Brett and Edward Weston

Transcription

Brett Weston and Edward Weston: An Essay in Photographic Style
Author(s): Roger Aikin
Source: Art Journal, Vol. 32, No. 4 (Summer, 1973), pp. 394-404
Published by: College Art Association
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/775689
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Brett Weston and Edward Weston:
An Essay in Photographic Style
Roger Aikin
In the past few years growing interest in the history
of photography has given rise to an increasing number of
publications on photography and photographers and, in
spite of the uncritical texts of many of these books (with
the notable exception of Aaron Scharf's excellent Art
and Photography, which actually deals primarily with
the influence of photography on painting), it is safe to
say that most of the major photographers of this century
have at least been exposed to the public, even if they
have not been given their definitive treatment. But one
photographer, Brett Weston, has certainly not been given
the critical attention he deserves, perhaps because he still
remains, in the eyes of many, simply an extension of his
well-known father, Edward Weston.' No one has attempted to distinguish the character of Brett's work from
his father's, or even to discuss the complex relationship
between the styles of the two men. Furthermore, it seems
clear that the lack of such critical distinctions is due in
great part to the absence of a critical vocabulary for photography in general. Anyone who has "read" a monograph on a photographer knows that such books commonly consist of a biographical sketch, testimonials by
well-known critics and photographers, a few cryptic theoretical remarks by the photographer himself, and the allimportant illustrations. The recent monograph on Paul
Strand exemplifies the current state of affairs.2The photographs are superbly reproduced, but the text is thin
and inconsequential. The vital questions of Strand's maturation and influences are only briefly mentioned. In
fact, so far as I know, there has never been an attempt in
the literature of photography to fulfill the requirements
of a monograph as an art historian would define one.
There has never been a catalogue raisonnee, which is of
growing importance now that the negatives of important
photographers are being reinterpreted by others after the
death of the photographer. There has never been a serious attempt to account for a photographer's development
as an artist, to define the differences between the style of
a photographer and his contemporaries or his teachers, or
to define the style of the photographer himself. In my
opinion these failings result from the unspoken but persisting belief among critics that one cannot talk about
photographs in the same way that one talks about painting, sculpture, or architecture. There seems to be wideROGER AIKIN of Corvallis,
Oregon, is presently in Italy
completing his doctoral dissertation on Italian Renaissance Architecture at the University of California Berkeley. In addition to his interest in the Westons he has also
a
had several exhibits of his own photographs.
spread skepticism that "style" exists at all in photography.
This essay cannot remedy all these ills, and, in fact,
it began as a simple attempt to discuss and appreciate the
photographs of Brett Weston. But in preparing an essay
on Brett it became obvious that meaningful distinctions
would have to be made between the styles of Brett and
his father, if Brett were to be properly understood as a
photographer in his own right. In order to accomplish
this, I adopted the method of formal comparisons, a technique of stylistic differentiation which is common among
art historians, but is not yet practiced by photographic
historians. I hope that one of the by-products of this essay
will be a greater willingness among photographic historians and critics to use the methodologies and terminologies of art history.3
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES
Edward Weston (1886-1959) became a successful photographer of high society in the soft-focus, neo-impressionist, salon mode current in the teens of this century,
but in the early twenties his own dissatisfaction with his
work led him to strike a vigorous new direction in photography which has since become known as "straight photography." He simplified his technique to the point of asceticism, and began to produce rich, crisp contact prints
from unretouched negatives. He tried to approach photography honestly and squarely, with as little technical
and theoretical paraphernalia as possible. During the
next thirty years his preferences in subject matter
changed often; he travelled extensively, and he greatly
increased his understanding of the medium; but his fundamental approach never changed.4 Although he tried to
remain free of any doctrine, he did enjoy writing about
the philosophy of photography, and his Daybooks, the
journals he wrote over his morning cup of coffee, are
some of the most engaging and revealing literary remains
in the history of artistic autobiography. The Daybooks
cannot be discussed here, but one passage which perhaps
encapsules Edward Weston's aims should be quoted:
To see the thing itself (italic in original) is essential: the
quintessence revealed directly without the fog of impressionism . . . to photographa rock, have it look like a rock,
Significantpresentation,not interpretation.5
Brett Weston (1911- ) is not as widely known as
his father, but he is now approaching his fiftieth year
as a photographer. He began to photograph at the age of
fifteen with his father in Mexico, and he was already exhibiting with Edward by 1927. Edward commented on
Brett's prodigious abilities with a view camera. Brett has
exhibited many times since 1927, and he must be one of
the most prolific artists working in American today. He
has been known to expose over two dozen negatives in
one day, and the technical skill required for such a feat
qualifies Brett for the appellation Fa Presto. Nevertheless, Brett has not been adequately published. His shyness
394
and his unwillingness to intellectualize about his work in
an age when artists, and particularly photographers, seem
addicted to verbalization as a necessary adjunct to all art
has probably contributed to his relative obscurity. And
one must also admit that Brett's work does not concern
itself with particularly discussible kinds of values such as
narrative content, obvious quotation from the past, iconography, striking technical innovation, or redeeming social value.
