True’r justice to the image here, considering the composition and elements:Brilliant work. love how he didn't get bogged down with one particular style, would constantly experiment and create new styles.
I had the pleasure of attending a talk he gave in September of 1975, when I was a student enrolled in the Photographic Arts Program at Ryerson Polytechnical Institute in Toronto.
His talk was as informative as it was stimulating. I remember that one member of the audience asked how to continue to photograph creatively if you don’t work as a photographer. His reply was, in paraphrase, to continue to photograph even if you have to work in another field. “Keep your photography pure” he said.
Lucky you! André Kertész is one of my favourite photographers. Nothing but pure admiration of him. Did you also have Dave Heath as a teacher at Ryerson?![]()
I never had him as an instructor.
However, in the Spring of 1973, when I first applied to RPI, I completed the preliminary test they sent to all applicants, and was interviewed by Dave Heath.
One of the works I brought to show him was a synchro-slide presentation I had co-authored the year before. I didn’t know, at the time, of the similar (?!?) works he had himself produced. If I had, I probably wouldn’t have had the guts to show him my amateur effort!
Years later, in 2018, when I was a photographer at the National Gallery of Canada, in Ottawa, I would be involved in the reproduction, for the purpose of exhibition, of one of his works. The reproduction was required, as the original was to valuable to actually be used for the exhibition it was part of.
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The great difficulty in constructing any individual work of art, as well as in the gradual organization of an overall artistic oeuvre, lies in establishing a complex unity. That is, to have elements that converse, contradict, and at the same time complement each other, ultimately resulting in a cohesive whole. This is less planned than one might hope and less unpredictable than one might believe. It emerges and is simultaneously provoked.
In the photographs of André Kertész, everything seems accidental and effortless, yet upon closer inspection, they reveal a much more intricate foundation. This blend of unforced simplicity and intellectual pursuit lends his work intensity and intrigue.
Some claim that the number of various elements that can coexist in a photograph is directly proportional to its quality. A great misconception. The coexisting elements should be as few as possible to ensure the beauty of simplicity. Each additional element must underscore this simplicity rather than aim for complexity, so that the outcome is a unified point rather than a mere assemblage of parts.
I will venture a provocative (and relatively more mundane) comparison with famous alcoholic cocktails. I am sure drinking photographers will understand. The great and established cocktails (and it is by no means easy to invent new ones) usually rely on three components: the primary (typically stronger in alcohol and in smaller quantity), the auxiliary (usually non-alcoholic or lighter and in larger quantity), and the flavor and aroma enhancer (typically in drops or traces). Any other addition is risky as it might blur the drink's character and create conflicts that fail to result in a harmonious final product. What is even more fascinating is that in successful combinations, it is not evident which drink dominates — the primary or the auxiliary. The final taste should be that of the cocktail, not the individual ingredients.
In this particular photograph by Kertész, there is a very risky primary element: the emotionally charged and accentuated presence of the woman with her few modest flower pots, evoking a flood of archetypes and references. As if that weren't enough, the photographer places this scene at the center of the image, further highlighting its obvious significance.
But then comes the second element: the surrounding environment. The snapshot of the woman at the window did not require this baroque development of an entire fortress within the light well and rooftop. Its presence seems disproportionate, yet that is precisely its contribution. It balances, with its geometric perfection and formalistic arrogance, the emotional excess of the woman at the window, without erasing her. Thus, a creative dialogue is born between the obvious and unforced emotion and the aesthetic presence of form. It would be inconceivable to limit the photograph to its center under the pretext that the essence of the description lies there, just as it would be naive to erase the center in favor of a visual construction that would be exhausted at first glance. The two subjects — woman and wall — complement each other and converse, unified through the variations of gray that act as a visual enhancer. The viewer cannot hierarchize or detach the two seemingly disparate subjects but can only bow before the combination of boldness and simplicity of the great photographer.
Platon Rivellis, Newspaper "Kathimerini", July 2011
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