japanese had imprisoned him and his wife for over two years.

This resulted in one of Carl's most memorable photos, of McArthur wading ashore.



 General Douglas MacArthur Landing at Landing at Luzon, The Philippines, 1945

Over four decades later, Time magazine sent Carl back to the Philippines to cover the elections that resulted in Corazon Aquino defeating President Ferdinand Marcos.

Carl's son, Seth Mydans, remembers:

What I recall is that my father wangled his way onto Ferdinand Marcos's small plane up to Ilocos Norte on voting day. Everyone else had had to make the long drive and had taken their places around the ballot box at dawn, everyone with their elbows firmly in their neighbors' ribs. My father (he may have been secretly grinning) walked in with the Marcos crowd and simply took his place in front of everybody, causing the usual cries of complaint. But I'm told everyone was very polite to the old war-horse. That image is coupled in my mind with a wonderful photo of Carl, in his funny sunhat, clambering up onto a wooden scaffold in the middle of Luneta Park during a Corazon Aquino rally, with all the other photographers reaching out to hold a hand, an arm, an elbow, a foot and help him up.

As for the Marcoses, we all know about their vivid imaginations. When I first met Imelda at a press conference in Malacanang in 1981, she announced in front of everybody, "Yes, my husband rescued your father from prison camp." I then had my first audience with Marcos, who promptly told me, "Yes, your father is the only photographer who ever got a picture of me during the war wearing my helmet." (These, of course, are the people who said they grew wealthy by "investing wisely," among other things.)

I'd like to mention also that Shelley hadn't lost her touch either. She volunteered to visit a polling place for The New York Times and produced one of the most vivid accounts of the day when a bunch of goons rushed the place and hammered with their pistol butts to get the nuns and schoolteachers to loosen their grips on the ballot boxes.

One other quite extraordinary moment: During the January-February 1986 campaign, my competition may have wondered how I was getting so much access to Marcos. More than once, my father asked me to "carry his camera bags" when he was invited in to shoot a portrait. On one of these occasions he autographed a copy of his new book, "Carl Mydans, Photojournalist," just as he did for other major figures (major like Doy Laurel): "With respect, at this historic moment." Two weeks after Edsa , I flew to Hawaii to interview Marcos in exile. He had not yet moved to Makiki Heights but was in a sad, barren seaside villa. The jewels and pesos and other goodies he had grabbed as he fled were already in some vault somewhere. But my father's book, autographed "at this historic moment," was out on a coffee table for me to see. One could say it was one of his valuable treasures, but I think that even as he fled his palace, Marcos still thought Time magazine and The New York Times could help him get back there again. After all, the cover photograph shows MacArthur's return.

Robin Moyer, who was then the Time contract photographer in Southeast Asia, remembers:

Carl and Shelley arrived in Manila in early January, checked into the Manila Hotel and immediately set about work. His special assignment was to cover the Marcos campaign.

Despite the fact he was 79 years old at the time, his boundless energy and enthusiasm inspired our shooters like James Nachtwey, Peter Charlesworth and Susan Meiselas. The Filipino photographers adopted

Carl as one of their own, reserving the best vantage places for him in the photo melees.

Even Imelda Marcos got into the act, proclaiming Carl an old-time friend of the family. "We've known Carl for years. He is world-famous and much taller than his son."

Carl's response was simple. "I met Imelda for the first time last week and Seth is much taller than I am."

Carl's tireless work in the sweltering heat of Manila produced some outstanding images, including one of the several covers during the campaign and a singularly stunning image that showed not only his skill as a photographer, but his sense of history.

At the final rally of the Marcos campaign, having worked his way through a crowd estimated at over a million people, past several layers of photographers and around the security teams surrounding Marcos and his wife, Carl mounted the stage and made what may be the best image of our months of coverage. Reminiscent of the famous "Dewey Defeats Truman" photo, Carl snapped a picture of Marcos smugly holding up a banner headline proclaiming "MARCOS WINS!"