Let it be stressed again that both men use the same
photographic process and format. Each makes large contact prints (photographic prints made without an enlarger by shining a light through a large negative placed in
contact with a piece of photographic paper), the final
print is almost totally "pre-visualized" before the moment of exposure, and manipulations are made primarily
in the camera-not in the darkroom. Therefore, technique is not a complicating factor in any comparison of the
styles of the two men. In choosing photographs by the
AWestonsfor comparison I have tried to select pictures of
similar subject matter in some cases. In other cases I have
chosen photographs which represent most typically the
styles of the two men as I have come to know them. This
is not the place to discuss innuendos and phases in their
respective styles, although I do hope to deal with these
questions in detail in some later investigations. I must
ask the reader to take on faith for the time being that the
photographs illustrated here are, in fact, typical examples
of each man's personal style.
THE PHOTOGRAPHS
If photographs of kelp by each man are opposed to
each other, clear differences are obvious (Figs. 1 and 2).
In Edward's picture of 1930, the contents of the picture
and the frame are disposed in such a way that one thing
seems to be there for the sake of the other. The relationship between the forms in the picture is highly architectonic and structural, and the simplicity, strength, and solemnity of Edward's kelp make the total effect decidedly
monumental. There is a feeling of resolution, partly because Edward has been careful to complete his composition well inside the picture frame. The major forms are
isolated in a kind of high pressure area in the center of
the picture.
But in Brett's Kelp of 1952, everything is done to
avoid the impression that this composition was invented
just for this surface. It looks more like a piece cut haphazard out of the visual world. One can imagine a limitless field of similar matter outside the frame, and the picture is freed from a tectonic relationship with the frame.
There is less solemnity and monumentality and more
freedom and movement. While Edward's kelp is closed,
concentrated, composed and always points back into itself, Brett's is open, diffused, and points beyond itself, although subtle limits and organizations continue to exist.
Let me describe these organizations in detail. The
initial impression of confusion is quickly replaced by our
apprehension of the basic composition, which is created
by the two largest dark kelp stems. The extreme simplicity and power of this basic composition is worthy of
Malevich or Kandinsky, but these men rarely achieved
such grace or ease of movement. Notice the precise intervals in the relationship of these two kelp stems to the
frame. The viewer next becomes aware of several other
kelp stems which are also in the process of penetrating
into the picture, but these secondary stems are more incomplete. In fact, Brett has been careful to present a balanced ratio of incomplete and relatively complete kelp
stems, and he creates thereby a distinct sensation of time
and movement by this sense of progression. All of the
stems seem to originate outside of the frame, which becomes a kind of maelstrom where the forces concentrate.
As the stems emerge from outside the picture they derive
part of their energy from our tendency to complete them
in our imagination. In Edward's picture, however, no
such imaginative effort is encouraged, because his image
is totally complete in the frame; it is stable, complete and
obvious. In Brett's picture we wonder what is going on
outside the frame, we wonder what the picture looked
like a minute ago, and we wonder what it will look like a
minute from now, as the frame fills up with kelp. Edward
shows us "being," Brett shows us "becoming."
Further perusal of Brett's composition reveals how
carefully constructed the picture really is. The strongest
force enters the picture through the kelp at the lower left
side, and this force seems to be responsible for the bending of the longest stem of kelp, which enters from the top
and partly counteracts the strong pressure from the left.
Other stems of kelp are beginning to press in from the
upper left corner, but the kelp which sweeps up from the
lower right corner balances those in the upper left. Finally, the kelp stem which cuts across the extreme upper
right hand corner seems to respond to pressure from outside that corner; it also balances the sweep of the large
dark kelp in the center. Therefore, the composition is a
balance of more or less equal forces: every action has an
equal and opposite reaction. The eye cannot leave the
picture or find inactivity within it. The resulting emotional tone of these opposing forces must ultimately be a
matter of opinion, but I personally feel that the tension
in this photograph is not a disquieting one, but derives
from a necessary and exciting self-generation of opposites.
