E. O. Hoppé and Eugene de Salignac

I had intended this to be "book week," in which I planned to publish some of the book reviews I have by others still awaiting the light of day, as well as churning through some of the many books I have awaiting review by me. But we had to pause yesterday while I made another Implacable Enemy, something I inadvertently do from time to time, and Edward Taylor has written a nice review of his new Sigma DP-1 that I'd like to post soon, probably later today or tomorrow. Besides, it's obvious I'm not going to make much of a dent in the book situation anyway, without letting them take over the website indefinitely.

Still, there are two that I'd like to discuss briefly, and they deserve to be discussed together, and not just because they arrived chez Johnston in the same box from Amazon. They are E. O. Hoppe's Amerika: Modernist Photographs from the 1920s and New York Rises: Photographs by Eugene de Salignac.

I've been hearing about E. O. Hoppé for years—his name almost always associated with a word like "underrated" or "forgotten" or "underappreciated"—but had never seen much of his work, so I figured it was high time. Since my memory is mainly visual, my most vivid impression of Hoppé was a mental image of Bill Jay's characteristically excellent portrait of him in old age, which I was pleased to find online. Bill had hunted him down in a nursing home in 1972.

Bill also made efforts to resuscitate Hoppé's reputation. With Cecil Beaton, he secured for Hoppé an Honorary Fellowship from the Royal Photographic Society, which had been Hoppé's fondest desire, only weeks before the older photographer died at the age of 95. Fascinatingly, Bill also says of Hoppé: "Rarely in the history of photography has a photographer been so famous in his own lifetime among the general public. All photographers revered him; Cecil Beaton simply referred to him as The Master." (Bill Jay, Occam's Razor, which I am dismayed to see is out of print, p. 143. You can find the essay here, filed under "E." It's a PDF.)

Looking at the pictures, this fame is, frankly, mystifying. The meaning of work does change with time and fashion; innovations can be eclipsed, and the needs of a public and a society—what it wants reflected of itself, what it hopes its artists will say about it—is more evanescent than we give it credit for being; a study of the many figures in all the arts who were hugely popular during their lifetimes but are then dismissed by posterity, sometimes utterly, would be fascinating. What I see here is work that is not modernist, but transitional between pictorialism and modernism, hesitantly and somewhat indiscriminately employing the visual tricks and tropes of both. It's not assured technically: Hoppé seems to misplace focus, consistently putting it too far back, as if his ground glass were mis-calibrated and he never figured it out. Phillip Prodger, in comparing Hoppé's subjects with similar themes by other famous photographers such as Evans, Sheeler, Strand, Weston, Stieglitz and Coburn (and the painter Edward Hopper) in his introductory essay, unintentionally demonstrates Hoppé's comparative weakness, his inability to construct an assured picture even out of promising material.

E. O. Hoppé, 6th Avenue at 42nd Street, New York City, 1921

In fact, "unassured" is as good a word as any for what I see in these pictures. Hoppé seems to be always searching for a means of organizing his subject visually, aware that there's a picture in in the vicinity somewhere but seemingly never able to quite find it. He casts about this way and that for modes of approach, now heroic, now ironic; here classical, there iconoclastic; first descriptive, next impressionistic. (These pictures were originally published under the title Das Romantische Amerika—Romantic America. Phillip Prodger claims that the title was "partially ironic," but an English version was subtitled "Picturesque United States." ) The work just lacks confidence. The best pictures seem like near misses, and the worst are no less approximate than snapshots.

Bill Jay, Emil Otto Hoppe in a nursing home, England, 1972

From one extreme to the other
The case of Eugene de Salignac couldn't be more opposite, in so many ways. The front flaps says, "From 1906 to 1934, Eugene de Salignac shot over twenty thousand 8-by-10-inch glass plate negatives of New York City. As the sole photographer at the municipal Department of Bridges/Plant and Structures during that period of unprecedented change, he documented the creation of the city's infrastructure—bridges, major buildings, roads, and subways." He was not only not famous among the public in his lifetime, he was almost irredeemably anonymous during his lifetime, and might have remained so had it not been for the visual acuity and detective work of Michael Lorenzini, who performed a rescue operation to save de Salignac from the dustbin of history almost on the order of Berenice Abbott retrieving the plates of Atget from the trash. (It took Lorenzini a fair amount of sleuthing just to unearth de Salignac's name. We still don't know what he looked like.) It's a fine story, and enlivens the book's verbal essay. But it's the pictures that carry the volume.

