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  • titleCamerawork Magazine - Issue 02
  • typearticle
  • descriptionIssue 2: Doing Photography War Photojournalism Third World
• descriptionIssue 2: Doing Photography War Photojournalism Third World
• title_for_layoutCamerawork Magazine - Issue 02
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    • archiveFour Corners Bishopsgate
    • vimeo_link
    • authorSee sections X to AC
    • author_editorTony Bock, Terry Dennett, Mike Goldwater, Janet Goldberg, Neil Gulliver, Dave Hoffman, Cal Johnson, Marilyn Dalick-Noad, Tom Picton, Joanna Spence, Paul Trevor, Wal
    • author_writerTerry Dennett, Dave Hoffman, Tom Picton, Margaret Murray, Paul Carter, Keith Kennedy
    • author_photographerMark Edwards, Richard Greenhill, Robbie Clark, Teresa Shine, Danny Hayes, Michael McDonagh, Alan Fitzgerald, Tina Regan, John Roche, James Klugman
    • author_designer Haseley (Illustrator), Ralph Steadman (Cartoonist)
    • author_intervieweeMark Edwards, Clive Baylis, Robbie Clark, Teresa Shine, John Ryan, James Hatcher, Mike Parchment, Blackfriars young photography group
    • author_organisationSunday Times Magazine (Front Cover Oct 5)
    • tagswar & conflict,third world,documentary,war,poverty,mark edwards,photo-journalism,community photography,violence,death,imperialism,colonialism,colleges,amateur photography,blackfriars settlement,blackfriars young photography group,'doing photography',photography libraries,photography archives
    • titleCamerawork Magazine - Issue 02
    • subtitleIssue 2: Doing Photography War Photojournalism Third World
    • dimension9 pages
    • ocr1
    • copyrightFour Corners/Half Moon Photography Workshop/Camerawork, Terry Dennett, Dave Hoffman, Tom Picton, Margaret Murray, Paul Carter, Keith Kennedy, Mark Edwards, Richard Greenhill, Robbie Clark, Teresa Shine, Danny Hayes, Michael McDonagh, Alan Fitzgerald, Tina Regan, John Roche, James Klugman, Clive Baylis, John Ryan, James Hatcher, Mike Parchment, Blackfriars young photography group, Haseley (Illustrator), Ralph Steadman (Cartoonist), Sunday Times Magazine
    • credits
    • relatedTony Bock http://spitalfieldslife.com/2017/03/02/tony-bocks-east-end/ Tony Bock http://spitalfieldslife.com/2013/03/24/tony-bocks-farewell-to-the-east-end/ Tony Bock http://spitalfieldslife.com/2013/03/16/tony-bocks-east-enders/
    • locationBethnal Green, London, UK (pg 1,2) New York, USA. Pakistan. Nepal. Thailand. South Korea. India. Africa. Denmark. Bangladesh (pg 3) Vietnam. Lebanon. Angola. Ireland (pg 4-6) Blackfriars, London, UK
    • copyright_obtained0
    • signed_off0
    • uploaded1
    • origination_date1976
    • origination_year1976
    • origination_month0
    • created2018-06-04 14:57:27
    • created_by(null)
    • modified2025-09-18 01:31:54
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    • pdf_textTwo "Special Constables" 1926 General Strike courtesy James KlugmanCollection Doing Photography War Photojournalism Third World No 2 i Half Moon Photography Workshop April/May 1976 20p Central Park. New York City 1975 Mark Edwards: Thoughts of a Third World Photograper Since leaving Guildford School o f Art. Mark Edwards has worked in the Third World, mainly for 'People', quarterly magazine o f the Inter­ national Planned Parenthood Federation. He has also attended world conferences in Bucharest, Rome. Mexico City and will shortly go to Vancouver. At present, he is producing a book about a commune in Denmark and has re­ cently been to New York (above). Although he gets paid less in two weeks than an advertising photographer can make in a day. Mark Edwards shows it is still possible to travel to unromantic places. Tom Picton talked to Mark Edwards for CAMERAWORK. Extracts : It was a really exhausting trip because we were working right o ff the plane. We did a whole lot in one day. It was Pakistan, then Nepal, then Thailand, then South Korea. Everything foll­ owed, one after the other and it was like work­ ing all hours o f daylight every day. Only four weeks, and that was the other thing, it was really compressed. It wasn’ like the first time t I went to India. I took a year and a half for the trip. One o f th?extraordinary things. We were in a village in Nepal. It was a very difficult walk to get there, it was very high up. The next day we were on some Pan Am Round-the-World jet on the way to some airport. It really was extraordinary. Very confusing actually. It builds up because we were going in different directions. That village in Nepal really struck me as being like a Medieval village would be anywhere - in the West even - I mean it just got into using iron, but only just. 1 was going to say no system o f government. But there was internally, but someone was murdered there a girl, I think, o f about 14, and all the girls o f about that age left the next day because they were all frightened. Those kinds o f things kept happening when we were there. Quite a brutal place, actually. 1 landed in Katmandu with the writer and I think we spent a couple odd days there. The issues that we were actually reporting on were how contraceptives and education - health education - can be disseminated to people who don ’ read and write and really have their life t cut out just to stay alive in fact. What we were trying to do was to show what the prob­ lems are o f bringing this kind o f technology into what is virtually a Medieval society. Sud­ denly you go in there and say “ Look, there are too many people. You have to do something about it. Y ou’ going to starve. There’not re s going to be enough land, not enough foo d ” . And you try to present the problem. We were just trying to show what the situation - even in the field - is like. What the people are like. What the environment is like. What the people feel about the whole thing and all the rest o f it. So the photo story was to just try to show as intimately as is possible in such a short time what it is like out there. What the daily routine is like. What we did was to walk up to this village and at that time John had dysentery and I had flu, and we had to climb very high up. Almost to the point that we couldn't breathe, cou ldn ’get t enough oxygen, but I remember we got to this village before it got dark, and we were with John Carr who is a nurse and who has been out there for a long time. We got into this weird little Nepali hut. and there were all these guys sitting around and chatting away in very low voices. Sitting around this fire - the smoke completely filled the room. And both o f us are lying there, sick as dogs. It seemed to carry on all night, and early the next morning they were still there, still talking away. Anyway they got up, and I went out with the camera and started walking around the village and just quietly, as quietly as possible, try to show the routine o f the village. Its a very constant amount o f work that people have to do. It doesn't seem to make much difference what the seasons are. It probably is harder during the planting, but it seems to be pretty constant in my experience. And again, if you ’ feeling sick, re as most people are, and by that time we were as well. I went up to another village. I went with a Nepalese guy who spoke a bit o f English. Some­ one coming from that village said that there was an outbreak o f some illness, and everyone was dying. In fact, they w eren’ When we got there t. what it was was a funeral- celebrations going on for several days, and everybody was drunk. It was extraordinary actually. They were all crammed into one room and drinking away like mad and looking terribly happy. Shining faces I remember. What one hopes will emerge - and very quickly out in these countries, it doesn't seem like there’ very much time. Would be a much s broader attitude towards the whole situation. We’ got to be responsible for what we’ ve re doing here - w e’ all on the planet you know. re In India and the Third World, people actually feel the pain o f not having enough food. Its the heat and the uncomfortable climate and the appalling work in the field. T here’an idea that s village life is wonderful - you ’ close to God re to nature, but that’ a totally romanticised view s o f it. T here’ fear in p eop le’ faces in the s s villages because the w ater’bad and the children s are dying. The work is abominable for half the year. To be out there in the hot sun and weed the rice by hand - now they’ using chemicals re to do this. Its wiped out the fish in the rivers in many parts o f India - its wiped out all kinds o f aquatic life. We’ introducing the Western re problems without significantly reducing the Third World problems out there. There was a Reserve Bank o f India research thing that showed that if you measure poverty at a cal­ orific level rather than at an income level, which experts agree to do in the Third World, 70% o f the people in India aren’getting enough food t that’ an appalling amount, isn ’ it? Terrible. s t And if they don ’get enough food when they’ t re children, the brain cells are damaged, and that’ s not being talked about because its such a diff­ icult thing to talk about. I think it requires a lot o f work outside o f the magazine assignments. I think that to get any kind o f information or message across - perhaps message is the wrong word - but I think that what you can do as a photographer is to make people curious. People looking at a picture will, hopefully, want to ask questions. Will want to find out something about the situation. What I would really like to do, I spend a lot o f time covering Third World development issues, is to be able to put together a book - What’ s happening in the Third World. continued next page . . . 1 Photography is very often used in a very crude way, and all of us have used it in a very crude way, but it can also be used in a very subtle way as well. For that sort of situation to work in, you’ve got to have time to think about the pre­ sentation and the way the pictures are going to be used together. I don’t ever show people contact sheets. You take so much rubbish, don’t you? The main point is that people don't really know how to read contacts unless they're really used to it. I find it quite hard choosing from contacts. The pictures I like best 1 don’t discover until a couple of years later. The funny thing is that I found some pictures that 1 took when I was very young - about 9 or 10 - and there are one or two pictures that I would have been quite glad to have taken now. Quite nice images. It seems to me that what happens is that with some people you take a lot of explanatory, documentary-type pictures. Essentially when you re choosing pictures like this, you are documenting a situation - and every now and again - you don ’t know when it’s going to happen - sometimes you know wljen it does happen, but sometimes you don’t - you finally get a picture with everything in its right place, and the root meaning of the word, ’art’ is everything in its right order. It can happen quite casually and simply. Out of the run-ofthe-mill collection of pictures if you go through the contacts, then it suddenly clicks, and there it is. I can tell you a terrific example o f setting a picture up - alot of people laugh when 1 tell them, but the picture from the back of the Taj Mahal - it's not the one of the body being eaten, but it's one that hasn’t really been publish very much. I think it’s better in a way. It’s just a skeleton, and the legs are pointing out towards the Taj Mahal, but actually, when