Once the viewer realizes that the photograph is neither unintelligible chaos nor unbearable tension, he can
turn with security to an exploration of the minor themes
in the photograph. The patterns of the leafy parts of
the kelp, the textures and tones of the kelp stems, the
placement of highlights and all the minutiae of the scene
take on added meaning. Prolonged perusal of the photo395
1. Edward Weston, Kelp, 1930.
2. Brett Weston, Kelp, 1952.
396
graph (which is always much more rewarding in the original") reveals numerous provocative details, which
could never be appreciated outside of the larger organizations of the photograph: one white kelp stem is undulating lazily across the picture in marked contrast to the
purposeful single-mindedness of his brothers. A single
white bulb in the center of the picture divides the area of
the picture below it exactly into two squares. The sand is
actually covered by a thin layer of water, which is proved
by the foam adhering to some kelp bulbs and some small
floating leafy kelp. A tiny white strand of kelp is
wrapped like a noose around the bulb in the upper right.
Above all, one notices the extreme care with which Brett
has terminated each form at the edge of the picture so
that it is both complete as a surface form and yet clearly
continues in the real world outside the frame. Running
the eye down the right side of the picture makes it obvious that this edge could not be moved the slightest fraction of an inch. Note, for example, the careful completion of the shadow cast by the bulb near the right edge.
This purely visual excitement and discovery is not
the ultimate meaning of the photograph, however. Isn't
Brett really showing us his convictions about the way the
universe is organized? He would certainly not go through
the laborious process of intellectualization presented
here, but his intentions are clearly expressed in his works.
The photograph shows us that the chaos which we first
saw in the photograph and in the world is only apparent.
Organizations do indeed exist. We may speculate about
whether the organizations in the photograph are inherent in nature or the creation of Brett's own mind, but it
seems to me that this photograph, and this kind of photography in general, is more profound if this paradox is
allowed to stand. In any case, Brett does not impose order on the subject in the same way that Edward does. He
is prepared to accept the free organization of the subject
as he finds it, whereas Edward is less tolerant to chaos,
and seeks a more restrictive order. Brett is able to achieve
a more delicate balance between chaos and restrictive
regularity, and this is the definition of rhythm. Brett
prefers rhythm, freedom, and subtlety to the passion for
orderliness which characterizes Edward's work. The kelp
stems in his photograph seem almost conscious of their
own freedom as well as of their dependence of each
other.
The same patterns can be observed if we compare a
photograph of Tres Ollas de Oaxaca (Mexico, 1926) by
Edward and a photograph of Rusted Iron and Sand
(1964) by Brett. In Edward's compelling picture (Fig. 3)
the subject-ground relationship is clear. The pots are
highly plastic, tactile, and corporeal, and they exist in
space behind the picture plane-as if they were being
seen through a window. Edward has taken care to emphasize all of these qualities. There is so much distance between the pots and the frame that the eye cannot possibly
make negative shapes out of the background. The same
concerns about plastic form in space are apparent in Edward's famous Excusado (Mexico, 1925). This photograph (Fig. 4) cannot be totally understood in terms of
the Dadaist associations it inevitably calls to mind. Unlike Duchamp's urinal, of which Edward was certainly
aware, Edward's photograph forces us to agree that this
object can be as impressive as Michelangelo's David. In
fact, Edward specifically mentions the "classic" effect of
the photograph and even compares it to Greek art. He
means the photograph to affirm all the qualities associated with a classic art: frontality, stasis, clarity, monumentality, and a certain aloof porcelain coldness. Weston
wants the photograph to exist on an elevated moral
plane, and the relevant passages in his Mexican Daybooks make it clear that he and his friends in Mexico saw
the photograph in just these terms, although it certainly
amused Edward to joke about doing a "sitting" with his
new subject.7
When Brett's photograph of Rusted Iron and Sand
(Fig. 5) is compared to Edward's work, we can see that
Brett has rejected the classic subject-ground relationship.