Eugene de Salignac might have been just a workman (a blue-collar photographer, one might say) doing a quotidian job for a salary, but his vision is consistent and bold. He's the soul of capability, organizing well-composed pictures out of complex situations, readily handling tough situations and confidently playing with unusual and quite sophisticated arrangements (see the picture of the cable-oiler on the Williamburg Bridge on p. 57, for example, or the now-famous cover picture). He seems an authentic prototype for what some modernist art photographers strive for. (That giant W has probably made some contemporary art photographers jealous!) Of course, out of 20,000 pictures it's probably possible to make any number of different cases for what kind of photographer he was, like a fanatic extracting one or two lines from the Bible to defend some wacky worldview. I won't say I know where this book's small sample of his work places de Salignac in the pantheon of photographers, but I enjoyed the book a lot more than I thought I would.

The two photographers even visit the same theme once. Compare Hoppé's nondescript, approximate, vague and fuzzy view of the Woolworth building made in 1921 (p. 65 in book #1) with de Salignac's magnificent, crisp, no-nonsense and supremely descriptive picture of the same building made in 1914 (p. 6 in book #2). No contest.

It's very tempting to draw pat conclusions from the contrast between these two books by these two very different photographers—the famous artist aiming high but harboring the more modest talent, and the unassuming, near-nameless workaday pro transcending his day job to rise to genius. I can't say it's an unappealing object lesson. The two of them might be a good embodiment of David Bayles and Ted Orland's story, in Art and Fear, of the pottery instructor who divided his class in half—one half to be graded on the basis of a single perfect pot, and the other half judged purely by the number of pots they could churn out. The moral of the little tale was that the people who threw the most clay also learned how to make better pots. There's something to be said for approaching photography as if it were a job, even if it's not.

Eugene de Salignac, Williamsburg Bridge, view showing Kent Avenue Yard "W," 20 feet, for "WSS" to be placed on towers March 20, 1918 [WSS stands for "War Savings Stamps"; the letters were erected on the south side of the Manhattan tower during World War I.]

The pat answers aren't the right answers, however. I've pawed through my share of vast forgotten archives in my time, and I'm here to testify that many workaday jobber photographers were plain hacks, their work no more graceful or well-seen for being plentiful. Talent is rare, period, and de Salignac (like Arnold Odermatt and Mike Disfarmer, two other talented photographers with anonymous, earthbound jobs) was gifted, plain and simple, no matter what his job description or work instructions. It may be, however, that de Salignac's pictures—or Michael Lorenzini's selection of his pictures—simply conform to modern tastes and expectations better. (Much better.)

I'm going to shelve these books next to each other. The two of them really do add up to more than either one alone, and I'm glad I encountered them together. But for a buy recommendation for others, the de Salignac is the one to have, assuming you have an interest in one or more of the following: pre-WWII America, documentary photography, large format, men at work, architecture and construction, or New York city.

(And by the way, if you haven't at least browsed Bill Jay's lovely website of portraits, you really should. I published a portfolio of his portraits of photographers in Photo Techniques a decade or so ago, and I've been a big fan for much longer than that. He really is one of our very best portraitists.)

______________________

Mike

Comments

[Robin P]

Very interesting review of the two books Mike, made me curious to see more and I found some Hoppe at
http://www.eohoppe.com/books/3-amerika/3-2.html
and then some Salignac by Google searching for images of "Eugene de Salignac".
The Hoppe photos really do seem to be from an earlier era but certainly have plenty of charm. Your comments about his poor technique put me in mind of Atget - let's not forget that although Atget had a great eye for a subject he didn't always produce technically perfect photos of those subjects despite his famous decription of his work as "Documents (for artists)".
Based on a quick look it would seem that the de Salignac work is the serendipitous result of a fine technician who happened to have a great eye for composition which doesn't look old fashioned to us so many years later.
Hmmm, really not sure which to choose on my next visit to Amazon. Thank's again for bringing them to our attention.

Cheers, Robin

[Charlie H]

Mike, nice piece, your command of the english language is inspiring. ch

[Luc Novovitch]

I read with interest your comment about the technique of Hoppe. You are expressing a technician's view, in my opinion. Sure he may lack some strict, academically accepted rules of composition, and his focus may not be where you would like it to be. But his photographs have charm, and they communicate his vision of America. What you call 'unasured' may in fact be the exact visual translation of what he did feel when looking at the subject, and taking the pictures. Like in 'unassured' about the meaning of what all this typical american commotion, for the time, was about. 'Unassured', like a European photographer shooting the 1920s' America. You make clear your distaste for his photography. But you are only expressing your taste, and maybe an inability to put things in perspective (no pun intended), and understand why Hoppe's images come across in this particular way. I saw thousands of photographs, in galleries and museums, over the years, perfectly executed, technically magnificent, and absolutely insipid and shallow that, in comparison, Hoppe's work speaks out loud. About life. But again, this is just an opinion, which happens to be mine, and which brings to mind Cartier-Bresson's statement about focus, such a bourgeois concept. So, should we put Hoppe and Cartier-Bresson in the same bag, as far as technique is concerned?

