Art, photography, & their two–way influences

Note: This is an extended version of a blog originally posted on another blog site

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There is nothing particularly special about this photograph – taken in Clères, Normandy. True the variety of bottle shapes holds some interest; the work–a–day wooden chairs add a slightly mysterious presence; and the oil cloth and the wallpaper provide good contrasting patterns.  It is also true that the pattern of darks – the bottles, coffee cups, wallet, and chair surrounds – is not without a certain dynamism. Of less success is the clutter created by the cruet, the napkins, and the scattered cutlery. Equally unfortunate is what Bonnard described as the ‘useless lights and shades’ recorded by the camera lens.  Not even so precise a painter as Ingres would concern himself with these. The photographer is selective, but cannot – like the painter – control the tone of every centimetre of the work. Strictly, the photograph cannot be called a ‘work’ (but this does not mean that there is no such thing as the art of photography).

Still Life with Apples and a Milk Jug, c 1880

I chose this particular still life of Cezanne’s to compare with the photograph because of the wallpaper: a motif of which the artist made much use. However, of greater interest is the careful arrangement of the various components of the painting, and we may be immediately struck by the subtle positioning of the knife and the bread roll. Both are angled towards the milk jug, and in turn echo the curve of the white cloth. In a sense, everything in the composition crowds towards the jug, and is halted by it, so that the eye is prevented from leaving ‘picture left’, as might be said. It is in fact quite remarkable how bare the table top is to the right. I doubt that many painters would have the courage to leave it so. But then the front of the table – with its subtle angle and textures seems to provide just the right foil (and if you put your hand over that unobtrusive feature you will see that the picture becomes decidedly flat and dull). Even so small a detail as the slim curve of the milk jug handle cannot be excluded without serious diminution to the painting.                  

There is no question then, of a photograph quite equalling the subtlety of any painting or drawing which is truly explorative, devoid of all mannerisms, and highly selective (as it must be if the essence of the motif is not to be obliterated or deadened by a thousand irrelevant details).* Art is a product of the imagination, stimulated by the embodiment of things in the world, but not enslaved by them. This is why, if you go to Paris in search of Utrillos you will not find them. This is not because the (best) of Utrillo’s street scenes are not redolent of the city he knew, but because you cannot see them through his eyes – except on those rare occasions when what you see immediately coalesces with the vision of Utrillo which you have – to whatever degree – made your own.

Henri Cartier–Bresson

Yet is there vision in photography also – as evidenced by André Kertész, Donald McCullin, Diane Arbus, Cartier–Bresson, and every other photographer of genius who may come into your mind. Further, the cultural impact of photography over the last century and a half has been both profound and incalculable. Artists – though often without admitting it – made wholesale use of the effects of photography: the accidental cutting off of figures (Manet); photos of streets taken from the upper floors of buildings (Pissarro); Muybridge’s photos of the actual movement of the legs of galloping horses (Degas); and the direct use of photos (Sickert).

It is I think pointless arguing over the merits of painting over photography. They have different functions, and the best of each can enrich our lives.

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* Comparing drawing with photography, immediately demonstrates that the camera can neither paint nor draw. That is the fundamental difference.

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Endnote:

Photos of the trenches of the First World War can have a visceral impact which painting somehow fails to equal. But the contrast between the photograph below and Paul Nash’s painting We are Making a New World, 1918, is particularly interesting. 

   

Paul Nash, We are Making a New World, 1918