Patterns of light and shade have been peeled off the physical objects on which they rest, and these patterns interplay on a purely visual level, without reference to the intellectual or functional meaning of the objects in the picture or to our cognition of these objects as corporeal masses in space. Instead, our attempt to make sense out of
the picture is frustrated: the light tone of the rusted iron
interacts with its own shadow below, and the iron in
shadow reciprocates with the shapes of the sand. No particular tone, texture, or material can claim our attention
for long. Each shape on the picture plane vibrates continuously from positive to negative, and our eye oscillates
between perception of each form as a flat pattern on the
picture surface and perception of the form as a real object in space. The permanence of Edward's images has
been replaced by visual excitement as a positive value.
There is also nothing fortuitous about Brett's photograph: all the effects which it achieves have been obtained only by great skill and effort. It should also be noticed that the frame, which had been a kind of neutral
boundary in Edward's pictures, now participates actively
in the shapes on the picture surface. This photograph reveals a much more sophisticated understanding of the
medium than Edward commanded. Because the photograph is obviously a photograph in the realistic sensethat is, because it reproduces what must be a "real" object without extraordinary distortion or manipulationthe effect of the perceptual tricks it plays on us is all the
more overwhelming. This photograph also shows Brett's
understanding that the black-and-white image is an abstraction of reality.
As this comparison has shown, the two Westons can
be differentiated by a predominance of either tactile or
397
3. Edward Weston, Tres Ollas de Oaxaca, 1926.
4. EdwardWeston, Excusado,1925.
5. Brett Weston, Rusted Iron and Sand, 1964.
6. EdwardWeston, Arches, LaMerced,1926.
398
visual sensation in their work. The issue, it seems to me,
is the role played by the picture plane. Edward always
represents objects as behind the picture plane, and describes the mass of the object and its position in space
through unambiguous and careful modelling, while Brett
delights in the purely visual effects achieved through dramatic chiaroscuro. Edward shows us the illusion of a plastic object-perhaps it would be fair to say the mind's idea
of that object-as if it were seen through a window.
Brett's photographs assert their own existence as silver on
a flat plane, and, in consequence, they assert forms and
patterns as independent existences on that picture plane.
In Brett's photographs the masses of light and shade pursue each other in independent interplay while background and foreground merge, as if everything were
made of the same substance.
Edward Weston consistently approaches his subject
matter frontally, and he frequently combines this frontality with axiality and symmetry. A good example is his
photograph of Arches (Mexico, 1926), which is composed
of several parallel planes (Fig. 6). It might be argued that
such a frontal approach is the only possible one for this
particular subject matter, but this objection begs the
question, because the photographer must choose to make
the photograph in the first place, and he tends to select
subject matter which will be most congenial to his habitual tendencies and needs.
Brett, on the other hand, tends to approach form
obliquely. His Ford Trimotor of 1935 (Fig. 7) is based on
a strong recessional movement into space. Notice also the
complexity and ambiguity of the spacial relationships
and the tension created by the juxtaposition of near and
far objects on the picture plane. It is clear that the oblique
view here is not merely incidental to the photograph,
but is actually the reason for the photograph. Again,
shapes on the picture plane are abundant. Even in Brett's
Spanish Village of 1960 (Fig. 8), where the picture begins
and ends on planes which are parallel to the picture
plane, many oblique planes in the interior of the picture
create movement and excitement. Notice that the theme
of a door flanked by windows, which is introduced at the
extreme bottom of the picture, is repeated at different
orientations to the picture plane, and is finally repeated
on the flat plane at the extreme upper edge of the picture. In most of his pictures, as in the Rusted Iron Brett
avoids making any lines parallel to the picture plane,
and this seems to enhance the high emotional charge of
his photographs.
My characterization of the styles of the two Westons,
which has so far been based on purely formal analysis,
can be substantiated by a comparison of their methods of
working, theories and particular historical situations.
Historically, Edward Weston occupies a position in
the history of photography analogous to the painters of
the Renaissance up to Raphael. Edward, who is some-
times called "the father of straight photography," had to
deal with the fundamental problems of the media: the
action of light on single objects, the best way to maximize the appearance of three-dimensional form, even basic technical problems involving chemicals and tonalscale. Edward often "posed" single objects in his studio,
and photographed them with a zeal reminiscent of Ucello's perspective experiments.s Edward spent days working
out precise lighting effects and choosing the proper background for a pepper, an eggplant, a squash, or a nude.