Photographer Peter Charlesworth picked up the story:

As the press jostled for positions at a press conference to be given by President Marcos, I believe it was Robin Moyer who somehow instilled some discipline into the rabble of cameramen and photographers, setting them into tiered, orderly ranks. Carl was waiting, kneeling quietly in the front row.

Marcos arrived out of a side door and sat in front of a desk, whereupon Carl leapt up, leaned over the desk and started to make close-up portraits of the ailing dictator. Had this been anyone else, the verbal abuse from the massed press, whose views had been blocked, would have been deafening. A camera to the back of the head would have been more likely.

Nothing. There was a stunned silence as Marcos's security guards wondered what to do. Such was the awe in which Carl was held by the Filipino press corps - indeed, by all those present - that nobody moved. After a while, there were a few murmurs from those in the front row, "Er,  excuse me, Mr. Mydans, ..." as Carl continued to snap away, "er, Mr. Mydans "

At which point Carl turned around and cast a glance back at the gob-smacked photographers. With a mischievous grin he muttered, "Oh, I am so sorry," as if he had completely forgotten that anyone else was there, then shuffled back to his position in the front row.

In his last years, his friends continually visited Carl. These visits were a source of great joy.

We shall all miss him. We will not see his kind again.

© Dirck Halstead
Editor and Publisher of the Digital Journalist

Carl Mydans: The Early  Years October 1 - November 21


A Child Protects Her Brother from a Stranger with a Camera, Tsingtao, China

















Saturday, October 2, 2010

Berenice Abbott, Margaret Bourke-White, Walker Evans: Amon Carter Museum Showcases a Special Documentary Photography Exhibition

Margaret Bourke-White: You Have Seen Their Faces: Little boy and hound dog, 1936 Gelatin silver print  ©Time Inc.

FORT WORTH, TX.- On October 2, the Amon Carter Museum of American Art presents American Modern: Abbott, Evans, Bourke-White. This special exhibition explores the work of three of the foremost photographers of the twentieth-century and the golden age of documentary photography in America. American Modern will be on view through January 2, 2011; admission is free.



Berenice Abbott (1898–1991), Manhattan Bridge Looking Up, 1936. Gelatin silver print. The Art Institute of Chicago, Works Progress Administration Allocation, 1389.1943


Featuring more than 140 photographs by Berenice Abbott (1898–1991), Margaret Bourke-White (1906–1971) and Walker Evans (1903–1975), American Modern was co-organized by the Amon Carter Museum of American Art and the Colby College Museum of Art in Waterville, Maine. The exhibition is the result of a unique partnership between three curators: Jessica May and Sharon Corwin of the Carter and Colby, respectively, and Terri Weissman, assistant professor of art history at the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign. Together, the three curators present the works of these three artists as case studies of documentary photography during the Great Depression and demonstrate how three factors supported the development of documentary photography during this important period in American history: first, the expansion of mass media; second, a new attitude toward and acceptance of modern art in America; and third, government support for photography during the 1930s.


Walker Evans (1903–1975), People in Downtown Havana, 1933. Gelatin silver print © Walker Evans Archive, The Metropolitan Museum of Art.



“This exhibition considers the work of three of the best-loved American photographers in a new light, which is very exciting,” says curator Jessica May. “Abbott, Evans, and Bourke-White are undisputed masters of the medium of photography, but they have never been shown in relation to one another. This exhibition offers viewers an opportunity to see works together that have not been shown as such since the 1930s.”

In addition to vintage photographs from over 20 public and private collections, the exhibition also features rare first-edition copies of select books and periodicals from the 1930s. American Modern, May says, “reminds us that documentary photography was very much a public genre—this was the first generation of photographers that truly anticipated that their work would be seen by a vast audience through magazines and books.”

More from the Amon Carter Museum here.

©ArtDaily.com