[Mike Johnston]

"So, should we put Hoppe and Cartier-Bresson in the same bag, as far as technique is concerned?"

Luc,
No, we shouldn't. (Since you asked.)

Mike J.

[Michael W]

Hoppe also visited Australia in the '30s & that work was re-presented a couple of years ago as a book & exhibition. I thought most of the work was quite good & some shots were excellent. Generally he came across as a high class newspaper photographer. Still I love seeing old photos of Australia so it was interesting enough on that level. I agree with Mike that there does seem to be a mix of pictorialism & modernism in his style.

[mcananeya]

"You make clear your distaste for his photography. But you are only expressing your taste, and maybe an inability to put things in perspective (no pun intended), and understand why Hoppe's images come across in this particular way."

Luc,

It seems to me that while Mike is certainly expressing his opinion (this is a review, after all), he has done more than just state his naked opinion. He has provided reasons (poor technique and composition, lack of stylistic consistency) and an example that demonstrates the faults he has mentioned. He also took care to note that "The meaning of work does change with time and fashion; innovations can be eclipsed", etc. Finally, he goes on to compare Hoppé's work to that of a contemporary photographer.

You are certainly entitled to disagree with Mike's opinion (you're obviously in good company, given all that I have read about Hoppé recently), but I have to ask: what more do you want out of a book review to prevent it from being only an expression of personal taste?

Best regards,
Adam

[Stan B.]

Well Mr. Hoppe may or may not have taken a good picture, but he sure did make for one.

[Mike Johnston]

Luc,
Actually, if someone were to feel the opposite way I do--liking Mr. Hoppé and disliking Mr. de Salignac--I could understand that.

But my "theory of criticism," such as it is, is that the critic needs to a) respond honestly to the work at hand, and then b) report honestly about that response.

Realistically, I don't see the value in criticism that insists on its correctness for EVERYONE, or that's argumentative or quarrelsome. What's the point? It's NOT entirely taste, because the critic should have a good grounding in history and other work and the range of possibilities within the medium. And you do have to make your case. But beyond that, I hardly see what benevolent purpose it serves to insist that I'm right. So in that sense, my feeling is that a good critic is clear and coherent and (possibly) persuasive, but also accepting of disagreement.

I know I've learned a lot from critics I disagree with.

Mike J.

[David]

A note to BIll Jay...

Please for the love of Popeye and Olive'sk, make it easier for people to browse your images. The internet IS a great way to take that work and get it out there..the big but is this...people would like to view in comfort. It's bad enough that we have sit at a damn desk, push buttons, move a mouse around and click for green eggs and ham. Actually it sucks, pretty hard.

So, in light of this discomfort (i'd rather be on the couch with my wife giving me a hicky on my neck while looking at your work in a book) please get your web person to link your images to a nice little set of arrows so we can enjoy your pictures without having to flog the rodent.

Thank you and sincerely,

Sam with the showing-scalp-flat-top, particular about the point it made

[Mark]

At college a lecturer once made a similar comparison with Bresson and Willy Ronis. I can see this in some ways with Bressons work being technically lacking with missed focus or camera shake. But I guess he made up for that in many other areas where perhaps Hoppe didn't?

[mcananeya]

David,

If you want to greatly increase the ease and pleasure of viewing pictures on the Internet, you really must install PicLens (http://www.piclens.com/site/ie/). While it doesn't work with all sites (and therefore won't help you with Bill Jay's site) it does wonders for Google images and Flickr. I subscribe to the RSS feeds of several photographers on Flickr. But it used to be a real chore to click on the small pictures in the feed, wait for the Flickr site to load, then click on the "Other Sizes" button and wait for a larger size to load (on an ugly white background, to boot). With PicLens, I just click on the first image in the feed, and it automatically turns my screen black and quickly loads beautiful, full-screen images that I can navigate with the arrow keys (or mouse, if I really want to).

