Over the decades the talk has been about how television and all its trappings, are sounding the death knell for photography
August 19, 1839 is the day Louis Jacques Mande Daguerre, Joseph Nicephere Niepec and Henry Fox Talbot are credited with ‘discovering’ photography. They would have borne a perplexed look had you told them then that their innovation would lead to motion pictures, courtesy Frenchman Louis Lumiere, aptly nicknamed Cinematographe.
Lumiere’s pathbreaking invention debuted in 1895, but even if you subscribe to the view that it was Edison, rather than Lumiere who invented the motion picture, you can’t deny that without still photography, movies would have been but a glint in a producer’s eye.
Enough with the history lesson, and down to some fighting talk. Over the decades the talk has been about how television and all its trappings, are sounding the death knell for photography. But proponents of that theory forget one niggling factor, that photographers have virtually no margin for error. And out of a lack of margin, often comes excellence. The ability to capture a scene or an emotion in one frame is not one to be taken lightly.
Take for instance the Godra riots. Although TV channels beamed graphic images 24x7 into living rooms across the country, it was the photograph by Arko Dutta, of a man with folded hands, blood-stained shirt and tears welling in his eyes that captured the world’s imagination and struck a blow that rocked our moral turpitude. In 2005, Arko, incidentally won the WPP award for his picture of a tsunami survivor weeping by a dead relative on a beach in Cuddalore.
In the modern era the intense competitiveness between the TV cameraman and the photographer has increased manifold with both vying for better space and an insight into the human condition
In the modern era the intense competitiveness between the TV cameraman and the photographer has increased manifold with both vying for better space and an insight into the human condition. A TV cameraman’s job is more strenuous than that of a print photographer in that his images have to follow the reporter’s thread, and at times have to tell a story on their own. Print photographers have to be more aesthetic, constantly looking to capture passion and emotion. Photographers, however, must remember that their image have a much longer shelf-life, and hence to be qualitatively superior in all respects.
Talking of photographic longevity, Spencer Platt’s photograph for Getty of a convertible full of gorgeous Lebanese women, dressed to the nines, driving through a bombed-out Beirut suburb, told a million tales, that are etched into the consciousness of all those who had the pleasure of seeing it.
The argument between still and moving, however, will be one that rages for many more years. You, the reader, shall be the final judge.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
On the road, life is but a blur of pictures
Towards the end of his travelogue, The Innocents Abroad, written aboard the USS Quaker City, the incorrigible wit Mark Twain noted: “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts.” He meant it for his
American bedfellows, but the statement could apply to almost every living human being. The tourist, as the traveller has come to be known in our day and age, can be seen in almost every city. The flashes of their cameras light up nights from Rio to Tokyo.They attempt to soak in a foreign culture, using snapshots to emblazon their memories. But in the rush to capture every image, the eternal ones slip by, lost in the flash frenzy that often accompanies these wandering souls. But some see rather than simply look, and they are the true captors of heritage and life.
Take for instance, the great picture taken by amateur photographer (he was until May 18, 1980, anyway) Gary Rosenquist. His all powerful picture, taken on that day, of Mount St Helens erupting at dawn captivated the world.
It cast nature in all her fury on a canvas the size of our imaginations. The photograph was good enough to be snatched up by those two colossi of photojournalism: National Geographic and Life
magazine. Travelling is essential to great photography.
During my Reuter’s Foundation Fellowship at the Missouri University in Columbia, Missouri, I was adamant that I wouldn’t save any money. Rather, anything I had would go into travelling around the US; be it a weekend jaunt to a nearby town, or a road trip following the tyre tracks of Kerouac or the wagon trails of Steinbeck. And thanks to the Greyhound, all this was possible.
During my second week at the university, I set off to see the beautiful Lake Mykee town in Callaway County — a part of Jefferson City, the capital of Missouri. The trip, which spanned the weekend was spent in the company of my German colleague Liz Van Hooser. We went to visit her grandparents, who lived in Lake Mykee, and it turned out to be a photographer’s dream. Not only did I get to photograph the Jefferson County skyline, but spent hours walking through the vineyards, run by the Hoosers.
Another memorable trip was to Zion, where I managed to hone my still photography thanks to its wonderful 18th Century church. Then there was Carthage (not of Hannibal Barca fame) with a population of under 5,000. It’s a wonderland, aptly termed by Walt Disney as, ‘Some Place Else’. It was at Springfield that I photographed that icon of popular culture, Route 66,which runs from Chicago to New York. I also had the pleasure to meet, Larry Bornbazine (the surname means, Keeper of the Flame), a Native American. He sat next to me on the bus, and by the end of my journey, we were fast friends. He invited me to his home in Chesterfield, where I met his extended 18-member family who had gathered there for the weekend.
