Authorship
Early morning road. GFX 100S and GF 23mm f/4 R WR
The job of a photographer is multi-faceted: we seek, we pre-visualize, we compose; sometimes we cajole and convince. Then we sit at a computer and begin again: selecting, processing and retouching. The act of seeing is repeated, over and over, dissected, until images are revealed; until we get to the core of our intention. Many of us now add filming and editing to our toolset—with all the overhead in time and gear this involves.
Last Sunday I sat down with a book I’d already read: Avedon at Work: in the American West, by Laura Wilson. The author—Avedon’s assistant during this famous, multi-year project—offers a fascinating read for anyone interested in the process behind such work (1).
But it’s also a look into the singular role Avedon was playing at the time: not so much a craftsman but a director, a band leader. The project was his through and through, the vision entirely under his control. He would pick the subjects out of a pool of possibilities, sometimes through chance encounters, and would guide them, reassure them, ultimately bending each one to his will. He was without a doubt the author, but he also had a team around him. Assistants would do the research, set-up the camera and white backdrop, drive him from town to town. This isn’t always mentioned explicitly in the book, but there are hints everywhere—anecdotes, behind-the-scenes images.
The most telling episode comes at the very end, as Avedon is working on the Amon-Carter Museum exhibition, the culmination of the journey. This is an era when print reigns supreme, and here, again, the photographer is pushing the boundaries of what’s previously been done: 123 prints assembled in a single space, ranging from 56¼-by-45-inch to 78⅛-by-64-inch. Gigantic and overwhelming. It must’ve been quite a sight.
The episode is telling because it’s so far removed from the way most of us work nowadays:
Ruedi and David started with a set of 16-by-20-inch prints. Dick rejected them all. He felt the tone was heavy; they were too black and had too much contrast. In reprinting, Dick’s directions were rarely technical. He would say simply: “Make the person more gentle,” or “Give the face more tension.”
Master printers were an essential part of the photographic work, so this is nothing exceptional. It is, however, fascinating that, while Avedon had final say on the results, this crucial step was for the most part hands-off for him. The printers were doing the actual work, guessing at the meaning of “gentle” or “tension”, hoping to get it right:
This unconventional advice forced Ruedi and David to try and understand the emotional content that Dick sought in each portrait.
As a self-avowed control-freak, it sends shivers down my spine. But it also, I think, forces a different assessment of authorship. It’s more in line with cinematic work, where each task is delegated to the proper expert, the director acting as an overseer—and judge, ultimately. The execution however...is mostly someone else’s job.
So let’s just remember this, whenever we feel inadequate or a little down on ourselves: we do a lot. We do what often used to require an entire team of specialized workers. Our tools make it easier than before—but it’s still pretty damn impressive.
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My only gripe is with the sometimes heavy sepia-toned reproductions. Not so much a gripe as a lingering question: is this how the images were printed originally? Web searches yield different versions of every image.