Looking for a specific image on the internet? PicLens eliminates the need to keep clicking "Next" in Google images. I can "fly" though hundreds of images, without clicking "Next" even once. When I see an image that looks relevant, I can zoom in and check with no delay.

PicLens is much more intuitive than I am making it sound. Try it out. It's free!

Best,
Adam

P.S. No, I am not affiliated with PicLens in any way.

[Robin P]

"At college a lecturer once made a similar comparison with Bresson and Willy Ronis"

Eureka! - oh what a great education TOP is, thank you Mark for explaining my love of Willy Ronis versus my mere admiration of Cartier-Bresson.

Cheers, Robin

[HughOfBardfield]

I can see where you are coming from with your comments on Hoppe. However, looking through the images on the E O Hoppe website, I think "patchy" would be a better description of his work. Yes, the PoF is sometimes problematic, and so is the composition. However, in some of his images (in "Deutsche Arbeit" for example, see "Kraftwerk,Klingenberg, 1928") there is some merit IMHO. No, he obviously isn't in the same league as C-B or Atget - or deS for that matter, but neither is he as bad as your comments led me to expect!

Thanks for drawing these two very different photographers to my attention. Wish I could afford to buy both books!

[John Roberts]

I guess I'm still growing in my understanding and appreciation of all the arts, including photography. I can't quite grasp why a particular style of photography is praised when used by some, and criticized when used by others. Hoppe's "6th Avenue and 42nd Street, New York City, 1921" immediately reminded me of some of Stieglitz' work, in particular, his photo "Snapshot, Paris, 1911". When some break "the rules", it's described as "artistic" and "progressive". Another photographer breaks the same rules, and it's "poor technique". Maybe it's just art criticism that I don't understand.

[Luc Novovitch]

"But my "theory of criticism," such as it is, is that the critic needs to a) respond honestly to the work at hand, and then b) report honestly about that response."

Mike,
Just to be clear, I was not questioning, and will never question your honesty.
What I was trying to say is that I think a critic of a book is surely a matter of opinion, the reviewer's one, and any judgement passed by the reviewer is more often than not an expression of his own taste. Same goes for readers reacting to the review, as I was reacting to your strongly worded opinion ("Looking at the pictures, this fame is, frankly, mystifying."), and trying to explain that for some of us, maybe mostly photographers not born and raised in the U.S., the technical judgement passed on the work really takes the back seat, because the images relate to impressions we felt at some point or another vis-à-vis same subjects and situations. When put in perspective, Hoppé's reactions, and hence his photography, were more intense in an age where images were not available anywhere anytime, and coming to the States was a real discovery. And this is the aspect of his wotk that speaks to me, and probably makes me willing to ignore what may be perceive as the technical deficiency. What I also do with some of the less than technically perfect images of Cartier-Bresson, my absolute favorite photographer.

[Mike Johnston]

John,
One mistake you might be making is to assume facts not in evidence. When I review a book, I'm only reviewing that book. I didn't say anything about Stieglitz's "Snapshot, Paris 1911," so you shouldn't assume you know what I would say about it or how I might relate it to Hoppé. (Anyway, if memory serves, the Stieglitz picture is of a horse--or am I misremembering?)

Same to HughOfBardfield--I'm not passing judgement on Hoppé in general. I'm only talking about the pictures in the specific book under review. I would never want to presume that what's true about SOME of an artist's work necessarily extends to ALL of his or her work--especially if I haven't seen it! In fact, the opposite--it's important to remain open to the idea that other bodies of work might be different. You have to look at the work at hand, first, and second, take it as it's presented.

Artists do generally have "arcs" to their careers--periods in which they do their best work and other periods in which their work might not be so strong. If all you knew of the singer Neil Young was the albums he did in the 1970s, you'd think he's a major singer-songwriter, and a genius. If all you knew of him was the albums he did for Geffen in the 1980s, you'd think he's a rudderless hack bouncing from one miserable genre to another. A critic writing about one period or one body or work can't reasonably draw conclusions about another.

And back to John R.--have you looked at the book yet yourself? If you haven't, then it's natural that you wouldn't "understand" the criticism. You have to look for yourself; that's an absolute baseline.

Mike J.

[Christopher Lane]

I know this is OT (criticism is not my strong suit), but I can hardly wait for the Sigma DP1 piece. ;~)

[Mike Johnston]

Christopher,
Working on it as we speak.

Mike J.

[Mike Johnston]

John Camp,
If you read this, would you contact me please? My email is on the main page in the right-hand column. I tried to email you but it bounced.

Mike J.