I was there, when I arrived on the scene, the legs were point­ ing the other way, and I could see that it would be just ridiculous not to move it. I know it sounds ghastly, but I just moved it around, and there you are. I’m very rarely in situations where it is possible to set up. You can't really get people to go through things again. If you do a portrait of somebody, you tend to look around for a good place to do it. Eugene Smith said he couldn’t see anything wrong with it as long as it was done with integrity, and I don’t see that as a contradiction. I mean here 1 had two elements, and the Taj Mahal is stunningly beautiful. I got up very early that morning: had to cross the river on a camel, and they said try and find somewhere different - so I went around the back. Wating for the next body to come down the river - I didn’t know this hap­ pened - I looked around on the bank, and there was not only one body or two bodies, but a whole lot - 1 was just out of art school, and that really affected me. It really hurt. I’ve watched people look at pictures I’ve taken, and they flip through them - pictures that I've really worked hard to get. and people think quite glibly, well, that is quite easy to take and that sort o f thing. It was a horrifying thing to see - the first time I’ve seen a dead body. 1 was very angry as well. There was this chap who was so poor that they couldn’t find enough wood to burn him on, and so he just sort of washed up. It would have been irresponsible in that situation not to have taken a picture - it would have been not doing the job I set out to do - which at that time wasn't very clearly defined. I just had a certain feeling about what I wanted to do in India. The assignment I did in Lagos and Ghana for ’People’ was the most difficult assignment I’ve ever had. Hellish. Lagos is in such a state. Ter­ rifying and frightening. I had to get pictures from the wqrst part of the town, and the roads. You'd be walking in shit, literally -- 12 inches of mud and sewage - oh, God -- and being the only white face. too. It hadn’t been photographed before apparently. I’m walking down this street and looking at houses on either side o f it, and no drainage except for the road which was sloping down towards the swamp at the edge o f the city, and suddenly there were these big tables in the open air and about forty guys just cutting up animals. When they saw me there was a great yell, and they swung their hatchets around in the air. I carried on walking down there - the whole ground becomes shit and bones. And the smell. A complete lack of any sense of order, and there you are trying to look for a certain sense of order in a picture, and I just couldn’t do it. I stopped trying to get pictures like that because the situation just didn’t warrant it. Everybody either hated you, or they wanted to be in a picture. One day I was walking along in Richard Greenhitl Mark Edwards continued... I was walking around to a different part of the village, and suddenly there was this child, very sick, but in their terms not ill at all. In their terms, just growing pains. Open sores. Seeing it is a horrific moment that you are shielded from in this country - in America as well. It’s just one image that eventually adds up to a fairly overall picture of the kind of scenes if you’re on the street out there. the centre, the good part, of the city, and we were walking by the water and under a tree saw what I first thought was a young woman asleep but she was dead, and she was being eaten — from inside her clothes. Just a glance, that was all I could take. We had to walk past to get into the boat, and the vibrations of our feet caused all these insects and lizards to struggle out from underneath her dress and scamper away up the trees. There is a permanent traffic jam there only a few roads, Nigeria is suddenly rich with all the oil money, and so lots of people have cars and it takes longer to get in if you live eight miles away than it does to cycle in - but the prestige and all that shit. We were part o f it all. John saw the body o f a child in the road, just being knocked about. I didn’t sec it. Thousands of children dying. There was a taxi with a slo­ gan on the back which said, ‘No condition persists’ - and then suddenly from outside this little shop, we heard, ‘Hark, the Herald Angels Sing’ - it was so bizarre. And then we saw a sign which said, ‘We regret any inconvenience caused by a road-widening scheme.’ I couldn’t photo­ graph any of that. That would have been polar­ izing the issue and irresponsible use of the camera. What came over very strongly for me was this big division that people think about be­ tween life and death. It’s such a tenuous thing; such a fine line. Here was a young girl that just got dressed that morning and then - boom there she is being eaten on the side of the street. If that picture of the girl had been taken, then that would have been quite big - regardless of whether or not it was an articulate picture in photographic terms - and people would have gotten a strong impression. And you can imag­ ine the kind of caption that would have gone along with it. People would have thought that they would be bound to see dead bodies if they went there. How bad it is there, it isn’t that bad, and that ’s only a very small part of the pic­ ture but makes such a strong impact on someone not being used to seeing death. It would have created the wrong impression. I glanced at the girl when I first saw her, but I took everything in fantastically fast - took in detail which norm­ ally one would spend a few minutes looking at I had seen detail in that whole situation in such a trapped, clearly-defined - 1 just couldn’t look at the image any longer. 1 coyld have done it if I felt it was right. What I’ve been doing is living in a commune in Denmark, and that’s a tremendous revelation for me, getting to know people and photograph them and spend time with them. It’s an extra­ ordinary place, anyway. 1 find it very difficult to use a camera on people who are very close to me - much really if you are outside the kinds of attitudes and ideas of people. So, the first week we spent very tentatively going around and got some quite nice pictures but not intimate, and the second time got much closer and suddenly we were accepted there. They saw that we weren’t just like the press - come in and rush­ ing back to the safety of the newspaper office. We were trying to show what the freak society was like from the inside. What it felt to be a part of it with an objective view as well, of course. Seven hundred people, more than a commune - more like a bloody city, and it’s right in the centre o f Copenhagen. It’s been completely cut off from the rest o f the town they’re living in abandoned Defense Ministry buildings - barracks. None of the controls of Western society - no health inspectors, no police. Yet people live quite safely there. Ter­ rific feeling of energy. 1 use the Leica when I feel very quiet inside. When I don’t want to be a photographer, I use the Leica: just want to take pictures and look; when you’re really looking. Nikon is very tough and they’re very fast and when you’re in a sit­ uation and people know you’re a photographer and there’s no way round it because if they weren't looking at you as a photographer you’d stand out as a white man. It doesn’t really mat­ ter then what you use. Nikon s are sort of lux­ urious cameras to use somehow - to handle. Because it's so quick, because there’s two of them, you can switch very fast from tele, from 105 to 28 or whatever. It’s useful then. It’s very useful like in that village in Nepal where you just didn’t have very much time and you’re just looking for a few key images that got the flavour o f the place really, and people were going to see you. If you're photographing a group of people, you nearly always find that, even if they’re aware, there are moments when they’re not, when they’re conscious of only what’s happening within the group, and then you can shoot away very fast, and they might look up and they might sort of think. If you do it right, it doesn’t really disturb them , even if they’re conscious o f the sound o f the shutter. Work more, talk less. Government slogan on Indian bus From a documentary project o f my life More ‘Politics...’ O e r the past couple of years, it has become fashionable to frown on photojournalists as insensitive and voyeuristic. The mantle of ‘concerned photographer has been inherited by the community photographer, with the docu­ mentary photographer hovering somewhere be­ tween. What worries me is generalized criticism that rarely differentiates between taking a pic­ ture and its subsequent use. I therefore set out to question the rigid labelling of photographers, to defend photojournalists (if they must be labelled) and to ask questions about the role and definition of community photography. This is difficult. I still feel equivocal about some of the points I have raised and see my views as provisional. We should not forget that a label is an expedient which should not become an insult. It is not enough to criticize a photograph by calling it photojournalistic. This is only a style, and there are other just as important questions we should ask. Perhaps we should ask whether it is not new types o f photography we need, but new types of photographer. Rather than applying ready-made stickers, we should ask: For whom are the pictures taken? For what purpose? What are they expected to do? Once we start trying to answer these questions, the problems really begin. Many pictures are hard to categorise, for instance Eugene and Aiken Smith’s book on Minimata. Also, some photographers are beginning to understand the exploitation of which they are accused. Their work is changing. We must be careful, as Jo Spence was in her article, ’The Politics of Photography,’ CAMERAWORK, 1, that in con­ demning a photographic style as exploitive, we do not dismiss all its practitioners. We cannot ‘save’ a photographer by relabelling his or her work. We must judge the pictures and their con­ text. The photographs of Buchenwald are hid­ eous, but they record an actual event. The pho­ tographs o f prisoners being bayonneted in Bangladesh in 1971 are also hideous* but they show an event staged for the media. What is the contradiction? Is cither of the pictures more acceptable or valuable to society than the other? Emotionally 1 say yes, but logically no. Before abandoning photography in desperation - two things. Firstly any picture has historical value, although a future understanding may be entirely different from when it was taken. Secondly, all kinds o f photography can be valid and useful intimate, distant, involved or uninvolved. We forget that our view of the world is partially influenced and depends on the photographs and other images we see. Most of our knowledge about other lives comes from them. Ernest Cole’s book on South Africa, ‘House of Bondage,' is voyeuristic and often detached, but it is also one o f the few pieces of information aboui being black in a segregated community. Cole’s voyeurism is never gratitious. War photographers are criticised by many people who blame them for their own anaesthesia when confronted by photographs o f maimed bodies and starving children. To quibble about the photographers’ moral right to take such pictures is to overlook totally the nature of the events 'Going out to supper with friends' being recorded. It is the cause of the events themselves our anger should be directed against. To echo Jo Spence, it is what is done with the photographers’ pictures -- community, docu­ mentary or photojournalistic - which is the is­ sue. Exhibiting photographs o f dying soldiers in expensive galleries or glossy books divorces the image from the reality. Exactly the same dis­ location can happen to a ‘photographing the community’ project. There is a great difference between Don McCullin’s, ‘Is Anybody Listen­ ing?’ (£8.50 hardback) and Phillip Jones Griffiths’, ‘Vietnam Inc.’ (£3.50 paperback). But do the photographs differ? Is it not the presentation, the coherence and the context of the whole picture/text argument which sets Griffiths apart and prevents it becoming ‘Coffee Table’? It is easy to fall into the trap that ’makes misery into a consumer good,’ or even ‘the struggle against misery into a consumer good.’ Walter Benjamin said this about certain types o f photo­ graphy in the 1920’s. In the same essay (‘The Author as Producer’) he also gives us a clue to resolving part of the dilemma by arguing for authors being involved, and therefore control’ing, their work at all stages of production. It is easy too for us to point in horror at exam­ ples o f tragic photographs printed next to lull-colour ads selling the good life. Uncomfor­ tably the starving Indian next to the sherry ad (next to our own late Sunday breakfast) offers us information on many levels. The basic infor­ mation is still there, however unfortunate the juxtaposition, and we don’t necessarily have to see in the photographs only what the captions direct us to. The fact that the whole package may signify all manner o f things about our own society is no reason for laying all the blame on the photographer. For a start, we must find a way to read the message(s) and understand how the package is put together. One view is that money is what separates the photojournalists from the documenter and com­ munity photographer; that if you are paid to take pictures, they may be distorted; that only the community photographer or someone sim­ ilar has the freedom to take pictures which do not degrade the people photographed. There is obviously truth in this so perhaps we should add to the original three quesions: Who pays fo r the pictures? Is payment made before or after they are taken? This won't help produce a definition, but it may well confuse the issue in an illuminating way. How about: Cartier Bresson - o f independent means Walker Evans - paid for his F.S.A. work and 'Let Us ,Vo»v Praise Famous Men ’ Magnum - Photographers' co-op, turned international agency And what about all those one-off. almost anony­ mous, photographs which have become part of our lives? The deserter/looter being shot in the head by a Vietnamese colonel. Paid for. Would we really believe that it happened without the picture? Unfortunately, even when we believe it, we very rarely take the next step and ask our­ selves, ‘Who is to blame?’ and then, ‘What can we do about it?’. But the pictures give us the chance. 3 Does community photography offer an escape from the dilemmas of other types of photogra­ phy? Or does it just pose other problems we h haven’t yet started to discuss? What is a com­ munity photographer? Like it or not, there appear to be as many varieties being called this as being called photojournalist, but they seem to fall into two distinct types, divided into sec­ tions. There are those who help others to use photography as a tool for recording their envi­ ronment or discovering themselves; and there are those who use photography to document an area or situation in order to change it or reflect it. This latter group may work for a community it­ self or aim at a much wider audience (one will show pictures in local pubs, news-sheets or gal­ leries: the other in central galleries or glossy books). There are also numerous people who call themselves community photographers but who are really old-style photojournalists, pictorialists or self-expressionists. All these types of community photography raise different but crucial questions which we should ask ourselves. What is a community? How big? Are those using photography as a toot also try­ ing to act as social workers or therapists? Or Joes com munity photography encourage people to change their situation rather than adapt to it as social work does? Is the grant aid attracted by some community photography projects the best way o f spending for the community? Is it really less intrusive to use your position in a community to gel pictures than it is to snatch them or persuade strangers to cooperate? Does giving people a print absolve the photo­ grapher from all guilt? Isn ‘ ’ com munity photography too easy, too t inward-looking and too incestuous? A nd in the end boring? Is a local newspaper photographer a community photographer? RESEARCH-IT-YOURSELF A. In Defence of Photojoumalists (so labelled) ‘House of Bondage’ ‘Vietnam Inc.’ ‘Minimata’ Ernest Cole Phillip Jones Griffiths Eugene & Aileen Smith (Compare with earlier work) U. Types of Community Photography Paul Carter , Mike Abrahams Bill Owens Work with young photography group in Blackfriars Slide tapes for local residents in Kentish Town Book, ’Suburbia.’ Through the Gas House Window "Look, they re focusing on us now. First they bomb as much as they please, then they film ". Vietnamese peasant in American documentary ‘Hearts and Minds’. When the Germans first began exterminating lesser people they let them die behind blank walls. Later they put in windows so that they could watch the final agonies. (This caused doubts among some Britons who had written about the scientific beauty of Nazi aircraft hangars). Today, television and the camera lens has become our gas house window.‘Shoot bloody' was once the command for American television camera crews and nightly we watch the ‘agonies’ of lesser people in Vietnam. Lebanon, Angola , Ireland, all recorded in glorious Ektachrome. Photographers and television crews risk their lives - and die - to bring us the latest atrocity. Death, the least of political facts, becomes the only reality. Perhaps one day the Third World will hate us most for this. That we used their suffering to make pictures to put in our magazines between the whisky and the car ads, to put on our television screens between the yoghurt and cornflakes commercials. That we did not even respect them when they were dead. Knowing what we do (none of us can be ignorant of these death camps) we still let the obscenities continue. Wc call the photo­ grapher hero who rode in a jet fighter 38 times to get exactly the picture he wanted of its napalm exploding on the ground. Each time some Vietnamese was being fried in the holocaust below. No magazine or television service showed the bodies dug out at Aberfan. We were rightly shocked by the television reporter who asked a young girl how she felt to lose her friends. If Aberfan had been in Angola or Beirut we would have looked at the dead with ‘compassion’ but without horror. by Margaret M’jrraY Think About It (ii) Communities Diane Arbus’ work. ‘East 100th Street’ ‘The Americans’ ‘Circus Days’ ‘Summerhiir ‘Inside Summerhiir ‘Photographer Extraordinary’ Bruce Davidson Robert Frank Jill Freeman John Walmsley Joshua Popenoe August Sander Letter-. I would like to take up some points raised in Jo Spence's article " The Politics o f Photography" in your last issue. Colleges deserve much criticism but it is essent­ ial that this criticism is directed at the real faults. The points that Jo makes ( unrealistic deadlines, no cares about cost, isolation from the feelings and needs o f the com munity and learning to pass exams ) are not the major faults anymore. Deadlines are often more real at college than outside. Colleges attem pt to fight the isolation implicit in any 'college’ by choosing projects that are a part o f the world outside, recent examples include a tape slide show fo r a con­ ference, examination o f the schools careers advice service, film on the problems o f people using Moorfields Eye Hospital and many other similar jobs. Generally there is a definite deadline which must be m et or the thing is useless. Costs are a much larger factor in college than outside it. The profit margin in professional work means that when things go wrong there is cash to make them go right again. The client The technique of war photography is simple. Few men have the necessary courage, patience and lightning reflexes required for the job. Too often, the message is clear. Dare to revolt, and this is what will happen to you. Photo­ graphs become weapons of political coercion. Instruments of fear. Pictures of villages and towns destroyed to ‘save them’ become advertisements for modem weapons. Right wing commentators fear that people will refuse to fight ‘ just’ wars because they have been frightened by photographs. ‘Just’ revolts will not start for the same reason. In Vietnam, the authorities were keen to help suitable photographers. The Press was free to show what America approved. Philip Jones Griffiths had great difficulty in attempting to show the real - snarling - face of America in Vietnam. He was helped - in part - by many Americans’ secret disgust at their own war. After his book ‘Vietnam Inc.’ was published, he was banned by the South Vietnamese. He still cannot get a visa from the North Vietnamese. We have invented an Orwellian proletariat which is attacked by war, starvation, poverty, not as an act of other men, but as an act of God. The photographer attaches himself to the lead­ ing platoon or section, either landing on the beach, jumping out of the first helicopter or plane, probing into the jungle. He lives with the soldiers. He tries to avoid car­ rying their ammunition or having to help bring in their dead and wounded, but sometimes that is unavoidable. The photographer hopes for ‘action.’ For this reason ‘good’ photographers prefer to join marines or paratroopers or such elite units which they know will fight the bloodiest battles. This is the difference between reporting and voyeur­ ism. If you befriend a group of men, live with them, and go into battle hoping for 'action,’ then you are a voyeur. Such reporting, such photographs dismiss the fact that people die because men kill them, that people starve because others over-eat, that people are poor because others are rich. If you photograph a war. show what it does to the men involved, to the people whose land it is fought over, to the men who command, then you are a reporter. Photographers are authorised by Governments. It is almost impossible to work on the streets of Northern Ireland without an approved Press card or slip of paper. can usually be persuaded to adopt a more expensive solution when this is necessary. In a college situation money is very short and the job has to be tailored very carefully indeed to fit the minute budgets available. To have colleges at all implies a separation o f learning from working but most courses make serious efforts to combat the isolation that this causes. Ivory towers are demolished by careful choice o f projects, by using real jobs as college projects and by bringing in professionals to run projects. It does feel strange to fin d m yself defending a system o f education that I have spent three years learning to mistrust and hate but i f we are to attack the college system constructively we must base our attack on its real weaknesses. The education system in this country is built to provide workers trained to support the existing economy. This means that plans fo r the future are built on the experience o f the past. This is very safe but eliminates the discovery o f the new in favour o f consolidation o f the old. work in these fields, people qualified to get a job, then they must produce visual reaction­ aries. I f they try and produce people who can make visual statements o f their own or on behalf o f a com munity then they will not be able to work in the existing image distribution network, they will n o t be able to get a job. The only openings open to these people are in exhibitions and books. Only intellectuals read books or go to exhibitions. TV and papers only use lowest common denominator pict­ ures. pictures that anyone can see and digest in seconds. As photographers we must find ways o f showing serious work on a large enough scale to enable people to learn the visual lang­ uages involved. We need to fin d ways o f doing fo r photography what street theatre has tried to do fo r theatre. Guerilla activity such as Paul Trevor's laundrette exhibition and some com munity arts programmes are beginning to open up some alternative ways o f showing pictures but until image making and public­ ation are both controlled by the same people we will always have self contradictory colleges and T V that sucks. „ „ David Hoffman War photography substitutes a new heroism of despair for the painter’s bugles and flags and pallid cheeks of honourable death. It gives the murderers a dignity which they do not deserve. Photographers have made war bitter and ugly and untrue. We should be disgusted by our unstated racial ism and that of the Western news services. C. Think About It (i) Projects Work of the Photo League in New York. 19281951 (See Time Life Library ‘Documentary.’) Work of the F.S.A. photographers in the Ameri­ can depression. Centerprise’s book publishing project, ‘A People’s Autobiography of Hackney.’ Far from aiding the afflicted, pictures from Biafra and Pakistan actively persuade people to stop giving aid to the Third World. We look at their hunger, their savagery to each other, as self-inflicted wounds. If they are capable of such things, why should we bother? It is the same blindness that encouraged German photographers to show Jews in the Warsaw ghettoes as ‘inhuman’ and help justify their extermination. This situation is corrupting for several reasons. It does not give us the 'news’ of an event. ‘Shoot bloody’ is ignorant sensationalism. Reporting with the camera, which can be an honourable profession, becomes voyeurism. Its like trying to understand the relationships between men and women, marriage, family, by only seeing pornographic films. The media o f visual communication have largely been expropriated by Big Money, guilt grants from various foundations notwithstand­ ing. I f colleges are meant to produce people to 3rd year Communication Design student North East London Polytechnic. Photographers and film crews are keen to go where the authorities will take them. A mag­ azine carries an heroic low angle picture of a British soldier in Northern Ireland - actually a marine - rather than pictures of paratroopers spreadeagling prisoners on the floor. The photograph retains one advantage over cinema or television. With music or comment­ ary television can adjust us to any brutality. It can still provide the bugles. A photograph stands alone, whatever the lies that surround it. A photograph of a napalmed child remains an outrage whatever the excuse that is given for the burning. In the cinema or television we might be persuaded that this brutality was necessary for democracy or Communism. In a photograph we will forget the excuse and remember the child. They must not brick up that window in the gas house. Rather should we break open the doors and show the storm troopers with their noses pressed to the glass. Tom Picton 4 Doing Photography Even before Richard Avedon discovered Jacques Henri Lartigue, people have known that an eight year old child could take great pictures. Like music, the photographic bug can bite early. Paul Carter o f the Blackfriars Settlement in East London is after something else. The Settlement's exhibition o f work at the Half Moon Gallery - called ‘ oing Photography' and D all taken by people between 8 and 1 7 years old indicates the spirit o f the group. ‘T hat’ why w e’ e here, rather than to take great s r photographs, ’ Paul Carter told CAMERAWORK’ ‘ t ’ fun and gives everybody a sense o f I s accomplishment. ’ The photography club began at Easter two years ago when 150 children from the Settlement went to summer camp. Some o f them took Polaroids and wanted to continue when they came back to London. A t first a few children came to develop a film one night a week, followed by more and more —until Paul Carter had groups two, three and finally, four nights a week. It became too much fo r one person to handle, so Paul Carter advertised in ‘Time O ut,’and now has seven volunteers who help four nights a week. There is a waiting list six m onths’ long. Eight children come to the photography group each night. A third o f the group are girls. Paul Carter would like more in the group and is willing to let girls jump the queue to join. ped, and two were ‘ ost. ‘ They now use Praktica l L ’ which are ‘ olding up well. ’ ‘There has never s h been any malicious damage, and no nicking, ’ Paul Carter says. As you can see from the photographs published here, others in the British Journal o f Photo­ graphy, and by coming to the exhibition at the Half Moon Gallery, the club is a great success. We all know that we really take photographs because it makes us happy. This group is certain. PAUL CARTER INTERVIEWING BLACK­ FRIARS YOUNG PHOTOGRAPHY GROUP Clive Baylis: I take more care of them now. I don’t just go out taking any pictures. A lot of people have been asking me to take pictures now ’cause they think it is a good idea to go to pho­ tography class. I think it’s good. I know how to take pictures more carefully now. Instead of just going out and just taking them and that. 1 know how to develop them now and that. It’s good to watch them, you know, getting the pic­ ture on the paper. It’s clever the way it comes out. It’s more interesting. 'Cause when I used to take things, you used to just give them to the chemist and you don’t know what they are going to come out like. But when you take films, it’s interesting watching how the picture comes and what shading you’re going to get on the picture and that. It’s good. ‘They d o n ’t think girls can join, but everyone is welcome,' Paul Carter says. A third o f the group is black which reflects the local popula­ tion. Ages range from 8 to 17, although the older ones slack o ff when they get a job. They m eet every weekday except Friday from 6 p.m. to 9:30 p.m., although often they have n o t fin ­ ished until 10 or 10:30 p.m. Robbie Dark: Now when you take a picture, you know what it’s going to come out like ’cause you know how to take pictures. You know that if you want a good picture, you have to get the head and feet in so you can see. Not have a head here and the rest all ceiling or whatever. Members can photograph what they want. Some cover outings by other clubs in the Settle­ ment. Others photograph for the local tenant’ s association or record plays being p u t on by their schools. Two members have taken photographs fo r the Work Centre fo r Handicapped People. Paul Carter: What do you do with your photo­ graphs? Within twenty minutes, a new member at their first evening group, is taking photographs. Paul or one o f the other helpers sets the camera and provides a flashgun. There is one hour to shoot, followed by developing and contacting with the assistance o f a helper. The second time they go to the club, they produce two or three prints. The process is repeated again and again. Tech­ niques are used fo r specific problems. I f a friend or relative asks them to copy a photograph, they are shown how. I f they come to a dead end, a new technique is suggested. ‘ problem needs a technique,'says Paul Carter, A ‘ r a technique needs a problem. They know o what they want to take pictures of. ’ Robbie Clark age 15 Clive and Ginger Teresa Shine: Well, when I go in I show them to my mum and dad and see what they think of them. They usually think they are quite good, and then I put them in my box and sometimes I take them to school and show me mates. ’Cause sometimes they’re interested in what I take. Then often I just show anyone w ho’s around. Paul: D oyou show them to your teachers? Teresa: Some o f them I do. You know. My tutor and that, but not all of them that 1 go ’round to see. Paul: Do your friends sometimes say that they would like to go to photography class? Teresa: Yeah. Two or three girls asked me the times and that. But I said you have to be on the waiting list. But they do want to come. Paul: Do they think photography is difficult? The club was set up with money from Kodak and the Arts Council. Paul Carter was awarded the Kodak Bursary fo r socially-committed photography three years ago. Since that was used up, the Inner London Education Authority has paid him £24 a week as a part-time teacher. (Paul Carter, o f course, does a lot o f other photographic work fo r the Settlement.) Other grants have come from the Greater London Arts Association, London Union o f Youth Clubs and the South London Union o f Trades Councils. Two anonymous people have given £200: other bits and pieces and an old 20-inch rotary glazer have been donated. Mem­ bers o f the club pay five pence a week. The club works in small groups o f three or four members with a regular helper. The groups select themselves. There are occasional splits, but the great advantage is that everybody knows each other and many live in the same estate or block o f flats. This means that they can share cameras and other equipment among themselves. They also always have a friend around to help. A t first the club used Zorki 4 cameras but had problems with the shutters. Some were drop­ Teresa: Yeah, but they want to learn it. Paul: We noticed that when photography club started and word got around that people could join, nearly all the people who asked to join were boys. You were the first girl to start. Do you think there is any reason why mostly boys were interested? Christopher Blackman aged 13 - This is a picture o f my sister in the living room curling her hair. - l— l Teresa: Well, now girls are interested. At first only boys thought they could go. I don’t think girls were interested at first. But now they’ve come to see the pictures and everything they’re more interested. And also there’s not many girls around here. Except ’round at Wilkes Row. There’s more boys here. Paul: Do you think that girls think that photo­ graphy is something they can’ do? t Teresa: No. I don’t think that at all. Because girls think they are just as good as boys and can do anything. But you know it’s harder for girls than it is for boys because they have got all the teachers. They are all boys and everything. Just girls on their own. I think there should be a few girl teachers. Danny Hayes, age 16: ‘This is my sister, Veron­ ica. She had just come back from karate, and she said it was rubbish because her partner was hopeless, so she was just showing me what she felt like doing to her. ’ Teresa Shone, age 12: ‘ this photo my mum In and my ni&ce, Jackie, are in my house posing.' 