His intention was always to make his subject as corporeal
and monumental as possible. It should be emphasized
here that plasticity is not a quality inherent in the medium of photography. On the contrary, the beginning
photographer is often amazed to find that his final print
bears little resemblance to the object in space he thought
he was photographing. The camera usually goes out of its
way to frustrate any plasticity inherent in the subject
matter. In the first place, a contact print from a view
camera has no areas which are out of focus, and the human brain determines depth largely by the perception of
blurred planes outside the area of interest. This quality
is called "depth of field" in photographic jargon, and
photographs by the Westons have unlimited depth of
field due to their technique. Furthermore, while we use
our binocular vision to establish depth, the camera sees
with only one eye, and a photograph must depend on
carefully placed lights and shadows to produce the illusion of depth. This is seldom easy. There is also no color
perspective in black and white photography. Edward
Steichen is said to have photographed a single cup and
saucer for over a year in order to understand these peculiar properties of the camera, and, while Edward Weston
never made necessity a virtue to that degree, he was certainly preoccupied with the same problems.
Brett, on the other hand, has never concerned himself with the problem of "still life." His interest is sustained only by more difficult problems. It seems reasonable to suggest that Edward's solutions to the basic problems of the medium made it both unprofitable and uninteresting for Brett to concern himself with them.
Edward's explorations probably also made it possible for
Brett to advance to the more sophisticated kinds of explorations manifested in the work illustrated here. There
can be little doubt that close contact with his father and
teacher enabled Brett to master his father's hard-won
technique so quickly and move on the new problems. Art
has a history precisely because of this kind of progress, as
Gombrich has shown.9 One generation solves certain
kinds of problems, and the next generation builds on
those solutions. Several cases of similar father-son relationships in the history of art come to mind-the two Berninis probably being the most well-known example.
It was suggested earlier that Edward Weston's art
was analogous to the art of the Renassiance in both tech399
7. Brett Weston, Ford Trimotor, 1935.
8. Brett Weston, Spanish Village, 1960.
400
nical and temperamental terms. In fact, "classic" terminology was used as early as 1925 to describe Edward's
work. Alfaro Siqueiros wrote the review of Edward's first
Mexican exhibit, in which he said:
In Weston's photographs,the texture, the physical quality
of things, is rendered with the utmost exactness:the rough
is rough, the smoothis smooth,fleshis alive, stone is hard....
The things have a definite weight and volume and proportion, and are placed at a clearly defined distance from one
another.10
One might well ask whether Siqueiros was referring to
Weston's photograph of Tres Ollas or to Raphael's Belle
Jardiniere. Brett, on the other hand, rarely represents
things to us as we know them to be. He prefers instead to
present an image in which the facts are subordinated to
visual appearance. The rock in his 1959 photograph of
the rock cliffs at Glen Canyon (Fig. 9) is not "hard" but
has been de-materialized. The sand in his 1947 photograph of White Sands National Monument (Fig. 10) is
often so brilliant that it is indistinguishable from the sky.
In neither photograph is any substance given the tactile
quality or weight that Edward would deem appropriate.
Notice also in the White Sands photograph the flattened
perspective and the increased excitement which results.
The beauty of Edward's photographs is, to a certain
extent, the inherent beauty of the objects he chooses to
photograph. His selection and presentation certainly play
a part in the final effect, but Edward often simply gives
us a careful print which contains an object which we
might have invested with similar meaning or appreciation if we had taken the time to see that particular object
in a concentrated way. In front of a photograph by Edward Weston it is possible to have feelings like: "Oh!
What a beautiful pepper. I wish I could hold it in my
hand!" or "What a magnificent mountain! I wish I were
there!" Such statements are absurd in front of most of
Brett's photographs, because Brett takes so little interest
in the functional identity of his subject matter. The picture becomes his beauty and meaning, both qualities having been injected into a situation which might ordinarily
have little of either, as in the Rusted Iron. This photograph involves difficult creation beyond the simple recognition of "significant form" in the outside world. As the
rusted iron shows, Brett can create a fine photograph out
of raw material which most of us would not credit with
any nascent form whatever. In fact, it is possible to look
over Brett's shoulder while he is making a photograph
without having the faintest idea what the final print will
look like.
Edward Weston had great technical facility with a
large view camera, but there is evidence that he preferred, if possible, to take his time when making a photograph, and cogitate the various possibilities with a cool
eye. He spent days with certain vegetables, and sometimes even lost photographs because he was unwilling to
make a quick decision. Brett, on the other hand, works
with lightning speed, almost with abandon. He actually
seems to enjoy photographing elusive and ephemeral subjects, and he can manipulate his large view camera to photograph a transitory fog pattern as quickly as most photographers could do the same with a small 35mm camera.