I offered to stay in an inn nearby, but Larry was having none of it. So I spent the weekend in their small but large-hearted home. It was to be a fortuitous meeting, as I learned volumes about a community that, up until that day, I had read about only in my school textbooks.The Bornbazine family portraits I took, are some of my most cherished.
My advice to you fellow traveller, is to ensure that you keep that small camera with you always during your travels, be it from home to office or on that trip across Europe. Who knows what the future may throw up for you to photograph.
I will end with a quote from one of the greatest travellers of his time, Jack Kerouac: “So long and take it easy, because if you start taking things seriously, it is the end of you.”
American bedfellows, but the statement could apply to almost every living human being. The tourist, as the traveller has come to be known in our day and age, can be seen in almost every city. The flashes of their cameras light up nights from Rio to Tokyo.They attempt to soak in a foreign culture, using snapshots to emblazon their memories. But in the rush to capture every image, the eternal ones slip by, lost in the flash frenzy that often accompanies these wandering souls. But some see rather than simply look, and they are the true captors of heritage and life.
Take for instance, the great picture taken by amateur photographer (he was until May 18, 1980, anyway) Gary Rosenquist. His all powerful picture, taken on that day, of Mount St Helens erupting at dawn captivated the world.
It cast nature in all her fury on a canvas the size of our imaginations. The photograph was good enough to be snatched up by those two colossi of photojournalism: National Geographic and Life
magazine. Travelling is essential to great photography.
During my Reuter’s Foundation Fellowship at the Missouri University in Columbia, Missouri, I was adamant that I wouldn’t save any money. Rather, anything I had would go into travelling around the US; be it a weekend jaunt to a nearby town, or a road trip following the tyre tracks of Kerouac or the wagon trails of Steinbeck. And thanks to the Greyhound, all this was possible.
During my second week at the university, I set off to see the beautiful Lake Mykee town in Callaway County — a part of Jefferson City, the capital of Missouri. The trip, which spanned the weekend was spent in the company of my German colleague Liz Van Hooser. We went to visit her grandparents, who lived in Lake Mykee, and it turned out to be a photographer’s dream. Not only did I get to photograph the Jefferson County skyline, but spent hours walking through the vineyards, run by the Hoosers.
Another memorable trip was to Zion, where I managed to hone my still photography thanks to its wonderful 18th Century church. Then there was Carthage (not of Hannibal Barca fame) with a population of under 5,000. It’s a wonderland, aptly termed by Walt Disney as, ‘Some Place Else’. It was at Springfield that I photographed that icon of popular culture, Route 66,which runs from Chicago to New York. I also had the pleasure to meet, Larry Bornbazine (the surname means, Keeper of the Flame), a Native American. He sat next to me on the bus, and by the end of my journey, we were fast friends. He invited me to his home in Chesterfield, where I met his extended 18-member family who had gathered there for the weekend.
I offered to stay in an inn nearby, but Larry was having none of it. So I spent the weekend in their small but large-hearted home. It was to be a fortuitous meeting, as I learned volumes about a community that, up until that day, I had read about only in my school textbooks.The Bornbazine family portraits I took, are some of my most cherished.
My advice to you fellow traveller, is to ensure that you keep that small camera with you always during your travels, be it from home to office or on that trip across Europe. Who knows what the future may throw up for you to photograph.
I will end with a quote from one of the greatest travellers of his time, Jack Kerouac: “So long and take it easy, because if you start taking things seriously, it is the end of you.”
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Politics, photography and a question of mood
Unfortunately, my camera has, at times, got me a front row seat for the soap opera, that national and state-level politics can often be
The famous military strategist, Clauzewitz, once said: War is nothing but an extension of politics. And anyone following the city’s front pages over the last week could be excused for wondering how akin the state CM’s office was to a 21st Century Stalingrad.
Unfortunately, my camera has at times got me a front row seat for the soap opera, that national and state-level politics can often be; with egos and riches being the pivots around which political worlds turn.
Money-hungry MLAs, their superegos filled with delusions of grandeur have often reached for the golden chalice, overlooking the plight of the common man, who are left to fend for themselves after pre-poll promises are ground into the dust of dishonesty.
The latest crisis to afflict Karnataka was pretty much a battle of nerves, and as I look back on the coverage across newspapers, only a few images, I feel, told the story of the crisis from a human angle.