5 Paul: There are some on group nights. Do you think girl teachers would encourage other girls to come along? Teresa: It’s quite important yeah. ’Cause when I get older, you don’t know, I might be a pho­ tography teacher. It’s quite important, I suppose. Teresa: I think so. Paul: Do you do like Robbie, that even when you walk along without a camera you find your­ self seeing more keenly and see things you might not have seen before? Teresa: Yeah, I do. And I wish I had my camera with me when I look at things. Paul: Do you still appreciate what you are look­ ing at even though you d o n ’t have the camera? Is it making you notice things which are some­ how important to you which you might not have noticed before? Teresa: Some things you know. I look around. I find that whenever I ain’t got no camera there’s more interesting things to look at than when I have got my camera. Michael McDonagh age 14 - This is my mother asleep. I took this photo as I thought she would be auite fascinated to see herself asleep. Paul: Do you look and notice things a bit more, generally? Teresa: Hey, I do. 'Cause before you didn’t take no notice of things but when you’re in pho­ tography you sort o f look out for things you might take. You know when you’re walking around it’s more interesting to look at things, ’cause you want to take them. Paul: What were you just saying about Danny’ s photographs, Robbie? Robbie Clark: Do you really want to know? Paul: Yeah. Robbie: Well, it was a picture of two dogs... playing ludo...No, it was two dogs -- Randy and Dick, and they were enjoying themselves. You know. They were playing leap frog. And he got stuck halfway doing leap frog. And so I went up to her. Clive: He! It was a he, it was a boy. Paul: Suppose we have to close the club because we don’t get enough money ? Will yo u be very disappointed about that? Teresa: Yes, I really will. ’Cause there’s nothing to do on Monday nights. And besides that, I'm interested as well, you know -- a lot interested in it. I hope it will stay. If it means giving more money to photography, I would - 10 pence, twenty pence extra a week, I don’t mind. Paul: You think i t ’ worth it? s Teresa: Yeah,’cause the pictures you’re print­ ing. You just think about the pictures in the real shops. Just think how much they cost. Then you look at it here. It’s very much cheaper. And I think I would pay more money if it could keep going. Paul: Do you think that most people could learn the basics o f photography and be better photographers than they are? Robbie: Oh yeah. Anyone could. My mum’s even learned things what I’ve said. My sister takes horrible photographs, and I told her. She’s getting better. She used to take silly pictures. She’d take a picture of a person. She’d only do the head and the rest was all ceiling, and she thought that was a good picture. It would have looked twice as good if you had had all of her in. Up closer and less of the wall. So people learn. Paul: You d o n ’t have to be especially ‘ntelli­ i gent’ to do photography? Robbie: If you want to be really good, I sup­ pose you have to be. 1 don’t know really. Well, what is photography? It’s not measuring things, so you don’t have to be good at maths. You have to be good at spotting things. If you’re quite a dull person who don’t spot anything, you know, don't see much in pictures, then you can’t do it ’cause you’re not really interested. Robbie: No. Clive: It was. Alan Fitzgerald age IS - This picture is Billy in his pram sucking his bottle. Robbie: He says it was two boys. That’s why the under dog ain’t enjoying it. And the dog’s up on his hind legs and he’s got his mouth open. Paul: Do you think he should take a photo­ graph like that? Robbie: Yeah. Why not? It’s human (It’s not human). It’s life, ain’t it? Paul: Do you think it might be embarrassing to put it in the exhibition? Paul: But you said before that since you started photography you spot things more. Robbie: ! do. Paul: So, i f everyone learned photography, do you think everyone would spot things more? Robbie: Yeah, mabe a little bit more, but not so much if you’re not the right sort of person. Say, if you don’t care about what things are. Paul: Do you think photography can help peo­ ple care more about things? Robbie: ’Cause what is it? It’s two dogs prepar­ ing for little ones maybe. They’re enjoying themselves. Having a little muck about. There’s nothing wrong in that. I think you should see more pictures of humans doing it. Robbie: Oh, yeah. A lot. It can make you care about how the world is run. Because you can see what the changes are. You know what hap­ pens now and what happened fifty years ago. So old people can’t complain that the world’s getting worse. Because it’s getting better in some ways and it’s getting worse in other ways. So you can never miss these. So, it can help people a lot. Paul: Why? Wouldn’t that be called pornography? Paul: What’ the difference between photogra­ s phy and other clubs you go to? Robbie: What’s that? John Ryan: Well, you know what you’re doing sort of. You’ve always got something to do. You’re never bored with nothing to do. You can always make prints, develop a film. Clive: I don’t think so. Paul: Pictures o f hum an’ making love - like in s sex books. Robbie: Why? It’s human. Why shouldn’t you? Why should you cover up what it is? ’Cause there’s nothing wrong in it. ’Cause if there was something wrong in it, then all our mums and dads are nasty, aren’t they? They are wrong. They shouldn’t have done it, you know. So what’s the good of covering up what’s right? That’s the facts of life. You see your hand. Why shouldn’t you see anything else? James Hatcher: In club you don’t always do something. Say you get some money. You have to wait for the pinball machine or table tennis. When that’s took, you have to wait until th at’s finished. Sometimes it’s boring in club. Paul: So, we should take some photographs o f couples making love, shall we? James: ’Cause they’re all taken up by people, ain't they? But in photography there’s only certain amount (of people) each night. But in the club, you get as many as you can fit in because the more they get in, the more money they get and the better the club gets. Sort of the more equipment they can get. Robbie: Yeah, we should. Paul: We’l have to see i f we can get some l models...(laughter). Teresa, do you think that being part o f this group learning photography has changed you at all? Teresa: I don’t know. Not really. Tina Regan age 11 — This is a picture o f my cousin taken in my nan's house. Paul: How important to you is it that you have learned photography? Paul: Even though there’ a lot o f things to do? s John: Yeah. Paul: B ut when you went over to club to take pictures, you found you didn’ really want to t take pictures - you wanted to play table tennis. Why was it difficult for you to keep up your in­ terest in photography when you were there, even though you say in some cases photography is more interesting? continued . . . 6 Doing Photography continued... they’re just dazzled, you know. They say, ‘Hmm. maybe he’s not very good at writing, right, but he’s a good photographer!’ It would be a good idea having photography lessons. James: I just wanted to have a laugh with me mates. You wanted to be in the fun. Mike: I’ve told lots of my mates I do photo­ graphy. And they think all I do is to take photos and give it to some person. But when I told them I done it myself, they want to go them' selves. They want to learn. They all say to me they wish they did photography at school. They all really want to do photography. They all ask me, 'Where’s your photography class? Can I join?’ I goes, ’Well, there’s a waiting list.’ John: You sort of want to be in the photos, you know. I'd rather be in a photo then take one. Paul: Why did you think it might be good to start photography? John: Not many clubs around here give you the chance to lend things like cameras. You’re not allowed to take them out. Paul: It's a shame we can't let more people in. How do you think its affected your lives? Chris Blackman: Changed it. Changed it com­ pletely. Made us do something when we’re not really doing nothing. We might be back in the flats just messing around. While this is on, we can be doing something, something interesting. Instead of messing about, we’re here doing this. Paul: What about you, Mike? Mike Parchment: I'd never done it before: some­ thing new. I always used to want to do photo­ graphy. ’Cause when I was little, I used to have a roll of film. I used to think that when I’ve taken all the pictures, you just had to take it out and the photos would be done. Well, I was dis­ appointed when I looked. Anyway, after a couple of years, I kept on looking up things like electronics, and all this stuff, and then I stuck on photography which I liked very much. Then someone said there was a photography club going, and I made sure I joined it. No matter what. Paul : You already knew something about pho­ tography before you came? Mike: Yeah, I didn’t know how to get my pic­ tures out though because all that stuff costs a lot of money. So when I came to photography club, I found out all my mistakes. I was so stupid. I used to take films and put them in water and everything. It never came up. So, when I came to photography, I really learned a lot. I think it’s terrific. Now I’ve started, I can’t do without it. Paul: What made you think you might like photography? Two ways o f selling 'he same product John Roche age 13 - 1 took this at Waterloo Adventure Playground. In the picture left to right Raymond. Frank. Tony. Mike: It’s something completely different. If you go to school and you say to your mates, ‘We’ve just come from club,’ they won’t ask you nothing about it. They won’t. They just say many people do it. So, when you say, ‘I do photography, I develop my own films and all this stuff,’ they feel all sort of amazed because they have to take theirs to the chemist and get it all done. When I tell them it only took me, what, 20 minutes to develop a film and bring it up, they say, ‘Why does it take two weeks for us to get ours done?’ So, they feel real amazed and some of them even ask me to do their films. Paul: What's difficult about the film ? John: You know, you can t see the film. You have to feel your way onto the reels. That’s about the onlv thino about photography that I don’t really like doing. Paul: You all think i t ’ important to learn s something. You feel good when you learn something? Clive: 1 didn't have much to do on a Wednesday and if it wasn’t because of John, I wouldn’t have been going right now. He was the one who told me about it. John: Keeps you out of trouble, don't it? Really, if there was no photography club, pro­ bably half the people here who are supposed to be at photography club would be getting into trouble. If they got something to do, it keeps them out of trouble. Mike: After you’ve done photography, and taken all those prints home and people like them, you can't wait to get back the next day. You think, i wish I could do photography to­ morrow’ and all this. I don't think you get bored with photography at all. I don’t. Paul: John, was photography difficult to learn? Paul: So it's all worth while? John: First I thought it was really difficult. Now it's not so difficult. The only thing I find hard about it is developing the roll of film. But printing is easy, really. Paul: Do you think it would be gtxtd to teach photography in schools? All: Yeah! Fred blogs eats cheese rolls on Sundays too John: Yeah. ’Cause as when Mike was saying, when you take some of your prints to school. Diary of a Mede* Tube station: walk to end of platform to be alone. Sickening poster. Autograph ‘Smoking is to Cancer, as Cowboys are to Beans’. A personal death warning, felt tip squeaks; hand shakes. The twitching finger twitches on, in all direc­ tions. dauntless. The left hand that once gave Angela Davis a moustache... Train half empty. Quick takes for my audio­ gallery, mug-shots, whisper-pics, mike poised under right nostril wrapped in left hand. Whisper ‘white, uncooked face, formal, decorous, worn to the office; not to be slipped out o f easily at home, like his jacket’. Out into bright, bouncing light, banging up streets into postcard panoramas. Crazy about p.c.’s. Buy two royal poses for personal col­ lection of The Family. Resist old, crippled worker waiting to be photo­ graphed; inescapable irridescent patch o f spew on pavement; one for the pollution dossier. Take photograph watched by queue of foreignlooking people outside Madame Tussaud’s. Pro­ bably tourists, mostly wearing cameras (cameras are really ‘haute couture’). Watch impassively. To bookshop: find magazine. My letter print­ ed: high-minded, persuasive, erudite, packed with quotes - a brilliant polemic. Congrats to self, author of letter (author also o f all quotes attributed variously to other experts). All part of seeking reputation of author without ever actually writing a book. Books, books, books, devoted to image-makers and their images. Visual Arts Treasury. Why so many pictures at a price? Why so many picturemakers and yet a dearth in public places of such images? 7:55 a.m. Vision on: light flooding in; light to feed on; of the quality to make strong, heroic images: workers, old folk, cripples. Radio on: record ’Thought for the Day’. One for the pile, ultimately edit into blitz of golden thoughts to batter young heads with. Load gear into jacket pockets: old Leica for emergencies, Sony talk-tank, notebooks, felt tips. Leave. Day’s lustre fading to lambent glow. Into neonlit ether of bar, churning, reflecting smoke; choking but meaty; glittering, clattering charade. Rousing urges to see, listen, join and drink, and notebook to hand to scribble so-called ‘poemmary’ of situation. Enter buffoon, stage right, bestrung with photo­ graphic impedimentia. Nikon, lenses - every­ thing. All flash-carry stuff. Typical photo­ graphic cowboy, the Telephoto Kid. Pin him to a specimen card with one long blistering whisper into the Sony. ...to be continued •Inhabitant o f Media Buy ‘Telegraph’: sudden illumination: ‘A news­ paper: all that any teacher should need as a foundation to any day's teaching’. Keith Kennedy 7 How to Find That Photographic Fact PHOTOGRAPHIC LIBRARY RESOURCES IN THE LONDON AREA Photographic book resources in London are on the whole very good. However, the collect­ ions are scattered, often poorly housed and inaccessible. The poor housing is in some measure due to the lack of public use. It is the purpose of this article to encourage the wider use of these facilities, and hopefully pressurize the powers-that-be into providing improved services. GENERAL NOTES ON USING PUBLIC LIBRARIES Method of classification of library book stocks: Most libraries use the Dewey decimal system. This system allots a number (from 0 to 9) for each sub-classification within the main heading. For example, photography is a branch of the arts (classified 700) and photo­ graphy specifically is 770. Every library has some kind of subject catalogue and author index. If the library does not stock a book you want, it can be obtained by means of an interlibrary loan, both from libraries in England and abroad. This service costs the price o f a post­ age stamp and is available to all readers simply by filling in a special postcard. LIBRARY RESOURCES Special collections: To cater for specialist interests, the public libraries system has a Special Collection scheme established just after the war. This makes it mandatory for certain designated libraries to build up a comp­ lete reference collection o f old and new books, pamphlets and periodicals within the subject allotted to them. This service, called the Metropolitan Special Collection (M.S.C.) is a general lending scheme which is particularly valuable for those who require to read old or out-of-print books, or who would like to obtain the latest books without delay. Central and Local Government funded Librarries: Because school and college libraries are part funded by local and central government funds, it is possible for non college members to use the facilities for reference purposes (and in some instances even join the library and borrow books). Admittance is generally at the discretion o f the librarian who should be consulted before the proposed visit. Many of the libraries listed below publish periodical or holding lists which are issued free. They also keep many useful non photographic reference books that are not generally available in the public libraries. general literature and bound Catalogue produced (1967). National Libraries: The second category of public funded library open to the public is the National Museum or Research Library: the biggest o f these is the British Museum Reading Room Library. The British Museum also has a number of branches with large photographic collections with easy access (books, negatives, original photographs etc). The British Library and the Science Museum Library are two outstanding examples. Large collection technical/general also buy all Amphoto publications. Catalogue produced (1967). Institutional Libraries: Many private organ­ isations and foundations maintain libraries which admit the public (usually under strict conditions - you may even have to join the organisation etc). The largest o f these with a purely photographic collection is the Royal Photographic Society, which issues a reader's ticket at £1.00 a week for non-members. Company Libraries: Commercial and research companies often have well-equipped libraries maintained for the convenience of their staff. Very few of these will allow direct access by the public on a regular basis, but they quite often answer queries by phone or post. Private Libraries: Many individuals hold quite large collections o f books on photography, they are not, understandably, happy to have this fact stated in public. However, w’e think it is a good thing if you give us some idea of the material they hold. Will you send us a list of your books, particularly old and rare material? ADDRESS LIST: METROPOLITAN SCHEME (M.S.C.) SPECIAL COLLECTION Two libraries in London hold large stocks o f photographic books under this scheme, one on an official basis and one voluntary. OFFICIAL COLLECTION: Finsbury Park Library, St John Street, London EC1. tel: 01 837 4146. Extensive collection o f technical books. periodicals. VOLUNTARY COLLECTION: Redbridge Public Library, Oakfield Ilford. Essex, tel: 01 478 0017. Victoria and Albert Museum Library. Exhibit­ ion Road, London SW7. tel: 01 589 6371. Very good photography collection o f original photography (mainly 19th century). About 200.000 items. Road, Science Museum Library. South Kensington. London SW7 tel: 01 589 6371 ext. 527. One of the best organised libraries in London, has a fine collection of photographic books and periodicals plus outstanding collections of original photographs, negatives and slides, including work by Henry Jackson, Roger Fenton and Fox Talbot (approximately 6,000 Fox Talbot negatives). Also an excellent early newscutting collection related to photography. No catalogue available yet but the librarian has prepared a comprehensive list of the photo­ graphic holdings for his own use, which hope­ fully will be published sometime. Contact the librarian, Mr Windsor. Related Collections that include photography: Westminster Central Reference Library. St Martins Street. London WC2. tel: 01 930 3274 Not an officially listed photographic collection but possesses (off access) books; they also hold the Catalogue of the British Museum and the Library o f Congress, plus the Special Art Library (top floor) which has some photo­ graphy books. NATIONAL LIBRARIES: British Museum Reading Room, Great Russell Street, London WC1. tel: 01 636 1544 Contains practically every book on photog­ raphy every published in England. Access only to those with a ‘reader’s ticket’ or one day pass available from the Director’s office. This is not a library for browsers as it takes about two hours to get a book delivered to your table. Definitely a library of ‘last resort' but essential for seekers after long out-of-print works. British Film Institute Library. Information and Documentation Department. 81, Dean Street, London WI tel: 01 437 4355. Extensive collection on film and television, plus an excellent selection of current period­ icals. Open to the public, but regular users are expected to become members of the Institute. INSTITUTIONAL LIBRARIES: Royal Photographic Society, 14 South Audley Street, London Wl. tel: 01 493 3967 Very comprehensive collection, but small reading room which rather restricts the access to the whole collection. You have to be a member to use the library regularly but a reader's ticket is available for periods o f a week or less to members o f the general public. The British Library, 25 Southampton Lane, London. WC2. te l: 01 405 8721. opening times: Mon-Fri 09.30- 21.00. Sat 10.00- 13.00. Keen Street Annexe (pre-1950 Collection) 9-13 Keen Street, London W'C2. Opening ti
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      • namePolitics of Photography
      • essay_titleTowards a New Politics of Photography
      • essay_authorFrances Whorrall-Cambell
      • essay_extract<p style="text-align: justify;">In the first issue of <em>Camerawork </em>Jo Spence sought to explore what she called ‘the politics of photography’. For Spence, images had an ideological content, expressed through a ‘series of visual signals and short cuts’ which needed to be unpicked by reading the context from which the photographs sprung and the intentions of their creator.</p>