The photographic philosophies of the two men are
also quite different. Edward's theories about photography
can be easily gleaned from his Daybooks (although no
systematic attempt has ever been made to do this). Edward seems to be slightly more interested in either the
subject matter or the final product of his efforts than in
the process itself. Phrases like "the thing itself," "things
revealed more clearly than the eye can see," "life within
the outer form," and "significant presentation" dominate
many pages of the Daybooks.
Brett has never been interested in theoretical statements. In fact, intellectualization is his sworn enemy.1
He might casually agree that he does all of his manipulation in his camera like his father, but he has no interest
in his father's writings, which he asserts were only a way
for his father to "let off steam." Brett lets off steam by
making wood sculpture (which, incidentally, conforms
very well to his photographic style. (See Fig. 12). Like his
father, Brett insists that he always wanted to make photographs. At the age of fifteen he "fell in love with the image on the back of a camera." It should be emphasized
that there is a great deal of difference between the "image on the back of a camera" and "the thing itself." The
ground glass on which the image is projected tends to
flatten out the image. The image is also upside-down,
and divorced from any context by the darkness inside the
viewing cloth. All of these factors tend to abstract and deobjectify the subject matter, and all have an impact on
Brett's work, which is more concerned with the appearance of forms on a flat plane than with any concrete reality of the subject. The "upside-down" quality is particularly characteristic of Brett's style. Most of his photographs have exciting compositions when viewed from any
side, and a concurrent lack of intelligible perspective, as
the Rusted Iron and White Sands illustrate. Perspective,
as G. K. Chesterton opined in one of his most cryptic sentences, ". . is always left out of dignified and decorative
art."12
It has been said that light is the essence of photography, and Edward and Brett handle light very differently.
Edward tends to see and appreciate light solely in connection with the physical objects it illuminates, and
rarely as an end in itself. He uses light to model and define. Brett does not hesitate to dematerialize substances
and textures into almost pure light (Figs. 9 and 10). He
delights in dramatic chiaroscuro and luminous atmosphere.
Edward and Brett also tend to employ lenses which
conform to their particular temperaments. Edward used
401
10. Brett Weston, White Sands National Monument, 1947.
9. Brett Weston, Glen Canyon, 1959.
most often a "normal length" lens. This lens does not
make the projected image appear to be either closer or
farther away than it really is, as "long" or "wide angle"
lenses would do. A normal lens also maintains the proper
spacial relationships between the various objects in the
picture. A normal lens is more "realistic" in the sense
that its angle of view is approximately the same as that of
the human eye. Brett Weston frequently uses a long or
telephoto lens, particularly in the landscape. This lens
not only brings the viewer closer to the object on which
the camera is trained, but it also distorts the distances between the objects in the picture, making them seem
closer to each other and closer to the picture plane than
they really are by flattening out the planes in the picture
space-an effect similar to the collapsing bellows of an accordion or a camera. The long lens also tends to nullify
differences in the relative size of objects, normally due to
perspective. The lens lessens the impact of perspective orthagonals. The photograph of White Sands illustrates
Brett's tendency to telescope together the planes in his
photographs with long lenses. The resulting decorative
flatness and spacial ambiguity is typical of Brett's style.
In the Spanish Village, also taken with a long lens, the
wall planes are telescoped together and the entire space is
flattened onto the picture plane. The effect is one of
increased interaction and movement between the walls in
the picture; rhythms are more rapid, transitions are more
abrupt. The image has simply become more concentrated. The eye also tends to enter and leave the picture
more abruptly, with a resulting increase in visual excitement. This preference for a certain kind of lens is another indication of aesthetic temperament.
If the elaborate parallelisms on which this paper had
necessarily to be based have not yet become too tedious, a
brief summation of the major points of difference between these two photographers is in order. Edward sees
the object through the camera; Brett sees the image on
the camera. Their respective styles illustrate Plato's distinction between the "real" and the "actual." Edward's
photographs assert the values of stability, permanence,
concreteness, and intelligibility. Edward wants to present
the simple physical fact of an object in all its native perfection, without "subterfuge" or "adulteration."13Brett's
photographs tend to be ephemeral and coloristic. Movement and excitement predominate in his work. Everything is subordinated to powerful rhythms. Brett de-emphasizes the objective identity and corporeal presence of
his subjects, and pushes active forms all the way to the
edge of the frame. His photographs are simply more complex and difficult than his father's. They also differ from
those of Aaron Siskind, who tends to produce simple flat
shapes on flat planes. Brett does not usually feel that a
shape on a flat plane reproduced onto the flat plane of
the photograph is sufficiently exciting. He likes to set up
tensions between our perception of the real object in
space and our perception of the same form as an abstract
shape on the picture surface, as I noted in the discussion
of the Rusted Iron photograph. This perceptual vibration accounts, at least in part, for the complexity, movement, and excitement in his work. The viewer must exert
himself when looking at one of Brett's photographs.