One of these images was the one that showed the CM, sitting alone in his office, prior to leaving for New Delhi to learn his fate. It was a grim image, but the situation indeed warranted such seriousness.
Anyone following the city’s front pages over the last week could be excused for wondering how akin the state CM’s office was to a 21st Century Stalingrad.
The second picture showed BSY feeding JR. Their expressions were priceless. Both looked like they had got the better of the other, while AK’s smugness as he stood next to them spoke volumes about how the whole shenanigan had worked out for him.
Going back to the days when the state was ruled by the many avatars of the Janata Dal, I was fortunate enough to be the only local photojournalist based in New Delhi. My assignment was to keep the newspaper supplied with images every time one of the state’s politicians walked through the halls of power in the capital.
It was during this stint that Karnataka went through a period of intense political turmoil. And while the state was proverbially burning I managed to photograph the incumbent CM, JH Patel, relaxing at Karnataka Bhavan in New Delhi. I found him relaxing in bed with a plate of cucumbers and a glass of wine in his hand, while updating himself on the news on TV. The picture made the front page, and the accompanying headline was as witty, as it was pertinent: Cool as Cucumber: When the whole state burns.
But the one photograph I still cherish came from a rather unique opportunity to snap two big-time political leaders (one former chief minister who was known in political circles as the kingmaker, along with a union minister from the powerful Yadav group) standing at urinals (backs to the camera!) with their face visible on the mirror in front of them, all the while discussing how they were going to convince a humble farmer prime minister to step down and ensure they keep their front united. The newspaper ran with it in seven columns, with the classic headline: ‘Toilet Politics’.
My advice to young photographers is to keep an eye on the mood of the crises, and the pictures will follow. My advice to politicians: Service to the people is service to the gods.
The famous military strategist, Clauzewitz, once said: War is nothing but an extension of politics. And anyone following the city’s front pages over the last week could be excused for wondering how akin the state CM’s office was to a 21st Century Stalingrad.
Unfortunately, my camera has at times got me a front row seat for the soap opera, that national and state-level politics can often be; with egos and riches being the pivots around which political worlds turn.
Money-hungry MLAs, their superegos filled with delusions of grandeur have often reached for the golden chalice, overlooking the plight of the common man, who are left to fend for themselves after pre-poll promises are ground into the dust of dishonesty.
The latest crisis to afflict Karnataka was pretty much a battle of nerves, and as I look back on the coverage across newspapers, only a few images, I feel, told the story of the crisis from a human angle.
One of these images was the one that showed the CM, sitting alone in his office, prior to leaving for New Delhi to learn his fate. It was a grim image, but the situation indeed warranted such seriousness.
Anyone following the city’s front pages over the last week could be excused for wondering how akin the state CM’s office was to a 21st Century Stalingrad.
The second picture showed BSY feeding JR. Their expressions were priceless. Both looked like they had got the better of the other, while AK’s smugness as he stood next to them spoke volumes about how the whole shenanigan had worked out for him.
Going back to the days when the state was ruled by the many avatars of the Janata Dal, I was fortunate enough to be the only local photojournalist based in New Delhi. My assignment was to keep the newspaper supplied with images every time one of the state’s politicians walked through the halls of power in the capital.
It was during this stint that Karnataka went through a period of intense political turmoil. And while the state was proverbially burning I managed to photograph the incumbent CM, JH Patel, relaxing at Karnataka Bhavan in New Delhi. I found him relaxing in bed with a plate of cucumbers and a glass of wine in his hand, while updating himself on the news on TV. The picture made the front page, and the accompanying headline was as witty, as it was pertinent: Cool as Cucumber: When the whole state burns.
But the one photograph I still cherish came from a rather unique opportunity to snap two big-time political leaders (one former chief minister who was known in political circles as the kingmaker, along with a union minister from the powerful Yadav group) standing at urinals (backs to the camera!) with their face visible on the mirror in front of them, all the while discussing how they were going to convince a humble farmer prime minister to step down and ensure they keep their front united. The newspaper ran with it in seven columns, with the classic headline: ‘Toilet Politics’.
My advice to young photographers is to keep an eye on the mood of the crises, and the pictures will follow. My advice to politicians: Service to the people is service to the gods.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
The power of photography is its ability to tell it like it is
Even the best writers will attest that no matter how powerful be the prose, a picture is worth a thousand well-chosen words.
The power of photographs was once again brought into sharp focus (pun intended) after China arm-twisted the Bangladesh government into shutting down a photography exhibition entitled Tibet 1949-2009.
