William KleinWilliam Klein went to Paris in 1948 to paint and studied with Leger "who told us the galleries were dead, easel painting was finished . . . He wanted us to get out of studios into the streets . . ." Klein came onto photography "first as an accident, then as a glorified hobby, then as a tool." When he returned to NYC after six years in Europe (mostly Paris and Milan) and started taking photos with a beat-up Leica with only a 50mm lens and no filters, his model was the Daily News "with its scoops and scandals and Cro-Magnon politics . . . and general noise, violence and vulgarity. Plus a touch of my brand of Dada." In shooting his diary-tabloid project (which would become the book New York) he went in the opposite direction of the objectivity of the times. He tried anything and everything without regard for the delicate perfection of contemporary prints. He'd shoot without aiming, push the grain and contrast, mess around in the darkroom. He had no rules to adhere to. Of course no American editor would touch his work. In Paris he showed it to Chris Marker, a film-maker he admired who was an editor at Editions du Seuil, and he pushed it through. The photography establishment thought the book was shit but it won the Nadar Prize in France. It also got him an offer from Fellini to work as an assistant on a film that never got completed. But it was how he started work on his next book—Rome. Throughout his body of work from this time, there is always a balance that derives from an inborn sense of graphic design. So though he's gone charging into crowds like a paparazzo or shot from the hip or shaken and blurred an image, the photos that resulted were not chaotic nor a Cage-like image of chance. A highly articulate vision dictated the process. He grabbed the raw moment and matched the frenzied pace of the city image with a process as intense. His quick images, with their startling textures, welded technique and result together the way every brushstroke of Van Gogh's exudes passion. He was prepared for luck and armed with the discipline of a vision necessary for his spontaneous pace. Which brings us to this current show of his new photographs from the last few years that, after this introductory build-up, I'm sorry to say is somewhat of a disappointment. In the street scenes that cover two walls (12 x 18 silver prints), the glimpsed expressions are there, forefront and slightly hidden, as before; the many levels of activity and action being carried out on all planes; the range of emotion exuding from the several characters in each shot. But the overall structure that enclosed his former shots in a measure of breath-taking urgency is gone. Most of these seem easy, as if he just snapped at the crowd scenes hoping to recapture that miracle of enthusiastic interaction with his subjects that so shocked then revolutionized the photography media in the 50s and 60s. Perhaps he's again discovering new territory and again writing the language with which to judge. But the overall impression I receive is that he's letting his subjects' various expressions and the busy diversity of the crowd declare the shot. The artist's role of organizer is eliminated and the result is a randomness that is too open and chaotic. Chaotic is a term, of course, that he was formerly accused of being only to later be so justly appreciated for having established new boundaries. But those older shots, still so alive, are brought under control by the artist in the way his passionate and quick technique unifies and establishes a context. Some of these new shots are splendid—the ones where there is a central figure and all the activity going on around is background, like Finish Line, Marathon & Blonde Woman (1983). Here there is a subject and context. You can argue that in the others the crowd is the subject and yes, there are extraordinary things going on in the midst of the frame, but anyone can shoot into a crowd. The shots that don't work seem to be begging for more of a frame than the perimeters of the photo paper. The delicate balance of luck that he was prepared for, spontaneity he was equipped with the advantage of vision for, and the design sense that fit all his rough effects into a sweeping new context where everything went, seems to have left him for the moment. These shots seem more like a frame from a film. They're lost and confused by themselves. We hardly feel an atmosphere since they seem so cold; he hardly seems to care about his subjects. There's no investigation. He doesn't seem curious anymore or he's lost his attacking-the-scene-with-a-vengeance kind of attitude. There's no mystery or spirit and therefore no art. They're more about photography—showing off what he can do with his camera—than they are about the lives they pretend to explore. The same is basically true for a series of 19 shots (also 12 x 18 silver prints) taken backstage and in dressing rooms at various fashion shows. In these the pace is quicker and more frenzied with the result that his characteristic blurred image is occurring more often. This adds a lot, something special, as what is framed in these shots is not that interesting—beyond the sensationalism of pretty models in various stages of dress. However, these cameo, off-guard shots of models are, ironically, plain, simply giving a glimpse of information. On one wall are lined up edge to edge 15 cibachromes (19 x 13) that are extreme close-ups of sunbathers. This is the first time he's shown color work. Sections of the body take up whole frames. Good-looking torsos, crotches, behinds and backs are shot from acute angles and voyeur perspectives. A leopard-skin bathing suit blurs in near ground, body lines converge in fleshy sweeps and body parts out of focus are contrasted against sections in focus. The colors of the sun-touched skin and bright bathing suits and the added textural embellishment of body hair combine to offer a luscious display of the reclining human form. But again, there's not much to the photo besides the unusual composition. Again he's letting the subjects do the work, showing off their stuff. William Klein is too major an artist for us to think he won't be back with stronger work than is shown here. It'd be terrific if someone would organize some screenings of his many films which have been his primary concern the last two decades. (Quotes taken from published interviews) (Arts, January 1986) |