Abstract

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Bill Brandt: A LifeStuart Richmond, Professor of Arts EducationBill Brandt: A Life, by Paul Delany. Stanford California: Stanford University Press, 2004, 335 pp., $47.50 hardcover.From June to September 2003, Britain's famous art gallery, the Tate Modern, housed dramatically in a gigantic, renovated power station on the south bank of the Thames, held its first major photography exhibition, entitled Cruel and Tender after comments made by a critic to describe the work of Walker Evans. The twenty-three artists in the show, including August Sander, Diane Arbus, Rineke Dijkkstra, William Eggleston, Walker Evans, Philip-Lorca diCorcia, and Thomas Ruff, were mainly Americans and Germans. Bill Brandt, who had a reputation as a documentary photographer, was not included. Writing in the catalogue, Tate director Nicholas Serota notes, "Cruel and Tender examines a form of documentary photography that keeps within the limits of the medium, stressing pure description.... Surrealist and Conceptual photography would fit more naturally into the programs and displays at the Tate, but the elusive and documentary qualities in straight photography challenge the traditions of the institution, by concentrating on a form of photography which explores the intrinsic aspects of the medium." In other words, "straight photography" serves as a kind of unemotional, uncreative narrative of ordinary life, avoiding drama, romanticism, sentimentality, deep coding, and, as far as possible, the expressive contributions of the artist. The relationship of photograph to reality, though problematic, is still interesting, according to the catalogue notes, and this contemporary work aims to inform us, literally, of the true essence, banal or otherwise, of our world. This approach acts implicitly to undermine the fake optimism of consumer capitalism.It will be useful to keep in mind this exhibition in considering the work of Brandt, for in the early 1980s Brandt was being lauded as Britain's greatest photographer, and he was nothing if not expressive. It was his métier to find the unusual in the everyday and to create meaning through careful staging and composition, drawing very much on his own personal outlook, aesthetic philosophy, and psychology. He believed all was permitted in photography, whether in the novel choice of lens, use of friends as models, or darkroom processing to achieve his vision. Rather than being a documentary photographer, at least in the purist sense of the Tate collection, he was more the poet ethnographer with a strong sense of the surreal. His was a vision that would be imposed on the world. After reading Paul Delany's excellent biography, it becomes clear why Brandt, all too soon, had become unfashionable in the eyes of the Tate organizers and contemporary photography at large. He is, nevertheless, an artist who can help us question the nature of reality while producing work that is often very complex and beautiful, and someone whose methods and ideas can serve as [End Page 118] a model of individual creative practice. The global interest in photography, the many significant exhibitions and books produced in the past decade, and the prices paid for photographs have by now lain to rest the old debate about whether photography is a genuine art form. As any serious photographer can attest, producing a photograph that has form, presence, and originality is dauntingly difficult, even though photography seems so easy. Everyone, today, has a camera. Yet, constantly fed with glitzy images from commerce and entertainment that direct our minds along certain well-worn grooves—a challenge for aesthetic education—budding artists require a certain strength of character and imagination to resist the literal and obvious and move toward a more authentic way of seeing. Delany's book shows how someone can defy fashion, as Brandt did for half a century, producing "pictorial" images layered with meaning and mystery. As an aside, despite the intent to show images that simply describe the world, some of the Tate pictures still manage, to my eye at least, to have their own ephemeral expressiveness, and at times great beauty, which raises the question, At what point does a document become a work of art? The Tate approach, with its strict theories, seems to be more interested in legislating than in exploring photographic practice.Biographies can...