The exhibition, which was organised by the Students for a Free Tibet, showed a myriad of images of the Himalayan nation with all its ups and downs. The photographs were at times graphic in their depiction of an oppressive China, and on others magical in their imagery of one of the most beautiful countries on Earth.
But China doesn’t seem to be able to differentiate between the aesthetics of politics and the politics of beauty. China, and its penchant for ‘history-as-we-know-it’, however, is not up for debate here. Every country has its own way of dealing with a chequered past. This column is about the power of photographs.
Even the best writers will attest that no matter how powerful be the prose, a picture that cuts to the heart of the matter – whether jovial or devastating – is worth a thousand well-chosen words. Photographs know no language, and require the viewer to possess only one faculty: The ability to see.
Photographs have been used to document ‘the real story’ throughout most of the tumultuous 20th Century. From the Great War to Vietnam, the horrifying ability of humans to kill innocents has been portrayed with a graphic sense of foreboding. Our innate predilection for cruelty is unfathomable, and so we must keep snapping away in the hope that wisdom will someday dawn.
Photographs are apolitical in as much as they are amoral, as they should be. Like music, photographs transcend man-made barriers. They are beasts of their own device
Closer to home, my pictures have been used to bring fraudsters to book. When I worked in a national daily based in New Delhi, I was asked to cover drought-affected villagers in 1996.
On assignment I got a picture of an elderly farmer sitting in his arid farm, the soil cracked wide open by the blazing sun. The picture was published, and not long after I received a telephone call from the Life Insurance Corporation of India (LIC). They wanted to know where exactly the picture was taken as, they claimed, the farmer in question was dead and his children had claimed the insurance money four years before this picture was taken.
They then asked me if I could take them to the farm so that they could see this modern day Lazarus for themselves. I did and they saw him, alive and kicking. Needless to say the case was kicked straight into court – the photograph used as evidence and me as a witness.
Photographs are apolitical in as much as they are amoral, as they should be. Like music, photographs transcend man-made barriers. They are beasts of their own device, and that is why governments across the world would rather choose to hide images than words. Words can be misinterpreted, but how could you say that the picture of a young Vietnamese girl, her body burned as she ran from her village, was anything short of murder.
You can’t, and neither did the American public.
The power of photographs was once again brought into sharp focus (pun intended) after China arm-twisted the Bangladesh government into shutting down a photography exhibition entitled Tibet 1949-2009.
The exhibition, which was organised by the Students for a Free Tibet, showed a myriad of images of the Himalayan nation with all its ups and downs. The photographs were at times graphic in their depiction of an oppressive China, and on others magical in their imagery of one of the most beautiful countries on Earth.
But China doesn’t seem to be able to differentiate between the aesthetics of politics and the politics of beauty. China, and its penchant for ‘history-as-we-know-it’, however, is not up for debate here. Every country has its own way of dealing with a chequered past. This column is about the power of photographs.
Even the best writers will attest that no matter how powerful be the prose, a picture that cuts to the heart of the matter – whether jovial or devastating – is worth a thousand well-chosen words. Photographs know no language, and require the viewer to possess only one faculty: The ability to see.
Photographs have been used to document ‘the real story’ throughout most of the tumultuous 20th Century. From the Great War to Vietnam, the horrifying ability of humans to kill innocents has been portrayed with a graphic sense of foreboding. Our innate predilection for cruelty is unfathomable, and so we must keep snapping away in the hope that wisdom will someday dawn.
Photographs are apolitical in as much as they are amoral, as they should be. Like music, photographs transcend man-made barriers. They are beasts of their own device
Closer to home, my pictures have been used to bring fraudsters to book. When I worked in a national daily based in New Delhi, I was asked to cover drought-affected villagers in 1996.
On assignment I got a picture of an elderly farmer sitting in his arid farm, the soil cracked wide open by the blazing sun. The picture was published, and not long after I received a telephone call from the Life Insurance Corporation of India (LIC). They wanted to know where exactly the picture was taken as, they claimed, the farmer in question was dead and his children had claimed the insurance money four years before this picture was taken.
They then asked me if I could take them to the farm so that they could see this modern day Lazarus for themselves. I did and they saw him, alive and kicking. Needless to say the case was kicked straight into court – the photograph used as evidence and me as a witness.
Photographs are apolitical in as much as they are amoral, as they should be. Like music, photographs transcend man-made barriers. They are beasts of their own device, and that is why governments across the world would rather choose to hide images than words. Words can be misinterpreted, but how could you say that the picture of a young Vietnamese girl, her body burned as she ran from her village, was anything short of murder.
You can’t, and neither did the American public.
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