Steven Pinker, a Harvard scholar, wrote a book called the Better Angels of Our Nature. Hard as it is to digest his conclusions, it is clear from his research that, even in the face of the last century's horrors and the continuing present brutality which many live within and suffer from, that since the Enlightenment, the world continues to become less violent: this is not an apology for Gaza, nor for any of the other 31 wars happening across the Globe.
There is no sweetness in this for those who suffer and no comfort for the rest of us who, like Rilke reminds us*, feel other's pain is also ours. The nemesis of this horror is culture, and more precisely art, and even more precisely, beauty. Those who are dedicated to creating works which transform our souls, that re-engage us with the better angels of our nature, help to turn themselves and others away from violence. I have no faith in politics, in religion or in gods but only in the human soul examined, explained and soothed by beauty, which is what artists offer us.
The above relates to a dream of mine as a teenage photographer. I dreamt to live a life surrounded by painters, poets, composers, actors, directors and musicians. To a degree it has happened, and I am delighted.
I have often been paid for portraits to for book covers or magazine stories, but for me that has been less important than to be able to give my gifts of pictures to poor or as usual, underpaid, artists. A part of that pleasure is that I have been able to provide some with portraits and their lives engaged in their work. In return I have received great cultural richness.
For various reasons I am short of words this week but want to share some of these photographs of artists.
This is here as a comparison between a commercially assigned portrait and those taken of various artists involved in cultural productions which I photograph in completely uncontrolled conditions.
Mr Howerd was strangely nervous yet open and charming. But placing someone in a white space with large bright lights in front of a stranger’s camera is an entirely different matter than photographing artists in their own environments. The other clear difference is that in that in a commercial situation, sitters know they need to project the audience view of who they are. In other words, their true selves are often disguised behind a layer of public relation’s recipes.
There are many other performers, poets, musicians, and artists I could include, but for the moment, being short of words this week, I wanted you to enjoy and appreciate how rich an area it is to photograph the life force of artists.
This is the poem by Rilke referred to above.
SOLEUM HOUR
Whoever now weeps somewhere in the world,
weeps without reason in the world,
weeps over me.
Whoever now laughs somewhere in the night,
laughs without reason in the night,
laughs at me.
Whoever now wanders somewhere in the world,
wanders without reason out in the world,
wanders toward me.
Whoever now dies somewhere in the world,
dies without reason in the world,
looks at me.
thank you Claudio.....
Thank you, Robert.
Short in words, as no doubt needed, but no less inspiring. Your images speak loud for you. And so does Rilke. Recovery and love.