      • essay_content<p>The question of how photographs might be political, and how one might decode (or even produce) these messages, dogged <em>Camerawork </em>throughout its existence. This thorny issue was never fully resolved, and the contradictory responses raised within the magazine’s pages track the shifting attitudes buffeting British photography during the 1970s and 80s. </p> <p><meta charset="utf-8" /></p> <p style="text-align: justify;">In her article, Spence proposes that photography’s visual shorthands create a kind of limited understanding: producing ‘stereotypes’ of the world around us. The camera might not lie, but it flattens; draining shades of nuance from the situation to render an issue black and white. In this proposition, Spence brings together an interest in signs developed by the recently-fashionable study of semiotics, and an understanding of photography’s ability to divide the world into ‘types’ present since the Victorian era.</p> <p style="text-align: justify;">Spence’s concern is the photograph as re-presentation: a regurgitation of isolated appearances with no attempt at critique. She posits that the mimetic quality of photography works in the interest of the capitalist media, who commodify these fragments of truth in order to nullify their potential to disrupt false consciousness. Spence was reacting to a world in which photojournalism was still prominent, with the photo-essay delivering the news in illustrated magazines and papers. The proximity of these often-harrowing images to advertisements, with their shiny parade of commodified objects and (particularly female) bodies, was concerning. News photographs took on this sheen, whilst the messages in the adverts, seen alongside ‘objective’ documentary, became naturalised.</p> <p style="text-align: justify;"><em>Camerawork </em>sought to disrupt this process and reveal that both sets of images were political: i.e. the product of a particular agenda. Today, it might seem that we no longer need to be told not to be so naive. We are more suspicious of things that purport to be true than ever before. The idea of truth itself seems up for grabs. We know western media is not to be trusted; it has become commonplace to point to fake news, but the increasing presentation of content through algorithms ensures that even images that have not been fakes, edited or otherwise doctored are still suspect for their very existence in a structure so obviously plugged into corporate capitalism.</p> <p style="text-align: justify;">What, then, can <em>Camerawork’s </em>warnings add to our dealings with the media? Perhaps the answer can be found in Victor Burgin’s essay for the third issue<a href="https://www.fourcornersarchive.org/archive/view/0000003">, ‘Art, Common Sense & Photography’</a>. Burgin states that manipulation of the world, far from being an aberration, is the basis of all photographic practice. Photography is an alchemical process of transformation, rather than a mirror, and recognising this is a vital step in being able to unmask the politics of images. Although Burgin’s chemical metaphor no longer holds, photography is still a distortion of the world, albeit digital, reducing it to pixels and binary code. An awareness of this could enliven us to the ways in which technology reconstitutes media and presents a certain picture of events through its highly subjective networks.</p> <p style="text-align: justify;">Burgin’s most striking point, however, is his identification of the central paradox of the camera. The issue that has long troubled artists, so much so that Brecht felt it necessary to call the instrument ‘politically-deficient’, is that in order to enact political change the camera must be able to penetrate appearances, but it is only able to record them, parroting back the dominant order and reproducing inequality. This is what Spence warns against in Issue One.</p> <p style="text-align: justify;">However, Burgin suggests that this is actually what makes photography so powerful: it enables us to turn the weapons of the master against him. Creating contrast and comparison is for Burgin the way to animate the inherent contradiction between image and reality. This advice might stand for photographers today: expose the irrationality in the world through a medium we know to be much more irrational than we previously allowed for.</p>
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      • nameMedia Theory
      • essay_titleCritical engagements with documentary photography
      • essay_authorFrances Whorrall-Cambell
      • essay_extract<p>The subheading to <em>Camerawork </em>8, a special issue on the ‘Battle of Lewisham’, proclaims: ‘What are you taking pictures for?’. <em>Why photograph?</em> was a central concern of Half Moon Photography Workshop. In many ways the ‘why’ was easy to answer (although, as this issue showed, the reasons were many): what was more difficult was the issue of who - who could be a photographer, and what being a photographer meant. </p>
      • essay_content<p>In order to answer these questions, HMPW framed a radical reinvention of the medium and its practitioners, advancing a new concept of ‘community photography’. This was first outlined by Jo Spence in <em>Camerawork</em> 1 and elaborated on in Issue 13, which was dedicated to ‘Photography in the Community’. What Spence discusses in this first issue is a three-pronged attack on the mechanisms of mainstream image production and circulation in Britain. </p> <p><meta charset="utf-8" /></p> <p style="text-align: justify;">The first weapon in this war was alternative or community presses, which offered photographers control over the fruits of their labour. Such publications could show solidarity and promote community action, providing an antidote to the individualism and sensationalism of traditional journalism. </p> <p style="text-align: justify;">The power was in having control over the means of image production: Spence recommends the use of photography as a tool by social activists. Through workshops and equipment loans, groups could encourage community feeling and help marginalised people represent themselves - gaining the skills to be critical of images and demand different depictions. Those who attended these workshops then became community documentarians, going out into the places in which they lived and worked to photograph the other residents and build a picture of a life from the inside contrary to popular stereotypes and ignorance. </p> <p style="text-align: justify;">Community photography, then, was about providing alternatives: alternative images, alternative photographers, and alternative channels of publication and distribution. Half Moon Photography Workshop attempted to provide for all three: in their gallery and magazine, their workshops, and promotion of photographers such as<a href="https://www.fourcornersarchive.org/archive/index?keyword=derek+smith&format%5B%5D=4&format%5B%5D=8&format%5B%5D=16&format%5B%5D=15&format%5B%5D=13&format%5B%5D=14&format%5B%5D=1&format%5B%5D=3&format%5B%5D=5"> Derek Smith</a> and <a href="https://www.fourcornersarchive.org/archive/index?keyword=george+plemper&format%5B%5D=4&format%5B%5D=8&format%5B%5D=16&format%5B%5D=15&format%5B%5D=13&format%5B%5D=14&format%5B%5D=1&format%5B%5D=3&format%5B%5D=5">George Plemper</a>.</p> <p style="text-align: justify;">These ideas were radical in the Britain of the 1970s, where social documentary photography had fallen victim to its own success and become co-opted into mainstream imagery. However, in their suspicions and desire to create new photographers, HMPW were drawing on doubts already seeded within certain corners of the English documentary tradition.</p> <p style="text-align: justify;">Bill Brandt was a pioneer of British social documentary photography. His 1936 book ‘The English at Home’, a pictorial survey of British domesticity between rural and urban settings and across classes, appears a classic of the genre. However, this work was actually highly innovative, as Brandt responded to increasingly ambivalent feelings towards his claim to objectivity. Brandt mobilised a technique of juxtaposition drawn from the surrealists, in which commentary was produced in the collision of the photographs on facing pages. In this, Brandt directly intervened in the images, exposing the mechanics by which photographic meaning was produced, and foregrounding not only his creative role but his subjectivity. </p> <p style="text-align: justify;">Brandt’s suspicion of the photographer’s supposed ‘objectivity’ was also felt by the members of HMPW. They transformed this doubt into a new manifesto. It was not enough to recognise and acknowledge one’s limitations as a photographer: those biases still existed. Instead one needed to encourage more people to document themselves in order to counter the stereotypes of others.</p> <p style="text-align: justify;">In this community-based photography, HMPW found precedent in Mass Observation. Founded in 1937, and another surrealist-inspired endeavour, Mass Observation aimed to record everyday life in Britain through a network of volunteer observers who kept diaries, answered questionnaires, and took photographs of daily occurrences. Over 1,500 people were recruited from all social classes; ordinary people were given the necessary tools and encouraged to record their own lives and the lives of their communities.</p> <p style="text-align: justify;">In its desire for an ‘insider’s perspective’, Mass Observation chimed with HMPW’s ambitions, and the collective themselves were interested in this earlier project, dedicating an issue of <em>Camerawork </em>to the observers. Many of the photographers HMPW chose to exhibit also sat within this ethos: from Derek Smith’s photographs of his Teeside home, to George Plemper’s sensitive portraits of his pupils at Riverside. But HMPW differed from Mass Observation on two vital points. </p> <p style="text-align: justify;">While Mass Observation had aimed at an objective record comprised of a great number of data points, many of HMPW’s photographers shared the tacit assumption of their subjectivity, even if the rhetoric of objective investigation was still present. Daniel Meadows’ <a href="https://www.fourcornersarchive.org/archive/index?keyword=Shuttles%2C+Steam+and+Soot+-+Daniel+Meadows%C2%A0&format%5B%5D=4&format%5B%5D=8&format%5B%5D=16&format%5B%5D=15&format%5B%5D=13&format%5B%5D=14&format%5B%5D=1&format%5B%5D=3&format%5B%5D=5">Shuttles, Steam and Soot</a>, was billed as a ‘serious investigation’ of the Lancashire cotton industry, but what actually enlivened the images for Meadows was the strangeness of the encounters - the interpersonal aspect. </p> <p style="text-align: justify;">Mass Observation had been instigated to create an archive of everyday life, but HMPW had far greater aspirations. As stated in their special issue: ‘to document alone is not enough - the process must be taken further and used to effect social change’. Change was always the purpose of HMPW’s projects, and social change relied upon a fundamental transformation of tradition. Suspicion of the photographer was transformed into a vision of community documentary, and community documentary was transformed into political action. Why take pictures was obvious, but HMPW’s chance of achieving that goal relied on a complex understanding of who (photographer and subject) gained by looking to the past as much as to the future.</p>
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      • essay_titleFour Corners' Young People Cinema Workshop
      • essay_authorFrances Whorrall-Cambell
      • essay_extract<p style="text-align: justify;">The Young People Cinema Workshop ran at Four Corners from 1980. As a project providing training and filmmaking opportunities to young people from Tower Hamlets, it perhaps has the closest resonance to the community work Four Corners does today. The early Workshops were radically experimental: pushing the boundaries of arts and technical education, and testing the ethos of collaborative filmmaking upon which Four Corners had been founded.</p>