Brett also seems to enjoy showing the viewer a difficult or spectacular technical problem which has been
conquered with seemingly effortless ease and grace. The
Ford Trimotor, for example, is a tour de force of focus-
402
11. Brett Weston, Sand Dune, Oceano, 1934.
12. Brett Weston, Untitled Sculpture, 1935.
All of the photographs by Edward Weston may be found in The Daybooks of Edward Weston. All photographs by Brett Weston are in his own collection. The titles for Edward's photographs are the same as
those printed in the Daybooks. The titles for the Brett Weston photographs are my own.
403
sing ability. The handling of the rock cliffs in Glen Canyon shows a superb mastery of the upper ranges of the
tonal scale. Brett's photographs are often built around a
sweeping, graceful S-curve, as in the Sand Dune of 1934
(Fig. 11). One also notices in this photograph the predominance of the negative black form in the center. This
kind of negative form is quite common in Brett's work,
but unknown in Edward's until after 1934.14 Many of
Brett's photographs seem as impossible to a photographer
as Bernini's handling of stone seems to a sculptor. In
Brett's Kelp the subtlety of the tonal scale and the precision and delicacy with which the highlights and shadow
details have been placed is astounding. Of course, the full
impact of this photograph can only be grasped in an original print. Edward Weston was a highly competent technician, but Brett actually seems to revel in his difficult
technique. In fact, words like facilita, grazia, and sprezza* I would like to take this opportunity to thank Professor Svetlana
Alpers and Professor Loren Partridge of the Department of History of
Art at the University of California, Berkeley and Bernard Freemesser,
Professor of Photography at the University of Oregon, for their generous
criticism and encouragement during the gestation of this article. I would
also like to express my appreciation to Brett and Cole Weston for their help
in obtaining original prints for the illustrations presented here.
1The most complete bibliography on Edward Weston can be found in
the Aperture Monograph: Edward Weston, Photographer, edited by Nancy
Newhall, New York, 1965. Nancy Newhall is the recognized authority
on Edward Weston, and has been involved in most of the books and
articles about him. A complete list of the books and articles on Edward
Weston up to 1946 may be found in Nancy Newhall, The Photographs
of Edward Weston, Museum of Modern Art, New York, 1946. Recent
bibliography will be listed in Bernard Fremesser's bibliography soon to
be published. A useful bibliography may also be found in Weston's own
journal, The Daybooks of Edward Weston, New York, 1966, which were
edited by Nancy Newhall.
Brett Weston's bibliography includes only one book: Merle Armitage,
Brett Weston, New York, 1956. An exhibition catalogue, Brett Weston,
Photographs (ed. Nancy Newhall), Amon Carter Art Museum, Fort Worth,
Texas, 1966, contains a list of Brett's exhibits from 1927 to 1965, and a
bibliography of the articles and reproductions of his work.
2 Paul Strand, ed.
by the staff of Aperture, New York, 1971. This book
accompanied a major retrospective exhibition.
3 Carl Chiarenza, for example, recently asked in an excellent review of
Aaron Scharf's Art and Photography, in Art Journal, Spring 1972, p.
342: "How then can we deal with the disparities of imagery produced
by Julia Margaret Cameron, Hill and Adamson, Nadar, Rejlander, and
LeGray: or W. Eugene Smith and Henri Cartier Bresson? Or Paul Caponigro and Jerry N. Uelsmann?" This article is an attempt to answer
exactly this question.
4 Although Edward Weston's style is consistent and recognizable throughout his career, he certainly developed and changed during his fifty years
as a photographer. I hope to take up the question of the phases in this
development in a later study, but for the purposes of the present article,
I have been forced to treat Edward's work as a unit. The photographs
discussed here were made rather early in his career and are more accessible and single-minded than his later work. It also seems clear that
some of Edward's later photographs were influenced by Brett, who had
already achieved his own strong personal style by about 1930. Edward
said as much. Edward was stricken with Parkinson's disease in the late
1940's, and his later photographs tend to be macabre, emotional "equivalents" for his own state of mind, a development often seen in the late
7vork of an artist. But, strangely, the few color photographs that Edward
made in the late forties show the balance and clarity of his earlier work.
