As the years roll by, I've begun to notice (and write about) the legends I outlive. It’s an annual habit that puts things in perspective and serves as a gentle kick up the backside. Because, if I’m gonna join the likes of Freddie Mercury (45), Albert Camus (46)1, and Jack Kerouac (47)2, I better get my shit together.
This year, I outlive a photographic great. Diane Arbus (1923-1971) rose to prominence in 1960s New York and was best known for her portraits. In a society that glamorised the beautiful, Arbus pointed her camera in the opposite direction and, in doing so, gave significance to ordinary people and humanity to those on the fringes. By going beyond the accepted rules and crossing social boundaries, she produced a psychologically complex body of work that still provokes thought and debate.
So, with the Georgian winter outside, I'm sitting in the library at the Tbilisi Photography & Multimedia Museum, flicking through a book on Diane Arbus and reflecting on a couple of her photographs.
Child With Toy Hand Grenade (Central Park, New York, 1962)
Memorable photographs are hard to come by. It’s not always obvious why some images have the impact they do - and others don’t. Maybe they tap into the spirit of their time and capture something we can't quite say with words.
In the summer of 1962, while wandering the streets and public spaces looking for people she found interesting, Arbus met seven-year-old Colin Wood3 playing in the park. This photograph was the eighth of 12 shots Arbus took of Colin that day. In most of the others, he is relaxed and smiling. But by selecting and printing the one of him looking tense and frustrated, she revealed something about herself and how she saw the world.
That’s what we do as photographers. We give away something of ourselves. Firstly, by who and what we photograph, and again by what we select and discard. When the subject is aware of the camera, we record their reactions to us. Arbus used a medium format camera, which is held at chest level and allows more photographer-subject engagement. For whatever reason, the emotion in this image chimed with Arbus.
Looking at this photograph 60-odd years later, I appreciate its place in history, the awkward tension between childhood games and not-so-childlike violence, and how it led Diane onto edgier portraits that exposed the American underbelly. But it also had something to say about a society which, through a paranoid fear of communism, was sending men only a decade or so older than Colin off to risk their lives in Vietnam.
Even without all this conjecture, it's a quality portrait - the tilt of the head, the pained expression, the claw-like gesture with the empty left hand. It raises more questions than it answers. The boy looks disturbed. Is he ok? Or is he just playing to the camera and thinking, what do you want from me?
Reading photographs is open to a lot of interpretation. For me, the woman behind Colin's head is a slight distraction. But some people claim she adds meaning. Casting her as a mother figure, they say things like - the dappled shadows that spread out from her into the foreground (and match the pattern on Colin's shirt) imply a relationship between them, which might be controlling and contrasts with the idyllic-looking family at the top right. That feels like a stretch of the imagination. Maybe these things just hit me at a subconscious level.
One of the messages I take away is that great photographs don't need to be perfect. With all this subjectivity in photography, our notion of perfection is something to guard against. It is better to let the positive aspects speak for themselves, and hopefully, they are strong enough to outweigh any perceived weak points. Besides, life is messy, and if photographs are to reflect it, flaws give authenticity.
When all is said and done. The image remains one of the most influential in the 20th century. Matt Groening, creator of The Simpsons, says he used the photo as the basis for the character - Bart. And connections to popular culture lead me to picture two.
Identical Twins (Roselle, New Jersey, 1967)
Five years later, Diane took a photograph of another couple of seven-year-olds. This time, twins. Being an ex-twin myself4, albeit non-identical, I have some affinity for photographs like this. I'm also a fan of Stanley Kubrick's The Shining, a film that took this unforgettable image and the abnormality of sameness as inspiration.
With this one, you have to look closely. The parents chose to dress their twins the same. A decision that feels unwise given that twin life is often about finding and flexing your individuality. Standing next to your mirror image only makes this task more difficult. And so, it is the subtle and not-so-subtle differences that make this image compelling. Their haircuts and clothes are almost the same. But their facial expressions and body language are very different. The girl on the left looks annoyed, while the other has a wry smile.
Therein lies the paradox of twin life. In the competition for parental attention and the need to be different, twins often balance out their other halves. So, as I celebrate my eighth twinless birthday, this image has me reflecting on my survivor's luck and how the fragility of life led me to put creativity above social expectations.
In a note to myself, I realise backstories are a part of what makes an image engaging and memorable. Building rapport (before making the picture) allows the subject to express themselves in meaningful or authentic ways. I share Diane's interest in people from other walks of life, but I rarely take permission-based portraits. Up to now, I have preferred to take people as I find them. From looking at the work of Diane Arbus, I feel the need to widen my approach.
That random boy, Colin, was the son of 1931 Wimbledon tennis champion Sidney Wood - https://www.fatherly.com/love-money/child-toy-hand-grenade-colin-wood-diane-arbus
Love your writing Ben and happy belated birthday