      • essay_content<p style="text-align: justify;">Wilf Thust was the Workshops originator. He had a background in art and education as a teacher in Germany, and brought methods developed in the German avant-garde. During his teacher training, Thust had studied the pedagogy of the Bauhaus and Joseph Beuys, whose proclamation ‘teaching is art’ inspired Thust’s own professional practices. As a teacher in Bremen, Thust handed out Super 8 cameras to be shared around his classes, and when his time as an educational researcher in Bielefeld University was disrupted by student protests, he made the documentary <em>The School Strike OS 77</em>.</p> <p style="text-align: justify;">Thust saw the seriousness with which these working-class students approached politics and the self-organisation they were capable of, and he took these experiences back with him to London, and to Four Corners. Along with Ron Peck, Mary Pat Leece and Jo Davis, Thust had been one of the founding members of Four Corners during their time at the London Film School. By the time Thust returned to England with Jo, who had become his partner, Four Corners was undergoing a period of transformation.</p> <p style="text-align: justify;">The premises on Roman Road was converted into a cinema accompanied by a regular programme of public screenings, allowing the group to combine production, consumption and discussion of films all in one space. Out of this dynamic context, the Young People Cinema Workshop was born. Thust’s intention was that young people could actively respond to films seen at Four Corners, and then make their own work from and out of their reactions. He conceived of it as a ‘media research group’ with young people learning and working outside of a formal institution.</p> <p style="text-align: justify;">There were benefits to working outside of the system: it allowed the Workshop to engage the most ‘unapproachable’ young people. Despite the presence of many progressive groups in Tower Hamlets, real social problems persisted alongside the brutal reality of the National Front. Thust wanted to reverse the ‘them’ and ‘us’ mentality experienced by many of the students: testing out his own prejudices whilst attempting to enter into their experiences, narrowing the gap between student and teacher.</p> <p style="text-align: justify;">The form of the Workshop grew out a programme organised by Jo Davis and Mary Pat Leece called ‘<a href="https://www.fourcornersarchive.org/archive/view/0001169">In Front of the Camera</a>’. Here, participants would view work by established filmmakers and feedback their comments, before projecting their own slides and film interpretations. The young participants became the motor of the Workshop, driving projects forward and determining the group’s course. <a href="https://www.fourcornersarchive.org/archive/view/0003830">Lisa Warren</a> in particular was remembered by Thust as a lynchpin. Warren had joined the Workshop from Davis and Leece’s group in Oxford House: she produced a script for the Workshop and brought a gang of friends to meetings.</p> <p style="text-align: justify;">This script became the film <a href="https://vimeo.com/334864112"><em>Don’t Think So</em>,</a> a rough and ready tale about East End youth and their fraught interactions with family, teachers, and each other. Unlike the more polished films the participants were responding to, such as Derek Jarman’s <em>Jubilee</em> and Ken Loach’s <em>Up The Junction</em>, <em>Don’t Think So</em> registers the process of its own making and is a vital document of the learning and thinking that went on in the Workshop. The group used scrapbooking and wall charts to map out ideas. Part account of progress, part guest book, and part space for critical comments, these sheets spilled out into the film itself in hand-drawn intertitles and sets. The final film is fun and more than a little anarchic: charmingly clumsy at points as you see the participants learning on the job.</p> <p style="text-align: justify;">Funding from the Channel 4 Workshop Agreement allowed Thust to undertake more ambitious projects. Between 1982 and 1985 <em>Is That It? </em>was under production at the Workshop. Thust devised it as a film made solely by the young people of Tower Hamlets, with Four Corners providing only the technical means and training, with no conceptual guidance. The project soon evolved to become a diary of work, recording Thust’s interactions with the young participants alongside media statistics about the lives of youth in the borough. Although the final film was not well received, it was groundbreaking in its foregrounding of young voices, and as a record of the Workshop resonated throughout the years.</p> <p style="text-align: justify;">At a screening of <em>Is That It?</em> held at Lux in 2002, one of the Workshop’s members was in the audience. Anthony David attended the group when he was 15, and the radical pedagogy he experienced at Four Corners influenced him in the creation of the archive of social movements May Day Rooms, and in his work in the Experimental Teaching Unit he established at Central Saint Martins. The impact of the Young People Cinema Workshop can be found in unexpected places, but its legacy is also channelled still at Four Corners, in our ongoing commitment to providing education and training in film and photography.</p>
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      • nameCamerawork Magazine
      • essay_titleA brief history of the publication
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      • essay_extract<blockquote> <p>Camerawork as a magazine had a quality about it - when I first saw a copy in 1976 I'd never seen a publication like it and I still haven't. It stopped me in my tracks. The A2>A4 folding format, the print quality - amazing for single pass litho - the picture spreads and the articles, they all set it apart from any other photo-magazines of that period – Ed Barber</p> </blockquote> <blockquote> <p>Camerawork is designed to provide a forum for the exchange of ideas, views and information on photography and other forms of communication. By exploring the application, scope and content of photography, we intend to demystify the process. We see this as part of the struggle to learn, to describe and to share experiences and so contribute to the process by which we grow in capacity and power to control our own lives. – Camerawork magazine masthead, issues 1-19</p> </blockquote>
      • essay_content<p>A key part of Half Moon Photography Workshop’s programme was the publication of a magazine.<i> Camerawork</i> was first published in February 1976, using a broadsheet format – sheets of A2 paper folded to A3, then to A4. Stencil bold, the only large typeface that they had, was used for the title. Expression Printers’ stark black and white printing was highly effective. Tony Bock, Terry Dennett, Roger Eaton, Mike Goldwater, Janet Goldberg, Marilyn Noad, Tom Picton, Jo Spence, George Solomonides and Paul Trevor produced the first issue of <i>Camerawork</i>, put together at a marathon all-night session in Goldwater’s studio in Chalk Farm, fuelled by coffee and beigels. After the first issue they drew Ed Barber, who was recruited to work on the accounts but quickly joined the magazine collective, along with Shirley Read, Liz Heron, Richard Platt and Jenny Matthews and many others. </p> <p>The early magazine had a pluralist, open and improvisational approach, encompassing articles on renowned photographers including Bill Brandt, Paul Strand and Brassai alongside alternative histories of photography, grassroots practice and DIY pages on photographic processes. Regular critiques by leading writers such as John Berger, Victor Burgin and John Tagg explored the ideological constructions shaping photographic practice. <i>Camerawork</i> rapidly established itself as a forum for critical debates on the politics of documentary representation, the role of the photographer and the use of the medium in oppositional politics. As the use of larger images increased, a centre spread was added that could be pulled out as a poster. The first was Robert Golden’s photograph of miners waiting for their shift at Kellingley Colliery, Yorkshire. The second, Richard Greenhill’s dramatic image of his wife Sally minutes after giving birth to their daughter. </p> <p><i>Camerawork</i> included visually compelling, thematic issues such as <i>Lewisham</i>, the <i>Picture Story</i>, <i>Portraits</i>, <i>Photography in the Community</i> and <i>Reporting on Northern Ireland</i>. The magazine became a key platform for photography addressing left-wing oppositional politics. Reports of anti-racist demonstrations highlighted community action whilst shedding light on police brutality.  Issue 14 on Northern Ireland proved highly contentious at a time of significant press censorship. Coverage of anti-nuclear protests helped to galvanise support for the revival of the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament.</p> <p>The magazine’s emphasis changed in the later issues, focusing more on broader politics of representation rather than solely photographic practice. Content expanded to include film, video, tape/slide and television with an increased emphasis on analysing mainstream media.</p> <p>Alongside this <i>Camerawork</i>’s focus became explicitly political from issue 20 (1980) in response to the election of Margaret Thatcher. The magazine’s a new masthead stated that it was ‘a journal of the politics of photography’. The editorial read: ‘We must pursue this politics of the image into all the struggles that affect our lives: struggles over class, patriarchy, power knowledge, communication and education’. This went too far for the Arts Council, who reminded Camerawork that its subsidy was ‘on the basis of its attention to photography and not as a platform for political comment’. By issue 25 the masthead had changed to the neutral statement that: ‘Camerawork aims to promote debate and discussion on politics, photography and representation’. </p> <p>Thatcherism marked a crisis for left cultural approaches. Black and white photography no longer felt like a connection to a radical past. ‘The Fight to Work’, a four-page spread in <i>Camerawork</i> 18, showed vivid images of the steel workers strike, and called for photography that was neither mass media representation of intimidating pickets, nor abstracted images of heroic workers. It was one of the last articles of its kind. In ‘Loves Labour Lost’, <i>Camerawork</i> 29, Kathy Myers argued that Labour’s posters helped lose them the 1983 election with their use of outdated images of working-class men in flat caps. Visual artists should ‘combine the visual sophistication of advertising with the social insight needed to provide new visions and fantasies for the future’. In her interview with Stuart Hall he also called for a new kind of imagery: ‘The left has to look around and see the language that consumer capitalism speaks to people in’. These arguments reflected the left’s seeming inability to combat a Thatcherite world in which there was ‘no such thing as society’.</p> <p>Increasingly the concerns of many artists and photographers moved away from social struggle towards a focus on post-modern theories of representation and popular culture. The last four issues of <i>Camerawork</i> are noticeably different. The design of issue 29 is reminiscent of <i>City Limits</i>, with articles on video exhibition, graphic design of album covers and cable music television by Malcolm McLaren. Later issues of<i> Camerawork</i> changed direction several times. From issue 29 the format was altered to an A4 magazine style, with, for the first time, an editor: first Kathy Myers, then Liz Wells. But production faltered with lack of funding, and a loss of organisational direction. The magazine folded after issue 32 in 1985. </p> <p>During its ten years, <i>Camerawork</i> made a profound impact on debates about the politics of photography and representation, and brought an extraordinary range and breadth of documentary and photojournalistic work to audiences worldwide. The role and influence of the magazine has often been historically overlooked within the canon of established British photographic history. The aim of this digital resource is to open up the understanding and appreciation of this renowned publication for a new generation.</p>
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