It seems that Edward began in 1947 to solve the same kinds of basic
problems in color (which is really a totally different medium) that he
had solved in black and white at the beginning of his career: he methodically explored the properties of the new medium. This kind of
differential development of media in a single artist is not uncommon.
Michelangelo began sculpting the St. Mathew in 1512 at about the same
developmental level where he had left off sculpturally in 1506, as if the
tremendous stylistic development in the paintings of the Sistine ceiling
had never intervened.
tura, used in the Renaissance to describe the facility,
grace, and effortlessness with which a great artist overcame technical problems, seem also to describe Brett's attitude and style. Baldassare Castiglione, in his Courtier
praised particularly the appearance of artlessness and effortlessness in a man or a work of art. He recognized, of
course, that it takes the most art to appear "artless" or
unselfconscious.
This essay has stressed the differences between the
Westons in order to define their respective styles, but
they obviously share some basic concerns, as their lifelong
committment to the same photographic technique attests.
Unlike so many contemporary photographers who have
wearied of the external world, and have felt compelled to
search their own minds for images, the Westons remain
committed to what Richard Wilber has called "the things
of this world."
5 Entry of April 24, 1930,
from a statement sent to an exhibition. The
Daybooks of Edward Weston, Volume II, p. 154.
"It cannot be stressed enough that photographs suffer from reproduction
as much as paintings and perhaps more, since most of us think of
photography primarily as a medium of reproduction. We see so many
photographs of poor technical quality in the print media that it never
occurs to us that a photograph could be anything more. In fact, there
is a great deal of difference in clarity, tonal depth, and immediacy between a fine contact print and a reproduction of it. Photography as the
Westons use it thrives on the paradox between the extreme realism of
the photographic image and forms, textures, and compositions as abstractions on the picture surface. The viewer of a fine contact print is
first drawn irresistably into a world of explicit detail and clarity recorded with more detail than the naked eye. The eye cannot travel far
enough into the print to break down the image into a pattern of grains,
and the trompe l'oeil effect intensifies as this inspection of the interior
of the photograph continues. Then, as the formal organization on the
picture surface begins to assert itself, a tension results between the
realism and its artificial organization, and between the chaos and the
order imposed on it.
If, on the other hand, the photograph is badly reproduced or poor
technically, the viewer is distracted by the obvious grain pattern and
the attenuated tonal scale, and the exciting tension never occurs. Any
grain pattern exists by definition on the picture surface and the eye
is always rudely forced back to the picture plane without exploring
the deep space and luxuriant detail of the inner photograph. The spell
of involvement is broken and the paradox disappears. Intellectualization
that the photograph is, after all, only dots on a flat surface takes the
upper hand, and the photograph becomes simply a "reproduction" of
something else more important. It cannot be denied that many fine
photographs have been made using small cameras, but these simply do
not have the compelling presences of a contact print held in the hands.
Photography as the Westons use it demands intimate and prolonged
concentration, and, consequently, to view a reproduction of a photograph as if it were the original is a serious error in judgment.
7 Daybooks, Vol. I, p. 132-135.
8 Daybooks,
May, 1929, V. II. p. 21; July-August, 1929, V. II, p. 128ff.
9 E. H. Gombrich, Art and Illusion, London, 1956.
10David Alfaro
Siqueiros, "Una Transcendental Labor Fotographica,"
El Informador (Guadalajara), September 4, 1925, copied by Weston into
Daybooks, Vol. I, p. 128. Dody Weston Thompson, in "Edward Weston,"
The Malahat Review, #14, University of Victoria, 1970, p. 39, has asserted that, "Weston's photographs are classic in the truest sense."
" This statement and all other statements attributed to Brett Weston
in this article are quoted to the best of my memory from several conversations with him between 1967 and 1972.
12 Quoted after H. W.
Saggs, The Greatness that was Babylon, New York,
1968, p. 451.
13Daybooks, March 15, 1930, Vol. II, p. 147.
14 Brett insists that he was photographing sand dunes before his father
became attracted to them, and it also seems clear to me that Edward's
use of "negative form" is a direct result of Brett's prior use of it. Edward said many times that he was influenced by Brett. As far as I can
tell Brett Weston was the first man in the history of photography to
systematically explore the possibilities of negative form.
404

Brett and Edward Weston

Transcription

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